This evening I met with the man who has been teaching the writing class at our local senior center. Im not quite a senior. I imagine I have to retire to be a "true" senior, but I am old enough to take a class at the senior center. The class was 8 weeks long, meeting once a week on Tuesday evenings. There were 8 people in the class, all of us close in age, sort of.

The class was a a mixed bag of prompts and critique with an occasional lesson thrown in. The strength of the teacher? His amazing honesty and critical eye for what is good and believable about everyone's writing. He was able to get it through my head that my writing is worth reading by someone. For so many years, I have been paralyzed by reading brilliant writing. I then felt my writing could only be shared if it was perfect.

 I now believe I am a writer because I write. Is everything perfect? No. Are some things worthwhile? Maybe. Do I have fun doing it? YES!! A big YES.  What a gift to be given by another writer.

 Writing and sharing writing is not about an ego trip as much as its about sharing yourself for the joy of it and to build community  with others. Its another way we extend a hand out to someone, either by making them laugh, or cry, or just saying hmmm or ahhhh. It allows someone who reads to recognize themselves in someone else.

Started off the morning getting upset that a friend had posted about bomb control on facebook. He made some lame comment about how the government would issue an order to search all back packs or other carried items large enough to fit bomb making paraphenalia. Several other people that I know from Olympia followed suit. It was hard to imagine why people would already be screaming about bomb control when the remains of the dead are not even identified. Some cute little boy lost his life, an adult daughter, several lost limbs, suffered brain trauma and had disfiguring injuries that will follow them throughout their life.
I know that there were people in the conversation that thought that I overreacted. Dark humor they say. Perhaps its their way of dealing with tragedy. It seems like a lack of respect though, and perhaps not suited for a public forum, especially so early after such a horrible incident.
After I recovered and didn't need to unfriend anyone, my husband and I went to my Dad's and helped him rototill his garden. Glorious morning here in the Northwest. The sun shined and it warmed the back of my shoulders and tanned my cheeks. The rest of the day was spent primarily outside. Birds singing, building nests. People walking dogs in the sun who played tug of rope with their leashes.

Life goes on. Even in Boston. The dead are dead, the families begin mourning, the investigation continues. We all worry a little more about where next. Even in spite of this beauty of the sun and the energy it creates  bringing new life forth, I couldn't help but look at downtown a little different. A tad more suspicious, more skeptical, more frightened.  Even for a moment.
The question, of course, how do we stop it from happening again? Is it possible? Are we overwhelmed just thinking about it? Can we imagine just our own little life and how do we manage peace in our own surroundings? Our own relationships, food production, transportation, earth stewardship?  What one thing can I do today to bring more peace to the place I live?

that I can sit here for over 2 hours and set up a place for me to publicly write,
while my body throbs in parts where flesh meets bone
and my home is unfettered by the chaos it finds itself in.  
google verification codes not hampering the process too much, or anymore than
i did though however found a photograph that I like and somehow 
added it. 
Surprising even myself.