Scared Silly

I am going away in the morning. As I write this, I am at work. On my break, of course, with my food warming as I type. I am going to Strawberry Creek. On a retreat courtesy of the Writer's Guild of Alberta. I will be gone for four nights, and five days and I am scared silly. I have not been away from my family for more than a night or two since Ruby was born. And those nights away were long and a little lonely so I don't know what has possessed me to decide to commit to this time away and to allow someone else to drive.

OR rather I know exactly why. I don't consider myself a writer. I am a blogger. I am a journal keeper. I write letters, notes meant to convey emotion and affection. I write bit pieces for me. Stories of my family. Little bits of embellished fiction, but nothing substantial. But I want more. I want some finished and polished product to come out the other end of my imagination. All I need is a little encouragement and some uninterrupted time.

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I left my dance class on Monday night and needed to stop for a few groceries, part of the preparations for me to be away. I felt the panic rising in my throat as I pulled into the parking lot. It had spread all the way through to my fingertips before I got to the carts. I put my quarter in the cart, fumbled, stopped, took a deep breath. I felt the tears welling, I took another deep breath. I choked back the sob that was forming at the edge of my breath and I put the quarter in the cart, pulling firmly as I inserted the key to release it.

I hadn't realized how hard it will be to be away from these people who define my existence. I forget how entangled our lives are. I took another deep breath.


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Ruby gets noticed everywhere we go. She has this strikingly blond hair. (It won't last, mine didn't, Steve's didn't, and her sisters' have already begun to turn). But right now, it's so blond that it's shocking, unmissable. Aside from her hair though, Ruby is a character that demands attention. She is friendly. Strangers are friends that she has yet to meet. She is spunky. She is brave. She is imaginative. She loves to dance. She loves to sing. She is attached to her "things": babies, sippy cups, books and a little wicker suitcase (which she takes everywhere). AND she is interested in you. She wants to know where you came from, why you are here, where are your brothers and sisters, do you play piano, do you swim, do you go to school, do you read books, did you see the Backyardigans? You can't help but be engaged with this child who wants to share her life with you. I forget how much she is a buffer for me, how I depend on people being charmed by her so that I don't have to be charming myself until I am without her.


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Thank that perfect beautiful husband of mine for taking a couple of days off of work because I deserve it and he knows it. He is aware of my tired. He is aware that the expectations of me, those ones I place upon myself are high. And he is also aware that all too often he asks me to go without sleep to make his life easier. So off I will go to Strawberry Creek (it even sounds inspirational!!) to rest, to read, and most importantly to write.

But oh how I'll miss them while I'm gone.