Sometimes, we don’t have a choice about whom we entertain.
I don’t remember making a call and I surely didn’t send out invitations, but suddenly a new problem has come to visit. Sitting cross-legged at the corner of my mind, riffling through my thoughts like so much junk mail and looking for all the world like a bored ingénue who’s misplaced her nail file, my problem doesn’t seem inclined to leave. So, it’s time to set aside the social niceties, and cope with this uninvited guest.
My problem is a sudden inability to write. Since Hurricane Ike, I’ve produced a few blogs, including one or two that pleased me very much. But the joy of writing, the sense of unfettered creativity, the easy flow of words simply has stopped. Ideas continue to pile up in my head, notes get jotted and beautiful, fragile phrases flit through my mind like clouds of rare verbal butterflies, but none of them lands on my paper.
The experience is passing strange.
For someone whose home experienced the eye of a hurricane, I’m unbelievably blessed. My house is secure, and my business will survive. While I’m getting things back on an even keel, my mother not only is being cared for, she’s rather enjoying herself on an extended midwestern “vacation”. The stray kitty I worried over survived the storm perfectly well with some help from the neighbors, and the camphor tree I planted and love lost hardly a leaf.
My possessions are intact, including a little antique china collection I fuss over every hurricane season. I experienced no financial losses because of the storm, apart from evacuation expense, loss of income and the need to throw out a refrigerator-full of food. My flowers are blooming and my bills are paid. In the aftermath of Hurricane Ike, I have no problems.
And that, it seems, is the problem. Continue reading