I have been inspired me to publish my stories. Where Magic Lives, the first book to be published is about discovering the magic within each of us. I wrote it because I wanted to inspire my granddaughters. But, it seems my granddaughters where the ones inspiring me! After spending months learning to use water colors and working with a writing coach I have decided it’s time to show my granddaugheers that dreams can come true.
Have I mentioned our granddaughters were coming for a visit? Well, the day finally arrived. Our son calls and they are just a few minutes away. My husband and I go outside to watch for them. We can see them turn the corner and watch their truck and fifth wheel pull up in front of our home. The home our son grew up in. The home where we have one week to create as many memories as possible. I say a prayer, “Please, time, slow down”.
I am concerned that, in the not too distant future, I will be asking my Granddaughter, “Honey, is this the real world or the virtual world?” My Granddaughter will giggle and respond, “Oh Nana. Your so funny.” And that may be, but I’ll be left wondering where I am. I mean, it’s one thing to, have problems with remembering things but, not knowing if the experience is real or virtual is whole different level of confusion.
As a child I was often told to stop daydreaming and come back to reality. I was raised to believe that the real world was where real things happen. I understand that technological advances have been made by humans since the beginning of time. Always in search of a better, safer, easier way. It is what we humans do. It is also true that innovation often begins as a dream. But if you spend all your time in the virtual room practicing for life, your dream will never become a reality. Then again, if we are all living in the virtual world – how are we going to define reality?
If you plant an idea, nurture and care for it, you will be amazed by how big it grows and the influence it has. My adult son was so proud of the tomato plants he had started from seed. I listened as he described how big the plants had gotten. How beautiful and delicious the big ripe tomatoes were. His infectious description reminded me of my Grandfather. It was not how my son sounded that reminded me of Grandpa. Our sons sound like their father. So much so, that I cannot discern which of them is talking on the phone. Thank heavens for caller ID! No, this was something different. It was the words spoken by my son that transported me back to my Grandparent’s farm. It was a specific phrase, spoken years ago by a man my son had never met, that sent me back to the corn fields on my Grandfather’s farm.