Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Introducing Bridget Straub - Writer Extraordinaire
When Claire wrote about meditation in May, I thought to myself that I should give it a try, and yet I didn’t, did I? I love the idea of centering yourself and of letting go of the problems that surround us all, both large and small. I’d love to have a meditation room with lots of colorful pillows tossed on the floor,where I could light some candles and breathe myself into peacefulness, but this is not my reality. Here’s how it would go if I tried:
I’d toss my beautiful pillows on the floor, and the air would swirl as I did so, causing a big hunk of hair and dust to go sailing across the smooth wood surface. Sharing a home with my two daughters and my sister, we appear to shed more than a pack of long-haired dogs. I can vacuum all day long, turn it off, wrap up the cord, move to put it away and immediately see more hair. It’s maddening.
Let’s pretend that I could ignore that, or just gather it up, throw it away and continue. So I’d sit on the largest, most comfortable pillow of the bunch and reach for the candle, but when I sat, the pillow would probably slip a little so it’s out of reach. I’ll lunge for it just as the phone rings. As is generally the case, my sister won’t be home, and because she runs her business through the house phone, the kids have been discouraged from answering it. There’s a 90% chance that it’s a robot or a telemarketer, but that other 10% chance that it could be potential income gets me every time, so I’ll go answer it. It’ll be a robot, and while I’m out there my twelve year old will tell me she’s starving and demand to know what there is to eat. I’ll go through the list and she’ll refuse each and every suggestion. I’ll return to my room.
Thinking ahead, I’ll grab the candle before I sit down, ignoring the new pile of hair in the corner. Taking a deep breath, determined to ignore it, I’ll realize that I have nothing to light the candle with. I’ll return to the grumbling twelve-year old, who as you’ll recall is starving to death, and look for the lighter. My older daughter will find it for me but the weak-with-hunger one will grab it and want to light the candle for me. Before she leaves the room she’ll ask again what there is to eat. I’ll pull out my hair, which explains a lot, doesn’t it? Finally, she’ll walk off complaining with her last, poor malnutritioned breath, and I will be ready to leave it all behind for a higher plain or whatever it is I’m supposed to be reaching towards. I’ll breathe in and notice a foul odor wafting through the air vent from the apartment upstairs, and wonder what on earth is being boiled now? I’ll try to ignore it, and my older daughter will come in to see what I’m doing, and will no doubt laugh at me. The phone will ring. There’s a 90% chance… Well, you see where this is going, right?
Clearly, calm meditation is not in the cards for me. What is, however, is writing about the sometimes chaotic lives of the many characters I have floating around in my head. I’ve recently released my second novel, “On A Hot August Afternoon”. It joins my first novel, “Searching for My Wand”, and both are just glimpses at all of the voices and lives that make it all but impossible for me to settle down and meditate! You can check them out here: