Reading & Writing a Life

Carla Pineda's blog


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“I Come to the Sea to Breathe”

Yes, I do, in a way that I do nowhere else.

The water is whispering as it ripples softly, slowly over my soul.  It touches me deeply, in this present moment, and in memories deep in DNA memories.

This is Corpus Christi Bay.  This water has been a part of me since before I was born.  It was present on my mother’s skin, in her flesh and blood when she was pregnant with me here in the city where I was conceived and born.

I come here for renewal, for refreshment, as often as I can, to breathe deeply, completely.  100_0163


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Thanksgiving 2014

Thanksgiving blessings everyone!  It is the day after  Turkey Day.  I am still “resting” up from a fabulous meal yesterday cooked by many hands.  They sometimes say that “too many cooks spoil the broth” but that didn’t fit the bill yesterday.  Turkey and ham, broccoli and rice casserole, mashed potatoes (real ones! loaded with sour cream and real butter)….yum.  Braised brussel sprouts and from scratch cranberry sauce…around a table shared with one of my sisters and her family.  What a blessing!  I am so grateful for so much this year.  Four months ago Paul faced bypass surgery and came through it with flying colors.  Another grand baby is on the way in February.  All our children are well.  Even facing and going through an stretch of unemployment has its blessing side.  It has slowed me down and let me look at life through the lens of gratitude and plenty rather than one of scarcity and loss.  I have learned the lesson of God’s math more than one time and am being reminded of it once again.  God’s math is always different than mine.  No matter what the equation the answer is always a positive.  There is always enough, more than enough!  And, now with the holiday season upon us and spend mode everywhere I look I want to re/member to take things slow, breath deeply and stay in gratitude.  Meister Eckhart said, “If the only prayer you ever prayed was “thank you” that would be enough.”  Yes….Thank You!!  It is all good, is it not?

“Always we begin again…”

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“Always we begin again” said St. Benedict in the prologue to his monastic rule.  It’s good to remember this.  I’m beginning to come here again, to see what ends up spilling out on the page.  I want to crawl under a rock, scold myself for not being here for so very long.  Yet, Reading & Writing a Life has been sitting here, waiting for me to “begin again.”  Not that I haven’t been reading and writing since I was last here.  These two practices are part of my daily routine, always, to some degree.  But, coming here to the blog takes a little bit more of a commitment, or a statement that I make to myself, outloud, and to those of you who read this.  Someone once said that it didn’t matter how many times you fell down, what mattered was that you got up. So, I’m up again!  I will not say I’ll be here every day but I will be here.  I will show up and put some words on the page.  I will check in with me and you if you are here and share what the “reading & writing life” has been about at this given time.  Thanks for listening.

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ready to “begin again”….


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Ekprastic Poetry

Ekprastic poetry…a new term for me.  An ekprastic poem is simply a poem written in response to a visual work of art.  A few weeks ago my women’s writing group went on a “field trip” for our regular monthly writing group.  We went to the Radius Building, a downtown gallery/office space here in San Antonio where a textile art show was hanging.  Because we were there in the evening we had the space all to ourselves and were able to spend quiet, reflective time with each of the 12 artists’ masterpieces.  An extra bonus was  meeting with  the teacher of these women who talked with us about her students, the process they go through in her classes, and her thoughts on some of their pieces.  Then  each of us wandered through the space, reflected on each of the pieces until we settled in with the one that spoke to us. Quiet, reflective time led to writing, writing to sharing, sharing to a deeper appreciation for the art and for our own words.

I marvel at the way creativity builds on creativity.  One person creates, another responds from their own creative center  , and no telling what will be revealed.

Upon Viewing Continuum 3:(fabric art by Joy Lavrencik)

My heart feeling movement  The dancing broom swirling over floor cloth paper   Black swirls curved energy a deep dance pushing energy into a  room into me

My eye drawing in   A golden sphere of light circling out

I am riding the broom painting the cloth


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Graduation Time, Family, and Books

It’s graduation time.  In mine and my husband’s large and extended families we have…if I have counted correctly and not left anyone out 7 graduates this go round.  Pretty impressive I think.  I almost get giddy thinking about it.  Graduations are a good thing!  We have 4 high school graduates, 1 getting an associate’s degree and 2 college graduates.  Most are going to the next step…college classes, continuing college classes, graduate school, one to Russia for a year on a Fulbright Scholarship.

