b ~ Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I believe this to be true: Bodies in motion remain in motion, bodies
at rest remain at rest. Case in point—when I am at work I can zip and
dash around, getting things done. At times my energy seems limitless.
But when I get home I want to stay at home, snuggle down deep and
maybe never leave. It’s a struggle to break out of my comfort zone.

I have discovered that it takes courage to step outside, in my world
meeting with friends is often wished for but seldom acted upon. But
when I do make the effort to have coffee, grab lunch or schedule a
dinner weeks in advance; I am rewarded with stories, anecdotes, and
observations that send sparks flaring and pens flying across the page.
It’s like there’s a whole world out there running parallel to mine
that I never knew existed.

Recently I’ve been given images such as these~
*Families sitting at the breakfast table, starving as they await
silver dollar pancakes
*Elfin grandmothers who love their bathtubs
*A newly married man opening up a door and falling down a mining shaft
*700 pies filling freezer after freezer, the only food available for
the tired and weary

When I actually step out of my life, it’s like discarding a pile of
softly worn work clothes and slipping on an elegantly tailored dress.
I find that place can alter as much as clothing can.

Visiting a city I am treated to~
*People covered in handknits, or piercings or tattoos; their stories,
their histories on display on their bodies
*Fire escapes that frame a tall building, leading to tiny balconies
that offer a cozy dining area for two
*Window washers, maybe looking into the building and wondering about
the people they see. All the while I am peering at them through the
car window and imaging the lives they lead.

It’s all so exciting and I want to jot it all down, to remember every
moment of my time away in order to relive the adventure over and over.

And yet, when I come home I find~
*A son who professes his love after eating several platefuls of waffles
*A husband who demonstrates his love by waking up in the middle of the
night and escorting the mouse who was cornered in the bathroom to the
outside; certain he’d be much happier there

I write everything down, the big and the small. Ideas and colors
coming at me from all directions, suddenly fizzing up like homemade
citrus soda. Effervescent bubbles that continuously spill forth,
bringing to mind a party, a celebration. I am delighted, enchanted
with these treasures. I gather, I collect, I arrange these newfound
tidbits. Shaping, carving, honing the sentences into stories. Watching
as each collected image naturally attaches to another, giving life to
my characters. Showing me the reasons why the men in their short
sleeve shirts are lonely and allowing me, with the flick of a pen, to
change it.