To All a Good Night–

Blame it on the holiday rush and stress, or perhaps it’s sensory overload. With all the gorgeous things to see in our neighborhoods and towns, all the wonderful smells coming from our kitchens, all the sounds of carols and bell-ringers and jingle bells, it’s no wonder when it comes to writing, the spirit is oh-so-willing, but the flesh is doubly weak.

I find myself thinking, oh, I’m going to write about that. I should do it right now. And then what happens? My Google calendar is beckoning me back to plans and parties and purchases yet to make. Somewhere between the Live Nativity and Food for the Hungry drive, I feel the emotion welling up in me that signals it’s time to write. I want to write about family and home and peace and joy. I want to write about festive landscapes and the hanging of green–the pungent odor of cedar on a mantle and midnight-blue glass ornaments exactly like the ones my mother had her first year of marriage and how much I miss her still whenever I read the Christmas story to my son.

I want to write about how you can’t go home again and how new traditions are born with each new generation–how precious time becomes as you realize that you only pass this way but once. The words are bumping around in my brain, trying to find an outlet, an escape. But finding none, they race and blink in flourescent spasms that allow me only to stop for a moment to reflect upon them briefly before reaching for the plug to let them go for the night.

And in the darkness I lie and wonder what the New Year will hold and what new inspiration I will find in the days to come to fill my pages and mold my dreams and render me useless for anything but the splendor that I find in the written word. Oh there’s no denying it, no pushing it to the back of my mind, no ignoring the impulse. I switch the lamp beside my bed back on and reach for my laptop–my modern quill. Shall I stay and ruminate a while? After all, the children are nestled all snug in their beds–and you know what that means for me–the best kind of night for a writer to have–a blissfully silent night.

Merry Christmas to all my friends. May you find joy in the Season as you worship the Reason.