Everybody needs a muse

My knobby fingers have quit moving.

And it isn’t the arthritis.

No longer are they keying in the words I want to share.

I’m been pulling together prior posts on Alzheimer’s and dementia with other writings I’ve done on memory loss. I hope to publish a book to help other caregivers.

But I’ve hit a roadblock.

So this morning I decided to go for a long walk to find some inspiration.

And then I found it.

Right there in the bright eyes of a cat staring at me from a bookstore window.

He was perched next to an old noiseless Remington typewriter. It reminded me of my aging and silent computer keyboard back home.

The feline suddenly jumped up as if to show me something.

In the reflection of the dirty shop window, he helped me recognize some current distractions in my house:

-Auto claim paperwork needing follow up from a recent car accident.
-Unread books on my living room coffee table.
-A crazy world spinning faster and faster on my TV and in my news feed.

I thanked the cat. I can ignore all three at least for the moment.

Then the feline led me over to a stack of the store’s newest and boldest book titles. Three impressive titles in particular caught my eye. I believe the cat knew that they might.

“ILLUSIVE”-Is it really an illusive goal to finish a draft of my book I wondered? The cat looked at me and shook his head. It just takes dedication and hard work he seemed to say.

“THE DETOUR”-I’ve been taking a long route to write and re-write my way around the toughest passages. I looked up at the cat again. He seemed to be nodding as if to tell me he understood. Maybe the boy’s dealt with some rough passages in his own nine lives.

“THE FALLOUT”-There have been moments I’ve wanted to give up on my project. The cat tapped at the window as I pondered this title for a while. If the whole point of writing my book draft is to potentially help other caregivers, who am I serving if I quit?

“No one,” I mumbled out loud.

I’m sure I saw the cat nod in agreement as I turned to rush back home to my computer keyboard.

Musings on a muse

I’d like you to meet my new muse.

It’s not the scarecrow, but the heavy black typewriter resting in front of it.

An early birthday present from my sister, it’s the replacement for a 1939 Smith Corona typewriter used my first year of college.

I preferred banging on its round keys, creating staccato clickety clack music to the buzz of computers being added daily to the library.

Besides, it beat walking across campus at -30 below.

The typewriter actually belonged to Dad. He’d bought it used for his own college years decades before.

I can still imagine him huddled in wool sweaters pulled down to his knuckles, busily typing J-School papers in a drafty St. Paul attic apartment.

So I felt honored to have the machine with me for my own first year of school.

That is until I lost it in one on my many moves.

I believe it’s tucked away in yet another old attic some where across the Mississippi in Minneapolis, where I attended college.

Still dealing with the guilt (a Norwegian thing) and still missing that old typewriter, I met up with my muse in a gift store recently.

This work of art was manufactured by Remington Rand, a company where Grandpa once worked.

And Dad eventually joined him there in public relations, for a division of the same company.

Talking to my sister this week, I told her how I’ve been in a rut with my writing.

Then I told her how amused I was when I encountered the old Remington Rand.

A wise woman, she knew I needed to add some rhythm back in my writing so the muse has moved in.

Right next to the iPad.

And I’ve found my muse is a very hard worker.

But also stubborn.

She absolutely refuses to learn spell check.