no time to write

I haven’t had time to write lately.

I have been busy at school reviewing with students for our state testing. I have planned and led 3 study group sessions about Common Core. I have worked on the last quarter of read aloud lessons for each grade.

But I haven’t had time to write.

A group of friends is having a party this weekend for the daughter of another friend who is getting married. I have helped spearhead that group, sending emails, leading a planning meeting, renting tables and linens, picking a group gift, coordinating our efforts.

But I haven’t had time to write.

We visited our son one (last?) time in Oxford, MS, where he is an engineering student and (hopefully ?) graduating this semester. We had a wonderful visit in a literary town and spent some very good times together.

But I haven’t had time to write.

For better or for worse, I am in two book clubs. I have kept up with my reading in both and have even read two extra books, just because.  And I have kept fairly up-to-date with reading the daily papers so I can be an informed citizen. Plus I am almost caught up on my monthly magazine reading (and looking).

But I haven’t had time to write.

There’s much fodder in all these experiences, and stories waiting to be told… There’s a tale about a student whose true self gets lost in data, and another about the joys of having friends with whom you can celebrate life’s milestones. There’s one about seeing your children reach their own milestones, and yet another about the soul of a small town, and one more about what books are speaking to me.

But I haven’t had time to write.

By that I mean I haven’t had the time to sort through my thoughts about all these valuable pieces of my life. And I haven’t taken the time to choose just the right phrases from all the words in the world to find the exact ones that capture the settings and the characters and my impressions.

But I WILL find time to write.

Meanwhile, I read a very short piece that moved me greatly. Yes, I am quoting his words exactly. A friend’s sister posted a picture on Facebook showing the two of them as very young children, sitting on the porch with their mother. His reply told her information that she, being the younger sibling, didn’t even remember, although she had always cherished the picture.

(How many pictures have those stories hiding inside that can only be uncovered by the background knowledge of just the right person? But I digress…)

Anyway, here are his well-chosen words that spoke to me:

“We are sitting on the porch of our house on McKree (off Grand Ave.) in St. Louis. Me, my sister, and my mom. We lived there until I was six. What you see behind us is the porch of the next house. And if you look further you can see the porch of the next house. Three story houses close together for blocks. We lived here while dad went to school at Wash. U. The man who lived in the house next door was my best friend. His name was Jess Lukenbill. He was in his 90s and lived with his daughter Bess. Bess’s husband Walter died on a Saturday morning. We were all supposed to go to the zoo that day. We didn’t go. Funny what sticks.”

Thank you, friend, for taking the time to write this down. Thank you for sharing this writing piece that spoke to me enough that I took the time (finally!) to write some thoughts about not finding the time to write. And enough to make me realize what’s missing in myself when I don’t take that time. This is important – the memories, the reflections, the life found in this short story.  Thank you, friend, for your valuable words.

And so I did find the time to write. Sometimes you just have to.