Can you call it writer's block if this is your first attempt to write for public consumption? Can you even call it writer’s block? Blogger’s block?
I like the concept of blogging. It’s kind of like graffiti on the Web. However, for better or worse, words on the Web live forever. No sandblasting, no urban renewal. For those of you who know my fear of commitment (I don’t even like massive furniture) this can be an overwhelming responsibility. It’s not quite the same as writing in a journal because this is intended for others to read while I’m still alive and accountable for what I say here. Still, I consider blogging a method of reaching out and I can delude myself into thinking that others might be interested and even mildly amused.
I’ve just come off a week of vacation. No exotic trips, no treks into the wilderness. I got as far as an hour away to walk along the bluff in St Joe, Michigan. Forget for a moment that a day trip to St Joe is about as far as my budget will take me. I really do enjoy vacations at home. I like spending daylight hours in my home. I like walking my dog in the neighborhood when everyone else is in school or at work. I love this time of year – the mild temperatures, saturated colors and crunchy leaves. The bugs are gone and the field mice haven’t invaded yet. I like running errands outside of the lunchtime or after work hours. I have time to talk to the young people ringing up or bagging my groceries or to ask about the baby pictures on the dry cleaner’s calendar. I have lunch with my mother, dinner with friends, and I make or send long overdue phone calls and emails. I make appointments and keep them. My focus is the life I want. The one that keeps getting eclipsed by the occupation that is supposed to finance it.
I’m getting my house ready to sell so I spent some of my vacation getting repairmen in to fix things I should have taken care of long ago. I had an electrician come to install an oven hood I bought when I bought the stove. It’s been sitting on top of my refrigerator for 10 years. You can’t rush these things.
I’m a little ambivalent about selling the house. It’s time. The nest is empty and a four-bedroom, two-story house is excessive for one person. I could be quite comfortable in less than 900 square feet – assuming that 900 square feet includes two bedrooms, a bath and a half, central air a fireplace and an attached garage. (I’m downsizing but let’s not be ridiculous). Even so, things are getting spruced up and, besides, the photo the realtor took makes the house look really good. So, if it sells –great; if it doesn’t - no biggie.
My life is in flux. Everything is up for grabs. I’m anxious to make new mistakes in the second half of my adult life. So, stay tuned.