I wrote yesterday but only managed to squeak out 456 words.  Given I have been cranking out an average of a 1000 every time I write, this felt like writing failure.  And, I couldn’t quite “finish” the piece so I ended up abandoning it and going dress shopping (more on that in a minute). 
Now I have 39 minutes to write this post and get it out there.  I really want to keep my morning writing routine.  At 6:51, I am getting a later start than usual and need to leave the house at 7:30.  Pressure.  Writing under pressure doesn’t flow so well.  Writing what comes to me as I sit is very different than writing on a prescribed topic or under a time limit.  Yesterday, I began (again) my challenge of re-writing my book Waiting for Jack.  And, yesterday on my second attempt since the fire, I went down many paths none of which lead to many words on the page.  I took a drive into town, got breakfast at Einstein’s, took the garbage out, browsed house plan books and websites.  And, I was very very sleepy.  I had planned to write all day yet it took me until 10am to even sit in front of the computer.  A rusty 456 words later, I still wasn’t getting anywhere.  I did do some cleaning of my email inbox however. 
06 May, 2012 /
Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. 
Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has. Margaret Mead
What will this day hold?  More letters to the Governor?  Sifting through emotional ashes?  Meetings with attorneys?  Writing insurance inventory?  Maybe a walk with the dogs?  Then falling into bed at the end of the day exhausted yet waking up before the sun far from rested?  I wonder.
Except for a few precious things, my life is unrecognizable from before.  Fortunately, I do have the same friends – and even more than before, I must say.  My friends carry me when I want to stop.  Two of my dearest have shared their letters they wrote to the Governor they both voted for yet now are dismayed to watch him shrug his shoulders and shirk his responsibility.  I am beyond touched by their words.   
02 May, 2012 /
Yesterday, around 30 neighbors and families attended a hearing at the Capitol on proposed House Bill 32 152, which would raise caps for compensation for fire victims.  Representative Cheri Gerou (a mountain area resident) co-sponsored the bill with Representative Bob Gardner.
I haven’t been to the Capital since college.  The building is beautiful and Gerou and Gardner chose to have the hearing held in the old Supreme Court chambers, an elegant vaulted room with towering stain glass images of original Colorado settlers.  The room was perfect as we discussed our fine state and what it stood for: the Wild West tamed for habitation infused with the spirit of independence formed by a community of like-minded people.
The words “by the people for the people” emerge from the fog of my formative years.  I googled this to recall the source: Lincoln’s famous quote from the Gettysburg address. “…this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
01 May, 2012 /
Yesterday we smiled.  Not that we haven’t smiled at all during the last month but the smiles previously were fleeting and slight.  Yesterday we smiled a lot.  As we scrambled to get out of the house to meet the Fire Marshall, we bumped into each other, our non-existent patience worn thin.  I had a conference call to start my authors on their writing day – another one I wouldn’t be joining – and begged their forgiveness as I adjusted the time to make our important appointment.
When we arrived, we were greeted by a group of neighbors, Randy the Fire Marshall, Kate from the County, Sean from Planning and Zoning and Dan from the Fire Department – with a shiny red fire truck.  Although the sun was shining, a biting wind chilled us to our core as we stood and waited for the bad news to begin.  This meeting was to detail our “options” around improving our road.  We had received the news that due to the poor condition of our private roads, unless we brought them up to snuff, we would not have rights to any future emergency services which would prohibit the desire of any insurance company to insure us again (if they ever would anyway…).  This was very bad news when we first got wind of it.  A major roadblock in our future plans with a giant price tag attached. 
29 April, 2012 /
I coach my author clients to sit for as long as it takes to get words on a page.  This morning, my resistance is robust.  I am pulled to zone out.  I don’t want to write.  Tired of saying the same things in different ways, I worry you are tired too.  I indulged in a very large peanut butter cookie last night (I know, alert the press!) and have a sugar hangover.  Fuzzy headed, my thoughts are sludge.  I misplaced my reading glasses so I squint and barely make out the screen.  Yet, still I sit.  I remember my darkest day yet was the day I chose not write... I don’t want to go there again.  Writing has become my way of greeting the day, of processing what needs to be processed.  Yes, I may be saying similar things.  My brain is still attempting to make sense of the nonsensical.  It is still processing the trauma.  And, as the numbness wears off the jagged reality emerges.  There is no going back.  This is my new life.  Who would have thunk it?
Yesterday, I watched the last of the metal scraps that once were my house be towed away.  As the flatbed flexed to pick up the load, I caught a final glimpse before it disappeared from view.  Pieces of my house, pieces of my life, memories turned into heaps of metal tumbled together then vanished down the road on their journey to recycling.
