Confessions (#24)

The first pickles of this season, and the first in a few years.
There were four large jars, but I gave one to a friend.
They should be ready for eating in about a week.

Tonight, I would rather be sharing my garden exploits, and some of the rewards of my efforts. However, someone has decided, for reasons unknown right now, to force the election conversation into a new direction. And everyone feels the need to opine online about it, much to the delight of social media profiteers and our nation's enemies. Well, I am only human. Here are my three paragraphs (and a quote).

Confessions (#23)

I discovered this artist, Eugen von Blaas, two weeks ago,
while working on a project. I find so many of his paintings amusing.
Perhaps, because I have spent so much time surrounded by and listening to women...

This is how I envision people talking about my blog posts,
and text messages, which have been described as novels. 

At the end of last week's post, I mentioned how producing it might inspire me to wake up bright and early the next morning, and write some more. And how it all depended on me. Well, I did not follow through. The next day, I woke up and journaled, but nothing more. The following morning, I added another journal entry. Then went on about my day, never bothering to write another word. And God knows that day I was drowning in a pool of cascading thoughts. Finally, Wednesday ended up being my last journal entry for the week.

Now it is Sunday, which means hunkering down in my bedroom recliner, and spitting something out onto a computer screen. Usually I would have a pile of unfolded laundry requiring my attention. However, because my wife is leaving for a business trip tomorrow, I had to finish that chore yesterday. It actually feels good to have that completed. I go back and forth about switching laundry days. Instead, I spent the last few hours watching, for the first time, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  Funny show, though I found it difficult sitting through the first episode. I constantly suffer from second-hand embarrassment, and these characters insist on being awkward in front of others. But I pushed through, and left the room just a handful of times. 

I would have watched more, but the Mets game began, and my wife is a huge fan. Since I had about an hour-and-a-half before starting dinner, I decided to sit down and blog. The decision had little to do with using my time wisely. Instead, a fear gripped me. A little voice in my mind suggested skipping this week's post. After all, my birthday is coming up this week. And, yes, as a Lord of the Rings fan, this conversation in my head was sprinkled with words like "precious" and "present" and lots of hissing. Also, the ton of sugar cookies dipped in lemon pudding (do not ask--I never got around to adding the fresh fruit to the concoction), frozen shumai from Trader Joe's, a random hot dog, three bottles of diet root beer, and a bunch of other things that I cannot recall right now, has left me bloated. 

So, between not writing anything significant for a week, giving myself only ninety minutes to write this post, and feeling like a beached whale, that I got this far is miraculous. I just wish I had something more meaningful this time around.

Well, the laundry is done, the sugar cookies are almost gone along with the lemon pudding (some day I will explain it), the root beer supply is definitely depleted, tomorrow is a new day, and this blog post is completed.     

Now on to making dinner.  

 

Confessions (#22)

A scene from the film, The Matrix. Neo is waiting for a ride that will change his life,
but he is not sure that he is ready for it. At one point, he will want to escape
back down familiar roads, and avoid the truth.
Here the clip from the movie.

It is 8 pm on an Easter Sunday, and I am sitting at my laptop, figuring out what to write. Actually, it is eight minutes after eight. I spent those minutes running through various topics: book bans, anti-trans legislation, hyperbole, freedom, what I think of Jesus, how I wish I had done this days ago. I even began daydreaming about people commenting on my make-believe blog post. That's just a sample. At some point, not blogging tonight crossed mind. Hell, not blogging ever again reared its ugly head, too.   

When procrastination becomes overwhelming, running away looks like a great option.

However, like Trinity says to Neo in the first Matrix film, a voice inside my head reminded me, "Because you have been down there ... you know that road, you know exactly where it ends. And I know that's not where you want to be." Half-ass written creative writing assignments, incoherent analytic papers on history topics, unfinished art projects left on the trash bin of my mind, and now empty posts littering this blog. Yea, those are familiar roads.

And I don't want to be there.

Instead, I want to take the red pill, and jump down the rabbit hole of connecting my brain to paper and seeing what bursts forth (now I'm paraphrasing a verse from Hamilton the musical, and butchering it). I want to "write like I am running out of time; write day and night like I am running out of time." I mean, I am running out of time.

But, there is no red pill showing me a world beyond my procrastination. Trinity is not going to show up and inspire me to reject those bad habits. And the life of a short-lived Founding Father who wrote the other fifty-one Federalist Papers is not the best solution for my middle-aged problems.

