Hello Blog. Hello reader. How are you doing? I did not neglect writing in my blog due to purposeful intentions or because I wanted to give people beckyyk’s-blog-withdrawal [BBW] or because a man was standing behind me threatening me by saying, “if you write another blog, I will kidnap your dog who is named Christmas.”
Sidenote: my sister and I were in 7th and 8th grade [respectively]. It was Christmas morning 2001. All the presents were opened. My dad went outside and returned holding a “Gateway Computer” box. [we had gotten a new desktop computer weeks before] Was this a new printer? I thought in my head. He put the box down in the center of the living room. We went over and opened the cardboard flaps. We jumped back in shock. It was a baby golden labrador retriever. I did not see that one coming. After my mom stopped crying [my dad “forgot” to consult with her before bringing the puppy home] we needed to name it. Because it was around Christmas-time, my sister and I looked at each other and at the same time said, “Let’s name her Christmas”. The rest is history. I don’t really ever call her Christmas though, she is Referred to as “Christy”. What a weird name for a dog. Our first dog’s name was Jessica. Truelife: I name my dogs using human names.
I have received over 3,000 emails asking why I haven’t written a blog entry in almost two weeks. More than half of them were from my friend, Maryellen. Half of them were from my Aunt Sally. Half of them were from my 3rd grade track coach. [I know weird, right?]
Here are some picture/sentence updates of the past days:
I commuted home:
Looking good Nana. I swear she’s got the dance moves of a 60 year old. I’m telling you. I said “I’m telling you” just in case you thought I was talking to someone else.
These weeks have been flying by. It’s work, then it’s the weekend. It’s work, then it’s the weekend. It’s work, then it’s the weekend. Do you understand the patter, or should I keep going?
I am currently reading my 24th book since starting work on January 5th. That’s about 2.6 books a month. Sha-ZAM. I’m reading The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult. Before this, I read One Day by David Nicholls. These are the first two fiction books I have read, out of the 24, that were not James Patterson detective ones [or Kathy Griffin/Chelsea Handler books] I didn’t know how my mind would react to non-detective novels. After finishing One Day i cried like a baby. It wasn’t a hungry cry, or a tired cry, it was rather… a nostalgic cry.
Here is a quote at the start of one of the chapters:
“She philosophically noted dates as they came past in the revolution of the year; …her own birthday; and every other day individualized by incidents in which she had taken some share. She suddenly thought one afternoon, when looking in the glass at her fairness, that there was yet another date, of greater importance to her than those; that of her own death, when all these charms would have disappeared; a day which lay sly and unseen among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not that less surely there. When was it?”
– Thomas Hardy, Tess of the d’Urbervilles
This quote vaguely reminded me of a passage from Thorton Wilder’s play Our Town. [which I read in high school]
After she has died in old age, the main character, Emily, gets to relive one day of her life as a invisible watcher. She is told to pick an unimportant day in her life to go back to. She is overwhelmed by how beautiful the day is and how when she was living it, she didn’t even realize.
Emily: I can’t. I can’t go on. It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another. I didn’t realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back– up the hill– to my grave. But first, wait! One more look.
Good-by; good-by, world; good-by, Grovers Corners…Mama and papa. Good-by to clocks ticking…and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths…and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. [She looks toward the stage manager and asks abruptly through ehr tears] Do human beings ever realize life while they live it?– every, every minute?
Stage Manager: No. [pause] The saints and poets, maybe– they do some.
Emily: I’m ready to go back.
A writer/director who has been sitting in our cubicle for the day, looked at us and said, “what are we all doing?” And it’s crazy to think about…like what am I doing with my life? How do I really live it? make the best of it?
I know what I’m going to do…Go buy a dog and name her Halloween.