Every day I think about sitting here and pouring out feelings. I might start a sentence...but then I read how puny my thoughts are. I think about what goes on with me in comparison to the bigger picture out there. And, really - can I be serious that I am upset about anything? My house was not flooded into oblivion, my shores are not oiled, my business, though it suffers from recession, has options. I don't have cancer. My children are smart, funny, beautiful, and healthy. I have a marriage that lasts.

I have a great life. Let's face it. Here's one reason why:

Last night I met up with a crazy bunch of Iowa City friends. We met at George's to have a chance to say hello to a friend who is in town for a short time. She and her family live in China. So, yeah, it was kind of a big deal. We all gathered and kibbutzed while waiting for our friend. She ambled in relatively quietly - which was funny because everyone was watching for the doors for her entrance. Each time someone would walk in we'd all be ready to jump up and say hello. And time after time it was someone else who entered. Finally she strolled in. She caught the eye of one friend and was surprised. Then she caught the eye of one after another of us - and the look on her face was priceless. I think it must be a fabulous feeling to know that, after many many years, there is a CROWD of folks who have fond memories and can't wait to make more with you. We drank a few toasts. I looked around the room and recalled days so long ago when all of us were either waiting tables, tending bar, cooking, or washing dishes. And look at us all now -- some are retired from "real" jobs, and all are real live, full fledged grown ups with lives and families. We chatted about our children (flying off to Italy for soccer camp... finishing college..) and home grown raspberries made into syrup for ice cream. We mourned our own parents recently passed. We made fun of each other. We borrowed each others reading glasses because none of us can see anything anymore!

I have to smile. It is required.

Life gives us signs.

I came home tonight having spent an hour or so talking with Dave about what on earth will we do with this business. We have options. We can sell it. We can take new jobs with the buyer. We can go live in a cardboard box. (maybe slight exaggeration). As we talked over a beer and 3 whiskeys we came to a (possibly temporary) conclusion that we really are not willing to roll over and let someone else dictate the rest of our professional lives. We may change our minds tomorrow, or when we see what the other offer might entail.

But then we got home. There was a big yellow envelope - return address was my mom. I quickly opened it - and there was one small note, " With love, mom." And there was a picture of my dad. A beautiful picture of this beautiful man. Casually leaning on the rail of the porch of the beach house we rented in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. A glass of wine in his hand, and that famous impish smile across his face.

I dissolved into tears. This gift from my mother is so very amazing on so many levels. One: my mom loves me and wants me to know that she and my dad are very proud of my endeavors as an entrepreneur - even during these hard times. Two: she loves me and wants me to call her - as I have been very distant recently due to my business problems. Sending this picture would break down my wall - crumble it into a bleary eyed mess. Three: I needed to be broken down a little so I can see more of the bigger picture. Four: I need to remember where I come from and that "you can't fail if you don't try." (something my dad used to say a lot).

This moment made that terrible grief wash over me again: I miss my dad so very much. He died on November 8, 2009. So I type and I weep.

And I think I may need to rethink my retreat. I may need to continue to move forward. With Dad here egging me on - what else can I do?

I began several sentences this morning. All of them were in a passive tense. I immediately deleted them. I have several ideas swirling around in my head. I have had an idea for a story bouncing around for a few years. Time to start putting it together. I have been away from creativity for a very, very (very) long time. I do not know where to start. I found myself starting sentences in a passive tense - which I thought was an interesting bit of subconscious behavior.

I will interject here: I've not been away from creativity. I experience creativity vicariously through my children and husband. I thought that was enough. I always claim, "I drive the car and write the checks." So I sing quietly in the shower or just enough to remind someone what the lyrics are to the song they're trying to remember. I write a nice turn of phrase and create a slogan for my company. I volunteer for everything.

Clearly, this is no longer enough to satisfy me. I have to turn inward and grab hold of what might be left of my creative drive. Time to pull it out of mothballs (see - how old is that image?? I may be suffering creative atrophy!)

I thought I could begin writing again if I gave myself a clear focus. Trouble is: I am having a helluva time deciding where to aim the lens. Plenty of things upon which to focus.

Something that strikes me as very funny. When I last thought about writing for creative ends, I was writing pen on paper or on a small, portable, electric typewriter. There was no "delete" key. In this post this morning I have deleted far more than I've left on this page. No evidence left of my stumbling. No more filling up the wastebasket with crumpled paper. I am a green writer. Yes, there are two ways to read that sentence.

stay tuned.

Ladies in Lavender (2004) stars Judi Dench and Maggie Smith, along with Daniel Buhl. Adapted from a short story by William J Locke, written for the screen and directed by Charles Dance, this quiet near-fairy tale takes place at the English seaside during the 30's. I confess, I have not read the short story. I did need to figure out the title - as the women never wore lavender during the film. (I often look for the overtly obvious and when I don't find it, I start searching for answers)

The ladies are sisters, growing old together in Cornish. Their sweet and idyllic lives are interrupted when a beautiful young man washes up on the coast. They take on the task of nursing him back to health. Janet, the older sister (Maggie Smith) is the pragmatist. Ursula (Judi Dench) is ruddy faced, youthful and naive. Their names alone help depict their personalities.

The film employs the standard cast of small village characters you see in most all period pieces set in European countrysides. Fishermen and old men who sit by the roadside and murmur commentary. Great and not so handsome women who cook and clean and also murmur commentary. Listen closely: the banter is colloquial and at times hard to understand for us American types.

The color palette for this film is soft, and feels filtered like a Sisley (English impressionist) painting. The interiors are full of fabulous details -- wonderful to notice if you like those kinds of ancient European homes (the stove and the drying rack that lift up over it must be hundreds of years old).

(Alfred Sisley -Bridge at Villeneuve -a -Garenne, 1872)

Ursula spends part of each day standing on her widow's walk, watching the sea. I think if I lived near the seaside, I would build one of these pulpits to stand and watch for miracles.

There are many wonderful humorous moments. The sisters' housekeeper, Dorcas (yes, Dorcas) shops for special fish and creates a pie - with tails and heads popping out of the crust - that appears to be a favorite dish. English culinary delights. Ew. And porridge seems to figure greatly.

This is a story about love without being a love story. It steps close to breaking your heart, but pulls back just in time. It offers a little intrigue that simmers but never boils over. It is satisfying even though it does not have a fairy tale ending.

And the lavender? - Turns out, that lavender was often used to keep belongings fresh over the years when stowed away.

Good morning. This is my first blog. I will start with a confession: I tend not to read blogs. The blogosphere has made everyone who can type and figure out how to set up a blog account a published writer. Let's face it: just because I have an idea and I know how to type does not mean I'm a writer. Same goes for you.

I am 52 years old. I am in the midst of various mid life crises. I need an outlet. So, this morning, I set up my first blog account. Yea, I am now a published writer.

I would like for this blog to maintain a theme. So, for the time being, those of you who come to read this blog will read about movies. Perhaps I should say "Films." I am obviously qualified to write film reviews as I took that one film class in the French department at Miami University back in 1978. It was an awesome class. Other qualification: in my household we have an ongoing competition. If you walk into the room and a movie is playing on the TV you are obligated to Name That Film in 4 Seconds. Many of our family members can do this. I, of course, maintain superiority. I have even impressed my teenage daughters' friends on occasion.

I have set up my blog space. I have created a theme. I have spelled out my qualifications for this particular vocation I seek to try out. I think that is a tremendously productive morning.

Stay tuned.