From the highest reaches of the bookshelf, I'd feel the stares pressing on me like one of those red laser dots from a gun in a crime show. About those red laser dots- my dad always says- You never want one of those things on you. Wise man, my father.
I stretched high on tiptoes, trying desperately not to shatter the precariously perched blue and white Oriental urn into a thousand pieces on my head, finally retrieving my old friend the laptop as I hmph'ed safely back to flat, bare feet on cold hardwoods.
And after all that, we sat, blink blink blinking, just looking at one another. One of us a blank screen, a machine of a master, daring me to make the words come out.
I walked away, red laser on my back. The words felt itchy and forced and I hated it. So much good and challenging and funny has occurred since my last post- the end of November 2012- that has marked my heart and even the lens of my camera... and yet, the words would not come.
Tonight I picked up my laptop so swiftly and with such fervor, that urn could have rained down like confetti all around me and I would've called it a celebration. In truth, I was never really fond of the urn anyway.
We've welcomed our first NYC Christmas and a brand new year, hello 2013. Snowy Central Park walks, Ottomanelli muffins for my favorite birthday boy and the joy of a marriage, six years strong. Each recollection a reminder that life is full and meant to be lived with great abandon.
Today, I'm choosing to celebrate these little words. Though shaky as a bumped piece of painted porcelain, they've finally come.
young Molly who never had trouble finding words | a reminder of my face