Today my bestest buddy and I were talking about this month and how much we have enjoyed slicing (and how fast it has gone). We talked about the different slicers, the slices and the books we keep at home to write in. I keep mine for the stories and thoughts that come to mind, and hers is more spiritual. We differ in our reasons but the outcomes are the same. It is a place to keep our thoughts, feelings and ideas.
We are sad to see the challenge come to an end. I reminded her that after March we could still slice once a week on Tuesday’s, and we made a pact to continue.
As we talked it made me think about my books that I write in. So tonight I brought them out and read through some of them. Here is a glimpse at what some of my pages contain. They are just a few snippets of things I have jotted down, and stories I have started. Maybe broadcasting them to the world will give me the nudge to finish one or do something with one.
Hope had a hand-me-down name. She had hand-me-down clothes and hand-me-down toys. Hope had a hand-me-down room and a hand-me-down bed, be she didn’t mind because they had been handed down from the sister she loved.
It was two days before Christmas and the warehouse was in a tither. The toy makers were making toys. The bakers were adding the finishing touches with frosting. The bookkeepers were checking the inventory and shipment addresses. And the boss was wondering why his lead fight crew was at the top of his downsizing list. What had they done now?
It was a classic autumn October day. The sun was full of promise and the breeze hinted of the chilly days yet to come. The leaves swirled and stirred until they finally came to rest heaped upon themselves in the corner of the old schoolhouse. Deep beneath them lay hints of the season after next waiting their turn to appear in the spring.
The children assembled here too, much like the leaves; looking for a place to gather out of the wind.
It was the day before fall break and like the weather the children held a sense of anticipation, a sense of knowing the best was yet to come.
Jackson knew his grandpa would be waiting. He knew he should hurry, but thought if he waited just a few more minutes most of his friends would be gone, and he wouldn’t have to explain. He despairingly gathered his things and watched as the cars left the parking lot one by one.
He saw too, just beyond the parking lot the man waiting by the pole with his cane. Jackson watched as the man shifted from foot to foot waiting for Jackson.
With head hanging Jackson headed out the door. He headed for the corner to meet the man with the cane, to meet his blind grandpa for their daily walk home.
My home is like a favorite old hoodie
A little frayed at the edges
Not too big
Not too small
Comfy and warm
Tattered and soft
It invites you in
Wraps its warmth around you
Asking you to stay
Hoping you will come again.
Well there they are just a few pages that hold my words and thoughts on any given day. Most of them are from the summer, written on my spot on the patio. All of them holding the hope of one day becoming more.