What can I tell you about November?
A whole lot of seemingly nothing has been happening.
We fell to the virus and the seven of us had a two week long diet of toast and white soda. We are all glad it's over.
We ate the turkey, like everyone else, sandwiched between the Macy's Parade and many hours of football. The house was full of loud kids--mine--and good friends, old and new.
The tree has gone up with only one broken ornament. Sadly baby's first Christmas was not indestructible. I may be spending some time with Ebay.
We learned china dropped on carpet, does, in fact, break. Into lots of pieces.
Christmas shopping is partially done and almost seeming like I'll be able to handle it without a massive meltdown this year. I could quite possibly end up only mildly Grinchy this Christmas.
I finished another WriMo. It's both more and less than it was last time. More in the sense I again learned things about myself. The first time I did it, in 2010, it was a push, a tremendous struggle to finish. Not so much because I'd never truthfully tackled a project of that size, but more because I had to fight myself the whole way.
You live your whole life, or maybe it's just me that lived this way; you live your whole life believing in all the inspirational cliched quotes and then when it comes time to actually live those words out, well, it's pretty darn intimidating.
Last year, my life got in the way. Because I let it. Last year, I didn't own my idea. I didn't like the story I was trying to tell and so it wouldn't tell itself.
When I write something fake, that isn't from the center of me, you know and so do I. It isn't good reading and it's not fun to write.
Writing is what I do. It's who I am. It's not a calling or a job or a burden. It's something that comes on me like sleep or breathing. In some way or form, I've always done it, even if it was just in spirals and ball point for nothing but me.
This year, I hate to say it, because it feels like bragging in a way, the words came easily and quickly. When I had days that were mine, uninterrupted by life, it was simple to put down thousands of words. But this year, I knew to take the freedom of the draft and run with it. I knew that this was my draft. Not yet something for your eyes or anyone else, but for me alone. I could take all the risks and have all the fun I wanted.
This year I knew the real work would come later in the edits. The pain is in the rewrites. That's where things have to get cut and organized and filled out. That's where I need to tie up all the details that are hanging around like fringe in my story.
This year, I could see a future. This year I had much smaller times of fighting myself. I knew when to push and when to shift. I knew not to fear the aches and pains and stupid corny lines.
This year, I wrote without much notice needed. I did put it here a little and on my Facebook a little, but not at all lie 2010. When I finished this time, it just seemed normal. Like finishing any other task. There were a few, I'm proud of you or I knew you could, but not like the first year, when I needed those words because I didn't know I could.
In other news, we have seen the official end of football with it's awards night, and the start of wrestling with endless meets and practices. There was an election, tons of baseball things happening and a black tie formal. Lots of good and fun things happening this month.
One of the best things has been the return of some old friends into our lives. I hesitated at first, to say anything or get to excited about it, because life happens, people come and then after a little while it ends again. I waited to see what was happening, to see if they've really come "home". I think now I can confidently say, "welcome home, we are so very glad you are back and we hope you stay for always, part of us."
They both come and go as they like, when they want or need and we are delighted. Texas Caliente, T.C. to you, came and joined us for Thanksgiving this year. It was a delight to have her brand of spicy, sassy joy with us. She brings us a smile every time she shows up at the door. Don't stop coming home. The Guardian is more skittish, but comes just the same and we treasure and store up those moments. He guards and protects those he loves, and guards more closely his heart. Don't stop coming home.
They came to us years and years ago, complicated and interesting and maybe needing. We were never certain we came close to living up to their lives and now they've returned. They went and lived a bunch of life, we all have. They are still interesting and complicated and maybe needing. But now, we belong to each other in a way. It's good to have you both home. Very good.
There is so much more I could tell you about T.C. and The Guardian, maybe over time I will, maybe not. For now, they just needed to be introduced and told here, they are loved, they are welcomed, they are wanted. Don't stop coming home.