Today Mark came up to me as I sat typing at one of two desks I have jammed together with three computer screens to navigate my final steps in the book I am writing and asked with a little trepidation, “What’s your NEXT big project?”
He continued, “I mean, you had your quilt, and now the book. What’s next?”
I wished that I could tell him, NO MORE PROJECTS this month, but I can’t. I just got a new calling at church and it’s going to take some time to get situated. At least I still get to work with the Young Women. But I don’t want to talk about that now.
I took the afternoon off and we all played Scrabble on my bed. This evening, we snuggled and read some more of The Hobbit. It’s taken some time to get back to the way I used to feel with the kids before I sent them to public school. We’re comfortable again, and the school stress is being held at bay by a big dose of denial clothed in the idea that summer isn’t coming to a hasty end. Daniel’s camping in the woods all week, produce from gardens keeps showing up at our house, and the kids are sleeping in.
My “book” is the memoir of my grandmother that I was trying to finish in April. It’s 100 pages and I am finally feeling happy about the writing which I have worked so hard to craft into a readable narrative instead of a choppy collection of disjointed ideas from my notes.
I wrote the introduction this weekend and I began to list all of the people who have worked on different aspects of the project, from scanning photos, collecting genealogical information, saving and writing letters, to collecting keepsakes and documents. This family has been saving memories for over 100 years and I’m attempting to bring it all together. So many hands, a good amount of disappointment, and long hours have been the price to make a tribute to my grandmother and her ancestors.
I worry that it won’t be read and cherished. Writing with my heart has made me feel vulnerable. I want it to be appreciated, but I suppose no one will love it in the same way I do. Perhaps that’s okay, though; my relationship with the story is the gift it gives back to me.