here's that aforementioned diary entry:
july 1 2007
my mother dear (my dad's mom) had a very green thumb. she loved plants and her spirit was so naturally gentle it had a nurturing, regenerative quality that induced growth and inspired living. no wonder her mint leaves were so wonderfully sweet and green that at age seven i preferred them to bubble yum! no wonder her collard greens practically cooked themselves. no wonder her tiny two bedroom house in the projects had such an air of beauty, all dressed up with colorful, joyous flowers and fruit that i didn't even realize it was the projects til i was too old and too proud of it to consider whether that even mattered anyway. no wonder she herself was such a flower. a lily. lillian.
my creative impulse, my soul tongue, is as natural to me as mother dear's green thumb was to her. by nature, i can only plant my words down in an attempt to connect to other souls. i can only pour my emotions into those words, feeding them until they take on their own spirit and meaning, blossom into something that's part of me, product of me, but no longer just mine, now something to share with others. i want to surround my dwelling place with the soul of my words like mother dear surrounded hers with the green of her nurturing hands.