Wandering Blog Thoughts

I’m happy to say that I did NOT make a New Year’s Resolution to blog daily… or even regularly. That much is obvious. But making SOME sort of resolution about blogging WAS on my list… I just haven’t decided what it is I want to do yet.

I’m one month short of a year on this thing and I’m a little annoyed that I’ve still not found a focus. I read blogs of writer-type folks and I want to blog about my writing progress. I read blogs of unschooling-type folks and I want to blog about unschooling. I read blogs about general family life and I think maybe that could be my focus. Then there are the blogs that are just plain amusing and entertaining… and I want to be amusing… and entertaining…

I’m just not feeling terribly committed right now.

It’s a weird word – blog.

It’s a weird thing to do – opening the inner workings of your mind (or at least the PG parts) to whomever might run across them.

It amuses me that my kids use the word “blog” as if it’s always been around. It is a good excuse to talk to them about the fluidity of language. It changes. Nobody blogged when I was nine. We didn’t even have a computer in our home – unless you count the little black-box pong game we hooked up to our television.

But that was back in the day (MY day)… you know… when Kansas was still the center of the universe and my main concern with keeping a journal was that I had a hiding place good enough my mother wouldn’t find it.

I used to write all of my stories in spiral notebooks – page after page until my hand was cramping so badly that I had no choice but to put the book aside, to shake my hands and free them of their tortured curl. There was always that indentation on my third finger where the pencil pressed… It’s gone now. Not even a sign of the callous that used to be there.

Sometimes I would pack up my notebooks and cart them all over to Grandma’s house. She had this awesome, electric typewriter. It was frustratingly time-consuming, hunting away and pecking at keys, but the end result was marvelous and worth the time. Words almost real, so neatly shaped and orderly, in line like perfect little soldiers.

Grandma’s typewriter had a soft hum. Clickity-Clack. Clackity-Click. I loved to watch each letter smack the page and then run my fingers over the finished product – a tactile experience as well as a visual one.

When I took typing in high school, the classroom had four computers (word processors?) and the rest of the class was filled with electric typewriters of varying ages. I specifically avoided the computers. The keyboards were too soft for my taste. I wanted to hear the snap of each letter being placed upon my page.
Now I make myself a journal each year, specifically with the idea of giving myself a place to write, by hand, because it feels like such a novelty thing to do. It’s amazing that the very act of picking up a pencil makes you think differently… about the way you shape a word, about the letters that compose it. It changes the way you write – much harder to review and reword. Type a sentence – arrange a sentence a dozen different ways. Write a sentence – erase and rewrite, there’s more involved. Paper turns fuzzy. You read it later and surprise yourself with the quality (or lack thereof) of your handwriting. It’s magic, but a different magic.

I read at least a dozen blogs from across the USA/Canada today. I was—in turn—inspired, amused, saddened, entertained, bored, tickled, informed, annoyed… I suppose I shouldn’t expect any more than that for myself. I did NOT make a New Year’s Resolution about the blog, after all. So until I decide what I am doing, thanks for coming along for the ride.