Author: sue boardman

Since January 29th, I’ve been participating in the 30 Days of Writing challenge. On many days the prompts from Tyler Knott Gregson and Andréa Balt at writeyourselfalive.org have been instrumental in moving me past the overwhelming terror generated by too little sleep and a blank piece of white paper. Other days I’ve worked on my own projects, mainly getting this blog going and an upcoming (!) book.

Today the muses have, as the old saying goes, quit preachin’ and gone to meddlin’!

“What aspects,” inquires the prompt, “of your physical health or wellbeing are you neglecting or not actively caring for, and why?”

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The February high holy days for dog lovers have come and gone again. Miss P, a Canadian 15” beagle, is the Best in Show winner of the 139th Westminster Kennel Club show. A huge win for a dynamite little dog!

I’ve been a dog person almost literally my whole life. My family’s first dog was a puppy I mostly remember as soft, named Charlie Brown the Beagle Dog. As the oral tradition goes, back in the days before Pull Ups and piddle pads, Charlie and I taught Mom not to try potty training a two year old and housebreaking a puppy at the same time! I can still hear her telling about finding a suspicious damp place and asking—kind of needlessly—“What is this?” To which I would apparently respond, “Charlie did it!” Only to have her retort, “Then why are your pants wet?”

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Yes, winter is a relative thing. And a matter of perspective. The moo.com website is predicting major shipping delays as the northeast braces for another snow storm. And, again, it’s been grey and wet and bone chillingly cold in Atlanta.

The head cold, which has stalked Bill relentlessly since Thanksgiving, has now become my case of bronchitis. This is not unfamiliar territory! A couple of things are different this time.

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It’s 4:15 am, in the midst of the 30 Days of Writing challenge I joined and the very early days of blog writing. I’m curled up in one of my quilts, sipping tea and scribbling recipes. Recipes which are not, by the way, related to the writing prompt for whichever day this is! It’s worth pondering why.

When my first granddaughter was born, just before I turned 50, I noticed a surprising thing. In the midst of making baby quilts and packing glass baby bottles for the trip across the pond, I began to get an inkling that things were changing inside me. Suddenly, things that had been sort of philosophically important to me for years began to seem more urgent. This tiny person, this wee image of my son, this huge new spark of love in my heart had to grow up in this world. And if we’re honest, this world could use some work!

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While much of America is buried under a thick blanket of snow, here it Atlanta it’s wake up every day and find out if it’s winter or spring time! I prefer spring, myself, and spring it has been for a couple of days. Sunny. And still quite cold for shopping in parking lots!

Most of our local farmers’ markets are closed for the winter. One intrepid farmer, however, runs a pre-ordered delivery service. This system would have amazed Elsie, my farm grandmother.

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Take a deep breath, please. That’s right. And another. Now, allow yourself, in whatever way is comfortable for you, to be led into that imaginal space where each path leads to many layers of meaning.

Perhaps, as you walk along, you can feel the sun on your face, and the dust between your toes, even as you notice a quilt, tattered at the edges, and faded just a bit, drying on a split rail fence. Bits and pieces of calico and homespun cloth, cut and pieced just so, form patterns as old as the ages.

Oddly, quilts can form maps of the future as well, for, as the story goes, they were used as signposts on the Underground Railroad. Signposts on the road to freedom.

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