thoughts from trees

Life goes on. Some ups, some downs, some navigating and some meandering.

So sometimes, I sit and just look and listen. And it's pretty nice how shifting from 'doing' mode to 'being' mode lets you find new truths that you've walked by and hurried past more times than you can count. So when I stop, I get these little moments.

And now I shall fling them into the interwebs.

From a couple of weeks ago:
The leaf at the top of a tree is the work of a season, but is only where it is because of the many seasons of growth and strength and resilience that have come before it. Likewise I, relatively new to this big ol' earth, am who I am in a cumulative sense. I make my choices but am only in this exact place at this exact time because of choices made by those who came before me in addition to my own choices.

And today, the corollary:
That leaf will fall, as many that have turned their brilliant reds and oranges are doing now, but the tree remains. Our choices can be good, or can be bad. But with that tree still present, there will be more leaves. And with a solid foundation that I can hold on to, I can always make a new choice. There are second chances. And third, and fourth, and fifth ones. There's always next spring.

look down

Looking down is usually associated with submission, with buckling under, caving in, and giving up. We're encouraged to look up, look around, look at, look in the eye, be alert. I usually try to do that on the farm, checking on things and looking for critters. Today, though, I chose to look down. And what treasures I found.

Looking down slows your stride. You don't make good time. You don't engage other people, you engage the earth. The rocks, the dirt, the insignificant things we seem to think we are meant to step on.

Having spent several days tilling and planting, I decided to go for a walk. Puppy was rather happy at the idea, too. 

OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY WALK TIME

No agenda (except a faint hope of finding wild mushrooms, which still elude me), just a walk. Utterly unproductive and absolutely wonderful. Looking down. 

I found flowers.

Marsh primrose

Violets?

Even this flower was looking down.

I found sedum? Really? I thought that was a garden-only plant. Maybe it escaped from a garden into the wild to become feral sedum. It seemed to be making friends with the horsetails.

"I'm freeeeeeeeeee!"

I found a chunk of quartz with reflective parts that caught the light.

I found baby ferns unfolding their curled ends.

I did look up, and marvelled at the size of the cedar trees here.

Seriously, that's a huge tree.

Then I saw this tree that has decided it wants to be its own tree and grow in whatever direction it wants. Straight up is too mainstream.

I DO WHAT I WANT

I looked up when we flushed a mallard pair and a blue heron. They flew away, annoyed with me. I apologized.

I noticed Titus sniffing at something. He almost always looks down. And I saw... metal gear teeth? So I found a thing. And I assume it's to do with a tractor or something, but I really have no idea. It's currently called "this thing I found".

Next time I'm out, it's back to work. Gardening is nice for that, though. It encourages looking down too. As I churned up the field to make a new plot, I sifted the soil through my hands and wondered who'd last worked it. Then I sat down and thought some more. I am seriously not the most productive farmer anywhere.

transition

End of an era, and all that.

As of June, I will be done homeschooling. The journey that began when R turned four and we debated about her education, deciding to "try it for a year", is ending some fourteen years later. M, the youngest of the three, will be entering high school in the fall.

I feel like I should write some sort of retrospective, but how does one distil so many years of learning into mere words? Once again, words alone prove hollow. But it being me, I'll try.

2008 school day

When I began I looked at women who had been teaching their kids for five or six years and I considered them sages of educational wisdom. They had taught so much, multiple subjects, while I was on my first steps of doing flash-card phonics and teaching math using plastic counters. They must know it all. They had seen to many different facets of learning. When I reached that point myself, I wondered if they really had known everything - because I sure didn't. 
I then got terrified when I realized some moms who were starting their homeschool journey seemed to look at me as I'd looked at those women. I figured they'd find me out. Perhaps they did, perhaps not. Unless they read this, I suppose. Hm.

Each phase of learning, and each student, brought new twists and turns. And rather than a closed-in maze that gave me claustrophobia, the twists and turns made it feel like winding path that meandered through new and varied scenery. Not to say I didn't have days (weeks?) of metaphorically bashing my head on a wall. Each phase also brought its own challenges. When child #1 and child #2 learn very differently, you think you've got it figured out until child #3 comes along and blows all of those tidy ideas out of the water.

