“Life’s Train Trips & Colorado State University…”

black and white csuI once took a train trip to Chicago and along the way the train made many stops. At each I observed passengers exit and walk past my window. Some walked slowly: heads down. Others scurried along the station platforms as if life itself was just around the corner. Looking back on that time I see clearly now that my Chicago train trip was a metaphor for my time at Colorado State University (CSU).

For many years I stood on the platform at the CSU Train Station and watched as trains arrived, carrying new colleagues with their prior experiences to now mix with mine. I observed as others boarded different trains when their sojourn at CSU came to a close. I also said good-bye to those who left silently.

When each CSU Train departed the Station I looked about the platform for those who remained—their presence an encouragement to me. And between trains I observed, listened and learned lessons that are forever part of who I am.

Eventually my unexplored borders moved beyond the CSU Train Station as the call went out for “ALL ABOARD.” Soon afterward I pulled away from that well-traveled platform. I waved to each of you and continued to look back at the memories, at the friendships, at the effort and the loss.

After a while I faced forward and looked intently out the window so I would not miss my intended platform as it came into view.

“THE RUSH TO LIFE…”

typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2I’m RUSHING; but, only on the inside. Today I paused and asked myself: “Toward what?”

Obsessed, I wonder… Has Earth picked up speed from some yet-to-be-identified phenomenon hidden in the Cosmos? Or, in the name POWERFUL it’s possible Earth’s sovereigns—and their politics—have forced an imbalance in accepted thinking. 

See! Here I go again! The possibilities are endless in “Rush to the What If’s of Life.”

So I wonder what is NOT rushed in life—laughter, dance, to sing, love, draw, read, create, pray, mature, children, rain, wind, birds, pets, rainbows, cry, assist, wilderness, oceans, trees, mementos, color, to write, night, day, snow, mountains, fish, memories, travel…

All I’ve forgotten on my list are now yours to add to slow “The Rush to Life.”

“MEMORIES…”

typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2The characters in my novel, “The Wedding Garden” (in process) tolerate and grace me with the arduous task of introducing their memories to a public stage. They did this freely and with intent; arriving in a group where I had to overcome a whole host of voices speaking at the same time. This felt, to me, like some life-force had finally freed them from their ether of silence. And, I knew, somewhere in my memory, it was their time to be heard.

Early this morning, this blog came to me as easily as the name: Rose Eva Thistle. She is the centerpiece memory in the novel—the glue needed to hold together the storyline. That mix together of the characters: like the idea of Six Degrees of Separation.

My experience of writing the memories of others (those of the past or the now) is said best by William Faulkner in Requiem for a Nun: “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”