Today was one of those days (a deadline day for our lovely weekly newspaper) during which I didn't even leave the office once I got there. Had a lot of phone calls to make, stories to finish writing, others' stories to edit, etc. etc. etc. It kind of feels like being in a snowglobe and somebody you can't see keeps shaking it so the snow keeps dancing around. And, of course, you can't get out even after the snow settles.
So I, being the type who hates to sit down for long, got home, ate a little dinner, watched a little bad Friday night TV and took a walk. I hadn't simply gone out and taken a walk for a long time; usually I'm either geared up to run or I'm on my bike – both faster modes of transit (though not by all that much). Slowing down let my mind slow down. Not having anywhere to go and no one in particular to answer to for now was freeing. I even took Isabella Podalini with me so that the lulls in my thoughts would be filled with music rather than thought-inducing silence. I pondered all sorts of random things.
At first I was reminded why we bought a house in this neighborhood. I lovingly refer to it as the Crumbling Suburbs because the majority of houses were completed by the time the 1970 calendar hit the wall. Really, though, the majority of homes have been lovingly maintained by original owners and newbies alike. You'd be hard-pressed to explore my neighborhood on any given weekday and not see a truck from Sears, Lowe's or Home Depot delivering some renovation supply or new appliance.
It's a happy place to be even at night. I didn't see any fellow pedestrians tonight, perhaps because they were scared off by the impending thunderstorms and light sprinkly rain that barely moistened my head. What a neighborhood feels like at night says a lot about the place and its inhabitants. I remember not renting a house near downtown because when night fell, it was unexplainably creepy.
Then I wandered to other things. When my fam is out of town, I often have the chance to blog more and ponder blogging in general. It's not so odd anymore that it reaches up to fill my time. It's like a habit, and not a bad one when blogging keeps me from watching reruns or getting to bed on time. With opportunity costs like that, my bank account is full. Came across a local blog last night that is operated by a young gal who posts pictures, primarily of herself. She's so vain, it's okay if that blog is about her. Not really sure who actually "reads" her picture blog, but if it makes her happy ...
Those of us who keep mostly nonpolitical, only semi-topical blogs that resemble diaries rather than the New Journalism are often seeking a connection, or an understanding or just to be heard without any return at all. Made me think how odd it is that I've been reading some people's blogs for "years" now and don't even know what their voices sound like. Maybe the occasional audio clip would help, but that's not the same as picking up a phone. If you had to describe your voice to someone who had never heard it, what would you say?
I have seen pictures of several bloggers, but obviously I don't really know any of them. Think of how strangely impersonal telephones must have seemed when they first became popular. E-mail is the same way, yet it's more intimate than comments on a blog. Handwritten letters are even a step further back toward pure communication (think loopy letters and hearts dotting the i's), but there's nothing like face-to-face interaction.
In lieu of that, however, let me wish you sweet dreams and a wonderful Saturday. I'll probably be back here sooner than later.
Your neighborhood sounds a lot like ours. Born in 1969, the same year as me! We've done so much work on our house, the shareholders at Lowe's and Home Depot should make us board members! :)
True. And when I have per chance to hear a voice, I'm often suprised as it isn't the voice I attributed to the words I've read for years. Some are deeper than expect, others high and child like. It does lend a new perspective. Mine. Well I have a high and child like voice, though I've made efforts to deep and slow my tone for my line of work, for some sense of authority. But by nature, I sound like a twelve year old.