Elle wonders...

Today, I begin this blog. After at least a year of internal excuses; talking myself down out of the clouds, and off of this ledge. You're really putting yourself out there for review when you write it out. Well, I have just become curious enough to see what "it" will be. What topic or subjects will move me to write here?

I have always been a writer. My first work was my own magic spells, made up of my very own words. At six-years-old, it sounded like magic to me. I tried a few times to turn my brother into a frog. I published them in a discarded red and black plaid diary of my mother's. On the cover, "Personal Diary" was embossed in elegant gold foil script. I ran my fingers over the smooth script and treasured it immediately since it had a precious band that wrapped from the back to a small, thin brass clasp in front that locked with a tiny key. It was delightful for me to lock and unlock it and think of keeping something small and safe of my very own.

When I flipped through the pages and saw light pencil remains too faint to decipher (no matter how hard I tried), I asked my mother about them with an innocent, searching look. She smiled a knowing smile and with a small roll of her eyes let me know that whatever was once written there would never cross her lips. Maybe it was nothing worth talking about. But I wish there had been a lot more talking with my mother; of things that really matter; of things I'm wondering about. As a mother now, I look back and realize that she had just chosen for me to experience whatever was once written on those pages all on my own. Can't help but feel that although I grew up with many blessings and fortunate opportunities I missed something precious.