Let's go back

Earlier today I read an old post regarding my music listening and writing habits. I often listen to music without writing, but I very seldom write without listening to music. I have discovered, however, that I cannot listen to music with words while writing, and I generally prefer to listen to film scores. Just as film music helps move a story on the big screen, it often helps me tap into my own narrative. When blog posts have weeks or months stretching between them, I usually feel the need to provide an overview of life since last post. While it's important for me to document the ways that my children are growing and changing, my summaries leave little room for emotion. I never really get below the surface and convey what I'm feeling, and maybe that's why my writing seems to have gone stale.

Tonight I feel like walking with ghosts. Fall has always been a nostalgic time of year for me. It conjures memories of marching band, family hikes, and the childhood thrill of approaching holidays. When the leaves turn brilliant, the whole world seems to be memorializing its former summer glory. This October I have spent a great deal of time thinking of my grandmother. Perhaps it's because her 81st birthday would have been at the beginning of month, or perhaps it's because I miss being able to show her my photos. I know she would have loved seeing David and Emily's baptism. Perhaps I'm thinking of my grandmother because the evenings have turned chilly and I often find myself slipping into her old housecoat for additional warmth. There's a box of Celestial Seasonings Mandarin Orange Spice in my pantry, and each sip of tea is a memory of summers at my grandparent's house. Gifted figurines and trinket boxes that formerly garnered little thought have become treasures. Nothing is ever more important than spending time with loved ones and building moments that will one day become cherished memories.

I have been considering how I want to be remembered by my children and eventual grandchildren, realizing that future remembrances are taking shape each day. My grandmother was never idle, but yet she was never too busy to sit down and watch my lamentable theatrical productions. I'm trying very hard to find that delicate balance within my family, and I hope that my kids see good work ethic coexisting with a desire to spend quality time with them. I hope they see strong faith and admirable character. I hope they know that they are loved with an all encompassing love that surpasses anything I can put into words.

My husband is shaking me out of my reverie with a ridiculous piece that is part of his Music History listening exam tomorrow, and Pandora is helping the shift by switching to a happy little ditty from "Up." My teacup is empty, my fat cat is giving me the "can we go to bed now" glare, and morning will come earlier than I want it to. Goodnight, world.