I learned about my own limitations - and I learned some talents, too. I learned about learning styles. I learned about trying to quantify our learning for the people who asked, "what do you do all day?" I learned that socialization doesn't require a classroom or a playground. I learned the joy of seeing a child who has worked, struggled through something suddenly have it click - and the light bulb comes on. It's incredible. I worked through projects with them and saw them overcome nervousness to present their work to groups. I shared my love of learning and, I hope, instilled some of it in them. I tried to show them as we learned some things together that really, you should never, ever stop learning.

I learned about ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia and Greece and Rome and the Middle Ages and Genghis Khan and mommy did you know that this shark eats these fish and mommy what is the name of that bird and why do we say "won't" instead of "willn't" and why do I have to do all this math and Bible and Latin and Greek and reading books and science and mommy look look at this turtle skeleton I found IT IS THE COOLEST THING EVER.

So while our days will look very different, it's the right time for us. I always said homeschooling may not be for every family, but it's been a huge blessing for us. I stand by that, even as I bid it a fond farewell.

changes

I am now the mother of three teen girls. Well, I have been for a while, but became aware recently of a shift in my perspective.

Boyfriends are not in the picture, but there are names mentioned by each of the girls more often than others. Who is he? I think. What's his character? His family? What are his plans for the future? Would he suit our daughter?

And then I realize...

... I am becoming Mrs Bennet. 

30 days, day 3

The house is quiet this morning after a not-so-quiet sleepover last night as the girls and their best friend enjoy the last few days of Christmas vacation.

Day 3's goal wasn't unexpected - after 'what' and 'why', I figured 'how' might be coming along soon. One nice thing about being intentional on the what and why has been that I've already started sorting through the how a bit. 

Continuing with yesterday's analogy (because I like analogies and all that), if WHAT is the compass point and WHY the engine, HOW, with its breakdown of the larger goal into smaller steps, is the GPS telling me to "turn left here" (thereafter saying 'recalculating...' in that condescending voice as I miss the turn because I was distracted. Which is when I start talking back to it, likely to the confusion/amusement of people who see me talking to myself).

Day 3: In January I will accomplish my WHAT (shortlist farm plans for 2014) for the WHY (to maximize its potential and not waste resources). HOW?

1. research each of the brainstormed options as to: location on the farm, impact on what we're already doing, sourcing of materials/livestock, and practicality of our effort and the inherent learning curve.
2. research government regulations as to potential sales and how they might work.
3. research costs involved and look for any cash breaks or incentives/grants.

homework.

Yesterday's research got me laughing as I looked up hemp as a crop. Hemp (Cannabis s. - yes, that cannabis) has been grown for millennia for use of its fibers in rope, but was outlawed in Canada in the 1930s due to the other properties gained through smoking some varietals. It's been re-allowed under close supervision - including background checks for criminal records, and only using seed of varietals that don't have the medicinal/recreational ingredient in them. 

The idea of it amused me, but it's also apparently a great crop to grow organically for fiber and for the seed, which is a nutritional powerhouse. It was looking promising until I read that seed is only sold for plots of 10ac or more. We're not up to that yet. Oh well.

30 days

I'm an introvert who is blessed beyond measure yet still manage sometimes to struggle with both the intensity of anxiety and the quiet fog of apathy. Weird extremes. I love to create, but dislike self-promotion (which makes being a success in music a bit tricky). But talk to me about something I love, and you're doomed to listen to me ramble about it. Things that stress me out, I tend to internalize. I recharge in solitude and am happy to sit and involve my mind in the way the dew on a spiderweb catches the sun's early rays, or watch the consistency of the sauce I'm making thicken into yummy smoothness. Problem is, those things will distract me from getting much-needed things done.

But then I signed up for '30 Days of Hustle' by Jon Acuff, a writer who's made me laugh AND think deeply over the years. The project: spend the next 30 days working toward a goal. So that's what I'm doing. Today's goal was to define the WHAT of the goal. So here goes.

Day 1: in the next 30 days, we will shortlist the plans for our farm this year.

With many options and only so much time and money, the short list needs to be workable. It requires research into cost, benefits, impact on our current farming, permits, and all that stuff. This will be the challenge for me. 

I enjoy learning about the how of farming. What's the best housing for bees? Where should the hive go, and what precautions should we make? Can that old set of discs in the barn be retrofitted for out current tractor, since the hitches are different? What's the best housing for turkeys? The best alignment for a greenhouse? I'm finding that I love low-tech solutions and learning the old wisdom of farmers.

