Order of the Stick, various newspapers around the country, and blogs I follow. Sadly, not one of those blogs are updated more than once every few months -- some of them haven't been updated for over a year now. It's like watching dust collect on dress pants hanging in the closet -- is there even any point in holding on to those nice slacks if they're never used? But you keep them, because just maybe...
Well, then there's me, and this blog.
Sometimes I forget why I made this blog in the first place. It was just going to be a place to ramble if I wanted to ramble on about something, rant if I felt like a rant was in order, talk about my life and my gardens and pets. How many mornings have I awakened to the sight of the first morning light hitting the shrimp plant on the patio outside my bedroom and wanted to share how beautiful it is -- and then got up and made tea and folded laundry instead?
Sinking into the mundane, falling silent and somnolent is so easy. Celebrating the glory and wonder of creation requires some effort: you can't dance if you're lying on the floor eating potato chips; you can't sing if your mouth is full of potato chips; you shouldn't attempt to work with watercolors or oils or pastels if your hands are covered with potato chip crumbs.
Oh, potato chips are fine, and just about necessary if you're having friends over for snacks, but you get my drift. Potato chips instead of creativity will just make you fat, figuratively speaking.
Enough about chips. In point of fact, one of the things that has kept me from this blog is that Howie is gone, and it's torture to go back and read his obituary post, and more torture not to. I miss him so much, our long-accustomed games together, the sweet smell of his soft fur, his greeting me gently when I would open my eyes in the morning. He was simply the best dog I've ever, ever met.
And now, back to the laundry.