Quiet Week of Quiet Blog August 20, 2009
Posted by indigobunting in Uncategorized.trackback
There must be something to say about these hot, hot days of summer and the occasional dips in the river. There must be something to say about all the recent parties and receptions tossed playfully in amongst my deadlines. There must be something to say about my fabulous weekend with old friends and winning my first-ever bet on a horse, something to say about the Chris Smither concert, the carnival at Wells, the stargazing, the fly-fishing festival. There must be something to say about one friend’s death and another’s diagnosis and about that beautiful-but-no-longer-living cedar waxwing I found on my front porch just two days ago. There must be something to say. Mustn’t there?
Route 153 
Not necessarily.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t need to document everything anymore. I was living my life in anticipation of what I’d blog about the experiences I was having and not actually living them.
No.
But well said, nonetheless.
I was working yesterday on how to say that I feel lucky and, in some way, well-skilled, I have managed to say anything that has captured a moment of reality as I actually experienced it, and to do so in such as way that others experienced it as I did, felt as I felt, came to the understanding and revelations I did. If I have done this once, a miracle has occurred. That I have done this many times, if I believe what I am told, and I never do, then I am amazed, fortunate and have no thing I can complain about.
So, as an experience went by yesterday and I stopped, physically, to think of how I would write about it, I stopped a second time, this time mentally, to reflect about simply returning to the experience. I am glad I did.
It was beautiful. it was wonderful. I don’t even remember what it was. That’s just fine. I’m better for it.
I find I blog less when I’m doing more. There’s just no time to be in here doing this.
I know that feeling.
Nothing much seemed to happen to Henry James, yet look at how much he wrote. It’s the inner, not the outer, life that happens.
Ah……..Jobim.
One Henry James was enough.
The carnival in Wells! What a wonderful memory! Especially the bingo.
Hi everybody! Susan, yes, the title was for you. And Craig, I do have such fond memories of that bingo game…
it’s the summer thing. hard to blog this time of year. hard to do anything but drink and be languid.
Lisa: You are so right.