Where I bog down, zone out, and run away looking for something pretty and shiny, is in the legislated side of things. We are producing food, first for our family, but with the goal of producing extra to sell. And once you're selling food products, you enter the area of government regulations. Reading these makes me dizzy. Remember how the adults always talked in the Charlie Brown TV specials? That's how my mind reads legalese.

So: next 30 days? Research enough to make that shortlist. Not every item on the list will happen. My dream for a small orchard will likely be stymied by the house needing work on the roof this year. That costs money, and so do apple trees. But the list will be there on paper, research and groundwork done, so that before the ground thaws and we start to do something, we've already got our feet pointed in the right direction.

ten

Ten years 
is a decade 
seems a long time
is a tenth of a century 
is a crawling long time
is gone in a flash and scenes are as scathingly fresh as they were on that day.
how can it be that long since he left us?

No more words today. I can only reiterate.

When in Rome

seems I can't escape

the need to tell you

what it all means

but then I've not quite got it yet

so here we are again

same place, different time

trying to pin it down

and failing gloriously

but isn't Rome about glory?

and don't all roads lead here?

grand avenues, twisting alleys

boulevards on which you simply must be seen

so here we are again

thought we were going away from it

when we were in Rome

things made sense, somehow

I strike out in new directions

running madly anywhere else

but wait, around the corner,

is that Rome up ahead?

so here we are again

and I know you're waiting

as I look down a road

wondering if it leads, finally, out

August 2006

moonlight

I know I can't capture it. Yet i will try.

We walked home tonight, from a party at the winery for friends and family. Music, wine, and food. Chatting with neighbors who we finally met, 'neighbors' in the country meaning your chances of bumping into them on the road are much more slim. Laughing together, enjoying the evening. Then we decided to head home.

It was magical. 

The moon was full, the mist rising on the fields.

We five walked, and talked, and laughed. We heard the distant sound of the band starting up their final set. The fading laughter. The sound of the crickets took precedence and the crunch of gravel under our feet was a steady beat to accompany us.

The girls darted ahead. Watching them flitting back and forth across the laneway, half-hidden in shadow and then a flash in the moonlight, one might well believe the faeries had come out, their laughter trilling across the fields. 

I slowed my pace, drinking it in. Willing the moment to freeze, to be something I could replay in my mind. To remember that sometimes, in this technical, cynical, cold world, there is still a bit of magic. 

sad days

We are, for the first time in almost seventeen years, dogless. Is that a word?

Meme, who joined our family just a year ago as a six-year old retiring from a successful career as a show dog and mom to many champions, had a sudden (to us) decline and had to be put down. I wonder, does it get easier when you've had more dogs? I took her to the vet when she became lethargic, and at the vet she started twitching with mini-seizures. A growth on the liver, and apparently the kidneys shutting down gave a poor prognosis. Tearfully, the decision was made. I wasn't alone at the vet; 13-year-old A was there and impressed me with her strength. She was crying so hard but stayed in the room, choosing to be there as the shot was given and Meme fell asleep for the last time.

We brought her home and D, wonderful support that he is (texts of "do you need help to take her to the vet?" "do you need me to come there?" had been flying, and a quick call to make the final decision had his voice helping me), came home from work early to dig a grave. We're getting to have something of a pet cemetery down there now.

It has hit A the hardest; Meme and she had a special connection. Meme liked us, but she loved A. And she was loved right back. She was a great dog, and a funny mix of maternal and tough. She would carry socks to a corner to make a sort of nest, but then she was the dog that killed a skunk before it had a chance to spray.

A few sad days have followed.

And why, yesterday, out of the blue (no anniversary, no birthday date to trigger the thought) did I suddenly hear, replaying in my mind, the phone call from my mom about J's accident? I could hear her voice saying it as clear as if it had been yesterday. Where did that come from? Why that? Why now? I have no idea.

unintentionally outside the box

Every now and then I realize that, well, we're weird.

We left suburbia for the country, choosing a small, drafty farmhouse over a large, modern, all-the-amenities home. We started making our own food, including the animal variety, thanks to chickens, ducks, and deer.

The kids were, until this year, all homeschooled. R entered grade 10 this year and while she enjoys it, she has said several times that she's glad of the timing of it, and is glad that this was the year she went to public school and not sooner. She's adjusted well to a more regulated schedule, but it hasn't changed her easygoing nature and positive outlook.

