When Light Breaks....

I hope you had a beautiful fourth of July. I am back -- fully immersed - in the family life. Over the holiday I got to thinking about the shape of our days -- "day shapes" -- and realized how my days and hours shift shapes when I am in full Motherhood mode.

I spent a lot of time during this book tour talking about the question "What does storytelling do for me?" (or you for that matter). And I believed I had my entire answer complete when my sister, Barbi (yes she looks like a Barbi), received a "word for the day" through her email.

Maybe she should be the author....irregardless -- she sent me the "word" yesterday.

So, add this to the list of what storytelling does for me

WORD FOR THE DAY FOR THURSDAY, June 26th from Dictionary.com

Cockaigne \kah-KAYNE\, noun. An imaginary land of ease and luxury.

So much for my entire speech on storytelling. This pretty much sums it up. Don't you think?

LOSING THE MOON

During last week's final push of book tour I'm driving through New Jersey to Delaware and I can't find a single country music station. At all. So I put my iPod on and listen to the entire new Brad Paisley CD. Three times. It is moving, funny, and sweet all at the same time. So, of course this photo is photoshopped by my brilliant daughter -- but I did feel like he was with me from NJ to Delaware (with his music, of course). We were like this tight for a few hours in the car -- all because NJ doesn't seem to have a country music station.

Now....this was fun. Talking to Holly on Atlanta and Company.

I am in Richmond, Virginia. Beautiful city.

But I am feeling a bit sorry for myself (not a good idea) as I'm alone and tired. So
I go get some cheese, fruit and bread from a street vendor and sit on the Virginia Capitol lawn under a huge Oak tree and eat. Alone

Then I remember that when I'm fraught with tension and terrible self-pity I need to breathe. Deeply. So I lean back on my elbows and look up through the leaves of the Oak tree. The sun is shining through the leaves and I remember what it is like to be twelve years old and lying on the grass in summertime. This is the only thing on the to-do list at twelve years old in the summer -- lie on the grass and stare at the sky, right?

I'm feeling a bit better when I look straight ahead and see a huge statue (this is the Capitol lawn) of this man with his arms spread wide. I stand and go read the name plate below -- PATRICK HENRY. Well, of course, this is Virginia.

I smile.

This is my husband's name.

No relation. Just a name.

And I know that if I hadn't just taken that deep breath and looked up at the slanting sun through the Oak leaves, I might have missed God's great sense of playfulness.