After skipping two weeks of blogging, I produced tonight's post. It is not much. But, just maybe, it is enough to inspire me. 

Perhaps, I will wake up early tomorrow and actually write my thoughts down.

In the end, it's up to me. 

Confessions (#21)

I believe I have referenced this work by Norman Rockwell before. I love it.
There is something about the look on her face. It is real, not perfect. Tired, but grateful.
Like good teaching. And, it is funny that tonight, for the first time, I noticed
the broken chalk, chalk dust, and eraser collected at her feet; the eraser on the head
of one student; and how one of the children wrote "Happy Birthday Jonesy" on the board.
Between the sincere kindness of  her students, the mess on the floor, the silliness of a rogue eraser,
and someone daring to call the teacher by their first name, this could have been any one of my classes.  

For good or ill, I allowed my high school students to challenge me. Daily they would question my curriculum and pedagogical choices. And each day, I would indulge their attempts to avoid what I thought best for them. Perhaps it was naivety. Maybe it was the culture of the that school. And while blaming an entire generation, or just the ignorance of youth, would soothe my guilt, deep down I know a part of me just gave up. There is way to give students the freedom and structure they require to learn effectively. But I never discovered it during those thirteen years of teaching.

In addition, during my career at that "little school in the woods", I wore many hats. There was the hat for teaching. Another for administrative work, like accounting, record keeping, communications. Then there was one for marketing, both digital and print. In addition, on Fridays, I would mop the gym and classroom floors. Every day, whether sending out an email on behalf of the headmaster to some irate parent, paying bills and printing invoices, redesigning the website, or just taking the garbage bags to the dumpster, I was doing more than just teaching.

One day during class, while my students hounded me with a request (I believe it was about a field trip), frustrated, I blurted out that I "had a million things to do". And true to form, without skipping a beat, one of my students, an annoyingly lovable one, quipped, "Alright, list them for us, these one million tasks."

Sigh. And true to myself, I surrendered, and began rattling off things I had to do. 

"First, there is the email I need to send out to your parents about next week's event. Second, I have to order the chairs for the event. Third, I have to sit down with the headmaster, and create an ad for the local newspaper. Fourth, the garbage cans in the gym need to be replaced. Fifth..."

I believe I made it to about twenty. What happened next is beyond my memory. Or I buried it deeply with a lot of regrettable or humiliating experiences from my days of teaching.

So, why am I thinking of this particular recollection? Well, I was going to begin tonight's post differently: "There are a million things swirling in mind tonight that I feel like I am drowning in them." And that is when the memory snapped into focus. Then I searched through the titles of my previous posts, hoping to find something better than "A Brief Interlude" or "A Deep Breath". That is when I spied "Confessions". 

And here we are.

I could indulge you, dear reader, like I did my students, and start cataloging all the thoughts bombarding my mind right now. It would not be a million, but it would easily exceed twenty. If I had to guess, a hundred sounds about right. But fortunately, for the both of us, none of you have ever asked me to list them. In addition, many of my thoughts would be too embarrassing to share. Indeed, I would end up humiliating myself and others. Some are typical, while others, trivial. Then there are the repeats, for those who have been regularly reading my blog, or listening to me when I whine. Finally, and simply, I do not have the time, the energy, or the will to present them in some interesting and witty manner.

So, no list for you.

Well, maybe one:

1) Fold the laundry;

2) Wash the dishes;

3) Write a blog post;

4) Daydream about how people will react to it when they read it.        

Confessions (#20)

My lantern prototype.

I almost did not blog tonight, and I spent the last hour explaining my reasons. After three-hundred-and -seventy words of complaining, it occurred to me that these were just excuses for my debilitating habits. The same habits I have discussed before: poor planning, procrastinating, overreaching. Tonight's content sounded repetitive. Worse, it was all coming from a bad place. This week was busy, with little to show for it; this weekend exhausting, filled with disappointments. The post reeked of these negative feelings. While writing about pain and suffering is necessary and cathartic, these subjects require careful and deliberate execution. That demands time and focus. Otherwise, I am just ranting and raving, spewing vile into the universe. And the universe needs far less negative expression these days. 

Then it came to me. A question. 

Why AM I still blogging?

Before you panic, dear reader, I do not intend to give it up. Nor do I wish to take a sabbatical, even a short one. However, I felt a need to confess this inner thought. This troubling confession may be the culmination of this past week's frustrations. Like the pangs of indigestion rising up after a holiday of binging, provoking the need to reevaluated your diet, lest you want your body to suffer worse consequences in the days and weeks ahead. Or, it may be the inevitable result of all this introspection. Writing week after week about personal details is like peeling away layers of flooring in an old house. Eventually you will reach the original install. Only then will you realize whether it was worth the effort.  