Church to them includes setting up chairs and sound equipment in a gym each week, knowing an XLR mic cable from a patch cable. It means applying their faith through the week, trying to see the world as Jesus sees it, and making choices based on that.

We aren't heavily scheduled. The kids take music lessons, go to youth group, and hang out with their friends. But if we're stuck at home, they don't drive me nuts. Sometimes they will disappear, singly or together, and have virtual, imaginary, or real adventures. Other times we're all together, experimenting in the kitchen on some new food we've decided to try simply because we've never tried it.

They love music and experiment on their own time. They've started a band with a friend, practicing together, using the sound equipment here. M writes songs. A and R write stories. I realized a while ago that growing up in a house where a band meets weekly, and where I write music, this is normal life to them.

And I like our weird normal.

shape

Rehearsals, rehearsals. The band has another concert date on the horizon (November 5th!) and so we are hard at work bringing the music together. This time is an even bigger musical variety than last time, and Uberguitarist has once again pulled seemingly disparate elements like Grieg and the Beatles together into what will be a fun music lineup.

 'Blank Page' will debut there, too. My new song born out of a friend telling me to be creative by starting with a blank page. I think I took it more figuratively than she meant, but hey, I'll take the inspiration I can get.

The process of taking a song from the bare words and chords and getting it performance-ready is like going from a blueprint to an actual building. The page gives the outline, the craft and execution makes it real and multi-dimensional. We worked through it last week to get the band familiar, but I still have ideas and fine-tuning that will make it be what I want. Ideas that make sense in my head don't always sound quite right when I actually hear them, and hearing something gives new ideas. It's a very organic process as it grows, changes, and adapts to itself.

It's been good to discipline myself to finish the songs that have been floating around, half-done. As I've encouraged our girls to bring their short stories to completion, I'm reminded that while I don't write stories, these song fragments are my equivalent. Giving them shape and structure lets them finally get out of my head. And really, there's enough clutter in there already...

on guilt and looking forward

Eight years ago, JB left us. I still miss my nephew, my friend, my kindred spirit. And more than a few times in the intervening years, I've heard "won't it be good to see him again someday?" more often than I care to count. Yes, it's true. Yes, it's well meant. But selfish me wants him here, now - not there, later.

But it's true. I hold on to that hope. So I got the picture of getting to heaven and seeing Jesus, and seeing JB. And I will confess the latter had me more excited.

Enter a little good old-fashioned Sunday School type guilt. Shouldn't I be looking forward to seeing Jesus more? I mean, He is my Saviour, He died for me and makes this future reunion possible. It's Jesus I want to be more like: loving those society deems unlovable, caring for people - really caring - like He did, bypassing hypocrisy and religion for real, true life that makes a difference. The "correct" answer is, it's Him I should be looking forward to more.

Then I remembered something. My parents were coming to visit one time. And our daughter R, about 4 or 5 years old, was bubbling with excitement to see them. The window was covered with hand (and nose) prints as she strained for the sight of them. "When, Momma, when?" I was excited too, of course, but kept my excitement below her frenetic level as we watched and waited.

There! The car pulled in at the end of their long journey. My little one's bouncing echoed that of my own heart as she ran and threw open the door. We both went out and I smiled as she ran ahead, chatting and laughing as she hugged and was embraced in turn.

I stood back, myself so happy to see them, but rejoicing in the love of my daughter for her grandparents and they for her. I paused to capture the vignette in my mind as I moved forward for my own hug. I'm so glad you're here, we said, with a strong hug that was no less full of love for my daughter's usurping of that first contact.

It is that happy union that I look forward to. And someday, when I arrive home at the end of my own long journey and the door is flung open, I look forward to both hugs. R is a lot like her cousin JB, after all. Maybe, like her, he'll run ahead for that first hug. The first of many.

inspiration is a funny animal

Writing is a funny thing. And I don't speak here of those who craft plots, who create characters who draw us into their lives, their struggles, failures and triumphs. I am a pathetic failure at trying to do that. I am eternally grateful to those who do; to live among their pages for a moment is a rare and precious gift. Then again, maybe writing is funny to them too, but I just don't know about it.

I'm talking about the kind of writing I do.

