I Didn’t Write For A Week

Photo by Pro Church Media on Unsplash

True story.

I went to visit The Magical Creatures. I brought my computer but I only took it out when I checked into my homeward-bound flight.

I. Completely. Ignored. The. Muse.

Fuck Her. I was a Nana. I was Mom. I was The Baby Sister.

I played Candyland — and got my ass handed to me by a four-year-old. Multiple times. IRL.

I snuggled a seven-year-old who had a bad cough and told me she missed me and loved me SOOO MUCH. Muse who??

I looked into the eyes of a nine-year-old who is damn near as tall as I am these days. We laid on her bed and talked about All. The. Things. in her world until sleep carried her away from me and I heard her soft breaths ease into a gentle rhythm. What blog??

I visited with my sister and made pizzelles with her recipe and my pizzelle iron (smuggled through airport security in my carryon). Thankfully no one thought it looked suspicious.

“No officer — it’s a cookie iron — not a weapon of mass destruction. I swear.”

I drank wine and laughed with my daughter and son-in-law. Feeling at home, in the way they make me feel — a thing I can’t describe but am so very thankful for. Belonging. Family.

We cooked. We told The Stories. We baked The Pies — my mother’s pumpkin pie and my apple pie. We bowed our heads in Thanksgiving for the gifts of the Humans gathered together.

And I didn’t write one damn word all week long.

Sometimes we need to remember — we are more than our lives on the screens in front of us. We are Real. It’s ok to unplug, walk away, look up.

In fact — it can be fucking fantastic!

Namaste.