On their own, none of these thoughts add up to a blog post. Even as a collection, they are sorely lacking. It's all I've got right now.
It's obvious my daughter is as happy to be home as we are to have her back, but every so often she gets a certain far off look in her eye and I know she's planning the next adventure. You can't un-climb a mountain.
Having both my kids here makes me realize there are a great number of people who are accustomed to opening the back door and walking into my house with, at most, a perfunctory knock to announce their arrival. One day soon I will sell this house and move to another and I feel certain there will be at least a few people who won't get that news. I hope no one ends up in jail.
When you're in the shower and the power goes out and the door is closed and your shower room doesn't have a window, the sudden absolute darkness is disorienting and it's strange to realize how much more awkward it is to rinse shampoo from your hair in the dark, even though it's a familiar task and one you perform without ever being able to see what you're doing.
If you leave the package of dog treats on the mantle, the Wonder Dog will know they are there and will go to great lengths to draw your attention to that fact and not be concerned in the least that you are highly amused by his lack of dignity.
I find it very odd that once you tell people you plan to spend a stretch of time focusing intently on writing, pretty much to the exclusion of all else, they develop an increased need to contact you, interrupting the concentration, sometimes just to ask how the writing is going. As if they suspect you are in truth sitting on a beach somewhere, doing absolutely nothing, inexplicably in dire need of company and conversation. It's very odd. Perhaps I should have said I'm doing something significant and worthy, maybe studying for bar exams.
I realized today, during one of those "just calling to check on you" conversations (which are at once charmingly touching and infuriatingly distracting -- not that I'm complaining about them, exactly, just saying), that I have never eaten a lamb chop and that my son is now the same age I was when I first started dating his father.
The rest of my thoughts these days, the ones unrelated to writing that is, are even more random and equally banal. So this seems like a good stopping point -- for this post and perhaps for this blog as well. Doesn't seem to be much point to it lately. But I've felt that way before, many times, and then end up changing my mind. We shall see.