Will I be dead in 2 years?

If you knew you were going to be dead in 20 years would you think and act differently today?
If you knew you were going to be dead in 2 years would you think and act differently today?
What about 2 months?
What about 2 days?

Should the answer to those questions be different?

Why do we blog?

I've heard that some people think that "unless you blog every day, you shouldn't bother."

In my case, "random thoughts" don't occur on a schedule. They wouldn't be random now would they? They would have to be called "daily thoughts." I certainly don't feel an obligation to service a commitment on a daily basis.

Is a blog a means to release one's creativity (or whatever) that is otherwise bottled up? Perhaps.
Or is it a self-created assignment with rigorous rules? Who sets those rules? You the blogger or someone else who has an opinion of how you should behave?

Is the blog a tool for expression and communication or an obligation/commitment/requirement to cough up creativity on a daily basis? I would hope it's the former. I'd much rather read well thoughtout blogs than daily junk.

But on the other hand, if blogging is your means of allocating some quality time for yourself (whatever the outcome), great.

It seems to me that you can look at the blog as a tool for you or a taskmaster to which you are enslaved.

That's all for now (and maybe for quite awhile). I gotta run put an X over today's calendar date (I always do that at exactly this time every day)...

While You’re Away

When you leave somewhere familiar for a period of time you leave with a clear image of that place in your head. You “know” the place, the people who inhabit that place, the surroundings. All the minute details are neatly stored away and accessible in an instant without even thinking.

The drinking glass by the sink.
The drip of the faucet that doesn’t quite turn off.
The piece of junk mail on the counter top.
The smell of that sausage you cooked for dinner the last night.
The sound of the grandfather clock.
The extension cord on the driveway not yet put away from a weekend project.
The light in the kitchen left on as a beacon for your return (someday).
The tilt of the mailbox that survived the winter but could use some attention (someday).
The pothole in the road down the street near the bent stop sign.

But it’s just that, an image. The reality of change marches on and things change.

Someone moves the drinking glass.
Someone pickups that piece of junk mail (or adds to the pile).
The smells change in an evolving way over time
The last cookie in the jar is eaten by a lucky person.
The last marshmallow Peep slowly hardens in its opened package.
The grass grows.
The weeds grow.
The flowers sprout and bloom.
Old potholes are repaired, new ones form just as quickly.
The people there grow…. smarter, older, and more distant.
Mosquitoes hatch in the pond and begin their cycle.
Bills accumulate in the tilted mailbox.
The answering machine collects messages for a later day.
The smells of freshly mowed lawns (someone else’s) waft through the air.
People come and go in the neighborhood.
Someone gets a new car down the block.
A fire devastates a nearby business.
People die. Babies are born.
Kids graduate from high school, college, day care.
Politicians shake hands and change positions.
The silver in the drawer tarnish just a bit more.
Laundry is done and left (on your side of the bed!) to be folded (someday).
Even your crystal clear memory fades just a bit every day
How many Peeps were there really in that package?
What color is the neighbor’s house 2 doors down?
Even the importance of your memory of “that place” begins to fade.
Who cares what color that house is anyway.

It’s all different now. You’re a stranger.



But is it really different? Were you always a stranger? Or is there no such thing as a stranger?

Those sorts of changes were happening all along before you left. The change that happened since you left is really just a natural progression of the change you were living when you were there.

You didn’t leave with an “image” in your head, you left in the middle of a (never-ending) movie. A familiar movie. A movie in which you played a central role. When you return, you will, without even thinking about it, bring “your” movie to this familiar place and continue on as one of the central characters of “your” movie. All the other people in “your” movie have been staring in overlapping, simultaneous continuous movies of their own. They will simply (re)mesh with yours in surprising and exciting ways that brings you ‘home’ again where you can belong any time you want.

It’s not different at all. It’s simply moved ahead in time on the same familiar movie.

Perhaps the smell of that sausage is still in the air.