I Don’t Darn Socks

25_darn-socks.jpgI called my mom the other day. She was darning socks. She has always darned socks.

I used to darn my socks. Now I don’t. Now when they get a hole in them, I throw them out.

I’m of two minds—two characters—about sock darning.

One character imagines my mother watching as I toss the socks out; socks that, except for the holes in the heels, are perfectly fine; easily fixed. That character—fearing a raised eyebrow—feels a compulsion to darn the socks. Reduce; reuse; recycle.

My other character doesn’t want to darn socks. That character wants to write. Or dance. Or hike. Or hang with Bubba. She doesn’t want to darn socks.

My anti-sock-darning character has prevailed; she tosses the socks. But she hides them under other things when throwing them out.

That’s because The Judge—the disapproving judge—still presides in her mind.


 

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“Scared to Write” Character

9_Wonder-3I want to share my writing with Bubba. And what I want from him is supportive enthusiasm that I’m writing. I don’t want suggestions for how I might write something different or better.

It’s not because I think my work is brilliant and doesn’t need editing.

It’s because writing and sharing my work scares the living daylights out of me.

And in that place of fear, anything that discourages me feeds the fear. And stops the writing.

Which is why I’m looking for swords of light that encourage the what of what I’m doing–writing–rather than the skill with which I do it.

The thing is, when I share my writing with Bubba, I’m also sharing it with his mother, Jan.

Continue reading ““Scared to Write” Character”

Possessions and Marking Ownership

A friend used to engrave his name and phone or social security number on things he owned. He painted tools with yellow, clearly marking them. He lent things out and these markings increased the odds of them being returned. Hard to miss the yellow shovel handle.

His Aunt used to have her name engraved on jewelry and mementos bought during her travels. I doubt she lent those things out; yet her items—inherited after her death—are almost all engraved with her initials or her full name, carefully etched, sometimes in tiny letters.

I wonder if it was a family thing?

Or do we humans simply want to make sure our possessions are clearly identified—mine! —and we creatively come up with different ways to do it?

 

Daily Post-Inspired: Wonder