First off, I don’t know where this one is going. Usually, when I open my WordPress page, I have a pretty decent idea of what I’m going to write. Or at least I like to tell myself I do. But today, things are murkier than usual. But I do know this is a post I need to write.
Over the years that I’ve been blogging, my readers have come to accept that when I wrote “random” as the second word of that tagline up there, I meant it. This blog has always been about whatever thing it is that is foremost on my mind at the moment. Which, if you were to meet me in the flesh, is how I operate at most times. My mind is a “fluid” place and I typically blurt out whatever shiny new distraction comes to mind. It’s probably a miracle that I have any friends, really. Read more…
Today’s post is really a non-post. It can’t even be considered a place-saver because I know I won’t come back to fix it. Because somedays you just can’t. And today is one of those days. As a blogger, when you just can’t think of anything to write, it’s a ugly pickle to find yourself in.
Actually, I have lots of things I’m thinking about. I just don’t have any thoughts that want to hang together in some small semblance of cohesive thoughts. In other words, it even more drivel-ly drivel than usual. I guess my brain isn’t braining very well today.
My heart is sad and my to-do list has been making bullet-point babies. I’ve overwhelmed and stressed out. The hives are literally popping out on my hands and arms. So today, I’m crossing “write today’s blog post” off the list and hoping you’ll come back on Friday.
Because Friday will have to be better than this, right?
Please come check on me then. Bring some coffee or chocolate or bawdy jokes. Or even bad jokes (like this one which is a personal fav: What is brown and sticky? A stick.)
I’ll see you then.
Last night I made the trip to Portland’s own Murder By the Book to celebrate the release of Bill Cameron’s fourth book, County Line. It was a win-win kind of night…I supported a local indi book store, heard Bill read a bit of the new book and listened to him play his ukelele. Perhaps one of the best parts was reading how he signed my copy: “To Quickie! Such a delight to become friends with you!” And it is delightful. Delightful to have found another person in this world to add to my list of “people I know and care about”. How about you? How long is your list? Because most folks in this world have a list of those who matter, connected by blood or that even thicker connection I like to think of as the “feathers of my heart.”
Everybody I know has something that partially defines them and through which many of their friendships arise. Perhaps they play as sport or a musical instrument or board games. It doesn’t matter what the activity is, just that there are activities. I believe it is through the doing of life that we find the living of life. And those who live it amongst us are often the folks who become members of our “found” family. Birds of a feather and all that.
This morning finds me drinking a rather weak cup of hotel coffee at the Oregon beach. In other words, awesome. Mister Soandso and I snuck away for a few days to celebrate our upcoming anniversary and so here I am, typing on my netbook, drinking bad coffee, and hoping my spotty wifi holds on long enough to upload this.
Driving out to the beach last night, Mister Soandso and I were talking about what a difference a year makes. Think back to where you were last year. How different 365 days makes, yes? For some there have been births, deaths, good news, bad news. And since it was snowing on us, the possibility of death was high on my list.
But we arrived just fine, although slightly frayed about the nerves. And since I’m a stress eater, it seemed like a great idea to ice skate across the parking lot to a local hang-out and eat and drink and basically make a little too much merry.
So here I am, several hours, a little bit tired, a little bit rough about the edges, a little bit in need of some downtime. Which I’m going to to take with a side of Advil.
But first, I’m going to surf through the posts I’ve been putting out here since December of 2008 and remind myself about just how wonderful these past days have been – filled with more good than bad, more happy than sad, more beginnings than endings.
I think I’m going to try to figure out my favorite post. Chances are, it will be about something that made me laugh. Those laughing moments remind me of what makes my years so precious. Feel free to surf right along with me; downtime is better with a smile.
Do you ever look around and wonder just how you got where you are? Was there a navigator or even a map involved? Just what turn of events was pivotal, or is it even possible to pin it all on one key moment? This is how I ponder when I’m flipping pancakes or having other quiet moments. And since my daughter requested pancakes this morning, I had some ponder time. Just how the hell did I turn into a nearly 42-year old mother of 3, flipping pancakes while checking Twitter, Facebook, email and the weather forecast on my iPhone while successfully managing to answer my land-line?
I am quickly approaching my 42nd birthday which means two things: I was born in 1968 and come next October, be listening for the sirens. And not because I am trotting out that old euphemism about candles and hot firemen. Nope, I plan on my birthday parties to be worthy of police responses…someday. I figure that by the time I hit my 90s, I will have earned the right to disturb the peace a bit with some good ole wild celebrating. Because birthdays are a big deal. And because, sometimes, for a just a bit, I do enjoy being the center of attention.
But sometimes, I would just as soon have everybody overlook little ole me. I guess the difference is if they come peering at me with a gift-wrapped prezzie in their hands.
Because as much as it may surprise some of you to hear this, even extroverts who regularily take the stage can get a bit freaked out over being the center of attention. Sometimes, everybody looking at you just makes you want to take a cue from Bert the Turtle and do some serious “duck and cover”. (Anybody else old enough to have done the whole “nuclear holocaust” drills as a kid? Oy. Nothing like that little brand of fun to make a kid grow up maladjusted and more than just a wee bit jumpy around loud noises.)
Lots of blogging and Tweeting traffic of late on the use of blogs by authors – which, of course, causes me to ponder: Why do I blog? What is my goal? Who do I write for and why? Am I evolving into a writer or was I created as a writer? Perhaps the truth is part evolution and part creation. My writing identity was created by many forces, but I believe I am evolving into a writer as well.