Lately I have been obsessed with this blog. Why? Oh, I don't know. I think my biological clock is thinking about thinking about ticking. One second I'll be fantasizing about crocheting baby blankets, nibbling on tiny toes and the sacredness of feeling a new life growing within me, then about brown eyes like T's, green eyes like mine, hoping that (s)he'll have his sweetness and my spirituality....
Then I notice that I've been brushing my teeth for 8 minutes as my eyes widen in shock and I recoil from the mirror.
My mind is bombarded with the concept that, one day, late night red wine and dark chocolate will be things of the past, not to mention early Saturday morning living room workouts interrupted by a sleepy T coming downstairs and wanting to cuddle with me. Oh no. Nibbling on tiny toes means that those early mornings will be devoted to a beautiful albeit selfish, selfish selfish creature. That I'll be biologically coerced into loving. No more only-Charisness. No more quiet car rides, listening to my audiobooks without a care in the world (besides having the heck scared outta me by Stephen King, like I am right now. I mean seriously. Killer cell phones? Can you get any scarier? Makes me look at my little gray motorola in a whole new light)
See what I mean about thinking about thinking about ticking?
The jury's still out.
So I take out the crochet hook and start on a blanket for one of the 149,783,064 friends that I have who are currently about to have/just did have babies.
And I read blogs like the Girl's Gone Child one mentioned above, and vicariously let my bio clock tick away.
On it, the author talks about how, although she doesn't define herself by her motherhood, her sense of self has certainly been affected and improved by it.
She now has a different lens to see the beauty of the world though.
And I think about how, having someone close, someone you love, something you love, and on and on, gives you that lens.
That's why I write about T so much. He changes my stuck-in-traffic drives. They fly by, as they did on Monday when I had his company because of a studying day he took in Pasadena. I didn't note the graffiti on the giant highway concrete pillars, nor whether I was at the first or second hump on the 110 South (to peg where I am on my homeward journey). I was more concerned with talking to him. The lens was different.
And if not him, it's something else. I see and ponder the world through the lens of nature and the hummingbirds that have been stalking me all summer, or through travels and how my life is so different now than it was five years ago in Florida or nine years ago in Virginia, or through the lens of Spirit, wondering how best to serve whatever one defines as God, whether it's personal purpose, Love, Communion in life, or any of the many varied religious definitions....
And I wonder, is there any observation to be made if you don't do it through the study of something outside yourself?
No, I don't think that there is.
As Madeleine L'Engle said in one of her amazing and simple works that I'm working on now (such frivolous fiction is relegated to only having read-time when I'm blowdrying my hair. Yes ma'am, head thrown forward, with the book held open by a lotion bottle on the bathroom counter...), we're in a universe.
Uni: one, together, joined.
Webster's says it, more or less.
Today's whiteboard quote:
"People have talents that are different. Where does the creative flow some from, inside us, or from a higher power? I don't ask questions. I just write it down."