While it appears I have been lazy, lately, I actually have been blogging, its just not making it to the keyboard. Let me tell you, they have been some awesome posts, too! Probably the best I've never wrote.
Like last week when I went hunting for the first time in a few years. I used to go hunting all of the time. Its what you did that told you fall was here. When I went back to college I got out of the habit, just not enough time. This year I decided even if I only went out a couple half dozen times (what do statements like that even mean) all I needed was one bullet and one clear shot, right? The three bucks we saw were just as impressed with my logic, too. It was as fun as I remembered. Cold, wet, tired, hungry and after being awe struck with the beauty of the back eighty it got boring. Trudge, listen, point. Trudge, listen, point. Point gun down, bring up binos, balance gun and binos. Glare at chipmunk doing crazy mania chirp in the tree to your right. Jump a jazillion feet in the air when the three bucks jump straight up into the air one hundred feet in front of you. Drop binos, yell at hubby, "Buck, buck, buck, shoot, shoot, shoot!" Quarrel with hubby over whose shot it was. Track buck, buck, buck for five more hours through wet underbrush. Think about warm house, hot coffee, computer. Blog in mind. Blog about beauty of forest in mind. Blog about beauty of wildlife in mind. Blog about cold, wet, stinky, rain forest in mind. Blog about loud, obnoxious chipmunks in mind. Blog about backstrap frying over fire in mind. Blog about obstinate husband tracking deer that could be in Knappa by now in mind. Think about hot tub, think about warm woolly socks, think about flannel nightgown. Isn't hunting fun?
Mind blogging about the grandson, who is always underfoot, usually in a good sort of way. This week he is being a terrible, terrible two year old. Look Babika, look at this, its disgusting. "This" is my ink cartridge that he's taken out of the office garbage can, running the inky bottom along the arm of the couch and leaving a permanent trail. Mind blogging how cute he looked as his nose wrinkled up and mouth askew reminded me of his mother doing the same thing and the horror as I remembered that I would now have to throw out yet another couch cover and this house is supposed to be ready to sell at a moments notice. Look 'Bika, look at me, I'm prettier now. "Now" being that he has taken the permanent marker to make lines around his eyes either like his mom or, as his uncle insists, a football player. I think he was going for the Johnny Depp, ala Jack Sparrow, look myself. He does want one to know he is a permanent part of their lives. Blogging in my minds eye, this kid could make us mucho dinero if we could just get him on television (how original, no grandparent has ever thought that).
Mind blogging the father who has had a horrendous week with his meds. He keeps forgetting to take them, even when he's called, so he doubles up and takes anything left over at the end of the day. This led to hallucinations. Bad and freaky until we figured out what was going on. Blogged in my mind's eye an imaginary scene complete with a police blotter report of my father as a fugitive because he thought his house had been broken into and was now out on a vigilante quest, his joking stories of being a purple barrett suddenly springing to life!
Mind blogging the campaign? AAAACCCKK, no! Too much angst, even for a Harry Potter book.
Search through the fog bank now rolling in. Where were those really great ideas? The funny things you saw, you did, you wished you'd done? Think, think, think! I think I need a PDA for when I'm in the woods. Why bother living in the moment when I should be blogging about it, right?
Like last week when I went hunting for the first time in a few years. I used to go hunting all of the time. Its what you did that told you fall was here. When I went back to college I got out of the habit, just not enough time. This year I decided even if I only went out a couple half dozen times (what do statements like that even mean) all I needed was one bullet and one clear shot, right? The three bucks we saw were just as impressed with my logic, too. It was as fun as I remembered. Cold, wet, tired, hungry and after being awe struck with the beauty of the back eighty it got boring. Trudge, listen, point. Trudge, listen, point. Point gun down, bring up binos, balance gun and binos. Glare at chipmunk doing crazy mania chirp in the tree to your right. Jump a jazillion feet in the air when the three bucks jump straight up into the air one hundred feet in front of you. Drop binos, yell at hubby, "Buck, buck, buck, shoot, shoot, shoot!" Quarrel with hubby over whose shot it was. Track buck, buck, buck for five more hours through wet underbrush. Think about warm house, hot coffee, computer. Blog in mind. Blog about beauty of forest in mind. Blog about beauty of wildlife in mind. Blog about cold, wet, stinky, rain forest in mind. Blog about loud, obnoxious chipmunks in mind. Blog about backstrap frying over fire in mind. Blog about obstinate husband tracking deer that could be in Knappa by now in mind. Think about hot tub, think about warm woolly socks, think about flannel nightgown. Isn't hunting fun?
Mind blogging about the grandson, who is always underfoot, usually in a good sort of way. This week he is being a terrible, terrible two year old. Look Babika, look at this, its disgusting. "This" is my ink cartridge that he's taken out of the office garbage can, running the inky bottom along the arm of the couch and leaving a permanent trail. Mind blogging how cute he looked as his nose wrinkled up and mouth askew reminded me of his mother doing the same thing and the horror as I remembered that I would now have to throw out yet another couch cover and this house is supposed to be ready to sell at a moments notice. Look 'Bika, look at me, I'm prettier now. "Now" being that he has taken the permanent marker to make lines around his eyes either like his mom or, as his uncle insists, a football player. I think he was going for the Johnny Depp, ala Jack Sparrow, look myself. He does want one to know he is a permanent part of their lives. Blogging in my minds eye, this kid could make us mucho dinero if we could just get him on television (how original, no grandparent has ever thought that).
Mind blogging the father who has had a horrendous week with his meds. He keeps forgetting to take them, even when he's called, so he doubles up and takes anything left over at the end of the day. This led to hallucinations. Bad and freaky until we figured out what was going on. Blogged in my mind's eye an imaginary scene complete with a police blotter report of my father as a fugitive because he thought his house had been broken into and was now out on a vigilante quest, his joking stories of being a purple barrett suddenly springing to life!
Mind blogging the campaign? AAAACCCKK, no! Too much angst, even for a Harry Potter book.
Search through the fog bank now rolling in. Where were those really great ideas? The funny things you saw, you did, you wished you'd done? Think, think, think! I think I need a PDA for when I'm in the woods. Why bother living in the moment when I should be blogging about it, right?
2 comments:
Loved this.
And I thought I was the only one who's brain played these tricks. "Give him an idea when he can't take notes, and forget it when he can."
It's really annoying, 'cause it's always great ideas for a book and usually the first 2 or 3 chapters. But then I can't even remember the gist of it, later.
Post a Comment