Why AM I still blogging?

Thirty-one months and one-hundred-and-seventy-six posts later, it is an important question to ask. It is also natural, because the original reasons may no longer apply. In the beginning, there were three.  Two are obvious, just read the first few posts. The third, not so much. I have only alluded to it perhaps once, maybe twice. Unfortunately, for you, I do not have the energy to find it (my guess is I labeled it as a "confession"). After all this time writing about whatever came to my mind on a Sunday night, coupled with a list of failed projects from this past week, I am not surprised that this question showed up.

Why AM I still blogging?

Whatever answers come to the surface right now, are not meant to last. Trust me, my initial responses are quite messy and foul. They are like the proto-DNA strands arising from the primordial soup. Yet, while their presence may disappear from future iterations, their initial existence is necessary in order for the process to begin. And sharing this question is but the first step in search of a conclusion.

Why AM I still blogging?

Sorry, good reader, I do not have an answer. I am not sure when it will come to me. But, rest assured, I will be asking it constantly over the next few weeks. After all, it is an important question.

In the meantime, I have a dishwasher to start, and a load of laundry to fold. Among a million other things.

Why AM I still blogging?

 

My Second and Final Attempt.

 

Confessions (#18)

Since last Saturday, I have been on vacation, spending time with family at a North Carolina beach. I used it as an excuse to avoid writing last week's blog post. And I would have let it go, if not for all the other missing blog posts since the beginning of this year. So, I became disappointed with myself. That led to a lack of daily journaling. Five straight days went by without any written self-reflection. However, there was plenty of internal self-criticism. In addition, except for Sunday, I deliberately avoided my vacation ritual: a daily, early morning hike up and down the beach, followed by an hour long talk with my parents. Like a positive-feedback loop, things spiraled out of control. The planned fiction writing? The random sketches? Nothing. Finally, by mid week, I put away the three books I had packed for this trip--without a single page read.

Please do not think I did not enjoy my vacation. I had a lot of fun, between the good food, playing in the ocean with my daughters, seeing my nephews, talking with my family, and hanging out with my wife. And I did get to relax, whether it was drifting with the waves, going out to eat instead of making dinner, or just staring out the car window listening to music and funny conversations.

However, I have a problem. It is like people who suffer from chronic anxiety. No matter how relaxing and calm the situation, these people will find something to be anxious about. While it may not always be debilitating, it remains frustrating. Worse, it reinforces the behavior. It becomes an endless cycle.

For me, it is creating. No matter the place and time, I fret over the projects that I have not started, or the ones I have not completed. Rather than confronting this mental obstacle, I avoid it, by daydreaming. But daydreaming is a drug--it is temporary. Soon, I realize I am not getting anything done, and I get annoyed with myself. The cycle begins anew. The worst part is that most of this happens exactly when I should be taking it easy, and enjoying the present moment.

Precisely because I am not creating when I should be, I hate myself when I do not create when I am relaxing. 

So, what causes this internal strife? Have I found a viable solution?

Read on to find out.

(From the show, Adventure Time. IMHO, one of the greatest animated series of all time.)

Confessions (#17)

When I realized this post was a confession of sorts, I went looking for the last one. It was a deep dive that took me all the way back to October 17, 2021. I read the post. Three things shocked me. 

First, the number. Sixteen confessions? Wow, I do reveal a lot.  

Second, the date. Eight months? Boy, can I be inconsistent.

Finally, the content. Procrastination? Missed writing opportunities? Apparently I have not changed much.

Just like I explained in that last confession, I approached this post intending to write something specific, on a topic I chose a week ago. However, life and my habits got in the way. And just like last time, I draw the same conclusion: sitting down and typing all this out is still better than skipping another week.

Or giving up entirely.  

 

(It has been a month since I have shared artwork. Found this a week ago while researching a different topic. Can't remember the original topic, but I noticed her face among the list of images that came up. Besides that look on her face, there is something about a woman in a hat. The artist is Emile Friant. I found a few of his other works interesting and beautiful.)

Confessions (#16)

Right now I am laughing. I managed to get this post done by 5 pm on a Sunday night, which is on the earlier side for me. If you read through to the end, you will understand why I think this is funny.

