All my life, I imagined that I was born to write. That I had something worthwhile to say, or that I, too, could tell a delicious story. But for decades, nothing emerged, save for journals containing written prayers I have kept, one particular poem of great emotion written after a beloved pet had passed, and the random journal entry that seemed of some import.
I had to learn how to make money in order to survive. No one told me that, no one made suggestions, and certainly no one gave me encouragement as a child or made the least mention of “saving money.” We just never had any. That was the deal.
The people that actually loved me did not live with me, and I only saw them infrequently. But the one thing my parents did give me was music, and they gave me that in spades.
Imagine an attention-starved little imp of a girl, with over-processed hair, thanks again to Mom, (torture was the theme of the day) doing her dead-level best to please her Daddy, feet not yet able to touch the floor, sitting square on that piano bench, banging out “When the Saints Go Marching In” in high style at the tender age of five, just because he liked it. Actually, most of the songs he taught me were not very “cool” to me, and later in life I would learn to entertain myself and my friends with the more “radio-worthy” tunes of the day. Yes, when I was just a youngster, I listened to the radio. My grandfather had a big tube radio he listened to, and I had a little transistor. The miracle is, I am still here to tell this story.
There are many things I can find to write about these days. And as with any writer, my ideas of worth or import might not be yours. And I am also aware that there are many experts afield now that have a much tighter grasp on reality than I do, who if inclined to write, might make more sense. So I will relax and be satisfied to appeal to the little kid in all of us, to inject some humor in odd and awkward ways… hehe
But if you come to this blog and you read the words here, you will find a real and true person behind them, capable of great love, open to ideas, and just trying to leave something beautiful behind, if the right person wanted to find it. One time I was denied an employment position because the doctor said “You seem too serious to work in a psychiatric office.” hahahaha Is that not divine intervention?
What is the intent of a writer? As with all things of this realm, the answer is like a hologram. There are a myriad of answers to this question. I will leave you to guess my intent, because at first, it may not be quite “evident.” Just follow along whenever you feel bored, maybe disinterested with life in general, overwhelmed, over-stimulated… yeah, just come here, and maybe you will find a certain commonality, get a good laugh or two, or just be seeing the life of a common woman in America, for the first time.
Last night I watched an episode of “The Big Bang Theory” on my laptop. Now I love comedy, but I suspicion that you have to be a certain type of white bread near geek pseudo-intellectual to enjoy this show. (pause… for effect) And I am a bit of a hard case, difficult to make laugh through comedy, but once in a while, these kids will say and do something (“act”) that sends me into uncontrolled bursts of laughter! And it feels really good.
So today I leave you with this question. If you could laugh easily, and be cheerful most all the time, would you choose to?