A Tire Swing Story is a bite-sized "imagining" inspired by an object I discover while wandering. It could be a curbside trash gem or a message sprayed on a wall. A lost mitten, or an antique store find. Anything goes. I photograph the object and post them together, the story and its inspiration. There will be a new story every Monday and Wednesday. On Fridays, I'll discuss writing, life, love, and coffee. (In no particular order and maybe all at once.)

Friday, December 17, 2010

A change of plans...

Hi guys. It's Britt. Today I was going to write about airports. I was supposed to be heading to Arizona for my stepsister Courtney's wedding. But just as I was finishing some last minute preparations,
I found out that my Mom in Windsor had an accident. She fell and hit her head and is in the ICU at the hospital. My sisters and I rented a car in Toronto, and raced to Windsor, where I am now.

I had to cancel my flight, and so will not be writing about airports today. Or weddings.

Hospitals.

Another place where stories intersect. Different stories, often difficult ones. There's dark stuff here, but there is also light. From where I am sitting in the waiting room writing this, I can see a baby dressed in a blue sleeper (those little outfits with feet). The baby is being held by an old woman who smiles, and the skin beside her eyes is like crinkled paper.

Some of you might wonder why in the middle of this, I am posting on this blog today. And the truth is, I need to write because writing helps to anchor me, to keep me sane. I'm not sure how long I'll be here. I do know that my Mom is the single most stubborn person I know and there's no way she'll be cooped up in a hospital for too long. She has taught me everything I know about strength, and persistence. She'll be okay. We all will.

I'll be back on Monday with another tire swing story. Have an inspired weekend, guys, and wrap your arms tightly around everyone you love.

Britt

"The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder." Virgina Woolf, A Room of One's Own

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