My nephew is one of the high school graduates.  We went  to a luncheon honoring the graduates of his class yesterday at noon and to the ceremony last night…it’s nice when they live in town.  His sister graduated from college last week…out of state…we missed that one.( I had to take note of her as we were sitting in an outdoor amphitheater waiting for graduation to begin; she was sitting with a book, probably 500-600 pages on the life of Stalin.  She will go to Russia to teach English this fall.)  Back to her brother.  I told him the other day that he was not old enough to be graduating because that makes me older!  When he was 4 or 5 I gave him a book for his birthday.  And, the next year he got another one.  He ask me (or his mother, I can’t remember) why I always gave him books for his birthday.  I’m not sure what answer I gave him then but he remembered that and we have joked about it through the years.

You see, we are a family of readers and people who love language and words.  We have teachers and writers in the family.  There are even bookstore owners in our DNA.  I haven’t gotten him a book this go round…yet!!  One will be on the way to him soon and likely to his sister, maybe to a few of the other graduates or family members…just because.  Graduations don’t happen without books and reading.  It is always good to give a book!


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Beginning Again

I have not been here for nearly a year.  I have no excuse.  I write in my journal or do writing prompts daily.  I’m in a writing group.  I love to write.  So, what has been the adversion, the block, the resistance to coming here?  I do not know.  But I am back and “beginning again” on the pages of this blog.  Maybe you’ll come along or check in from time to time.  I would like that.


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Granny’s Prayer Book

I am spending a quiet Saturday afternoon in my writing room.  A beautiful CD of Women’s Sacred Chants is playing.  I have been traveling through a flash drive of writings from the past.  Some of them I remember, others I wonder where they came from.  But this one, “Granny’s Prayer Book” I remember writing in deep recesses of memory.  It moved me to write it and moves me reading it again nearly 6 years later. 

It is worn.  Tattered.  Well used.  Deeply loved. 

My cousin Betsy has my Granny’s prayer book…1928 Book of Common Prayer, worn black leather.  The gold cross on the front is barely visible from years of her hands being  placed there to open and close its pages. 

It is worn.  Tattered.  Well used.  Deeply loved.

Her name is written in it.  Her addresses are listed, one under the other as she moved from place to place.  Moving was a part of her life.  She moved 36 times in her life my cousin said.  Granny said that when one moved one of the first things you did when you got to your new home was find a church home.

Her prayer book falls open to the prayers for the family.  The spine, held together by loose threads is fully exposed at this place.  It was here that she spent much of her time with God.  There are pages missing.  There are pages yellowed by the tape holding them together.

She had many reasons to pray for her family.  Prayer was her survival tool.  She lost her mother when she was a little girl.  She helped raise her younger brother.  She struggled through the alcoholism of family members, times of unemployment and the depression.  She helped raise the daughter of her nephew when she was in her 60’s.  She outlived three of her four children. 

“It should never be this way, she said, “that I survived three of my four children.”  Yet, she never lost her faith.  She always carried on.  She always thought of others.  She always gave of herself.  Her worn, tattered, well used and deeply loved Book of Common Prayer is a living reflection of this truth. 

May my Book of Common Prayer be so worn, tattered, well used and deeply loved.  And may my life be a reflection of the one she modeled for me…and for so many others.


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When I Write

Going along with “Why I Write” to “When I Write”…this is from a writing exercise I did in July 2005.

When I write I feel the scratch of the pen crossing the page and I wonder what I will read when I get to the end of the line.  When I write I sometimes feel challenged, sometimes set free, other times I cringe at the idea of writing, thinking I have to say something profound .  When I write I want to just write, to let loose on the page, not fret over structure, spelling and such.  At least not for now.  When I write my heart wants to soar, to take off singing words to plan on the page.  When I write I scan the surface of things around me for food.  I want to dig deeper, deeper into me to dig up, pull out the voice that is me, who am I when I write?  What does my voice sound like?  What does she have to say?  When I write i see the blank page, clear, white, no lines and I want to freeze.  When I write I see objects around me and I write to deeper, deeper down into life that surrounds and penetrates me, makes me who I am and helps shape who I can become.  When I write I see the possibility of depth, of deeper meanings and stronger connections.  I don’t always see this at the time I am writing, often I see in retrospect, over my shoulder, through the lidded eyes of sleep when my brain is at rest and my heart breaks open.  When I write I see, or am more likely to see with the eyes of my soul.  When I write I discover new connections and re-realize old ones.  When I write I know more than I think I know.  When I write I discover m, over and over again.  When I write I discover we are connected in ways I would have never imagined, you and me, me and them, us and nature, the world we live in.  When I write I discover we do more than just exist.  We are greater than we know.  I discover God in life when I write, God in the tiniest flower or in the glorious rainbow.  When I write I discover the joy of discovery itself.


