Random, not Free, Thoughts

I don't write anymore--except in my journal. I used to be a good writer. Other people said so, not just me. But I don't get the urge anymore. Maybe it's like praying--I need to sit down and write until I feel like writing again. I have just read my friend's blog which I haven't read in months. I read her writing--which is always so good, such a good way to bring her back to life again, so to speak--and like how she does it. She practices.

My mother died. She was 93 1/2 years old. I loved her so much. So much that I miss her every day. I miss her smile, her laugh, our online crostics of an evening when we would laugh and laugh at the clues, our political discussions every morning at the breakfast table--actually the minute I came in from my walk (another thing I don't do much anymore), her vast knowledge, her curiosity, her love of life--even after my dad died 2 1/2 years ago. She did speak to me, kind of, when I was praying about whether to move to this house. She said, in my mind, Proceed as way opens. I have the small piece of paper (about 2 inches square because, like her father, she never wasted ANYTHING) with this typed on it: A Quaker saying in times of indecision and stress: PROCEED AS WAY OPENS, and underneath she pasted a sticker of a stream in the woods at sunrise--or sunset. I can't tell. She loved stickers too. She loved a lot of things, and I knew it. I mean she didn't keep it in, she wasn't embarrassed to be excited about the little stuff. Cheerful. Happy. I want to be like her. And it's funny how I am trying to now that she has gone. Well, she left me a year and a half--and a lifetime--of example.