I use Google to see if anyone reads this - not sure why I care, but it's kind of cool to see where people are reading it from and what pages get read the most. Then I had a revelation, why do I care? I re-interest in blogging came from a writing course in the school of ed - a discussion of teachers as writers and writers needing to write. This happens to be more natural for me than writing in a notebook thus it becomes my 'writers notebook.' But if it comes up in conversation, the likely response is "weird, I would never write like that so other people could see it." or "Why do you want people reading that crap?" and most common, "not like anyone cares." All of which may be completely true. Yet thousands of people blog across the world...why?
I comfort myself with the idea that it's just a desire to see our thoughts in print. For some of us it is an outlet, a place to experiment almost anonymously and for people to read - anonymously - occasionally offering feedback - and still be anonymous. For others I think it may be like a diary and for some a self-focused newspaper. I like the idea of it being a writer's notebook but that still doesn't solve the question of why I don't just make it private so only I can read it - if I had a writer's notebook for things as long as my posts tend to be, you can bet I wouldn't have copies of it lying around for friends to read. So why blog? 55 people read my blog in the past 30 days...does that matter in the big scheme? No, not at all. Did what I wrote make a difference? Nope. Ok. Still stuck.
How about this - what if by writing our ideas, musings, written experimentations, and creative juices and then reading those of others, we are 'stretching' and widening our perspective. Whether we are hearing about other parts of the world or considering opinions that may be counter our own, we are strengthening our experience, our thought patterns, and even perhaps our knowledge base. OK - but still, why bother?
You got me there but I think it comes back to thoughts in print - there it is; my thoughts matter to at least *me* because they are in print and in this day in age if something is in print - or digital print, it matters to someone somewhere. Even if the majority of the people who see it are in CT or CA. (thanks google - that's cool too).
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Snapshot 3:12pm Saturday
I'm seated at a desk my dad made when I was in 3rd or 4th grade, it faces out a large (5 feet by 2 1/2 feet) window where tall leafy green bushes block a clear view of the back neighbor's yard, 2 tall but skinny redwoods stand several yards back and the sun is poking in between them, if I tilt my head just right, it glistens on my eyelashes and nearly blinds me but makes me smile. It is reflecting off my back and to the right neighbor's chimney, making Mount Baldy hard to spot but still there. The sky is blue with whispy and somewhat studded clouds that seem to stand still. Things are turning a spring green as the rain becomes consistent.
I'm a little chilly, a sweater, ballet flats, and jeans is a perfect outfit but the house stays cool longer than the outside and the heat isn't on yet. Mom's in the living room by the tree on the phone and the boys are out. We are heading out with Dad to the city tonight. The air smells clean, cool, and fresh but not lung-freezing bitter.
Brain snapshot:
I love being home. How much longer will I come home for all of break? What is everyone doing back East? What should I get Jacob for Christmas? I miss Duncan. I love bagels with cream cheese - especially garlic bagels. Decorating my room for Christmas made me feel more ready. The house is cozy and pretty decorated - even though I miss a real tree. Two Christmases seems weird - will it always seem weird? Baby Mama was hilarious and worth renting. Do cell phones really cause brain tumors? I don't want one anymore - that's fine with me. Both brothers are now taller than me - yikes. I can't believe Jacob is 16, he was actually nice to me today but still wonders what I was doing at 16 and wants to make sure it's all fair. I'd go for a walk if I had a dog right now. Will tonight be awkward? What can we do for New Years? This is not my style of writing at all...can't add to the list anymore.
I'm a little chilly, a sweater, ballet flats, and jeans is a perfect outfit but the house stays cool longer than the outside and the heat isn't on yet. Mom's in the living room by the tree on the phone and the boys are out. We are heading out with Dad to the city tonight. The air smells clean, cool, and fresh but not lung-freezing bitter.
Brain snapshot:
I love being home. How much longer will I come home for all of break? What is everyone doing back East? What should I get Jacob for Christmas? I miss Duncan. I love bagels with cream cheese - especially garlic bagels. Decorating my room for Christmas made me feel more ready. The house is cozy and pretty decorated - even though I miss a real tree. Two Christmases seems weird - will it always seem weird? Baby Mama was hilarious and worth renting. Do cell phones really cause brain tumors? I don't want one anymore - that's fine with me. Both brothers are now taller than me - yikes. I can't believe Jacob is 16, he was actually nice to me today but still wonders what I was doing at 16 and wants to make sure it's all fair. I'd go for a walk if I had a dog right now. Will tonight be awkward? What can we do for New Years? This is not my style of writing at all...can't add to the list anymore.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Travelling Thoughts
11/21/08
Starbucks, this morning, a man behind his laptop eyed me as I waited and then proceeded to the bathroom, I wondered if he was people watching and if my entrance in his frame of view might somehow affect or appear in his writing. Now I hide behind my laptop on the end seat at JFK Airport, watching sun pockets blind arriving and departing passengers and eying pairs, families, and singles as they walk with purpose to their destination. The confident and determined, tired and meandering, frazzled and rushing, and just sitting and musing all in one place. A peak-ceilined terminal that hums with movement but is relatively quiet otherwise. The TV behind me plays news over speakers and I just heard that Clinton will be Secretary of State. To my right is a genius invention, “10:minute Manicure” a business for travelers in a hurry who want their nails done or a massage – I may walk over in a minute.
