I’ve been needing a break since June, but for a variety of very good reasons, my three month summer hiatus was reduced to four weeks. September saw me back in the thick, as they say, October was busy, November even more so, and December – I write all the important events on my desk calendar in red. December was a bloodbath.
Just before Christmas, I told The Mister “I need to take January off.” He replied, “February too.” Love that man!
And I’m starting to feel better. Sleep is improving. (Sleeping in more than ever!) Taking time for meditation, although sometimes that just consists of me sitting in my recliner and rocking. 
And I finally finished my manuscript, The Magdalene Poems!
The six years it took me to write the manuscript were nothing compared to the three weeks it took trying to get it ready to mail out! When I finally finished the manuscript itself, we couldn’t find a box to fit. We looked everywhere! The Post Office had one the right size, but they’d only sell it to us if we agreed to buy fourteen more of its friends. At last The Mister, noting my increased eye twitches and teeth grinding said, “Leave it to me, Missus,” and he cut down a large cardboard box to just the right size. Mm-hm! Oh yeah! And did I tell you he can cook? Mm-hm! Oh yeah!
After we bundled it up, I started to cry. It was the last thing I expected. I don’t think of myself as a particularly sentimental person, but it seems I formed a bit of an attachment to that pile of papers. It hit me – after all the years it sat on my table, I’m never going to see the burgundy binder again. Tears.
Funny.
I emailed The Write Sisters – two colleagues who helped midwife this book into being, and their gentle wisdom and encouragement helped me find my balance again and peace of heart. I owe them much.
I took a few moments to bless the manuscript before we took it to the Post Office this past Wednesday. I said, “You’re the best I could do, the best I’ve ever done. Now it’s time for you to go.” And I gave it a final little pat after they weighed it on the scale. It reached it’s destination on Thursday (Toronto), and I sent in the electronic copy then too.
I’ve done all I could do. From this point on, whatever happens is none of my business. Time to get back to my novel, which has been waiting so patiently for me.
One other thing, though. There’s a store in the Burg, The Village Shoppe. It used to be the Bulk Food Store and still is in the front. But in the back it’s a gift store with all manner of gee-gaws and doo-hickies. While The Mister picks up his baking supplies, I peruse the back room and see what’s new. I just happened to look up at one of the cabinets, and on the top was a statue. Of a cross. And a figure standing in front of it. A woman. Hands folded in prayer. Head bowed. A dress with beautiful designs. Braided hair. A halo around her head. So, a saintly woman. I picked it up (not seeing the sign that read “Do Not Touch!”) and turned it over. “Angel Cross” it read. I turned it upright again and smiled. “If you’re an angel,” I said, “where are your wings?” I held it closer. “It’s you, isn’t it?” I whispered. “Magdalene.” Then I noticed the engraving underneath – “Peace in the Garden.” Of course. Where Jesus and Mary Magdalene met after the Resurrection.
No mistake. This was a Magdalene figure.
She gazes down on me now from my bookshelf. Just because the burgundy binder is gone doesn’t mean she has passed from me, not her story, not her presence.
She abides. And I am content.
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