This is yet another weekly post on a blog I have managed to maintain for one-and-a-half years. Yes, I missed a week or two, here and there. But at one time I was putting up three posts a week. 

I have to believe each step is leading up to somewhere. Though, skipping a few would not be so bad, right? Maybe even taking the elevator a few times?

Sigh. Step by step, one flight of stairs at a time it is...

(I went searching for images of the "Nine Muses"-- I previously thought that there were just three. The classical versions were disappointing, and I could not find any modern versions. However, through this process, I did discover the artist John Everett Millais. Two of his paintings struck me. I could not decide which one to use. So, I am sharing both. Some day I will produce my own "Nine Muses", either in the form of a story, or a series of drawings. Perhaps both. )

 

Confessions (#15)

Another Sunday night, another blog post to write. That means reflection. Tonight's introspection revealed a series of minor regrets.  Most of which centered on two habits that I have struggled with all my life. And how they interfere with other habits I want to build, and a few I want to restore. Like reading. I want to read more books, especially works of fiction. A few days ago I took a big step that I hoped would motivate me.

I let those two fucking habits get in my way.

So here I am bitching about it.

Sigh.

(At least it inspired a post.)

(I do enjoy looking at Edward Hopper paintings. They make me feel better. Discovered this one today. Maybe not his best, but I like the colors, and the simplicity. Something about that figure, too...)

Confessions (#14)

Skipping two weeks has its price: over compensation. So instead of writing one long post, I end up with three short ones (EDIT: a short one, and two longer ones). However, there is a theme. Therefore, reading all of them should be rewarding.  

TL/DR: I skipped two blog posts, despite writing enough on Facebook to make up for them. I tried to build a new writing habit: I failed. Then I went on vacation, and read a book that was out of my comfort zone. It made me envious, but not jealous (I wrote about this before, but I do not have the energy to link to it now). It inspired me (the book, not the link). But not in the way that you think (you will have to read on to find out how). I am still daydreaming (and I share a few with you). But I am trying to write them down (blogging does not count--actually, it kind of does). Oh, also, I really want to learn how to draw better. That way I could produce my own images for my blog posts instead of finding them on the internet (among other reasons for drawing).

(Some day I will finally edit and proofread my blog post before clicking "Publish", I promise...)    

Confessions (#13)

Sigh. It is the middle of June. This is my garden. That tall, green thing is a lettuce plant. It has grown from seeds I put in the ground a year ago. At the beginning of the pandemic. Now, it has decided to grow. And I have done nothing to take care of it. Nor have I decided to harvest it when it would have been at its tastiest. Most of the leaves are now bitter.

It is a metaphor. 

However, so is the fact that it is still the middle of June, and most of my garden has been cleared away--except for the grass. If I act this week, I can still get some good harvests before the summer ends. Especially of cucumbers. So I can make my pickles. Which would make me very happy. 

Again, all this is a metaphor.

Confessions (#12)

Today I enjoyed a meal of ribs and wings with a side of biscuits; good conversation with my wife, children, parents, and a sibling; and a quiet evening sitting down, typing up a blog post. The week itself, started off rough:  I was knocked out for an entire day by my second Covid-19 vaccination. But I was fine by the next day, and settled into a week of talking and texting with friends, and getting things done. Oh, and reading books. 

So, why tonight's post? Well, memories are a funny thing, and this one is no exception. It has been on my mind for some time, and I needed to release it. Maybe this will help me feel better. Or inspire me to take some sort of constructive action. At the very least, putting it into words will force me to confront it. 

Here goes...

(I am going to pass on sharing an image. I am not in the mood.)  

Confessions (#11)

Well, it was supposed to be a short post, but it turned into something a tad bit longer. Though, not anything close to my lengthier tomes. 

Fortunately, I managed to explain the included image. 

Unfortunately, it requires you to read to the end. 

Enjoy!

Confessions (#10)

"While still I may, I write for you

The love I lived, the dream I knew.

From our birthday, until we die,

Is but the winking of an eye;

[...]

I cast my heart into my rhymes,

That you, in the dim coming times,

May know how my heart went with them

After the red-rose-bordered hem.

  ~  To Ireland in the Coming Times by William Butler Yeats

While searching for a quote about birthdays--as an introduction to my birthday post--I discovered this particular gem. At the time, I did not share it. Instead, that day, I settled on Franz Kafka and Mark Twain, because they were lighter and simpler, though no less deeper. I saved William Butler Yeats' more somber and complex verses for today's confession. 

(I just love her gaze. Plus, I am stuck on all things Russian right now. Maybe I'll even learn the language someday...)

