An Interim Day (But Aren’t They All?)
It started as a bad cold and now I’ve lost my voice. I don’t actually mind. Monte left for work this morning so it’s just the dog and me, and she’s quite deaf. I only wish it weren’t shaping up to be so beautiful outside. If it were damp and gray I would find it easier to justify what I most feel like doing, which is staying in bed reading and typing and maybe dozing off now and then. A hot bath would be nice too. And I would sit in that bathtub just this once without feeling guilty about the fact that it is a luxury, like so many elements of my life, that only the privileged enjoy.
Don’t worry. This isn’t going to be one of those hand-wringing self-flagellations that don’t do any good anyway. It’s just a casual, catch-all blog post. I’ve begun to observe that an approach like that is more consistent with blogging anyway.
First, a curious coincidence. Yesterday I tapped out a post about the Mississippi River. Moments later, an email from a friend appeared about the Delta Queen, last of the authentic old wood paddle boats and a national historic treasure. Clearly my friend and I both had river trips on our mind. I wrote to tell her about this odd confluence of thought and referred her to my blog entry. She wrote back a little while later and said, “Oh, I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all. I looked at your blog post and I can tell that the Mississippi is still calling you -- but I want you to know that everything you were looking for as a child is still there.” She went on to describe excursions she has taken on the Delta Queen. They sounded like pleasant wanderings through the past.
There’s a problem, of course. The operation of the Delta Queen is in danger of being terminated forever, ostensibly due to a safety rule limiting the number of overnight passengers on a wooden boat. The Delta Queen has traveled the Mississippi, Ohio, and Tennessee Rivers since the 1920s without incident and until now was granted an exemption from the 1966 rule. Here’s the story if you’re interested, and now would be the time to send a message to your representative in Congress if it matters to you.
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch, swathed in silence and sunlight and looking for something else, I came upon this quote by Jack London: “You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.”
Well, I’ve got my club in hand and I’m swinging recklessly into thin air. But at least until I hit upon something inspired and substantial, I’m hoping that blogging will keep me in form. Calisthenics for a dancer, or something like that.
I do have a story started, but it requires me to go someplace unpleasant. (Ah, I see a clue right there to my lack of productivity! I think you’re supposed to be much more willing to suffer.)
Instead I did a bit of googling and found so much advice for writers that my head is spinning.
But before I fly into the flame, here are a few mundane (and completely irrelevant) things I’ve been wondering about lately:
Why is it that when I say thank you these days, the response is always “no problem”? Could we please go back to “you’re welcome”? It just sounds more gracious, ‘cause when you do something that prompts a thank you, isn’t it supposed to have been for and about the recipient of the deed, as opposed to you and your avoidance of problems in doing whatever you did?
Those people who sit on the train from Goleta to Santa Ana talking nonstop on their cell phones…once and for all, who ARE they talking to? I simply cannot fathom who has that much time to listen. (Maybe someone on another train?) I’m suddenly remembering something about commuting on the el in Chicago when I lived there briefly in the 1970s -- everyone routinely brought along newspapers and books. It was actually a time to catch up on reading. Just a thought. Silly me.
Okay, what’s with the eyebrows entirely removed and then drawn on in jack-o-lantern ways? Who managed to convince these young women that this looks good? (A strategy concocted by the manufacturers of eyebrow pencils, perhaps?)
And can we establish at this point that tattoos and piercings are no longer hip, chic, shocking, or particularly interesting statements of the wearer’s individuality and rebelliousness?
I'm still wondering, also, why the models in the ads for anti-aging face creams and cosmetics always look about 25 years old -- is that really supposed to convince me to buy something?
This is a big one: is it really true (or even possible) that 30% of voters even now approve of the job Bush has been doing? Why? How? Who ARE these people? Are they conscious?
Finally, is blogging writing? I mean, is it “good” for a writer? Or is it just another time-sucking peril, like email?
That’s enough meandering, I guess.
Here’s the one quote by Annie Dillard I can handle today: “Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”