But then life has never been boring. There have been highs and lows, some so low I did not think I would crawl back out, and some some high it seemed life could not possibly get better. But I did, and it does.
I looked back through my blog archive to see what it was I wrote about in my first post. Here it is:
It's a new year, and time for beginnings. I will be using this space to reflect, remember and renew, sharing stories, thoughts, memories, poems, book reviews and whatever else comes along.
I am a storyteller, a writer, mother of 5 and granny of 12. I work to live the life I love. I work full-time as a librarian, but storytelling, writing and the quiet life of the country are what my job supports.
For this first post, here's a poem for this time of year. We're supposed to get our first snow of the year today.
Ice crystals sprayed from a can
My grandson showed me how it works—
hold six inches from the window and spray.
Frost appears on glass,
just like Jack Frost painted on windows
in the old drafty house with single-paned windows
that let in every puff of winter's breath
funhouse windows that provided a waved and bubbled view
Quarry Street and the houses across the alley.
We stared in amazement then at the icy fronds
and ferns etched in delicate ice,
glinting pink with the first rays
of December morning sun
We dreamed of
Russia, the Snow Maiden and Silverhoof.
the ice was half an inch thick
at the bottom of the glass,
mounded in ribs like a frozen tree trunk,
spreading thinner as it climbed the glass,
branching with pale tropical foliage
until finally a thin sheet of clear ice
that we licked it with warm red tongues,
melted it with fingertips,
liftied off pieces with fingernails,
tasting winter and frozen window grime
This can of spray lists directions and ingredients
but nowhere do I see
Apparently I have kept to the goal I stated on that first self-conscious day. It felt like I was talking to myself, and yet I knew someone might actually read my words. But who? How would they find me in the internet sea? Why would they want to?
Writing a public journal is humbling. You put your words, thoughts, feelings, and experiences out there and maybe someone will read them. Maybe someone will comment. Ot maybe they just rest like a lost letter at the post office, unopened and unread.
My thanks to all of you who come to read and share my life. Some have been longtime readers, some come and go. Some take the time to write a comment, share a story of their own. Some have even shared guest posts here. Some I have actually met in person--Gretel, Tipper, Dave, Susan, my cousins in England that I had not met before I began writing here, Janet, and many more. I just met Charlotte last week.
Some have become good friends and advisors that I have yet to meet--Joy who helped me start my reselling business, Virginia who inspires me with her writing prompts, Steve whose nature photos continue to amaze, Rowan with her thoughtful posts and travel adventures, and Bayou Woman whose blog introduced me to life in Louisiana's bayou country, Quinn and Jenny and Brig and annie and Janet and so many, many others. Thank you all.
It's been a journey of friendship and at times loving support that was desperately needed. I thank you all for being here, for traveling with me. And now, on to the next leg of the trip.
Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.