For me, in my limited experience, some comes immediately, and some comes slowly and carefully. It reminds me of cooking sometimes, a thought I've already visited. Today, just now in fact, was a strawberries-and-balsamic moment (this will make sense upon reading that link). A lyric has been flirting with my mind lately, teasing it and jumping around just out of reach. I finally caught a couple lines of it yesterday, so sat down to type it tonight.

I wrote a complete song having nothing at all to do with that lyric. Not a bit. Not even stealing the concept and re-applying it. A complete new song sprang out of nothing more than a thought I had while I was hanging a shirt on the clothesline this morning (really, doesn't inspiration strike at the most mundane moments, sometimes?).

It's new, it's darker than some of mine. It's not an emotion I live with but one I visit from time to time. A complete song. Well, a lyric. Musically? I have no idea except to tell D "heavy, and minor."

And of course, the other lyric went skipping happily away, having eluded me for another day. I can hear it giggling.

food, meet writing

I've been pondering a phrase I came up with a few years back. On trying to think just when, it was in our old house, so that puts is back at least 8 years. I'm not sure I was the first to come up with it, but it was new to me and summed up perfectly that certain 'aaaahh' I get as a reader when words are put together in just such a way that it rolls off the tongue, flits happily around your mind, nestles snugly into your thoughts.

A Delicious Phrase. If a reader could taste the words, it would make them sit back and savour.

In my (recently limited, I admit) writing of prose and (mostly) lyrics, I wriggle with glee when I find them. But as I've been pondering them today - mowing the 3 acres of lawn gives one much time for thought - I realized that those delicious phrases reflect different types of food - the fast 'wow!' and the slow 'aaahhh'.

Here's what I mean.

Sometimes when cooking you toss the ingredients together. They're the perfect ones, the just-right mix of flavour and texture, and immediately you taste it and - pow! there it is. Like strawberries steeped in sugar and splashed with baslamic vinegar. Yes, really. It will make you think of strawberries a whole new way, and you will apologize to them for not having given them enough credit. Some of the words come all in a giddy rush and jumble, clamouring to be let loose and - pow! there's the expression, the turn of words, the wow moment.

But sometimes it all stews. Flavours mingle and marry, and what you first put in the pot to cook oh-so-slowly takes on a new identity. Like the cassoulet I made a few months back. It was started days before so the duck could get to know the rosemary and fat, the beans could sit and talk to the onion and garlic, and the whole could come together and quietly sit, sharing themselves until - aaaahhh! The top was lifted off the roasting pot and there! There! A spoon in the mouth, and you sat and pondered the taste you were experiencing. There are phrases that come like that, too - adding a bit of this and a bit of that, sitting and reading and rereading, changing and editing. And finally, one day you realize it's done. And the timely bits you added in make it wonderful. Where it was a week ago, a month ago, just wasn't right, but it needed time to stew and mature to where it was ready.

And with that deep thought, I have made myself hungry and shall go eat. Or write. I'm not sure.

random verse

Something I felt like writing... not a masterpiece by any means. But I recognize that sometimes, the words speak better then I let them follow their own way instead of making them submit.

words

turning, twisting

wrestling

let go

forming, shaping

squeezing

let go

bend to my will

say what i want

no.

speak for yourself

flow as you will

run

spin, twirl

loose, free

you say much more

when i let you lead.

i learn

I ran again this morning. I laughed at myself (I do that a lot) as I headed out the laneway to the road on my warmup walk and realized, I've been running somewhat regularly for five weeks now. And I've learned some things.

I've run longer and farther than I have before.

I love the look down the empty road, as I mentally calculate where I will be at the different time intervals. It beckons, entices; on the return my mailbox marks the end of my journey and alternately taunts and welcomes me.

I think more, I learn more in slow times when things aren't rushing madly by. When I must take things literally one step at a time.

Even when I feel exhaustion, I am feeling stronger for having pushed myself to that point.

There are little brown snails that venture onto the road in the morning. Tiny, their shells pearlescent in the morning sun, they creep across and leave shiny trails glinting as a map on the pavement. I never knew they were there before.

My legs tell me of hills that my car still doesn't know exist.

The smells vary as I cross the river, as I pass the hayfield. as I approach the stand of pines.

My body complains and thanks me at the same time.

I can do more than I thought if I just step out and try it.

I can do this.

I can.

obligatory earthquake post

Feels like I should post about this. At 1:45p.m. or so today, the earth moved. Literally.

