07 November 2010

1. Runaway train


Sunday night and time for 19 quick blog updates (!)

Dear NLSC Reader

Sept/Oct/Nov have been memorable months indeed. I am in a season of joy and serenity in my personal life, despite the usual dose of the unexpected (which oft' appears in rainbow form once the rain has
ceased).

In July I returned from afar and began writing about the "friends, moments, countryside" (Peter Gzowski's phrase) of my trip to Africa. Please let me know if you'd like a sneak preview once I'm partway
done. I wouldn't mind some input on this first draft from folk with whom I spent time during my six splendid weeks away. I hope to have at least a first glimpse by Christmas Eve (that's my deadline).

August was warm and friendly, as always: we spent our annual summer week at the lake in Vernon, BC, with our faithful Fairman family/friends, and we returned to work and school well rested, fed and watered.

September was a blur: new semester... almost 20 new and dearly beloved students... editing deadlines galore... and I forget what else.

And now onto October: see entry 2.

P.S. The photo is dedicated to the friend who likened my thoughts to a runaway train. Personally, I choose my words carefully—and though they may be many, they are mostly deliberate. Sometimes I even think before I speak. I realise as the clock ticks down to my 40th, when I will officially be a grown-up (!), that I'm growing increasingly comfortable with my personality, word-quirks and all.

I am also finding that I am less likely to spend quality time with folk who aren't comfortable around me as I am. Of course I'll g-r-o-w and change as the seasons pass: I'm currently working on many areas (one being my way-word language habits). But life is short, and I'm going to say what needs to be said; I'm going to speak to strangers; I'm going to keep encouraging others to find their voice; I'm going to write and play with words and talk to friends who want to hear my voice and ask my many questions of hearers who are comfortable with my ways. 

(And even runaway trains have a certain charm.)

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