Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Weird, Weird, Just Weird

So, for no reason whatsoever of any kind, I began singing "Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!" this morning around 6:30 am. I was in half-dream mode, fumbling for my glasses, jeans, brain, victim to the torturous early morning wake-up required for Jude to get to the bus by 6:55 am.  Though I thought I'd be used to this by now, we're going on spring break here, folks, and it's not looking good. I'm all for early morning, rise and shine, but we get up before the sun does. It's just plain dark.

In any case, in order to cope with this dreaded routine, I've found myself singing myself awake, usually going with the first thing that comes into my head, my subconscious obviously hungering for any hint of melody that might ease the stiff darkness we are shocked into each morning. (Hey, I may sound like a complainer, and I'll grant you that on this. But even Jude struggles. It takes him several minutes to slide down the stairs in the fetal position, still half asleep himself. Sometimes he eats his Cheerios lying on the table and I'm not going to give him a hard time for that).

It takes me a while, through the haze of breakfast, coats and boots, hats and mittens, to tune into what I am singing. "What a weird thing to be singing," I remember thinking this morning as I poured the milk and belted out the verse about the fire, thanking god it wasn't anywhere  near Christmas. Like everyone else, I've moved on. I even planned on taking my skis out of the car this very day. But I guess the song isn't the point; the singing is. Soon enough, Jude perks up and joins me in song; granted neither one of us is happy to be singing or up, but we have little choice at this hour and when in doubt, sing, I say.

The walk, wait, and walk home was uneventful, but surely dry. A bit cold, but what does one expect before sunlight? As normal, I walked home, showered, and came back downstairs to the light. And then I saw it. IT.  I swear.  Honestly.  I'd been singing long before the stuff started puffing around the city this fine spring, March morning. Really I had no idea. Sure, it's not that weird; this is Minnesota and we can expect snow most days and most months, given this brutal winter. Still, a little odd, no?

Admittedly, this sort of weirdness or coincidence or pessimism or whatever you want to call it, isn't new to me. I find I am fairly psychic in general, though sometimes I think it's because I have a fairly routine, predictable life, perhaps to the point where it is supernatural.

What kinds of little weirdnesses have you been experiencing lately? Does this sort of thing happen to you all the time? Ever?

And if you want to shake it up, get in on some weird fun, join me for my upcoming workshop in May: Bring your pal, your guy, your gal, your best friend, your mom, someone you love (or want to love or want to love you (more)) or anyone you want to share an intimate evening of fun, laughter, sweetness, with a sweet little book you'll make together and share for all time and live happily ever after. Register soon! Limited to 6 pairs. $65/pair

DATE NIGHT WRITING

Thursday May 1 6:00-8:30 pm

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—WHY ASK WHY?

Am I a bad mom for not getting Jude's warmer coat this morning when we stepped outside at 6:50 am and realized it was colder than yesterday and we had only enough time to walk to the bus stop?

We could drive? he said.
No we can't, I said.
Why not?

Will getting up at 6am ever get easier?

Will I always be tired no matter how early I go to bed when I have to get up at 6am?

Are things as hard as they seem? Remember the story about building bridges by hand, Jude? (That is hard; sitting down to do a page of math is not hard). Or is it?

Are things harder now then when they were for our elders?

Is first grade too young to be doing math homework or any homework? Does homework, like my friend who is a father aptly points out, rob a child his time to just be a child and be in childhood after a long day of work at school?

Is this why so many of us never stop working?

Or, like an old friend once asked, is childhood an institution?

Why are the brilliant ones of heart and mind so often unsung? Does that make most of us unsung?

Is everyone tired?

Have we lost our ability to slow down?

Why do I know so clearly what's "good" for everyone else but hazy when it comes to knowing what's good for me?

Why?
Why?
Why?

This morning, we started writing together by just writing down our questions. Whatever they were, about anything. There was quite a range; each one read like a poem, each telling a story, each begging a memoir.

Then we wrote again and answered any question (s) that held our energy . Or went deeper into our questions. There were all kinds of answers. Some came in the form of a memory or story or deeper questioning. One of us, completely surrendering to the song of the page, wrote how writing is the answer. I, to no one's surprise, ended up writing about Ma getting all dressed up and going out on the town when I was a kid and me never really knowing why she did that instead of staying home with me and my brother. Then I asked why I never said anything to her about that at the time. Have I asked her lately?

As writers, this is what we do. We ask, we figure it out. We answer what we can. Sometimes it takes many pages, sometimes just a few. Sometimes it takes our entire lives, sometimes just a few days. Maybe it's a memoir; maybe it's an essay.  Sometimes our asking presents another question or the answer. Sometimes the answer is an opening for another question. We never have to know, one of us writes this morning, that is the pleasure in asking.

Which of course takes us to another question.

Does that explain why as kids we always ask why?

What questions went unanswered and are unanswered still from when we were kids?

What does your little you still wonder?

What does the Fox Say?

What DO YOU WONDER? WHERE DOES THAT WONDERING TAKE YOU? YOU NEVER KNOW WHOSE QUESTION YOU ARE ANSWERING IN THE ASKING OR WHOSE LIFE YOU ARE REAWAKENING. As always, follow the energy! Surprise yourself... you never know where you'll go on the page!

Hope to write with you soon!  ROX