June 2009

Blogging as a gift.

/ wvfurandroot / 14 Comments
From Thinkpad to Paper and Back.

From Thinkpad to Paper and Back.

I started blogging not to be read by anyone, but as a convenient online journal. I have journaled on and off for years and years. As the internet developed and technology improved, it struck me that an electronic journal would serve me best as it allowed for links, youtube videos, and pictures. So. Last August, I set up a blog.

Nobody is more surprised than me that I have a small, but faithful readership. I love y’all for reading my blathering drivel, but it has served to cause me to censor myself. (I’m afraid of the “keep this post private” toggle as I can just see me accidentally posting one of my most embarrassing TMI entries.)

That I can pull my Flickr into the blog (indeed I didn’t use Flickr until I started the blog) really rocks my boat and I love looking at the map thingie to see where my visitors are coming from.

All that aside, the blog has been great for getting me writing on a daily basis again. It’s also provoked me to take more pictures in my quest to be “right here right now.”

[An aside: I love feedback and, seriously, I don’t understand why more of you don’t comment even if only to tell me the post sucked or bored you to tears. I once was part of a writing group and “constructive” critiques are a gift.]

Wood Pulp and Ink

Wood Pulp and Ink

But, since I do have a readership and am censoring, I’m back to ink and wood pulp journaling. I haven’t been very good about doing it every day, but when I do, I like to make a ritual of it. Thus I have a good rollerball and a fine, fine dip pen (Murano glass that you dip in ink.) I love lazy mornings at the table writing secrets, rants, whines, and various blatherings on paper with fine ink.

Still, the blog is so much easier. I can just grab the laptop and sprawl either on the sofa, the chaise or in bed. I am a hedonist and being comfortable while doing anything is critical to my well-being.

Both my son and my father have considerable writing talents and opinions on everything. About a month ago I decided I would set them up blogs as a birthday/Father’s Day gift. I was amazed when I actually followed-through on that idea. Surprisingly, I had such fun setting them up and personalizing them with in-jokes and photos that it was worth the work even if they decide not to maintain them. [If you’re of a mind to, go wish my dad a happy Father’s Day – his life’s journey has been such that if you knew him, you’d love him too.]

fine pens are a must

fine pens are a must

Blogs as a gift are a stroke genius, I think, provided the recipients have any interest in writing and are not averse to a (mostly) silent audience reading their thoughts. I’m pleased with my unorthodox gifts. I think my dad will be and I think my son is.

And blogging, my own and others, has been a great gift to me. I enjoy it far more than I ever thought I would and I love setting up blogs for other people. (For a nominal fee, I’ll make one for you too!)

The Ides of June are slowly ticking away and the gift-giving season will soon be at an end. I’ll be able to get back to my regularly scheduled programming which I am now resolved will involve a more faithful paper journaling.

If your cement cracks. . .

/ wvfurandroot / 5 Comments
Plug it with a plant.

A whole new twist on cement planters.

If the concept of reincarnation as making you do it over and over again until you get it right is correct, I think what I’m here to understand is bloom where you’re planted or joy in spite of it all.

The plant depicted above lives in a cement courtyard of a housing complex for Huntington’s formerly-homeless. I work near the complex and have occasion to stand on the “smoking veranda” and chat with some of the tenants.

They’re an amazing bunch – a fair amount of Vietnam vets, a fair amount of alcoholics, many of them disabled, and most of them strangely optimistic about life. Their apartments are tiny and most of them take pride in keeping them neat and orderly only in part due to monthly inspections. [Hmmm. . .maybe I need a monthly inspection around here.]

I get tickled with their homemaking at times and I’m not sure why. There’s one guy – a tall, wiry fellow with dark, burnished skin and an ever-present cigarette dangling from his mouth, who dons an old-fashioned woman’s apron every time he mops his place – which is daily. But he’s the exception. Other acts and conversation about apartment maintenance are only a little weird (alcoholism is rampant). For the most part, it’s routine “so, what did you use to get your drip pans clean?” Maybe it’s because the majority are men – which makes me sexist, I guess.

One day I got to witness the group collaboration on the making of a Duncan Hines box cake. One had the pans, another had the oil, but no one had an egg. The consternation was great. (I told them to forget the oil and use mayonnaise instead – really, it works.) Nobody had mayonnaise either. Eventually two of them went to the Kroger to procure eggs – hoping, as they left, Kroger would have half-dozen cartons. Man, we only need 1 egg, I’m gonna shit if we have to buy 12.

It’s not all happiness and Mayberry on meth out there, but I’m always surprised. And for whatever reason, they would die before they would let anyone harm me. I’m treated with great respect and the times I’m subjected to coarseness and ribaldry are few (and sweet in a twisted way).

So. Here these guys are living in this place. They had to hit rock bottom to qualify. Most of the time, they’re cheerful. (40s are only a part of it.)

Every year, someone plants a green, growing thing of one variety or another in a large cement crack that chips and gets a little bigger every year.  Last year it was petunias. And last year, I could never remember to bring the camera to take a picture of those glorious purple petunias spreading over the concrete. This year’s plant is familiar, but I can’t quite dredge up what it’s going to be.

These plants are smile-provoking and, given the circumstances, probably require a great deal of care. I’ve been intrigued by the planting for several years now. I think the moral is if your cement cracks, plug it with a plant.

Not bad advice.