Embroidering the Edges

The ideal blogger would be someone like the Birdman of Alcatraz. There was a guy with a passion, an inquiring mind, a central life focus, and a lot to say. And, probably most importantly, nowhere else to go. Day in, day out, he could have posted about the diseases of the birds he raised, what his fellow prisoners were up to, what kind of slop they were serving on the Rock, what he could see from his window, and how he felt about all that. He'd have garnered a large following, I've no doubt. Most of the battle is posting every day, or at least every day you're able to.
For those of us with passion, inquiring minds, a central life focus, a lot to say, and other things we must do and places we have to be, keeping a blog going can be a real challenge. And sometimes it just doesn't fit too well into the big patchwork quilt of real life. Nattering away about little delights and discoveries feels to me like I'm embroidering the edges of this enormous, heavy quilt that I'm sewing away on from underneath, and can't seem to finish or even see.

I had a dream last night about an enormous tornado that descended on our house as I watched from a distant hilltop. I started to run toward it, knowing the kids were there alone, but all I managed to do was snap a few lousy pictures of birds fleeing before the storm. There was a lot more to the dream, but that part made me think about the blogging/real life interface, and my obsessive commitment to publishing something--anything--every day when all signs point to more fully engaging the life whose tiny peripheral details I'm recording.
And so I bid you adieu until sometime next week. Check back after September 5. By then, I hope to have replaced my computer chair with something that has all its wheels, a functional back support, and sufficient padding around its sharp steel bones. This thing is absolutely defunct, and has been for months. Bought a chair this afternoon. Bought one for Bill while I was at it. Much better.
Thank you for reading, and I'm sorry to be leaving you without something to look at for a week. Hey, that's what Archives are for! I'll be back as soon as I can.

XO

JZ

Rio Samba is a color-changing rose, a bouquet unto itself. Starts yellow, goes orange, then travels through the spectrum from coral to cool pink, and almost white before it shatters.
I'm the bumblebee in the lower left blossom, buried nose-first.