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Why Write?

I have been away from here for far too long.  No, I haven’t stopped writing.  I just haven’t been here.  The other day I was going through files on one of my flash drives and came across some things I had written about 5 years ago.  This is one of them, written in June of 2005.  It was 5 years ago, but yesterday.  It is old thoughts but not. 

Why write?  Why not?  Someone has to, needs to, to keep some form of communication going, to see what spills out onto the page.  If I write I might surprise myself.  Samantha just called.  She is talking to her dad, her voice carrying over the phone to my end of the couch.  I keep writing, one line at a time to reveal me to me.  Sometimes I think this is such a waste of time, to write for why I don’t know, but I keep coming back to it.  I cannot not do this.

The air conditioner hums in the background, the TV is silent.  Paul, now off the phone is reading.  I am writing.

The couch is scattered with books, a pen, the digital camera, a TV remote, a cell phone.  These are some of the trappings of a modern day existence for me, yet also things of substance and stability.  The written word and tools to write, these I need.  Pens, my journal here in my lap, don’t leave home without it.  One never knows when the writing bug will bite and the need to put pen to paper will take over.

Why, oh why do I write?  Do I want to write?  Need to write?  I write to see into clarity, to understand or to question the hows and whys.  How do things come into being?  Why are we here?  What is to become of us?  Of me?

This all seems like such babble but a baby must babble first to begin the foundation of speech.  Isn’t the same true for the writer?  Don’t we babble ourselves through nonsense into clarity?  Into fuller and deeper written words?

I write to catch moon beams off the crescent sliver in the night sky.  I write to calm the dry dusty desert windstorm blowing through my soul, stopping up my ears, making it hard for me to hear the deep voice of sanity.  I write to calm my mind, to gain direction, to get off the merry go round, or maybe to get on it, to seek adventure, to see where the spinning wheel will stop.  I write for my mother and Minnie, to carry on a familiar yearning, this blood deep need to write.  Some days this feels like a curse, other days, blessing and gift.  Some days I can ignore it, but not for long.

What happens when I don’t write?  My body aches, my soul parches, even reading about writing is some help.  It is a tease but it leads me back to the page or the computer again.  How does this writing, just for the sake of the practice shape me?  Us?  Shape our lives?  Our souls?

Reading and writing a life..We read, we write, we write, we read.  Our thoughts and the thoughts of others, weaving together, insights and aah’s…yes, that fits, no, that’s a discard…keep writing…see where you end up.  There really is no beginning or end…Writing is this ongoing  journey, a spiraling into, going deeper, coming up for air, for insight, with new questions, then going back to the blank page.


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Roller coasters, lemons, and lemonade

What a month!! The old saying, “when life gives you lemons make lemonade” comes to mind.  It has been a roller coaster ride; you know, fun, scary, unsettling, and now we seem to be back on the ground.  I have been to a fantastic women’s conference www.womenspeak2010.com to help with a big booktable and to listen to inspiring and dynamic women from around the world.  My husband had angioplasty to clear a few blockages in his leg.  We have lived with his cardiovascular disease for about 12 years now; this was his fourth procedure to clear things up and actually (at least to me) the easiest to date.  This doesn’t mean it wasn’t scary.  No surgical procedure is risk free.  We laughed and called this one “drive through”…procedure one day, bounding up and down stairs 3 days later and back on the golf course in about 10 days (his marker of total progress!!).  Then, a change in job status.  We have been here before too.  Take a deep breath, don’t forget to exhale, put one foot in front of the other, and truly re/member about living life one day at a time and in the present moment has been my mantra of late.  Now, today an employment offer sits at the doorstep.  Details are unknown but we are grateful and hopeful.   Answers should come later in the day and tomorrow will be what it will be.  Maybe we’ll get to ride a leisurely horse and buggy and get to stay off the roller coaster for a bit. 

We all live in our own Book of Life.  They are written One Day at a Time.  Sometimes, actually most often, the way they are written depends as much, if not more, on the way we choose to see the events and happenings of our days.  Sometimes I only feel the roller coaster dips and swirls, feel only the fear and see only the lemons and taste their bitterness.  I forget that the dips and swirls can be freeing; even opportunities to see beyond the smallness I often get caught in.  I forget  that I can squeeze those lemons and add water and sugar to make a delicious, thirst quenching liquid.   Today I choose to re/member  life is bigger than the happenings I experience,  life is generally good and in the end “all shall be well”.