Starbucks in front of me, appears to cater to a large crowd but I resist the red holiday cups, remembering the Peppermint Mocha Twist I had this morning. Cellphones ringing, bags in hand, and eyes wandering, there are friends and business associates slowly making their way out. Few seem to not see anything around them. A couple with an infant, strapped to its mother’s chest, she sporting a cowboy hat, the father a small black velour beanie; a man, tall, handsome, in a long black trench coat and bright opaque blue sunglasses; final boarding call to all passengers at gate 7 to Barcelona; pigeons flying across the terminal; families with strollers and toddlers walk at the speed of their little legs, a pace not dissimilar to that of older passengers, taking their time and being careful; If you are traveling to Capetown please proceed to gate 6-your flight is ready to leave; flight staff and pilots looking trim and official make their way to gates, toting baggage marked with 9/11 stickers. There is a strong smell of body odor, the news is highlight a woman who weighed 375 pounds and is now 175 and riding in a hot air balloon; a man in a rodeo jacket, cowboy hat, and boots rushing towards gates 19-30…I wonder, do people think about why people are going where they are going? Do they take in the facial expressions of exhaustion, excitement, wonder, concern, and contentment as they pass? And the shoes – so many shoes from all over, clicking, stomping, shlepping, sliding, and tredding lightly on a speckled white and grey floor that glows with a nearly setting November sun. Travel is something everyone must experience and airports represent a sense of transition, change, and departure that is unique to a place that transports people to areas as far away as Cairo and as nearby as Providence. The hum consumes my thoughts and the blur of people constantly moving distracts me, I can’t think about anything other than moving – sitting makes me dizzy, people watching is tiring here; perhaps, like the man this morning, I would do better in a small town café….
Starbucks, this morning, a man behind his laptop eyed me as I waited and then proceeded to the bathroom, I wondered if he was people watching and if my entrance in his frame of view might somehow affect or appear in his writing. Now I hide behind my laptop on the end seat at JFK Airport, watching sun pockets blind arriving and departing passengers and eying pairs, families, and singles as they walk with purpose to their destination. The confident and determined, tired and meandering, frazzled and rushing, and just sitting and musing all in one place. A peak-ceilined terminal that hums with movement but is relatively quiet otherwise. The TV behind me plays news over speakers and I just heard that Clinton will be Secretary of State. To my right is a genius invention, “10:minute Manicure” a business for travelers in a hurry who want their nails done or a massage – I may walk over in a minute.
Starbucks in front of me, appears to cater to a large crowd but I resist the red holiday cups, remembering the Peppermint Mocha Twist I had this morning. Cellphones ringing, bags in hand, and eyes wandering, there are friends and business associates slowly making their way out. Few seem to not see anything around them. A couple with an infant, strapped to its mother’s chest, she sporting a cowboy hat, the father a small black velour beanie; a man, tall, handsome, in a long black trench coat and bright opaque blue sunglasses; final boarding call to all passengers at gate 7 to Barcelona; pigeons flying across the terminal; families with strollers and toddlers walk at the speed of their little legs, a pace not dissimilar to that of older passengers, taking their time and being careful; If you are traveling to Capetown please proceed to gate 6-your flight is ready to leave; flight staff and pilots looking trim and official make their way to gates, toting baggage marked with 9/11 stickers. There is a strong smell of body odor, the news is highlight a woman who weighed 375 pounds and is now 175 and riding in a hot air balloon; a man in a rodeo jacket, cowboy hat, and boots rushing towards gates 19-30…I wonder, do people think about why people are going where they are going? Do they take in the facial expressions of exhaustion, excitement, wonder, concern, and contentment as they pass? And the shoes – so many shoes from all over, clicking, stomping, shlepping, sliding, and tredding lightly on a speckled white and grey floor that glows with a nearly setting November sun. Travel is something everyone must experience and airports represent a sense of transition, change, and departure that is unique to a place that transports people to areas as far away as Cairo and as nearby as Providence. The hum consumes my thoughts and the blur of people constantly moving distracts me, I can’t think about anything other than moving – sitting makes me dizzy, people watching is tiring here; perhaps, like the man this morning, I would do better in a small town café….
