My friend Daisy wrote me late Sunday asking if I am doing okay. I’ve not posted at H&Q for most of a week, a sure sign I’m off my feed as they would say if I were a cow or a kitty. I wrote her back that I was on the verge of posting an explanation for the short hiatus.
Vachel Lindsay wrote a poem describing how “Mr. Moon” invited him to “Come eat the bread of idleness,” which from a poet’s perspective doesn’t mean being “idle” at all; it means sitting still and writing a POEM f’ goodness’ sake. Writing anything requires me to compose details of thoughts, and it’s not a matter of finding time. CHEESES, I have all the time in the frikking world. It’s a matter of wanting to compose details. But that is the final step. I’ve not wanted to engage that final step until Sunday morning after lying in bed until 10 a (insanely late for me), watching “This Week With George Stephanolpolous” while straightening up my living room which hasn’t seen a vacuum cleaner since mine broke in 2002, and toddling into mon office with my third cup of Folger’s Instant of the morning. It was then that I decided I would write one more blog posting than I had posted in July before then end of August.
It wouldn’t be hard. I had been conceiving blog post titles all week. The “Incident at Rock City” was 90% ready and came out of my fingers like draft beer coming from a keg into a frosted mug. It flowed. I could have written it with one arm tied behind my back. Pretty much ditto with the Buffington post. I knew last night, returned from the reception and feeling like I was back into the hog wallow of navel contemplation much earlier than I SHOULD be on a frikking Saturday night . . . . that I should write about my interaction and just “let it all hang out.” So I did. “Summer” was inspired by my friend Wendy McCrosky’s post about making chili for the first time in months.
My friend Rick Falzone Facebook chatted to me Sunday night, “Job, you are the poet.” and I wrote back “Try cutting the quiet respect of friends and strangers with a knife and fork;” the point being that warm regard won’t pay my real estate taxes and keep my electricity connected this week. The encounter with this respected videographer did focus my brane on the gulf between aspiring writers (those who aren’t successful, like moi) and normal people, and further focused my resolve to write a final, record posting at H&Q today.
It’s 11:40 p as I write these words.
I’ve seen what happens to good people who do far better as writers than I suspect I will ever do, and yet pass from this mortal “stage” to the next just as inexorably. Writing is a blast when I want to write. Today I also wanted to work on model airplanes, trim my backyard fence vegitation, go grocery shopping (I have the cash for it), file articles in the basement, call an acquaintance about some aviation magazine promised to me, respond to an Arkansas friend’s delightful e of a few days ago, run a load of laundry and take my camera on a leisurely stroll through Washington Park. I wrote from 11:05 until a little after 7, ate breakfastlunchdinner, watched a little “Nature” on PBS, napped in the easy chair about 50 minutes and returned to this computer after the local news on the station I vowed I would never watch again. (How great intentions crumble when you want to watch a weather report!) I am a creative wri ta ta.
This is what I am. This is who I do.
Live long . . . . . . and proper.