IMPORTANT NOTE: Due to some complications, I have changed the email from which this sends. Please add charleneannbaumbich@gmail.com to your Permanent Records.

I know, I know, it's been almost two years since I sent my last TwinkleGram, which consisted of a VERY long-winded and intense description of my first harrowing trip out after lockdown, when everything--and I mean everything--was scary and crazy and I was lathered up about this and that and ....

But since then I'm older, more mature. As of this typing I'm now a seasoned COVID ERA SURVIVOR who is far less ... um ... er...

Never mind.

It doesn't matter how I'd describe myself today, especially since it could be wildly unlike yesterday or day before. I come and I go between calm, quiet, in control, freaked out, angry, disgusted, tired, grateful and/or ready to travel the world. I rant between BRING IT ON and COVID BURNOUT and WHERE'S MY MASK?I and GET ME THE FLIBBEDY-JIB OUT OF MY OWN BRAIN!

I am human. Right? {Note to Charlene: do NOT look in the mirror.) And so I come with all the bells and whistles, whether they're triggered tirades or magical smooches.

For the most part, two years has passed swiftly (but where did they go?!), although many days lasted decades. I've thought of you all often. Thought of coming into my "office," a corner of my bedroom where the giant roll-top desk dwells, sometimes broods. I've even booted up with the notion of sending you a howdy-ho. But then my fingers lingered over the keyboard as I assessed the worthiness of what might turn out to be a jingle-jangle of nonsensical words concerning my latest COVID-ERA BRAIN whim. Theoretical tail tucked, I closed my roll top and returned to my La-Z-Boy electric recliner, pushed the wonderfully handy buttons and settled in again. Or I'd go for a walk. Or call a friend. Or anything but write.

What was there to say during this crazed time without end?

Two whole years. Where did they go? Can't get them back. What have I learned? Why haven't I written? Were they wasted or cradled as the precious breaths they were? What have I got to show for them?

A bigger question: Why, after all this time, am I actually putting words to paper now?

(Stepping back ... thinking...)

Why would anyone give two hoots about my latest drama or bright moment from these last two seemingly lost years?

Okay, I'm boldly, yet gingerly and with deep respect, stepping back to you. I've concluded I'm back because no matter how whackydoodle my thoughts, they always seem to resonate with at least enough of you--even if it's just one who melts my heart with an I-get-it response--who encourage me to keep sharing. So, here it comes, the Big Reveal of Today's Missive, the sum total of the Why today?:

I. Am. Still. Here.

And if you are reading this, so are you. We have made it thus far through a pandemic that refuses to die. We have suffered, missed out, perhaps been ill. We might have even lost loved ones, gained new Zoom habits and ramped up our staring-into-space skills, lived in our ratty comfies and/or soldiered on any way we could or had to. Even when it was just barely.

Recently I've taken the gasping step to name myself as RETIRED on medical forms etc., but words and stories still vibrate within me. I've concluded it's impossible for a writer to ever say they no longer are one. I recall reading a story in one of Madeleine L'Engles nonfiction works where she decided to quit writing. And the whole time she was quitting, she was picturing herself writing about quitting.

Yup. And of course, and thank goodness, she did not. I am better for her words.

People still capture my attention and fascinate me, wiggly my words. I fascinate and confound me. And I hope you fascinate and surprise yourself! Sometimes others (or myself) cause me to curse and throw things. Real life is a fuzzy juicy peach of a thorny celebration, eh?

But gosh darn it, WE ARE STILL STANDING. Or at least in our lounge chairs with semi-coherent thoughts. We can still dream of tomorrow and the next day, let yesterday go and buckle up for what comes next.

What is your innate "thing" you still have buried within, that bright thing that makes you go all time-warpy when you engage in/with it? Cooking? Needlework? Poetry? Painting? Helping friends? Scrubbing things sparkling clean? Driving friends to doctor appointments? Singing in the shower?

Sit up straighter (DO IT!) and determine to use that thing. To loose it upon those around you, or just FOR you. Be brave and step outside the thoughts that have held you back. YOU ARE STILL HERE! Lift your proverbial roll top and keep that thing up. Share the things inside you that gift the world, that prove you more than you feel or appear in the worst of moments.

Can't remember what those are? Ask a friend. Seriously, friends know good stuff about us, things easy for us to lose sight of.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE! (TWINKLEGRAM, get it?!) Even if you currently consist of low batteries, low-beam the world with all you got.

WE ARE STILL HERE!

Peace and grins,
Charlene
PS I'm sending this before I chicken out. Sail into the cosmos, you Living Breathing Words! May you reach and encourage the hidden depths of many a discouraged and needy heart. xo