It's December 1. I haven't posted on this blog since January 1. I was participating in Holidailies then and I'm doing it again this year. Who even writes blogs these days? Well, a number of people do, I suppose. So far, thirty-four have signed up for Holidailies. And we are loading a picture a day (with a brief bit of verbiage most days) on Austin, Texas Daily Photo and have been for over ten years. But the Visible Woman? She's been invisible.
I think about writing (either in a blog or a private journal or maybe working on the memoirs and novels in my head). But, when I'm not at my computer, I think: I'll just 'conquer this pile of newspapers' and then I'll go in there and write or even just write on my phone or iPad which are right beside me often. When I'm in my easy chair (as I too often am these days), a little table is to my right. (See above.) There is a coaster (barely visible) for my coffee or water. And, too often, there is that teetering pile of newspapers. I don't want to toss them into recycling until I've checked out the contents. Also, all too often, the first section I pick up has an especially intriguing article. That happened today. I allowed myself to look through the NY Times Arts Sections for today (there are two on Friday) and to try to work the Ken-Ken and crossword. (Couldn't quite finish the latter.) Then I determinably started through the pile beginning with yesterday's papers. This special section, a part of a series on end of life, caught me right away. I had to read it to the end. I had to find it online. Not just for the permalink for this entry but to view the pictures on the computer.
And the stack of newspapers is hardly diminished. And all the rest of today's Times, the local rag (The American-Statesman) and today's Wall Street Journal are piled on the dining room table where my husband has perhaps rifled through Op-Eds, obituaries and some sports.
But today I have decided to write something. A first Holidailies entry of the season. I intend to blog every day through January 1. But if you read the article above and ponder the story of the Japanese woman with her auto-biography typed up, ready to probably be incinerated when she dies, you may wonder why any of us write anything. And yet we persist. And, yes, I still intend to conquer that pile of papers (and another one set aside in a basket across the room) and a pile of magazines. Return and see how I do and thanks for reading.