28 April, 2012 /
My mornings are a combination of checking email and Facebook, making coffee and sitting down to write.  I used to treat my writing time as more of a “sacred space”. Not wanting to bring in any distractions, I would calm myself first, absolutely not check email or Facebook and sit down to write for my appointed time.  I have abandoned this practice.  Now, I jump around a little manically and still manage to write. 
This morning, I explore the symptoms of PTSD and while on this track, I listen to Louis GK’s “Everything’s amazing and nobody’s happy”diatribe on Conan.  F-ing brilliant!  Edgy, real and making fun of all we hold precious.  Because I laugh, does that mean I don’t have any PTSD symptoms?  No, it doesn’t mean that. 
Fortunately I have the ability to view my situation and myself objectively.  I know the most important thing I can do is to be where I am, and not judge my process.  I am pretty good at that. 
27 April, 2012 /
Contentment consists not in adding more fuel, but in taking away some fire - Thomas Fuller
On my women’s abundance call, we discussed the concept of contentment.  What does it mean to be content?  When are we most content?  The inquiry ended with an invitation to begin each day in contentment as a context for our day.  I politely declined.  I don’t want to do that right now. 
I am not sure I really know what it means to be content.  Or maybe I do know, and I just forget.   I do long for it.  But the truth is, I have always longed for it. Even in all my appreciation of and gratitude for my life, contentment alluded me.  If I don’t end up more content on the other side of this grand adventure, I want my money back!
Yes, I do know that contentment is not an arrival point… I know it but I don’t live from that knowing.  My Mac tells me that contentment means: “quietly satisfied and happy”.  It’s the satisfaction part that gets me.  What is it to be satisfied?  What does that feel like?  
25 April, 2012 /
Yesterday was dark.  I never managed to emerge from the clouds.   I saw brief rays of sunshine but they passed quickly and disappeared back into the muck.   As I sat down to write yesterday, all I could feel was a deep exhaustion.  Hoping the day would bring some lightness to my mood, I chose to write later.  Instead, by the end of the day, I couldn’t focus.  Until Dusty came over and lifted my spirits, that is.
On Sunday night, we had the first meeting of the homeowners who lost homes.  Putting faces to names and coming together as a group was good.  Seeing the devastation in their faces was heart breaking.  We are now bonded in ways that will sustain.  We may drift out of each others lives, but we will never forget our connection.  Having survived a fire and now dealing with the agony of putting our lives back together; we are part of a club that no one ever wanted to join.  Grown men who were strangers a few weeks ago now openly share their tears.  Women meet for the first time with open arms and deep sobs.  We look knowingly into each others eyes.  One neighbor shared her struggle with merely buying a bra – I understand.  I haven’t been able to purchase my teakettle yet.  I know I want it but can’t quite pull the trigger.  For a shopper, this is weird.  The joy is gone from shopping.  It now resides in the column of overwhelming tasks. 
24 April, 2012 /
I slept in until 7am!  Amazing.  Not quite rested, but happy that my wee hour wake up did not keep me awake.  Although I “slept in”, I feel heavy headed.  Every day, as I sit down to write; I don’t know what will come.  I process what needs to be processed.  I say what is there immediately, or what comes to me as I sit.
Today, as I sit down to write, I wonder if my writing will happen; if I will find my flow.  Right now, it feels effortful.  I worry I will run out of words before I run out of life.  Then Tigger throws up on the carpet and I jump up to scrub the green vomit before it becomes a stain.
During that task, my thoughts come in the form of sentences that need to be written.  Often, when I process internally, my thoughts come out this way.  Based on that evidence, I can’t imagine I will ever run out of words.  It is just a concern that we writers face: the dreaded “writers block”. 
22 April, 2012 /
Occasionally the thought surfaces, “maybe it’s time to start viewing this as an adventure.”  For a moment, I see the possibility.  Then the grief surfaces again.  I think I may be rushing things with that thought… I think I need to just be where I am.
Again, I awoke at 3:30am and tossed and turned until 5, finally getting up.  I feel the exhaustion right now.  It’s heavy, dark, deep.
Today, we have (hopefully) the last sifting session at the site.  The crew is mostly women – many friends driving from Boulder and Denver.  A few neighbors who were spared coming by to help as well - Janet Shown is leading that charge.  More angels are swooping down to ease our pain.
I have organized a meeting of the homeowners who lost homes for tomorrow night.  We will come together for the first time.  Through this process, I am hearing more and more harrowing stories.  Just wept through this one from Mo Larsen who gave me permission to share.  It’s terrifying.
21 April, 2012 /