I’m not often at a loss for words. But this last month, I was looking at my blog and not having a clue what to write. I don’t generally buy into writer’s block. I think writing is a verb and most of the work is in the doing of it. Yet… I had pangs of the block and writing wasn’t being a verb.
I did a lot of walking around Paris this month, wondering what my problem might be. Why the slow down? Why the blankness? What is with the blog fog?
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Rife, you say? So there was a bit of posting reluctance as I didn’t want to feed more spammy comments. I’m kinda sensitive to junk mail.
When there was no one left to blame, I was left with myself. What is it I don’t want to say?
Ah, now therein lies the issue. BINGO!
There is something that totally bummed me out this month and I didn’t want to talk about it. The news of it actually silenced me. I didn’t even mention it to Christophe. I couldn’t even say it in English, let alone muddle my way through it in French.
So here it is.
This past month, my grandma moved out of her house and into an assisted living apartment in town. This is good news. Lots of ladies to chat with and wallop in Scrabble (she’s goood). Monitored yet private accommodation, “Even though the whole apartment is the size of my sun porch!” This move was her choice and she seems cool with it. All good on that front.
But then I was writing a letter to her and realized that I had to get her new address. That’s when it hit me. The address where I have been sending letters to my grandma for years is no longer valid.
That’s when I realized she wasn’t immortal.
Maybe it’s because I’m a MacLeod from the clan MacLeod that I expected immortality. But the fact that I couldn’t write my grandma’s address on an envelope rendered me silent for a month.
I didn’t call people back.
Emails piled up.
I didn’t made plans.
I didn’t even studied my French language lessons.
I was silent in both languages.
The three weeks off from blogging led to a lot of thoughts about the endings of things. The end of lives, the end of seasons, and even, one day, the end of this blog… especially after the vermin spammers get me excited about a comment only to tell me to visit their site about cheap Canadian meds. (I’m moving the blog over to a WordPress site just as soon as I can get it up and running. Stay tuned on that front.)
The three weeks has also given me the time to observe something in the moment and let it go. So much of my mind space is taken up by collecting bits of my day to mix into a delectable blog post. But this time, I walked and observed Paris like those people who come here and don’t bring their cameras. What were you thinking? And no I’m not sending you my photos. Out of spite more than anything.
Three weeks to process my feelings and give myself the time to let the words flow out rather than force them out so I could get the thrill of hitting Publish.
After sitting with the silence and allowing it to walk around beside me, the blog fog is slowly lifting. I’m accepting a few more invitations and finally getting back to those emails. I’m looking at WordPress options and reeling that there is yet another new thing to learn. Isn’t learning French enough?
I think I’ll email my uncle, too, to get grandma’s new address. I’m going to send that letter. She’d like that.
So would I.