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A time to keep silence, and a time to speak
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A time to keep silence, and a time to speak With apologies to B.B.King, The blog is gone baby The blog is gone away from me. It's been exactly sixty days since my first blog post. I had never blogged before. I was working. I worked long hard hours and commuted two hours to and from work in summer, twice that time when Lake Michigan was deluging us with snow, as is her wont in winter here. My wife has blogged for years, and she did warn me that I would not find satisfaction there. But after I retired, I felt like I needed to express myself, and I was worn out, burned out, exhausted. A sentence of life at hard labor can do that- but it doesn't have to. That sentence was not meted out to me as punishment. I chose it. I chose it because the men I looked up to, the men I loved and respected, were defined by what they did with their hands. They were hewers of wood, haulers of water, tillers of the soil. They fed their families and they wore out their bodies doing it. When they had time, they read Plato, and Emerson and Thoreau and Whitman, and they were critical. It's a fine thing to read "O Captain My Captain" by a fishing hole after a rain storm, but when the sun shines you make hay. A man who has the leisure to sit and think can be considered to have a great thing, but I believe it may not make him happy. And a man who toils and thinks only of working and getting and his legacy of goods has no time to ponder and is perhaps even less happy. To every thing there is a season. When it came time to plant my garden, this last May, I did. And when I did, I found myself writing about it, in my head. I was a little like the people who snap photos of their lives with an iPhone, recording it for the future. "You should blog about this." When I walked my I found myself composing an essay after the manner of Thoreau…now I feel this, now I think that. "You should blog about this." There was a time that I walked with my dogs and I experienced it the same way they did. I smelled the wild onion and the mustard and I glimpsed the voles in the tall grass and we either caught them or we missed, but we moved on to the next thing, a rabbit, a possum, or nothing. The sun set and we watched and waited and were content. We slept. And the sun rose on a new day until it was time to pluck up that which we planted. And so we lived. I had so little free time to just live, the last few years. We should be working to live but instead I found myself living to work, this time not because I chose it but because I got sucked in. I was working not to live, but to get. It was hard to give up that big paycheck that was killing me. It's easy to get a man to believe that he needs to earn just one more dollar for his legacy to his wife and kin. But I have a fine life partner. With her help, and all her support, I was able to get free again. It has taken some time to get re-oriented to what is important. What is important is how you live. If you can find some time to write about it, and share with others how you find some kind of redemption this way, that is a fine thing. It enlightens and enlivens the way we live. But a blog is just a blog. All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. I found myself thinking that a blog mattered. It became an end. I needed confirmation that what I thought mattered. It doesn't. What matters is how I live. I'm going to return to what I do well, and thoughtfully. A hewer of wood. I will occasionally write about it. I have made connections with some fine people on a website which is devoted to the terminally horny. Most of them are probably not hewers of wood or haulers of water. There are some very good<b> writers </font></b>here who express themselves in remarkably creative ways, and very often they are really funny. Making other people laugh is good enough reason to blog. If you can, now and then, make them think differently, good for you. But mind how you live. Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him? Ozymandias I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. by Percy Shelley No, Vince Gilligan didn't write the poem for "Breaking Bad". There is no new thing under the sun. Being new to blogging I didn't realize that I would be just background hum in a cacaphony of clatter and shouting. I had no idea that my writing skills would be so poor or my ideas so barren. Somehow I collected a dozen followers. I have always been dependent upon the kindness of strangers. Tennessee Williams loved Ecclesiastes, and so do I. So there you have it. B.B. King, Ecclesiastes, Walt Whitman, Percy Shelley and Tennessee Williams, all in one blog post. But I dropped Vince Gilligan's name. Ratings are ratings. Become a member now and get a free tote bag. |
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A blog, even here, can be anything you want it to be. You've brought some interesting takes to what a blog on this site can embrace: I really enjoyed your historical takes on women who embrace their sexuality. I noted the absence of posts yesterday, and I hoped it was a glitch. If you were to post here about hewing and tilling, this would be not only acceptable, but would give the site some additional richness. You would find an audience because -- your protestations to the contrary -- you do write well. I hope you will keep this blog going in some form or another, and share with us what you are thinking when the spirit so moves you. The blogosphere is richer for your presence. Stop in, read, and offer comments at my "swinging as seen in the media" blog, "Confessions of a Lifestyle Man" humorlife, which is also the home of the monthly virtual symposium. New post: The Virtual Symposium Returns Lets Pick A Topic
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A blog, even here, can be anything you want it to be. You've brought some interesting takes to what a blog on this site can embrace: I really enjoyed your historical takes on women who embrace their sexuality. I noted the absence of posts yesterday, and I hoped it was a glitch. If you were to post here about hewing and tilling, this would be not only acceptable, but would give the site some additional richness. You would find an audience because -- your protestations to the contrary -- you do write well. I hope you will keep this blog going in some form or another, and share with us what you are thinking when the spirit so moves you. The blogosphere is richer for your presence. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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I'm an antique, an anachronism. Researching my family history took me to histories I'd never have read otherwise, and only reinforced my admiration for the gifts of my culture. When I work wood I use the hand tools I've collected over the years- broadaxes and adzes, wooden planes and drawknives. It's slow and quiet and immensely satisfying. I'm a bit embarrassed that I spent nine months staring at pixels instead. But I didn't want to simply leave without explanation. I've become fond of some of those pixels, and your own collection of pixels is very pleasing to me. Thanks for your encouragement. I think I have my priorities straight now. Life comes first, the camera second. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Thank you, my friend. I would never have continued blogging at all without your encouragement. I never would have started my google blog either. I have nothing to say about sex that someone else can't say better. So I write about history and there are better venues for that. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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It shouldn't matter if anyone reads what I write, but it does. I love making things with found objects- cast off tools, scrap timber, old iron that nobody else wants. The historical figures I love are like that. They were lying around unused and I picked them up, dusted them off and recycled them. There is no new thing under the sun. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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I enjoy your blogs. I look forward to them. I'll watch any that catch my interest, but most lose me after a few entries and I'll take myself off their watch list. A few I look for every day, if they post, I'll read, if they don't, I move on. When yours stopped, I went looking for it. I hope your back to stay.  Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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I'm saddened that you are leaving but you must do what is right for you. I wish you continued satisfaction for the rest of your life. *hugs2U* And I'm not leaving, I'm just not going to visit and stay as often. I'm a little angry with myself for spending too much time on silly shit that doesn't matter anyway. I've made contact with some very cool people here that I never would have met otherwise, and I ended up getting re-oriented. Why I wasn't doing what I already knew I loved is just one of those fuck-ups that people often commit. But the experience has been a good one. So, i'm won't go away permanently, I'm just entering stealth mode. And, thank you. I love your blog. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Well, I can't ask any more than that. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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