I had lain down to rest off the last bit of a headache when I felt the bed moving and heard a rhythmic rattling of things on my shelf. I sat up, and figured right away it was an earthquake, but sat for a bit to think. Calling the girls and noticing the gentle shaking of the house, I headed downstairs and out the door. Once out, the shaking lessened and we heard helicopters flying around the local military base. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but had us wondering if the vibrations were thanks to them. But, hearing no muffled explosions, I walked back inside to find the house still quietly doing its little shimmy. Gradually, it faded.

Sure enough, amidst the flurry of twitter posts and facebook updates, I found the story: a 5.5 quake centered about 80 km from where we live. From twitter feeds I saw reference to the quake being felt in Boston, Montreal, Toronto, Windsor, even Illinois and Wisconsin.

The girls, while a little concerned during, also had that tinge of excitement that comes with realizing you're experiencing something new and potentially dangerous, while not being in danger yourself.

That was pretty much it.

I hope to never be in a serious quake. To have the ground under your feet, that solidity on which we so often depend, become itself unpredictable, is not a pleasant thing. And while it lends itself to many life illustrations and philosophy, I have to leave for band rehearsal soon.

pretty

I wonder

if everyone looked every day

for something pretty - not extravagant, not elegant, just pretty -

would we become more able to find the simple beauty in things?

Would it become easier?

... the way a leaf trembles in a barely-felt breeze

... the sheen of sunlight on weathered wood

... a puff of cloud shifting across sky

... a plant struggling its way through a sidewalk

... the rough texture of bark

... the miniature crags and valleys in gravel

... light filtering through cobwebs

Or is it too hard to do? A waste of time? There's really nothing of significance in those things. Why bother?

Do we need the flash, the 'pow' of light to make us look, to demand our attention?

Are we missing the whispering lovely because the manufactured crass screams at us?

How are we training our senses?

simple

'Tis the season where work abounds, but simple pleasures are there to be found.

The chicks are growing nicely and the hens spend their days foraging outside, having found a new hangout at the back of the summer kitchen but sometimes making me laugh as they sprint across the lawn. Why they decide to, I often have no idea. But a running chicken looks pretty funny. The cows haven't arrived yet for the summer but I expect them soon.

The sun rises to birdsong in the morning, and I'm getting up early enough consistently to see it, and take a brisk walk to enjoy it up close and personal. Everything is getting greener by the day. We are busy with gardens, and spring cleaning, and mowing, and planning fixups - but the breeze is sweet and the sun is warm.

I believe I finished another song yesterday. It's got that complete feeling to it with the balance of music and lyrics now; I wrote the lyrics after seeing a video about autism, with interviews with parents talking about the struggles that can be faced with raising these precious children. It was sent to me by sis-in-law JG, whose son is autistic and such a sweet, sweet little boy. I hope the lyric is ... well, right.

I've been writing a few lately that have been an interesting twist for me: writing what I think of as "third-party" lyrics. My writing has always been from my point of view, many of the songs from very personal experiences. And yet I've had a few lyrics through my mind lately that have me standing in someone else's shoes. I'm tossing around the thought in my mind, ruminating on it (moo) as to whether it's having a chance to speak thoughts that someone else wants said, but can't put to words, or whether I'm just posing as something I'm not.

"Poets do not need to go to Niagara to write about the force of falling water" - Robert Frost

It bears thinking.

worthwhile

Some blessings in life you just wonder what you did to deserve them. Then you realize, probably nothing.

I spend my days doing what would officially be considered nothing of worth. I do not have a job; I do not earn money. I homeschool my kids and write music (okay, maybe a little more than that). Some days I feel like I have little to show for it. I'm not driven by the need to accomplish things, to get more done on my list than I did yesterday. Sure, sometimes I wish I got more done. But then I'd miss out on moments with the kids, or playing with a phrase that catches my fancy.

And then.

Oh, then.

I thanked D today, as I emailed him a lyric on my latest ramble with words, a little something called 'Scatter' (for now at least), for never making me feel like what I was doing wasn't worthwhile. For encouraging me and not treating my writing as a waste of time.

And then.

"Babe;

Your writing, your music - is part of who you are. Part of what makes you beautiful. Part of what makes me love you ... To squash it would be in conflict with my love. It is not a waste of time because I see the joy it brings you and so it brings me joy..."

Well, of course I cried.