Wednesday, January 12, 2005
WHERE DO THE WORDS GO?
Wish I could say I'm writing but, if I am, it's not much to brag about. I think about many things all the time, but when I sit down to write, the words just seem to disappear. Somehow, between my brain and fingers, the thoughts, ideas and words in my head get lost, and I get impatient and frustrated. I'm using free wi-fi internet at a restaurant, and listening to Al Franken on Air America Radio. Had lunch here with a friend I've known for nearly thirty years. We're both Vietnam veterans. He flew in the Air Force, and I flew in the Army. He got an MA in Rehabilitation Counseling, and I got mine in Aging Studies (gerontology). He became a marriage and family counselor, and I did social work. We know each other very well, and we have found in the past few years of discussing politics that our views are different. Ask me if I'm surprised.
I'm using electricity for my laptop, and sitting at a table so I decide to go buy a pastry and coffee to even things out. This place has many excellent sweet things to eat so I ask the clerk what she likes and she, of course, says all of them and often, but then she mentions a few specific ones. I tell her I don't know how she manages to be so thin if she eats so much, and she says she works out everyday and has to be on her feet at work. I ask her what's fresh and she says "everything is baked fresh daily and that old stuff is given to charities". I ask her which one(s) and she answers by saying every store gives its leftovers to different charities. Enough chit chat so I decide to get a shortbread cookie because I've never tried one here.
When I go to get my cup of coffee there's a man ahead of me who is getting a cup who suddenly whirls around, takes a step and sneezes. I say gesundheit, and jokingly ask him if he's allergic to coffee. He says no, but that he comes from a "family of sneezers", that his father and grandfather sneezed like he does, and that his uncle "Ebenezer" sneezed too. I remark that his relatives must have taught him how to sneeze, and our brief interaction is over. Then, I ask a female employee who is cleaning up around the trash bin what has been the most interesting thing that has ever happened to her at work. She seems puzzled by the question, and does not give me an answer. I mention blogs and ask her if she knows what a blog is, and she says "no". Actually, I've asked a number of folks about blogs lately, and get blank looks back. And, here I thought blogging was the big thing on the internet. Hmmmm.
So, I return to my table and start blogging because suddenly I have something to write about. I've lived long enough to understand that most of our lives are lived between events and activities - in the spaces and even on the margins at times. I constantly want to write about the merest, smallest and most mundane, boring minutiae which make the matrices of our lives, because I actually think these can be very interesting. We may seek, and wish for ,exciting events and activities but, if we ignore the small things along the way, we miss some of the best parts of our brief lives.
Well ... Maybe the cookie I bought was baked today but, if so, it sure didn't taste like it. After a little thought I decide not to make an issue of it, but to blog about it. Ergo ... I'm looking for reasons, rhythm and pace for my "work" and want my readers to be drawn into my writing and even - hopefully - find it mildly entertaining, informative and interesting. Still have a long way to go, but may just get there soon.
P.S. The manager walked by, and I told him the cookie did not taste fresh, but he did not seem to give a damn. I tell him I'm blogging about being here, and get a blank stare and no comment. Oh well. It's 3 PM now and they're cleaning up after the lunch time crowd. Got some quizzical looks and smiles from some women here today, and this was sort of fun - I think. And, here I was thinking I had nothing to write about. ¶ 1:55 PM
Wish I could say I'm writing but, if I am, it's not much to brag about. I think about many things all the time, but when I sit down to write, the words just seem to disappear. Somehow, between my brain and fingers, the thoughts, ideas and words in my head get lost, and I get impatient and frustrated. I'm using free wi-fi internet at a restaurant, and listening to Al Franken on Air America Radio. Had lunch here with a friend I've known for nearly thirty years. We're both Vietnam veterans. He flew in the Air Force, and I flew in the Army. He got an MA in Rehabilitation Counseling, and I got mine in Aging Studies (gerontology). He became a marriage and family counselor, and I did social work. We know each other very well, and we have found in the past few years of discussing politics that our views are different. Ask me if I'm surprised.
I'm using electricity for my laptop, and sitting at a table so I decide to go buy a pastry and coffee to even things out. This place has many excellent sweet things to eat so I ask the clerk what she likes and she, of course, says all of them and often, but then she mentions a few specific ones. I tell her I don't know how she manages to be so thin if she eats so much, and she says she works out everyday and has to be on her feet at work. I ask her what's fresh and she says "everything is baked fresh daily and that old stuff is given to charities". I ask her which one(s) and she answers by saying every store gives its leftovers to different charities. Enough chit chat so I decide to get a shortbread cookie because I've never tried one here.
When I go to get my cup of coffee there's a man ahead of me who is getting a cup who suddenly whirls around, takes a step and sneezes. I say gesundheit, and jokingly ask him if he's allergic to coffee. He says no, but that he comes from a "family of sneezers", that his father and grandfather sneezed like he does, and that his uncle "Ebenezer" sneezed too. I remark that his relatives must have taught him how to sneeze, and our brief interaction is over. Then, I ask a female employee who is cleaning up around the trash bin what has been the most interesting thing that has ever happened to her at work. She seems puzzled by the question, and does not give me an answer. I mention blogs and ask her if she knows what a blog is, and she says "no". Actually, I've asked a number of folks about blogs lately, and get blank looks back. And, here I thought blogging was the big thing on the internet. Hmmmm.
So, I return to my table and start blogging because suddenly I have something to write about. I've lived long enough to understand that most of our lives are lived between events and activities - in the spaces and even on the margins at times. I constantly want to write about the merest, smallest and most mundane, boring minutiae which make the matrices of our lives, because I actually think these can be very interesting. We may seek, and wish for ,exciting events and activities but, if we ignore the small things along the way, we miss some of the best parts of our brief lives.
Well ... Maybe the cookie I bought was baked today but, if so, it sure didn't taste like it. After a little thought I decide not to make an issue of it, but to blog about it. Ergo ... I'm looking for reasons, rhythm and pace for my "work" and want my readers to be drawn into my writing and even - hopefully - find it mildly entertaining, informative and interesting. Still have a long way to go, but may just get there soon.
P.S. The manager walked by, and I told him the cookie did not taste fresh, but he did not seem to give a damn. I tell him I'm blogging about being here, and get a blank stare and no comment. Oh well. It's 3 PM now and they're cleaning up after the lunch time crowd. Got some quizzical looks and smiles from some women here today, and this was sort of fun - I think. And, here I was thinking I had nothing to write about. ¶ 1:55 PM
