Something of grave importance occurred yesterday when I
wrote “Ode to Virginia ”. I was reading "A Room of One's Own" and I was so inspired by Woolf's work and her use of words that even
though I have been writing since I was thirteen (exactly forty years), I came to an understanding of
all that I am through the written word. I have always "toned down" my writing. No more. I have found my voice. My words are my spirit and they have taken wings to fly where my voice has always longed to go, above and beyond the ordinary and the mundane, into the realm of voices that once spoke our beautiful language with the utmost sincerity, respect and imaginative usage. So although I am going to share a contemporary woman's story, it will be in a long-lost voice of the past. Floral, delicate and gently flowing to the ear as is much of nature should we take the time to listen.
What has happened here is that I have become a proponent of
the English language mixed with the imagination, both of which I choose to use
now in my journal as well as other writings. It will give me good practice and
keep the juices flowing and the lines open. I am going to dream, and I am going
to dream big. I am going to write, and I
am going to write big.
It has been my good fortune to have lived at least a
comfortable life, though not always secure, until last year at which time due
to a low economy taking years of toll on our family business, we lost
everything. Given that we have three dogs and suffered a foreclosure, the
simplest answer seemed to be the RV life so we sold most everything we had
(except my grandmother’s treasured heirlooms) and defiantly packed ourselves
into a small RV. We hit the highway with absolutely no clue as to the future or
even the coming week. We spent about two months traveling in New
Mexico and southern Colorado until
we finally landed in the town where we had previously gone to college in
southern New Mexico .
It has since been a year. We are still compounded in our little house in the
woods as I call it (not to intrude on Laura Ingalls Wilder but that’s kind of
what it is). It has been a year of pain, growth, magic and new experiences that
one would certainly never come to in the safety of a home. I believe now that
it is time I began to document this journey and to tell the tale, wherever it
may lead. It has at least lead me to my senses and out of over a decade of fog
and disenchantment regarding life in general. The fresh air has been healing to
both my husband and me and the detachment from the chaos that we previously
called “life” has now brought a renewed sense of spirit and purpose.
Early morning with the freedom of the sun on my back and a
brisk dog walk awakens the senses as the day begins. Another day filled with
the day-to-day domestic duties such as they have developed in this situation,
though for a woman, regardless of in what situation she lives, they are much
the same: the planning and preparation of meals, housework and laundry. It is a
vicious, never-ending cycle, such as it is: one of the cycles of life, all done
for our survival, support and creature comfort. I did work for a time on some
photos of a band box I had made nearly twenty-five years ago; writing up
instructions as well on how to create one’s own. Oddly enough it is the only
thing from my past that I had handmade that I thought to bring with me. I do
not know why I brought it, a comforting sentiment I suppose of all that once
was and was lost.
While sitting in the noon sun letting my hair dry beneath
the warm rays of a New Mexico summer day, closing my eyes I was immediately
transported to the Mediterranean where in my dreams I long to be. I could feel
the sun on my body there as well as here; I looked out to a harbour filled with
beautiful white monstrous cruise ships, glistening in the Mediterranean noon
sun. Perched high above the harbour, I was surrounded by the white stucco
houses and inns dotting the hillside. I sipped my Greek coffee and closed my
eyes, luxuriating in the beauty of the simple yet the exotic.
The freedom to dream may come at an expensive price but as
long as one has a good cup of coffee to accompany it, well that is truly the
sweetest crumpet that life has to offer. Good coffee, good company and the
freedom to dream.
Cheers,
Cheryl Bruedigam
copyright Cheryl Bruedigam 2014
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