The process of writing is very enjoyable to me. Picking words (most of them ordinary, some of them more highfalutin) for the sentences; then putting the sentences in a logical order to express my thoughts, is fun, distracting, and relaxing. It can be like a complicated jigsaw puzzle. You know the ones in which a piece fits in a spot physically, but the color is not right? The right words have to fit in the right place. The harder job is coming up with the topics. Some days things happen that are an immediate “that’s a blog”. Other days a conversation, or fragrance, or even a piece of clothing will trigger a memory that lends itself to writing. Then there are those days that no ideas come to mind. The vast wasteland of my brain lies before me begging to be furnished with something.
I am reminded of ancient days when I had to make dinner for the family every night. I could slice, dice, roast, fry, broil, burn, mix and go stir crazy. That was OK. The really hard part was deciding what to make. This is a frequent topic of conversation at dinner here in our lovely Brookdale dining rooms. We enjoy our meal, not only because it tastes good, or because we did not have to do the cooking or clean-up, but because we did NOT have to plan it. There was a time when I was desperate enough to assign days of the week to family members. They HAD to plan dinner ahead of time for their day. We had a lot of preplanned mac’n cheese, hamburgers, and fish sticks. I never complained about the tedium. At least it was easy. They couldn’t complain because the choices were theirs. The kids became more creative with time and are now excellent bakers and cooks, although they do sometimes complain about planning THEIR family meals.
Freedom is a mixed bag of tricks. We have to choose and live with the consequences.