Organic

Since I was old enough to write, I wrote.

Some of my earliest memories are of me gathering
clean white sheets of type writer paper (before computers-
yes, I am THAT old) and stapling them together to form
a book.

I wrote story after story after story.

It was not a thought process, it was just something
that was such an innate part of who I am.

It just was.

I'm not even sure I'm any good at it, I just like
to do it.  Now and then.

My early stories included books about....

Lollipop Trees.

and Magical Adventures.

An entirely different world of fantasy existed inside
of my head.

I wrote and wrote and wrote.

It was as organic and as natural to me as breathing.

Words flowed out of me and onto paper.

Accompanied by the somewhat underwhelming pictures
I drew to accompany my words.

In High School, I found great joy in English class.

And in college I chose "English" as my major.

I never finished, sadly either college or my major.  
I never even got into my "major" classes. 
I was too busy having fun and failing
College Algebra.

Twice.

Yes, I pretty much suck at math.  Like suckity-suck.
(Which leaves me to marvel at my son who whizzed right
through any and all math classes in high school.  He
got someone else's genetics when it comes to math.
Obviously.)

As we sat in the sand today and built a sand castle, all
of our materials were organic.

Of the earth.

Sand and rocks and sticks and seaweed and water.

Like my writing on the paper stapled together way back when,
the materials all came together naturally.

The noises of laughter and ocean waves filled the day.

Kyle and a large group of people worked and perfected
and chiseled and sculpted and raked and shoveled and
built a sandcastle that would rival any sandcastle
you have seen on the beach.

It was award winning.

It was show stopping.

It drew people in to look and point and picture take.

It had bridges and turrets and windows and moats.

Some people came back twice to show other family members
this masterpiece in the sand.

Created of the sand and rocks and shells and matter.

I watched my oldest son Josh step in and help.

He was joined by the "baby" Olivia and Grace, my oldest
daughter.

They all pitched in to get the job done.

Each person doing their part.

Working and moving with, and in, and around, and about
each other.

Flowing, simple, quietly, organic.

There were no set of instructions, no plans to follow.

And at the end of the day they had a masterpiece.

I sat and pondered our family and the nature with which
we move in and about and around each other.

Cancer has somewhat changed the flow of our family
interaction, but not in a bad way.

We still ebb and flow and move and create and love
and surround and comfort and hold and pray and gather.

The tide of our comings and goings ebbs in and out
as our lives absorb the shock of this life changing
diagnosis.

I felt simple peace as I watched my family move together
this day on the beach.

I felt that when the time comes, and it will, that my
children will step in and move to the place where they
can most help.  Most be of service.  Most keep our
castle standing tall.

In some ways it's not fair that they have to grow up
before other kids their age.  Their peers.  Their friends.
Their cohorts.  But they do, plain and simple, they do.

So today on the beach as they built I was reminded
of how we come together when we need to.

How we gather and build and evolve and change and become.

And just like the tide and the beach and the sand
and the materials--our movement through this process, this
journey, is organic and ever changing.

We grow and learn and readjust and become something new
each day, over and over.

The ebb and flow of humanity and family and love.
The magic we create by weaving in and out and about
each other...simply organic.  Simply wonderful.

It's a beautiful thing for which I'm grateful.

Well, that and sand castles!

That's what I've got for today.