Pieces of Our Heart

Today I found broken pieces of memories. Although they weren’t my memories, it hurt to see them broken, just the same. My mother collected shot glasses for years, like the years of her life that were collected, one by one. They were precious to her. Whenever she went somewhere special, she would grab a memory off the shelf and add it to her batch or memories on the wall. Many days would pass, even months as they sat in that place, unnoticed and overlooked. But when a glace would bring attention to these memories, she would let them flood her mind; Dallas, Atlanta, Arizona, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite... Those memories, her memories, were left in my care. And today, those memories were shattered.

I dug through the clutter in my garage, clearing out trash and making sense of the rest. I grabbed a box and as I saw my mother’s memories in a pile, shattered like the years of her life, my heart shattered too. I froze and wondered, “Had they all broken? Had her memories been lost forever?” Then I took a breath and in a moment I saw. A few scattered memories were saved in the impact...

The Meteor Crater – Yes, I remember our trip; laughing, walking, sharing life. Knott’s Berry Farm – Right, that was when I was 8 months pregnant; loving, admiring, asking everything. New Orleans – Of course, I remember her sharing pictures; friends, growing, learning new things.

Memories lost and memories saved. Love lost and love forever embedded in my heart. What a beautiful opportunity to remember. What an amazing moment to realize how important it is to cherish our memories, and those of the people we love. Likewise, I realize how rare and precious those memories are. Especially the ones that never shatter; the ones that never leave us; the ones we call pieces of our heart.

(photo by Afton at www.flickr.com)

Painting Words

Some artists begin a project with an initial vision, focus on a central point and then add the background, foreground, and all the tiny details. Other artists capture a detailed image in their mind’s eye and paint it just as they see it. But no matter how the artist is inspired and no matter how they choose to interpret the information they are transferring onto the canvas, the precise choice of paint and the technique in which they apply it makes all the difference in the world.

Paint is to the process of painting just as words are to writing. An artist must choose the colors of paint, just as a writer must choose words. Artists mix paint. Writers mix words into phrases. Artists blend, shade and highlight on a canvas. Writers sing rhythm and emotion onto paper.

When I sit down to write something new, I may have a title, a phrase, or only an idea that floats around my brain. The more I write, the more I understand that writing is like painting words.

Now, let’s go paint some more words!

Photos by See-Ming Lee and Webgrl at www.Flickr.com