My therapist told me I should start journaling. I asked why. She told me that perhaps I would have an easier time expressing myself by putting pen to paper. I told her that in the last 15 years I have only picked up a pen to write checks, sign credit card receipts and sign legal documents. I get a callous on my ring finger when I write with a pen. I don't hold a pen properly. My 2nd grade teacher cried because I refused to hold a pencil correctly; I was given one of those corrective grips. And then she cried some more when I chewed it up, as in completely gone, by the third day. Apparently, I was the first student in her 2 years of teaching that was unable to conform to the D'Nealin handwriting program for elementary students.
I am left-handed, to boot. My maternal grandmother, whom, as far as I know, only attended church for weddings, funerals and AA meetings, told me that if I had lived in Salem in the 1800's, I would have been considered a Witch and burned at the stake. That I was not worthy of the kingdom of Heaven. When I was 18, I visited the Salem Witch Museum, and learned that left-handedness was indeed a curse. I also visited Salem cemeteries, one in particular, that I discovered to be the most peaceful place on earth. It stood on a hillside, overlooking the wicked Atlantic. The names on the headstones were Captain This and Sailor That. Sarah, Prudence and Eliza most likely died during childbirth or from influenza. Often, the babes of these 18 or 19 year old girls were buried next to them. Beyond this graveyard, mansions loom, most of which are now B and B's. I stayed in one. In the Widow's Walk. With a 360 degree view of the town of Salem and the Atlantic. I felt something there. Not necessarily supernatural, but I was, for the first time, aware that I was not alone...
To Be Continued...
