Do you know that joke about the comedians who know each other's jokes so well that they refer to them by number?* That's how I feel about my blog these days. Anything I have to say I've already said. I'm currently on vacation back east. Rocking chairs in the Asheville airport: blogged. Summer in North Carolina: here. Life at the beach in Connecticut: done. Fireworks in Bend and the butte catching fire: covered. Been there, blogged that every year. And I really have nothing new to say about any of it.
I'm not complaining, really. There's something to be said for patterns, rituals, tradition. The word I'm using these days is stable. My life is stable. It's where we are right now. A confluence of circumstances - work, Henry, money, single status - are combining to keep my life on a repeating cycle with little variation. I know this is temporary in the scheme of my life. Enough has happened to me in the past that I can coast for a few years without turmoil. I know change will come again. I know that some will be positive and exhilarating, some not so much.
Meanwhile, I think I'll put this blog on hold for a bit, until I find inspiration in the day-to-day again. I might post a recipe or two, or share some photos via my new super-cool Android phone, but I'm not going to write regularly. I've been wrestling with guilt about not posting and I really don't need more guilt in my life, on top of not walking the dog enough or drilling Henry on multiplying fractions during the summer. I think I'll end for now with a recent comment I received that maybe says it all:
Air Max1 said...Many thanks sharing! The goal of your site is to report your lifetime and show your personal thoughts. Several thought tend to be specific with me yet incredibly exceptional. What you would like to supply to the modern-day society, I do think I have already been acknowledged that. As long as all of us do good and assume that.
Um, thanks, Air Max1! Same back at'cha. Ciao for now.
*Oh, the joke:
Three comedians are shooting the breeze at the back of a nightclub after a late gig. They’ve heard one another’s material so much, they’ve reached the point where they don’t need to say the jokes anymore to amuse each other – they just need to refer to each joke by a number. “Number 37!” cracks the first comic, and the others break up. “”Number 53!” says the second guy, and they howl. Finally, it’s the third comic’s turn. “44!” he quips. He gets nothing. “What?” he asks, “Isn’t 44 funny?” “Sure, it’s usually hilarious,” they answer. “But the way you tell it…”
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