Have you missed me?

diary writing

I want to think that I’ve been missed. I want to suppose someone has wondered why I haven’t posted in a while. I need to believe someone, anyone, has asked himself or herself where I am.

The truth is, I’ve been held hostage. Or more accurately, I’ve held myself hostage. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. Readers who follow my blog can attest to the fact that my going AWAL has become rather habitual; that my rants have become fewer and far between.

But like I said, I’ve been in self imposed captivity.

How? In thinking the only time I can write is when circumstances are right; when all my ducks are in a row; when everything else has been handled. Only then, can I set my imagination free so as to give birth to creativity.

However, I’ve come to realize that I am never going to have enough time. My ducks are never going to be aligned and something will always have to be handled.

That’s life; the way things are. It is not going to change.

So after much pondering, I’ve concluded that if I don’t take action, this blog is going to die. My virtual friends are going to disappear, and if I wait longer, no one is going to wonder where I’ve gone.

Some time ago, I read the following phrase: “A true writer is unable to stop writing. For a true writer, it is easier to stop breathing than to stop writing.” Don’t ask me where I read that. I’m afraid I don’t remember. Nevertheless, the message stayed with me.

I thought of those words today, and while I agree there are times writers are unable to stop writing, I disagree that only those capable of doing so are true writers.

Which leads me to ask myself, am I truly a writer?

This question is what prompted me to think about what direction this blog should take; before it dies; before you forget about me.

And I’ve decided that more than a writer, I am a communicator. It is vital to my existence for me to communicate; to share with others what touches my life. As such, no longer will I wait for the perfect time to crank out what I believe to be a writing piece worth reading. Instead, I am going to communicate more.

At times, it might only be through a photo of something that caught my eye. Or an anecdote of someone or something that infuriated, impressed, or shocked me. Other times, it might simply be a haiku.

I truly hope you will continue to accompany me on this journey. I promise to try and make it an interesting one.

Who calls shotgun?

XOXO,

Who said having a wild imagination is a bad thing?

“You have a wild imagination.”

The sharpness of our neighbor’s tone let me in on the fact that she didn’t think this to be a good thing.

Looking down at the mangled mess of what used to be carefully tended begonias, I grabbed my dog Princess and high tailed home.

I was seven years old.

As the years passed, my “wild” imagination developed the ability to get me out of many predicaments.

And the older I got, the wilder my imagination became.

Missed homework was the result of having to fly to Spain with my mother to take care of my aunt Rita, who lay stricken in a hospital bed with only a week to live.

Unreturned phone calls to boyfriends were excused with the unexpected death of my cat Butterball, who had had the misfortune of running in front of oncoming traffic.

Failure to show up for class was justified with acute pain caused by the onset of a severe case of lumbago.

My creativity knew no bounds and I delighted in elaborating embellished scenarios that served to get me out of situations that I deemed a waste of time.

Fast forward I don’t know how many years and now, while I may not use it to get myself out of trouble, my imagination continues to grow.

I believe imagination and creativity are timeless.

It matters not whether you are a child or an octogenarian, we all have the ability to exercise our imagination.

We might accomplish this by writing poignant poetry or inspiring stories.

In some cases, we might use it to get us out of a tedious work dinner.

Yet, whatever our reasons, we all have the ability of being imaginative; of being creative.

This summer, trips to a busy neighboring city meant tiresome hour-long bus rides.

Many times, these resulted in long naps that served to restore energy levels drained by the warm, Spanish sun.

Other times, they gave way to looking out the window and creating stories, situations, and conversations.

This activity also proved to be a speedy way to people watch.

However, given the moving bus only allowed for a few seconds to take in the scene, my imagination had to work faster.

Thankfully, traffic lights always gave me a bit more time.

They provided extended glimpses into the lives of passebyers.

A cyclist had strayed from his team while training for the World Tour.

Beach chairs had been set out on the beach for Lady Gaga and her entourage.

People waited outside of an old movie theater to watch a dubbed version of “ET.”

A couple filled jugs of water from a public fountain because the water company had suspended their service.

The group of people outside of a hotel were extras in a soon to be released Pedro Almodovar film.

When the scene outside didn’t prove to be interesting, I took to snapping photos of fellow bus travelers.

I imagined what they were thinking, dreaming, or worrying about.

Yes, when our neighbor Mrs. Willet told me I had a wild imagination, I don’t think she realized just how true her words were.

And this time, I’m not apologizing for it.

How do you exercise your imagination and creativity?

Note: These shots were taken from a moving bus or while sitting just a couple of feet from fellow travelers.

Would the sculptor of this snowlady please step forward?

I came across this little lady on my walk the other day.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but does this even fit the “snowman” category?

Whatever happened to three balls of snow, a carrot for a nose, raisins for a mouth, twigs for arms, an old hat, and charcoal or rocks for eyes?

I didn’t know whether to applaud her for her uniqueness or pat her on the head for support.

In any case, I give you the “snowlady” created by someone with the oomph to shatter the traditional mold and the creativity to produce such big tatas!

And to that, I take my hat off.

What do you think?