Blogging
The Three Doors
Thursday, July 15th, 2010 | Blogging, Cancer Survivor, Uncategorized | 1 Comment
I am taking a journaling class coordianated by the Shephard Cancer Center here in Washington. It has been an AWESOME experience. We’re a small group that’s grown very close in a short time. Funny how cancer survivors can do that! We’ve had a bit of a hiatus from each other, with our last meeting in May and our next one this week. Our wonderful teacher, leader, and guide gave us a fascinating assignment. We are to draw three doors and write about them. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks and just now written down my thoughts on paper to share. Although I’m unable to show you the doors I’ve drawn, I hope you’ll get an image from reading about them. I was surprised by what I wrote, some of it comfortable, some of it dark and deep, and some of it enlightening. I hope it will do the same for you as you read it.
A prologue:
I find the assignment of drawing and writing about three doors an intriguing one. Often when I was younger I dreamt of being in a long hall full of doors. I would try to open the doors, but often was just left trapped in the hall, with its glossy wooden floors. On rare occasions in my dreams, I could open a door. It would always lead me inside the kitchen of an unknown, yet familiar house. I would go to the cabinet doors and know exactly where the glasses and dishes were kept. It felt eerie, yet comfortable to be there in my dreams.
The first door
The first door is obviously an old one. It’s massive structure acting as a fortress to protect the character and integrity of the old house that lies beyond its entry. It’s the door to the house where I now live. After years of admiring old houses and longing for one, I finally live in one that brings me serenity and complete comfort. I am simply in love with my old house—everything about it! I love the fact that it’s an Arts and Crafts bungalow that was a Sears kit house. I can just see the kit contents arriving on the railroad right beyond my front door. I can see the worker leaving his Prince Albert can of tobacco behind the cedar siding on the south side and boarding it up for us to find later. I feel as if I know the four generations of the Bowen family that built the house and lived in it for almost a three-quarters of a century. Often when I open the front door I can see Mr. Walter’s coat hanging on the coat knob to the right of the entry. I think about Ms. Hilda standing over the old wood fired stove in the kitchen making a batch of her son Bo’s favorite dish, creamed corn. I love the story of when Bo’s new bride tried to make the corn for Bo and Ms. Hilda would not have it! She made a competing batch and that was the last straw that convinced Bo’s wife that it was time to move out from under his mother’s roof. Sometimes things go missing in my kitchen, and are found in the most unlikely of places. I think it’s Ms Hilda just stirring up a little trouble for me in her own kitchen. I think about the old love letter from Mr. Walter to Ms. Hilda that we found at the bottom of the built in chest of drawers as we made room for a utility closet. How serendipitous that the wooden runners of its drawers were the missing boards from the kitchen floor that we needed. The wood grain and lengths matched exactly. As I sit in our front upstairs office that overlooks Havens Garden and the Pamlico River, I know that this was young Bo’s bedroom. I know that Ms. Hilda wanted to have loads of children, but could only have Bo. I know that the “secret” rooms that are unfinished in the four outside corners of the upstairs were planned to be the children’s bedrooms that never came to pass. I adore the tall baseboards and wide craftsman trim around the doors. I could never part with the wavy old glass in the windows despite their winter and summer inefficiency. I sleep well here despite the moans and groans that an old house sighs at night. When I come home and close the front door behind me, I feel totally and completely at peace.
The second door
The second door is actually a set of doors. They swing both ways with directional signs for in and out. They are brushed stainless steel with small portholes near the top of each one. They are cold, clean, and sterile, completely void of fingerprints as if no human interaction exists between the doors and the people that enter them. Perhaps this is due to the gloved hands that push the doors apart and make way for the gurney. It is here at the doors that we always pause and say our goodbyes to our family who will be waiting for us when we wake up from the surgical sleep that is about to be forced upon us. It is here that we be sure to say our “I love you’s” and squeeze each other’s hands. It is here that uncertainty hangs heavy in the air. Here all moments in the past are clearly defined and the here and now seems fuzzy. The future teeters on the outcome of the procedures that occur behind the doors. And yet somehow I always wake up knowing what has transpired. As if I’ve fooled them all along, and really been wide-awake watching and feeling everything.
The third door
The third door isn’t a door at all. It’s a portal of light that emits understanding and peace. All the mysteries of the universe are answered beyond this door. There is no pain, no suffering, no worry, no hate, no war, no cancer. All things pure and good glow from behind the portal. I’m not sure that I am worthy to enter. It beckons to me—I long to enter and yet I long to stay on this side.
A Year’s Worth of Blog—A Prologue
Thursday, October 15th, 2009 | Blogging, Food, Life List, Retirement | 7 Comments
It’s a terrible thing when a person commits to do something and then just stops it cold turkey. I did that with my blog. The perfectionist in me just went too ballistic as I tried to write the perfect post and do it EVERYday! And it became so consuming in such a short amount of time. So, I just quit doing it—letting myself down and a few of you out there also. I didn’t realize that until I talked with a Washington shop owner one day and she told me what my blog meant to her, and how my struggle in coping with cancer helped her with other, non-cancer related struggles. In addition, I saw the movie, Julie and Julia, and just LOVED it. I am such a foodie, and the blog aspect of the flick was the beginning of the yearning.
Then, I came across a note from one of my mom’s friends, Jackie. She mentioned how my blog made her laugh and cry—sometimes at the same time. I suppose that’s a good thing. She also mentioned her daughter’s blog, www.paperapron.com, which I finally visited. What a beautiful blog! And a food one at that—just the right appetizer for a foodie like me. But, most of all her current post entry was about struggling to blog with the perfect food pictures and creation of the perfect unique recipes. So, it encouraged me to give it a try again.
So, it seems that God is trying to tell me something—that I should continue to reach out to others through my writing. So, I’m resolved to begin anew. And to NOT stress over the perfect post or being on a regular schedule. Hard thing for a schedule-loving perfectionist like me to do, but I’m ready to give it a good old college try. Notice that I said college—I’m thinking of applying to do some college teaching, some adjunct work like I did at Belmont Abbey. And I’m also thinking of taking some courses at East Carolina and Beaufort Community College. I’d love to learn more about archaeology, architecture, North Carolina history, southern culture, pottery, cooking, landscape design, genealogy, tablescapes, interior design, the Arts and Crafts movement, the Edwardian period, the roaring twenties, trees and their leaves, coastal and native plants, Ireland, paper arts, web design, graphic arts, lifesaving stations, and even knitting (yes-Elaine, that one’s for you)! Whew! So much to learn, so much life to live, and so much passion to impart.
Leave a shout out if you’d like. (Bloggers live for comments) Or just stroll by quietly.
Until my next non-scheduled, less than perfect post,
DeJa