kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Thinking

  • Time for a Remodel

    I’m truly in a quandry.  As I look back over the past year, so much has changed that no one would notice but me.  I’m speaking of my blog world, and not the real world, which is so chaotic right now.  I’d like to say that I believe I can impact change on the latter, but for as much as I harp, I’m not close to being a blip on the radar of change. With respect to cyberspace, that’s different.

    There’s been a shift of my interests there,  and when I think carefully about that shift, it seems that it’s been coerced by the group that loves to look at, think about, and cook great food.  It’s compelling, and I imagine at times that I have some small shop with a large window in front that people can walk by each day, gazing at what I’ve put out for them, to tempt them to stop and look a bit longer, or perhaps even walk inside and stay for a while.  The key word would be imagine.

    I once imagined or even longed for a shop of my own one day, but I’ve decided that having an imaginary shop is much less expensive, and perhaps just as rewarding considering I do get to decide what to prepare, and enjoy it myself.

    But as I’ve said before, it’s quite time consuming keeping that shop, and so this place is pushed aside.  And when I have time for neither, this is the space I want to fill.  Often the other is more of a compulsion, a responsibility, a job.

    Writing here has never felt that way.

    I’m not quite sure how that happened, but I find it all very interesting — interesting enough to wonder about something.  What if the two were combined?  Others have done it.  And as I read through the many food blogs I enjoy, I notice that because their writers only keep one blog, they are more inclined to write about other facets of life and living.  It’s nice. 

    But I was thinking of something different.  Certainly it’s been done before, and a perfect example of someone who does it very well is Pioneer Woman.  I’ve always thought that having a single place that contains a space for everything that keeps my brain occupied would be perfect, but have always been limited by my knowledge of how all of this website business works.  Finding time to write, cook, photograph, and learn how to set up and manage an involved website would be quite daunting for me, but I think I could do it. The only aspect of it all that’s holding me back is being unsure about whether the two can actually coexist.

    In the long run, I think it would help me be a bit more humane to my readers here.  It must seem at times as if I’m schizophrenic, ranting about politics, moaning over my pets, or snarking about whatever unfortunate person is being lambasted in the press.  Somehow, I think that if each of those personalities could fit into its own box, it would be so much more neat and orderly.

    Labeled.  You know how I crave labels…

    So think about that.  You know, give it a good three or four seconds of your valuable time and let me know what you think.

    In the mean time, I have to get my real world shaped up.  I may not be building a lodge like Pioneer Woman, but this place certainly needs some attention.  I’ve long complained about the damage our pets have done to the carpet, and have finally decided to have someone come out to give an estimate on floors.  I want to get rid of all the carpet so I can enjoy my aging pets who will continue to leak, drip, and drop their various and assorted bodily unmentionables regardless of how much I dab and complain about it.  No more carpet would mean no more dust, fuss, or muss.

    The challenging part of this is that our bathrooms need to be done as well.  Needing to be done can be defined as taking out all the early ’80’s fake burnished gold metal that seems to be covering everything, ripping out the shower since it’s feeble at best, and the tile since it’s really good at growing mold that I don’t want to know the scientific name for or what it’s doing to us.

    So if we have the floors done first, then have the bathrooms done, the work on the bathrooms will mess up the floors.  If we wait to do the bathrooms first, then the carpet continues to be the disgusting eyesore it’s become. 

    In a nut shell, I don’t want to have another blog about being any kind of a weekend warrior when it comes to remodeling or redecorating on a budget.  But it’s one of the things my brain spends time on, so it could have its very own space for you, kind reader, to skip if you’re not into the Martha side of life.

    Just thinking, that’s all.

    Good thing it’s free, right?

    Okay, back to work.

    It would be so nice if it was all free!

  • Finding a place to begin

    Finding a place to begin

    Nike was smart when they launched their campaign admonishing those of us who sit far too long on our ever-expanding rear ends to “Just do It.”  But when you’re someone who is more inclined to first think, then talk about what you are thinking about — like writing — then think about writing before you actually write anything,  clearly those words have no effect.  None.

    I haven’t “Done It” yet.  In other words, I’m still getting warmed up to the idea of possibly thinking about wanting to write something.  Not just anything, but the piece I am supposed to write.

    The problem is twofold.  On second thought, it’s got quite a few more folds than two. Tenfold might be more accurate.  I have no excuse for this.  It’s pathetic.

    And so when I find myself in this particular situation, I review what I know.  I mull over every detail and experience much like one might sort through an old recipe box, thinking about what is on each card instead of pulling one out, and actually cooking and serving it for dinner.

    I could go back through the books I’ve used in the past whose authors have helped me sort out my thoughts.  People like Zinsser and Lamott, or Goldberg or E.B. White, because they force me to think about what I’m not doing. But I’d have to have something, anything, to work with before I’m compelled to pick up one of those books again.  Otherwise, it’s no different than reading travelogues and never traveling, or buying yet another cookbook when never intending to cook.

