Sunday, January 9, 2011

Writing Treasure

I've been winnowing out true treasure from worthless red glass beads. I've been taking inventory. I've been reassessing what's valuable to me. I've been down-sizing. I realized all this down time I've been given is really a blessing in disguise. Surely being laid up has its perks? All this business of learning to take care of myself, recognizing and identifying silver linings, and emptying my chimidunchik is making sense. I'm getting it. Seriously.

I've taken a really good look at the spaces where I spend the majority of my time, and I've taken stock. I've even written down a couple-three important clues, and followed them to the obvious conclusion. Proof that I really am paying attention now.

Add up the little things and they do make a great big picture. It's true: The outer reflects our honest to goodness inner. And mercy me! My mirrored world shook my interior like a mini earthquake. Paraphrased, I second the wisdom of "where my heart is, so lies my treasure." Isn't it obvious? Only I couldn't see my treasures as clearly now. So, I've been working on defining and creating order for things that give me pleasure. One treasure box as a time.

My treasure. Walk up the stairs and you will find books. Books = Words. Hook a right, cross the threshold, into my bathroom and you will find at least one book, or a magazine. I read every single time I urinate. I act like it's a waste of time to sit and not read. I cannot bathe without reading. I'd read while I brush my teeth but the vibrations from the electric toothbrush blur the words.

Exit the bathroom, take a right, and you will see a bookcase to the right of the door in front of you. Along the wall, from the floor to the height of the bookcase is a stack of books. Don't move! Cut your eyes to your left. You cannot help but see the tall bookcase topped by the carved stone head of a Buddha? Overflowing with books, too, huh?

Now, walk straight ahead and you're in my bedroom. What catches your eye? Okay, excluding the large framed picture over the headboard, what's obvious? Yep! I like books. I like magazines. And I like writing. Photography too, right? And photos tell their own stories.

Look some more. Go on, have a good look. Nothing has been left for viewing that will make you blush. Trust me. See? There are books atop the chest of drawers. There's a printer on the Japanese stool. Right? See the journals? That copy of last Sunday's NYT? How about all those pens, pencils, highlighters, Page Points and a letter opener in the cute little cup? No, not that one! Yep, the one with the Maya Angelou quote, "Only equals can be friends." O-Bird and I debated that one. I disagree, but that's not what this is about.

You'd think it's about the obvious. Right? Nope. Where's the sense in writing about the obvious? "Writing Treasure" is about what I'm close to sharing. But first. Do you like metaphors? I do, but analyzing them isn't always that important. Except . . . When they scream at me. Like now. So, look.

Wait! I have to take another picture. BRB.

Here we go!

"A Limner's Treasure Keeper"

It's okay to exhale. There's nothing sacred or profane. And it only feels like I'm exposing myself to me. Truth is, I'm inviting you to take a peek at some of my treasure.

See my little Nano iPod? My Nano-Pod. Check out the back!

I felt so cool when I opened that box on Christmas morning! My moniker engraved on red. Righteous! I downloaded some great books for it from! Of course there's music too. Some super-great music. But do you see the pretty-pretty purple pen beneath it? It's the one Shin gave me this Christmas. And the ball of thread? It's a wonderful metaphor for me, my life, the stories I write, and the photographs I take. Get it? Raveling and unraveling . . . Winding, unwinding and rewinding. And, taking note . . .

Did you notice the corner of the stationery? Recognize it? Erin gave me my very first gift box of Crane's stationery. She knew how much I love it. Such a daughter! But that's not from Crane's. It's Florentia stationery from Italy. Note cards, actually. So precious-sweet.

And, who can send letters or postcards without stamps? Duh, I don't keep pigeons, so it can't be me, huh? I like stamps.  Problem was, it took too long to find them in the messes I had to deal with each time I needed one. This Limner was always buying and misplacing stamps. Organization!

There's a fountain pen from Erin inside that brown pen-keeping-protector from Levenger from No more misplacing pens. Explain? I use the pen-keeper-protector religiously.

The tin that lies beneath the thread? It holds very-very-very special ink cartridges. No more scrounging for refills. And the silver ring at the top? In the background. Why, it's one of the special rings that I wear when I'm alone in the room where I write.

 L is for Limner. 
There's a place for everything, and everything has a place.

Q is for quill! If it's not around my neck, I know where it is, this quill of mine. It reminds me that I have to write my dream into being. It fuels my imagination, as well. I like to imagine that I might have been a scribe in another life. Or an illuminator of letters. Or a simple letter writer for hire. Or a writer of tales. Or-or-or . . . A limner for sure.

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