Confessions (#9)

On April 5, 2020, I published my first blog post. Well, it was two posts. Because I could not decide the best way to introduce this blog, I published two on the same day. Also, it was not my first blog post. Over six years ago, I tried blog every day--that did not go very far.

This time around, I have been a bit more successful. I am fast approaching the first anniversary of this second round of blogging. In addition, I am four shy of my 100th post. However, after tonight, I only have three Sundays left before celebrating my blog's birthday. Being a stickler for aligning numbers (seriously, you should see my treadmill stats--the miles, time, and elevation have to end in zeroes, or else I feel like a failure), I have to find a way to publish four more posts by April 5, 2021. 

Yes, I am not right in the head. Never was. Most likely, never will be. 

And here is another post to prove it. 

(There is something about the movement in this painting, the colors, and the contrast of the figure in the foreground and the one in the background, that caught my attention. For some reason, it reminds me of a dream sequence I once found in an animation series.)

Confessions (#8)

"Sometimes you can think someone is totally cool, but you never become besties."

    ~ Finn to Prismo, Adventure Time

"between two people."

    ~ the bottom half of my fortune from the only fortune cookie that was in the order (the top         half was cleanly cut off)

My two daughters and I were able to experience a tradition this past Wednesday night: order in Chinese food and watch episodes of Adventure Time. While the food was not as good as our usual fare (we decided to try an old place, because it delivers), the entertainment was every bit as good as I remembered. A quote from one particular episode from that night stuck out. That is why I  shared it above. I guess I never caught it the six other times I watched it. Maybe my mind was not ready to make the necessary connections until that night. Perhaps my soul was finally willing to listen to such a profound and humble truth. But, at that moment, I came to realize the countless times I tried to fight against that truth, and how it caused me and other people pain. 

Jealously can blind you; resentment can paralyze you; bad expectations can lead you astray. 

However, with the help of this blog, and some experiences these past several years, I have been able to come to terms with this essential truth. 

But that is not what today's post is about. I will save the above revelation for another day. In the meantime, here is another confession. In the form of a dialogue... between two people. One is cool. The other wants the first to be their bestie.

(Came across this painting by Edvard Munch--the one who did the famous "The Scream" painting--when I did a search for famous art works of friendship. I find the image below both beautiful and relevant.)

Confessions (#7)

Yeah, I have yet to purchase, let alone try on, a new pair of jeans--literally, and metaphorically. And it has little to do with any fears. It would seem recovering from events in December required more time than I thought. Also, those events inspired me to slip back into some old habits. So, I have begun to climb back out of a hole I dug. Hopefully next weekend finds me readjusted and on track again. After all, it is a new year.

Meanwhile, here is a lighthearted confession.

(I have shared another one of Norman Rockwell's "teacher" illustrations before. Here is another one I discovered recently.. I am enjoying it immensely, particularly the composition and placement of the various students, especially the two girls sitting alone. But also how the other "children"--there are at least two, a boy and a girl, who look more mature than the others--are gathered and focused on the teacher. If you have some time, click on image below, you will be able to see a series of illustrations from Rockwell and other artists depicting schoolchildren. There is an interesting unpublished painting by him, and another one called "A Russian Classroom".)

Confessions (#6)

“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

    ~ Rick Blaine to Captain Louis Renault at the end of Casablanca

My 85th blog post. Where I try something short and clever in order to begin a new chapter of this blog, and my life. By the end of the week, I should know if it worked.

(Jacob Toorenvliet's Allegory of Painting. I am also fond of his Four Musicians.)

Confessions (#5)

I was going to write a rather negative post. Not the kind filled with hostile tirades, and offensive rants. But the kind filled with doubts, regrets, and self-loathing. After thirty minutes of writing and editing, I realized this is not what I want to post tonight, five evenings from Christmas morning. Nor are those the emotions I want to carry forward this week. My wife and children deserve better, as do my friends. And the five of you following my blog. 

 

     

Confessions (#4)

As I mentioned in last week's post, I am careening towards an important deadline. But now it  is only a week away. This past week, I have been moving along at a good pace. Then, tonight, I hit a roadblock. But I have decided, just now, I am not going to let it get me down. It is not going to interfere with my personal goals. I plan on writing a blog post tonight, and getting to bed at a decent hour. Then, waking up bright and early tomorrow, work on my to-do list for the project (but not before exercising and doing the morning chores). After that is done, I will be spending the rest of the day focused on my own goals.