    Somehow in my wandering today, I came across Vonnegut and his take on style.  I’d not seen it before, and I read it through several times acknowledging his advice, but thinking more about his writing.  I read parts of it aloud, as I often do when something is written just right, needing to hear the cadence of words as each works with another.  Then I considered the advice.

    One thing was missing.

    Find a place to begin.  And therein lies the rub.

    Since it’s not a dark and stormy night, I’m taking myself out into the sun that has finally decided to grace us with its presence to sit and read something well-written, take a few notes, and find a place to begin while I’m distracted by green bugs in the vicinity.

  • What’s the point of this, anyway?

    It’s funny how things sometimes change, and as much as I can see that beginning to happen — to not want it to happen — it does anyway. There’s nothing I can do about it. Things that once mattered end up in a place we never intended for them to be, and they get lost amongst all the other parts of life that are…well, life.

    I guess I’ve reached the point where I’m wondering what this is all about. This. At first, I began here to simply write. But I’ve never been a journaler, not having the patience to put down what happened in a day’s time I’ve always been more of someone who has a noisy mind, and writing always helped to get some of what was there, out. It’s been nice that in the process, I’ve also gotten to do something I love: work with words.

    I love words. And as odd as it may seem, the simple look of some, or the feel of others as I speak are fascinating. Regardless that English has myriad synonyms able to get across a particular point, only one of those synonyms is the best for a sentence to convey exactly what I intend. When it matters.

    But there seems to be so little time now, and I’m not sure why that is.

    I’ve had my other speck in the bloggosphere as long as I’ve had this one, so that certainly isn’t the issue, although that speck is extremely high maintenance. Sometimes, unbearably.

    I’ve enjoyed working with them both, as they’ve allowed me to know a variety of people with different interests. But with the growth of my high maintenance speck, this one — troubled as it’s been with its identity crisis — seems to get pushed aside. And now, often, it just sits here. Doing nothing.

    That makes me quite sad.

    As much as I love all things food, and as much as I can have my mind wrapped around it quite a good portion of my day, writing about it doesn’t provide me what this space does. And when I don’t take that time for myself, I miss it. No one wants to hear my horror-scope and then take a gander at my cookie recipe. Or survive my latest rant, and then dig into a chocolate mousse. Somehow, that doesn’t quite work. When I’m in my kitchen, I’m usually not waving a wooden spoon and complaining about the guy I have to listen to on the radio each morning when the alarm goes off. As much as writing here provides me a sense of balance, so does being in my kitchen. The two are completely unrelated.

    I miss being here quite a bit.

    Are blog years like dog years?

    So is this the part where I sort of fade off into the sunset? I’ve noticed when others have stopped writing. Their blogs sit there unattended. Forever. Others just disappear. I know I couldn’t do that. There’s too much of my life wrapped up in these words and to me, a significant part of my life. I’d have to put it somewhere because like all the photos I’ve taken in my life, it’s part of me.

    I’ve always embraced change and chided those who avoid it. Change is inevitable. It is the one thing we can count on in life — and learn from. But I also know that in spite of change, constants remain.

    Maybe the constant for me here is to write when I can.

    For me.

    There is a little box I can check to keep my writing private.

    Is that what I need? I doubt it.

    I was going to write about something I saw on one of those network morning shows yesterday that really got me going. But today, it’s overcast and chilly, and I just don’t care now.

    This is the part where Scarlett O’Hara would remind herself that tomorrow is another day, and Annie would begin singing, Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow, you’re always a day away…

    Tuesday has never been my favorite day of the week.

  • Who pulled our plugs?

    Who pulled our plugs?

    A couple of days ago, on the day after the official end of busy season, I was speaking to someone at work and mentioned that I’d considered calling 911 when I woke up that morning, in jest, of course. You may recall my whining about needing air in my tires or something, yes? And when the individual questioned me about whether or not I was in charge of my own destiny, I became annoyed.

    (more…)

  • Counting.

    Ever feel like something is creeping up on you?  Ahhh…it’s Wednesday.

    And for me, that means tomorrow is Friday. Thursday is my Friday. I shouldn’t look forward to it the way I do because it inevitably leaves me with the feeling that life is stuck in one of those giant revolving doors that move people in an out of large spaces.

    So I remind myself to take a breath, slow my mind down, and appreciate the day.

    There’s quite a bit to appreciate.

    There isn’t 12 feet of snow on the ground.

    I don’t have to scrape ice off my driveway or windshield.

    I can wear a single layer to work instead of R-30 insulation.

    Everything’s green.

    Best Buy finally delivered a new television and the Geek Squad will be here in a couple of days to put it back on the wall.

    And American Idol will keep us riveted to the television a few hours a week for a while.

    What more could I ask for?

    Okay, so it would be great if Hilary and Obama would stop bickering at one another.  And Mitt Romney would take over the hosting of Jeopardy! and give Alex Trebek a rest.

    Then, life would be perfect.