This resonates with me so much this morning. I have been beating myself up for procrastinating but I think really I am grieving a whole host of things. I have been running around wildly for too long and suddenly I have quiet and space and it's harder than I expected. My sacred space is music and I feel a longing every time I walk by my piano, but I just can't quite get back to it. I appreciate knowing others feel that too and it's ok to take some space and enjoy the quiet until I'm ready.
I love your poem and can sense the ache that comes from a time and place that has always been joyful for you. Your garden nourished Mateo while he was with you and now holds memories. I am glad for the friend who suggested that this will yield new buds and growth. May it be so.
As for procrastinating - putting gas in the car. My husband once had to put his shoulder to my car and push it to the gas station when it ran out a few hundred feet short. My sacred space is my office or wherever I am writing. I need to honor that more because many times I open the door physically and metaphorically and all kinds of distractions enter. My friend does a ritual every time she sits down to write in the mornings. I am thinking about doing that, creating a signal to myself that now the space is sacred.
The garden is the place to grieve, or to procrastinate if that's what one needs. We all need to have outdoor time. Gardening has brought me back to life more than once, and I'm so looking forward to getting out into my garden again.
Mar 20, 2023·edited Mar 20, 2023Liked by Mary Hutto Fruchter
I am certain my email boxes could rival your own! The important emails I tend to, but the junk mail comes in faster than I can manage. While I was living in Europe, I had no permanent address, and therefore no paper mail. It was blissful. My current husband handles our paper mail, but that pesky electronic mail bogs me down. The worst is when someone peers over my shoulder and gasps at the number in my mailbox. My solution is to shut down my computer and leave my office.
What I most mourn is alone time. I love my husband and friends, of course. We have an active social life. But I’m an extroverted introvert and need more solo time for puttering, creative exploration, and general “wool gathering”. And, apparently, clearing out my emails.
Thank you for allowing me passage into your sacred space. I sat here silently crying for you and for me. You have reminded me of my need to reclaim my sacred places or find new ones and for that I am especially grateful.
My writing office became a scary, too-quiet place after my mother’s death in 2020. I kept telling myself I was procrastinating and struggling with writing, but that wasn’t true. I was avoiding the quiet, sacred place where I thought I knew who I was. I learned to play music in my writing office to reclaim and fill the emptiness. Thank you for sharing.
This was beautifully written, capturing the bittersweet fullness of life.
My brother unexpectedly died last fall at the age of 52. I've been putting off going through the boxes of stuff from his house that's now in a storage unit by my house. That's my chore-nemesis. I know I need to eventually do it, but I know I need some time, that I'm grateful to have.
I think now about all the paper stuff people leave behind. I feel like I have to go through everything piece by piece or I might miss something important, and lose it forever.
I wonder what'll be like when people leave no papers behind contained in a finite number of boxes. How do you find anything when it's spread out all over the web and the amount is unimaginable? Does everything end up getting lost forever?
"In sharing stories, we change ourselves. In changing ourselves, we change the world." - 100% agree! That's why I'm here on Substack.
I love this poem so much. I love that you always share the most gorgeous and moving reads with me. Thank you for sharing in this space. I loved listening to Krista Tippet’s interview with her. I love that she’s going to be leading a writing workshop at Get Lit, right here in Spokane and it only costs $35. I am definitely nerding out over it.
This resonates with me so much this morning. I have been beating myself up for procrastinating but I think really I am grieving a whole host of things. I have been running around wildly for too long and suddenly I have quiet and space and it's harder than I expected. My sacred space is music and I feel a longing every time I walk by my piano, but I just can't quite get back to it. I appreciate knowing others feel that too and it's ok to take some space and enjoy the quiet until I'm ready.
I love your poem and can sense the ache that comes from a time and place that has always been joyful for you. Your garden nourished Mateo while he was with you and now holds memories. I am glad for the friend who suggested that this will yield new buds and growth. May it be so.
As for procrastinating - putting gas in the car. My husband once had to put his shoulder to my car and push it to the gas station when it ran out a few hundred feet short. My sacred space is my office or wherever I am writing. I need to honor that more because many times I open the door physically and metaphorically and all kinds of distractions enter. My friend does a ritual every time she sits down to write in the mornings. I am thinking about doing that, creating a signal to myself that now the space is sacred.
The garden is the place to grieve, or to procrastinate if that's what one needs. We all need to have outdoor time. Gardening has brought me back to life more than once, and I'm so looking forward to getting out into my garden again.
Who Am I?
Who am I when there’s no one to answer?
I still don’t know,
because creating a life at almost seventy is daunting
Who will wrap their arms around me?
Who will hold my hand?
I have held my own hand for comfort
To create my own circle of love
For myself
By myself
Who will wipe my tears from my cheek?
Memories fill only so much,
They don’t keep me warm enough
Nothing is where it’s supposed to be
Every single thing, once familiar
Is strange and different
Filtered through grief
Who am I when there’s no one to answer?
4/23/23
I am certain my email boxes could rival your own! The important emails I tend to, but the junk mail comes in faster than I can manage. While I was living in Europe, I had no permanent address, and therefore no paper mail. It was blissful. My current husband handles our paper mail, but that pesky electronic mail bogs me down. The worst is when someone peers over my shoulder and gasps at the number in my mailbox. My solution is to shut down my computer and leave my office.
What I most mourn is alone time. I love my husband and friends, of course. We have an active social life. But I’m an extroverted introvert and need more solo time for puttering, creative exploration, and general “wool gathering”. And, apparently, clearing out my emails.
Thank you for allowing me passage into your sacred space. I sat here silently crying for you and for me. You have reminded me of my need to reclaim my sacred places or find new ones and for that I am especially grateful.
My writing office became a scary, too-quiet place after my mother’s death in 2020. I kept telling myself I was procrastinating and struggling with writing, but that wasn’t true. I was avoiding the quiet, sacred place where I thought I knew who I was. I learned to play music in my writing office to reclaim and fill the emptiness. Thank you for sharing.
Ah yay! Suleika! Love her and her substack so much.
This was beautifully written, capturing the bittersweet fullness of life.
My brother unexpectedly died last fall at the age of 52. I've been putting off going through the boxes of stuff from his house that's now in a storage unit by my house. That's my chore-nemesis. I know I need to eventually do it, but I know I need some time, that I'm grateful to have.
I think now about all the paper stuff people leave behind. I feel like I have to go through everything piece by piece or I might miss something important, and lose it forever.
I wonder what'll be like when people leave no papers behind contained in a finite number of boxes. How do you find anything when it's spread out all over the web and the amount is unimaginable? Does everything end up getting lost forever?
"In sharing stories, we change ourselves. In changing ourselves, we change the world." - 100% agree! That's why I'm here on Substack.
I love this poem so much. I love that you always share the most gorgeous and moving reads with me. Thank you for sharing in this space. I loved listening to Krista Tippet’s interview with her. I love that she’s going to be leading a writing workshop at Get Lit, right here in Spokane and it only costs $35. I am definitely nerding out over it.
I love the idea that we can create new sacred spaces. Thanks for joining me in this new sacred space. 🤗
Lovely words, as always, Mary. ❤️
Instructions on Not Giving Up - Ada Limón
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.