Wednesday, June 27, 2012

My Mind Like A Fallow Field

The past week was one of wind and fire. A stray bullet fired in the wild scorched the earth and draped billowing black clouds over the Salt Lake valley. Everything seems barren; sterile; unyielding. I spend the week preparing for my son's 6th birthday party, which --fittingly--is pirate themed. I hang a banner of skulls and crossbones across my kitchen and rummage through storage for the orange Tupperware container holding our Halloween decorations, retrieving a life-sized cardboard skeleton and tacking it to the wall. Its paper bones rattle in the wind of the incessant, useless ceiling fan.

I am longing for bone-white paper and black ink that runs like marrow, yet I have not written a word in days.

The week is punctuated by the passing of my paternal grandfather. Days before his death, my family gathers in his bedroom at the care center. The walls of the room are adorned with sepia photos of my grandpa as a young man, vibrant color photos of him and his wife, his children --yet he is shrouded in a white blanket on his bed, still except for the breath rattling in his lungs. I press my dry lips to his wrinkled forehead, and bid him goodbye.


The landscape of my mind is barren. I cannot write a word.


On the radio, I listen to an interview with Glen Hansard. He says that it is not necessary to work, work, work all the time. That, sometimes, it is useful to have a fallow period. A time to rest. Reflect. Revive.


This week, despite the sweltering heat, there are signs of life. My children and I inspect a captured spider under a magnifying glass, marveling at its delicacy. We watch the honeybees in the garden collect nectar from the flowers. We check daily on the four hatched triops, a gift from my sister, swimming in a Mason jar filled with water on my son's bookshelf. When it is time for swim lessons, I sit on the bleachers of an indoor pool and, the muggy, chlorine-soaked air notwithstanding, watch in delight as my children become weightless in water.


I am hopeful that this season of heat will not render the field of my mind scorched, but incubated.

25 comments:

  1. Yes...may you be incubated.

    A walk in the forest always does that for me.

    Condolences

    - Mac

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    1. Thank you for your kind words, Mac.
      And something about a walk in the forest reminds me of John Denver's Annie's Song, which I love :)

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  2. I was so sad to see the pics of the fire coming out of Salt Lake. But I'm glad you and your family are okay. And it is sounds like you had sad week with the passing of your grandparent. It is so hard to lose someone no matter what their age.

    You have told us about your week very beautifully though.

    We are having a CP/Beta Mixer tomorrow at FFF. I said I tell when we were having it.

    Oh and we are having

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    1. Thanks, Jenny.
      And, yes, I did just see the plug for the mixer on your blog. I'll be there :)

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  3. Hi, Kim. Thanks for lurking around my blog *smile*

    (I tell you...you no-reply folk)

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  4. Sending love your way. This is beautifully written. Lots of love.

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  5. At first I had highlighted this:

    'bone-white paper and black ink that runs like marrow,'

    because it stood out to me with such power.

    But as I read the rest of your post, it is not the kind from which you can lift increments and say, 'Oh, Kim, well done.'

    You are coming into a new phase of yourself and the manner in which you interact with the world. This post was raw and gorgeous and fed me.

    My sincerest sympathy and condolences on the passing of your grandfather. Last summer, that happened for our family and it nearly flattened me. Offering you my own shoulder but from the looks of your words, you are standing.

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    1. Suze
      I remember reading your posts about your grandfather's passing. For me, the loss of my grandpa is bittersweet. He was 94 and had lost any semblance of "quality of life." And yet --
      Thank you is too trite an expression for your comment here...

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  6. So sorry about your grandfather's passing :(

    I agree with Leigh, this post is beautifully written. I hope you find that the time off writing will revive you!

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  7. you say you have not written in beautiful prose. i enjoyed your story of the past week immensely!

    i admire the tribute you all paid your grandfather, a wonderful way to pass on, surrounded by memories of a good life & loved ones.

    the writing will come...

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  8. Sorry to hear about the passing of your grandfather! I love that idea that sometimes our minds need to be fallows fields.

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  9. Sending best wishes your way and condolences for your loss. I agree with the other commenters in saying this is a wonderfully well written post. Expressing your feelings in words is a great way of addressing them.

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  10. This post is so elegant that I want to cry at my own silly posts and journal entries and writing voice.

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    1. Janel.
      You flatter me. Your writing is anything but silly. It is insightful and witty and wonderful. I love everything you write :)

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  11. Every writer goes through seasons of drought, you'll pull through. Beautifully written :)

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  12. So many fires lately. So much sadness. I'm glad, at least your family was far enough from the flames. But sorry for your grandpa's passing.

    And I agree with Janel... you have such eloquence here that it makes me want to go back and re-write every blog post I've ever written. Haven't written a word in days? I believe this counts!

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  13. It's sooooo obvious you're a writer... Can't write a word? Well, I thought this post was lovely! Really beautiful, Kim. But I do hope that the inspiration will flow soon... I know for me, it helps me stay balanced.

    And haven't the fires been crazy??? I was evacuated for the dump fire in Eagle Mt a couple weeks ago... crazy stuff! And then the one over in Alpine this week? Madness! Let's get things back to normal!

    <3 <3 <3

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    1. Morgan! I'm so sorry to hear you had to be evacuated... hope everything has settled down now.

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  14. I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather.

    You seem to be writing some beautiful words, in my opinion. Just because it isn't fiction, doesn't mean you aren't writing. Sometimes all I do when I sit down to write is bang away about how much I hate my current WIP. On more than a few occasions that has helped me solve problems with the plot or characters.

    A fallow period is a good thing. Just like soil has to rest before it can yield a good crop, a human mind needs to rest before it can produce quality work. Get some rest and try to stay cool.

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  15. I am so sorry to hear about the passing of your grandfather.

    While I was in the hospital last week, I couldn't write a word. I could hardly concentrate enough to read. Stress turns off my brain. I lose all concept of time. The smallest task overwhelms me. Putting words on paper feels impossible. I can sympathize with you, really I can.

    Beautifully written!

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    1. Emily, thanks for your condolences.
      And I'm sorry to hear you were in the hospital. Hope you are well now :)
      Kim

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  16. To answer your question on my blog, I've gotten maybe three spam e-mails since I turned my e-mail on over six months ago. It really has not bothered me enough to consider turning it off again :)

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