Every so often in this short life that I’ve been granted, I decide it’s time to try something new. This time it is writing.
Someone told me that if I want to become a writer I must start a blog. So, here I am. Blogging.
What is a blog anyway?
Is it a place where I tell the internet what color my new favorite lipstick is? Or is it where I go when I want to convey to someone how they too can do it themselves(!)?
I’ve decided that for me it will be a place to practice. I will practice my writing until I feel that I can finally call myself a writer without being sheepish about it. I will write into the abyss as I ease into it.
As I write my inaugural blog the tick of fingers on keyboards is all I hear. I’m sitting on the couch with my husband and our dog, Skippy. Pete is chatting online with his clients, learning all about their woes. He listens to stories about what a mess their world has become; parents who want to disown children, secret siblings that one girl didn’t even know she had, and of course, the usual relationship drama. Did I mention he is a therapist? He is rattling out ways that he can best help them cope.
Next to him lies Skippy, wrapped in the velvety blanket that he refuses to rise from all winter long. He is bundled like an overstuffed burrito and his tiny, pink nose twitches as he dreams.
Outside the window I see afternoon shadows hanging over our quiet drive. The neighborhood is tranquil most days and it’s been at least an hour since any car has driven by. Wait! There strolls a new mom pushing a buggy which I presume carries her most prized treasure. Behind Mom follows an old dog. I can sense the age from his stiff, slow gait and also by the amount of fur that no longer covers his once lush tail. They choose their steps wisely on the icy path. The furloughed mailman now parks his little, white truck, and two doors down the neighbors’ dogs go wild.
Although it is bluebird out, the bitter winds whip the snow from our lone tree and into a blistering twister of white. I take a sip of my chamomile tea and thank the universe for the warm roof over my head. And I write.