What's there to be scared of?

In a  deliciously enticing conversation with a friend, I grieved over my inhibition to write.  How I am afraid of failing.  How not writing, not creating is safer than failing.  He asked, "What are you scared of?  Two little letters - 'n' and 'o'?"

The answer is yes.  I am the guilty party.  I tell myself no assuming that others will tell me no, and what that no depicts varies...  Is [it] good?  Am I talented?  Am I worthy?  Do I have what it takes?  Will anyone care?  The list goes on, but the one thing that doesn't change is that I answer my own questions, and not nicely.

My friend joked and mentioned the Yes Man movie and how instead, I should write about the no's.
He's right.  I have to right about the No before I can teach myself Yes.  I have to face my fear.  I have to own it.  Sit in it.  Remind myself that No can actually be good sometimes.

So not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but I plan to face my No's.

No becomes a Yes.

I Am From...

I am from clothespins, Tide, and hot summer breezes.

I am from the big curve at the 11 mile mark and the circle driveway I used to park in.

I am from dreaded poison ivy and pesky mosquitoes,

And eagerly anticipated dogwood trees.

I am from Turkey at Thanksgiving and Pizza at Christmas,

From the expected and the unexpected.

I am from freckled cheeks and arms, almond-shaped brown eyes,  

And pale skin that burns.

I am from kamistybeth

And Elmores and Ballews.

I am from hard - sometimes sweet - martyrdom

And smiles that sometimes hide.

I am from I love you and Don’t be sassy

And This too shall pass...

I am from AG, fire and brimstone, and revivals that didn’t really mean anything.

I am from a city I don’t remember and a city I abscond, and a city with new roots.

I am from home-grown corn, fried green tomatoes,

And the summer Dad said Merry Christmas in July with presents of garden hoes.

I am from the picture wall of baby photos, school portraits, and unknown faces from long before,

And from the top shelf in the walk-in closet with all its secrets:

Untouched family albums, clipped-out newspapers, and old half-forgotten letters.

I am from hurts and hugs and half-truths and secrets -

Each being discovered one at a time,

Like finding southern country treasure,

Or an un-seen bee,

Hovering over a glass of sweet iced tea.

Morning Pages

It is Easter - early afternoon.  I am sitting outside and it is starting to rain: beautiful, big, fat rain drops, the kind you can hear falling.  Norma was going to do an Easter egg hunt but now it will have to wait.  Sitting out here, I can't help but hope all the laughing and happy screaming children go inside.  I would love to sit out here with just the rain for company.  It is utterly peaceful.  It is starting to rain in earnest now and with it a little thunder and a cool misty breeze.  The black car just drove away while the red and white stay, a couple of passengers not wanting to face the rain.  Over there is a mom and baby, perhaps as enthralled as I am, looking out over their balcony.  The water is pooling in the courtyard and I am happy to see the rose bushes blooming again.  I wondered about them just yesterday.  Oh look!  The happiest surprise of all!  My neighbor is blowing bubbles into the rain.  I wish I had a camera for this moment has made me happy.  The thunder is closer and I see Misha looking out from the boy's room.  I think she likes this spot because she can watch the pigeons, but today there are no pigeons.  The quiet I desired has finally come, along with more rain-spray.  I don't mind getting wet.  I think I may have dreamed this.  The neighbors have all gone back in and still the courtyard floods.  A blue truck replaced the black, the white car decided to leave, but the red car remains - much like me.  I look around again and this time I see a neighbor leaning over the edge with a potted plant, choosing to let the original waters nourish this house plant of theirs.  Beautiful and original.  I am alone again.  The skies have admittedly turned greyer, but I do not mind.  It is still bright day, not to be confused for darker times.  The hour, the rain, the bushes blooming below - these all remind me it is spring.  It comes back to Easter day, circular indeed.  This time the rain and breeze are pushing me in, too wet to stay, but still I hesitate.  It is lovely and I do not want to go.  But with the rain comes boredom and little boys who want to play.  Good day, Easter, good day!