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Month and Twelve Days
For someone who loves to write and reflect this post finds me having thoroughly neglected my space to write. But I developed a new love for a Writer's Notebook. Something we have talked about in my literacy class to use with writing students in a writer's workshop setting, but that is apparently also enormously effective for adult writers, thinkers, or whoever. I happen to be both - and I crave places to record or share the random insights I observe or infer throughout the day but really there are few people around who are willing or really care to listen. So, since my laptop isn't always with me (and therefore my blog which I suppose is a virtual writer's notebook), I purchased a small orange notebook that says 'thoughts' on it and fits nicely in my backpack or purse.
Before one pictures me as Harriet the Spy and carting my pen behind my ear and my notebook in my pants pocket, writing down awful things about people - stop - that's not me. In fact I don't write in it nearly as often as I'd like. But I've found - since discovering this medium, that there are moments that actually * require* a notebook or something blank to jot down - not even in complete sentences. And all by themselves, they are art or at least a representation of my frame of mind at the time. Certainly the purpose of the notebook is to later go back and develop some thoughts, snapshot images, descriptions, questions, heart maps (a list of things important to me) into greater written works but right now I don't have the time for that and maybe later I will.
Still not sure what this writer's notebook looks like? Still skeptical that I'm that nerd with a pencil and lined pad?
An entry from 9/8:
crystal clear blue skies with no clouds amaze me.
one of the last frappacinos before it gets cold.
my apartment to myself and the freedom to cook.
schools smell the same, i love that smell, it's familiar and inspiring and just feels right. I guess that's a good thing.
daydreaming wit ha friend I've experienced the last 4 years of my life with - ready for what's coming but unsure of what that means.
Usually I hate Mondays.
What should I make for dinner tonight?
I'm in an art room - funny I never had a good experience in art - bad teachers, lack of a classroom, no encouragement in creativity but then I taught it, now I love it!....hmmm.
And From 9/30
Wilbur Cross - absolute silence but for the occassional flutter of paper and clearing of throats.
the girl next to our table is reading Iraq and the lessons of Vietnam.
The guy on my right sneezed and was embarrased.
An owlet is a baby owl.
And from 10/1
I love music of the 60s and 70s
Also the leaves are beautiful
My first graders couldn't sit still.
So you can kind of see there's no rhyme or reason to what goes in - but a snapshot or words (from a crossword most likely) a quote or perhaps a question. It is not a diary and I wouldn't care if someone found it and read it - I keep a prayer journal for the things just for me and God but this is something different, new, and somewhat unknown. I'm really enjoying it and I've only filled 6 pages....more to come.
Before one pictures me as Harriet the Spy and carting my pen behind my ear and my notebook in my pants pocket, writing down awful things about people - stop - that's not me. In fact I don't write in it nearly as often as I'd like. But I've found - since discovering this medium, that there are moments that actually * require* a notebook or something blank to jot down - not even in complete sentences. And all by themselves, they are art or at least a representation of my frame of mind at the time. Certainly the purpose of the notebook is to later go back and develop some thoughts, snapshot images, descriptions, questions, heart maps (a list of things important to me) into greater written works but right now I don't have the time for that and maybe later I will.
Still not sure what this writer's notebook looks like? Still skeptical that I'm that nerd with a pencil and lined pad?
An entry from 9/8:
crystal clear blue skies with no clouds amaze me.
one of the last frappacinos before it gets cold.
my apartment to myself and the freedom to cook.
schools smell the same, i love that smell, it's familiar and inspiring and just feels right. I guess that's a good thing.
daydreaming wit ha friend I've experienced the last 4 years of my life with - ready for what's coming but unsure of what that means.
Usually I hate Mondays.
What should I make for dinner tonight?
I'm in an art room - funny I never had a good experience in art - bad teachers, lack of a classroom, no encouragement in creativity but then I taught it, now I love it!....hmmm.
And From 9/30
Wilbur Cross - absolute silence but for the occassional flutter of paper and clearing of throats.
the girl next to our table is reading Iraq and the lessons of Vietnam.
The guy on my right sneezed and was embarrased.
An owlet is a baby owl.
And from 10/1
I love music of the 60s and 70s
Also the leaves are beautiful
My first graders couldn't sit still.
So you can kind of see there's no rhyme or reason to what goes in - but a snapshot or words (from a crossword most likely) a quote or perhaps a question. It is not a diary and I wouldn't care if someone found it and read it - I keep a prayer journal for the things just for me and God but this is something different, new, and somewhat unknown. I'm really enjoying it and I've only filled 6 pages....more to come.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Orangina is a fantastic beverage, I love the glass (the only thing still in glass - except sometimes Snapple). I love the sound it makes when you unscrew the cap, and I love the orange texture on the top of the bottle. I like that you can shake it even though it's a little fizzy and that if you don't there are pieces of orange concentrate on the bottom. I love the sweet after taste and the feel that you're drinking something healthy when in fact it's only 12% juice, 2% pulp and the rest water and yes, high fructose corn syrup. It's right up there with Yoohoo in nutritional value and childhood appreciation. It pretty much made my day.
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