I am ready.

I have been thinking about going back to school for a very long time. Long enough I could have earned a string of assorted degrees by now. Unless you stop and declare a time out, life keeps happening and seems to snowball.

I have looked at many programs designed for woman of unconventional age. I am equally intimidated and intrigued by that entire scenario. Could I live in a garret and study late into the night and spend glorious weekends with my husband? Definitely. Could I get up early and skibble about a campus and find my way? Not sure. Could I integrate myself with women four decades younger? I could try. Do I really want to? I am not sure.

And so, I have taken a baby step. I am starting a writing class this evening. The class runs for six weeks and I anticipate getting a great deal out if it. I will admit to being nervous. Had I signed up for needlepoint, collage or cake decorating I would still be leery. Not knowing a soul, finding my way through hallways I have not been in since our children were young, at night, all makes me a little uncomfortable. But this class, where I may have to read aloud something I have written, well, I am not going to dwell on that right now.

I signed up so long ago I keep being startled by the fact that this is the day! This lovely email arrived this morning:


Hello Life Stories 1 Participants,
Just a reminder that we are meeting this evening from 7:00 – 9:00 PM.
This workshop is held at The Writer’s Center location in Annapolis, Maryland Hall for the Creative Arts, Room 108.
Please bring paper and pen. I look forward to meeting you this evening.


It reassured me no end to have a thoughtful reminder and a room number. Elizabeth and I concluded a new notebook and pen were in order, so we went to the neighborhood art supply store and made appropriate purchases.

I was most smitten with a book of pages that were half lines and half blank, since I am interested in illustrating what I write. However, I am prone to doodling when I should be writing and did not want to encourage myself in that direction. Also, as you may know about me, the feel of the paper I write on is of utmost importance. That particular book was rather flimsy recycled paper.*

Optimistically I chose a rather large spiral note book made by Rhodia. I think Rhodia merged with my all time favorite, Clairfontaine. As I understand it, school children in France use these, the paper is of such excellent quality even a fountain pens glides over it and does not bleed through. Next, was the choice of a pen. I asked Elizabeth what she thought would be my best option. Her delightful and insightful response was, "Whatever inspires you!"
Together we chose a Micron01 with hot pink ink, and one to spare. Deck stacking, you know.

I have butterflies in my stomach and can not decide what to wear, but I am ready.
I have in my memory my brother's call last evening, "Good luck school-girl!" He is a young Priest in Manhattan and just started a PhD program two weeks ago, yet, he understands my angst.

I have also in my mind the encouraging words of my friend, "Promise me, if they tell you to change your style of writing in any way you will quit the class immediately."

I promised, and I can only hope that does not come up. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to march myself out once I had tip-toed in.

*Do not be alarmed, we recycle. Recycled paper for the toilet is permissible, but not for my life story.