timeline project: mid-point review
I knew it was a dangerous decision to write about spiderwebs. I broke the momentum of the timeline project and now I do not want to return. I like writing about spiderwebs much more than the timeline project. I want to write about the mid-April snowy walk with my sons. I want to write about the sound snow makes when it is sprinkled into a river. I want to write about the wisps wrapping around my mind about the symbiotic nature of story collectors.
A gold glitter album arrived yesterday. I haven’t opened the box, but I know it is in there. I purchased it to house the pages from the timeline project. It is obnoxiously glittered with gold sparkles. All of the reviews complained about the way the glitter sprinkles a trail wherever the album goes. It was perfect–I was sold! Stephanie used to love glitter shirts. She thought it was wickedly funny to hug people (especially Andy) and leave a trail of glitter.
There are eight more years to document for the timeline project. If I return to the pace of one per a day, it will be finished in just over a week. Part of me wants to finish all of the years right now. An even bigger part of me wants them finished yesterday.
One of the BONS (Bits of Nothing or Something, the name of my eclectic writing group, where writing is optional, but storytelling is not), sent me a text message. She wrote —
I know what you are writing about Stephanie must be incredibly hard. I’m sure when you are writing it all those emotions come flooding back. Those memories arise to the surface and it takes hours or days to lock them back away to continue on with life at hand. That’s how I feel anyway about feelings like that. So I want you to know I’m thinking about you as you write those posts. However, it was nice to see the spiderweb one. To take a break and write about the small wonders that surround us each day.
I’m not real sure what happens inside of me when I write the timeline project. I know I feel sick, my stomach twists and I want a cup of too warm tea with a little honey. I know I feel comforted, like I’m gaining a perspective that is beyond the events and reveals a deeper faith than I realized. I know hope is proving courageous and constant. I find love that is filled with grace and mercy. It seems unsayable, the story that needs documented.
I didn’t know to describe it that way — unsayable — until my friend Cathy sent me a text message with a page from a book we’re reading. I didn’t realize it was a North Star I needed as a writer: “What matters is unsayable. And yet, every attempt to reveal it helps us live.”
I’m sorry if the timeline project, dear reader, makes your stomach twist, too. I’ve found a too warm cup of tea with a little honey makes it more bearable, because if you linger long enough, you will find it is a story of faith, hope and love.
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