Ever wonder why writers always seem a little distracted? Disconnected? Like they are on another planet? With a strange vocabulary and an odd twist on the mundane? It's because we're writers. Through a Writer's Eyes will help you see what we see and how we see and why we say what we do. Feel free to join the conversation. Let me know how you see what I see. Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey!
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Love My Brother and My Sister!
I'm compelled to post some pieces about my brother and sister. Like
our relationships, they are from different places, but reflect one
sincere truth about us: we are bonded. Miles, life, time doesn't
separate us or change our commitment to one another.
I'm including the titles to the pieces these are lifted from just in
case someone wants to read the whole bit from A Book of Pages.
If you have a sibling - or a friend who is like one - tell them you
love them today. Pretty sure we can never say that often enough.
Here's to you Bob and Tina. Thanks for keeping me!
A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges
Patchwork of Me
ieces of color patched
together, stitched with love, tossed about, useful, warmth- generating and
comfortable.That’s me.I didn’t get this way on purpose.Though I could have been torn asunder by
circumstances beyond my control, instead I held together.I have
become me because of where I have been.
A stubborn piece of resilient material forcefully kept in
position represents my brother and sister.Although raised in a separate home far removed; they would not forget
me.My brother, at five years old, was
the elder when we were taken from one another.He was the great defender of our baby sister, only two at the time.It would have been easy for them to cut ties
from me since the adults in charge didn’t always see eye-to-eye unintentionally
keeping us apart.As we grew, our lives
crossed paths every once in awhile.Finally,
we were grown enough to make our own decisions, to find one another.Helping each other through times of crisis
like settler families circling the wagons in defense; we have chosen to be
family.Our conversations frequently
contain a reference to the fact that we don’t have to love one another, but we
choose to.We have few common interests among
the three of us, yet we can easily talk for hours without tiring.Committed, loved, forgiving:I am from my brother and sister.
Though it might seem that the pieces of my life are
haphazardly strewn about, closer inspection reveals careful placement in
harmony with an ultimate plan.If I have
much to give, it is only because I have received abundantly.Held together by undaunted faith, made
stronger through adversity, compassionate and giving; I am.
Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges
From the Inside Out
icture a piece of burlap.
Strong. Tightly woven. Complete.
Now picture that same fabric torn, not cut, into five
pieces. The ends frayed and torn. Two of them more together than apart, but
none of them completely connected any more.
That’s what my family is like.
Two young people in love and ready to conquer the world
and beat the odds were overtaken by life’s demands. Push pulled and they were
strewn asunder. Not cut with neat edges. Torn. Raggedly. With strands flaying and seeking wholeness.
And yet, one strand, invisible to the outside, still
connects those lives. It’s like a band of steel that could not be torn, cannot
be broken. It can be ignored or pushed aside, but it remains. Intact. Unchanging.
From the outside in, we
aren’t a close family at all. Rarely are we all in the same space. Few pictures
exist of all of us together. Two of us or three of us, now no more than four of
us, gather from time to time. Our memories are stilted, disjointed.
Being together takes effort. We make the effort because
we enjoy each other, we get something from each other, we understand each other.
We are okay apart, but much better together.
Even if we try to go on
about our lives – the thread keeps tugging. Our minds, our hearts, our
attention is centered on one another.
We’re a family. Not like yours, perhaps, or any other. Together
we are stronger, more complete.
The burlap is frayed, but only needs to be placed near the
other torn pieces momentarily to find the right place, to connect, to become