Wonderings

When I look at my life, I feel I don't have many adventures to share. The most interesting and daring thing I have ever done was that summer I moved to B.C. and spent it backpacking and camping out on the beach in the middle of the rain forest. My 'hippie summer', for sure!

The thing about Grandma's writing – she was able to take simple things (like a trip to the local store to do Christmas shopping) and turn them into something interesting and magical. That is the true gift of a writer. This might seem strange, but I don't remember much of my childhood.

I mean, I remember bits and pieces; places and faces. But I am not one of those writer's who can flip through their memories like a book of old photographs and mine them for inspiration (well, in relation to my childhood, anyway). Maybe I was off in my own little 'Mary-World', too much inside of my head.

Funny thing is, I still feel that way, like I live in my head a lot. Of course, working from home and having no one to talk to other than the cat for most of the day could be another reason I feel that way.

The thing is, Grandma isn't here for me to ask if her stories were mostly fact-based or if she started with a snippet of memory and fictionalized it with her own imaginings.

My dream? To find an old box of her journals, and see if she had the same doubts, wonderings and dreams as I do. Maybe one day my own grandchildren will be reading these words and looking to me for inspiration. I can only hope my thoughts hold some interest for them, and that they clamour for each and every line as I do for hers.