Endings and startings

The hardest part about painting a room is starting.

Prep is not fun; it's tedious but necessary. How many switchplates have I removed and put back up in my fiftynevermind years? How many tubs of spackle? How many miles of painter's tape? Zero. Zero miles of painter's tape. I don't use it. A steady hand and a good brush is all you need, at least that's what a painter told me once. 

The hardest part about deciding to start writing again is also starting.

December 23rd was the day Bob and I had been dreading for - I don't know - probably forever but at least a year. It was the day we decided would be Kenai's last. The 14-year-old husky was arguably the sweetest animal either of us had ever known. The hairy, irritating, goofball of a dog was one we implicitly trusted around old people and babies because all he knew how to do was love. 

I don't have to detail the reasons for the decision other than to say that, "it was time." We made some phone calls, and Bob decided to take him alone. He opened the door to the back seat and Kenai jumped right in, which if course was like a knife to the heart. Within a few hours it was all over and Bob was back home. It was necessary, but that did not take the sting out of the many tears we cried. 

We were suddenly a one dog home. 

Riley is a people dog. He spent some time at doggy day care when we were having work done on the house, and while we were told he "did fine" they finally fessed up that he was really more interested in hanging out with the humans than the other dogs. This was kind of Riley's M.O. at home when Kenai was alive. He would run around with Kenai for a minute but was really all about being with me and Bob. 

Because of that, we weren't expecting what happened after Kenai was gone. Riley got depressed. We (the humans) were prone to sudden weeping, so when Riley seemed mopey and clingy, I attributed it to depression. After all, he lost the other-dog-part of his family, even if they weren't exactly "close."

So, sometime Christmas weekend, I threw on a coat, hat, and gloves, pulled out the harness and took the dog for a long walk. This is how I started. 

On a recent walk, I almost stopped short when I realized I was composing a blog post in my head. 

I was watching a huge flock of birds on the grain bin across the road from our addition. I was amazed at their activity - noisy, jockeying for position on the wires, flying out and back in groups - it was a community. And I started "writing" about this in my head. But I stopped and said to myself, "this is not the way you do it, dummy."

I don't outline. I don't take notes. I don't have a "blog post idea pad" or anything like that. I don't really even make a plan. I just launch the blogger thingy, push the "+" button and start. But in the past when I was actively writing there was a reason, an intention. a driving idea behind the stories.

Home Ec. for Grownups was a blog I did for quite a few years. I did product reviews, shared recipes, wrote about fashion, holidays, tips and tricks, and even how to fold a fitted sheet. My idea was that I wouldn't write about something unless I'd tried it. So it was a pretty solid concept, and I liked doing it. I had no intention of monetizing it, I had a few regular readers, and it made my mother-in-law happy. Eventually though, life got in the way and I abandoned it.

Then there is this blog. I launched Still Polly the day I found out I had cancer. It was a way for me to share with family/friends/the world what was happening, and for me to be in the moment through the experience of diagnosis, surgery, treatment, and recovery. I felt like there was a possibility that God could work through my stories to help people who might be dealing with their own "Big Life Events" and come along with me on the spiritual part of my journey as well as the physical part. Eventually, though, I got better. There was less and less to talk about. So, it was also abandoned.

I used to work with a photographer who said from the time he was 6 years old he knew that's what he wanted to be. I have utterly no idea how that feels. But, I do know, once I started writing for work and got pretty good at it (if I do say so), and then writing for personal and people seemed to like it, that when I was NOT writing I felt like something was definitely missing. 

Sidebar: I recently wrote a couple of poems for no reason, shared one with Bob and he asked if I was okay. I don't think poetry is my thing.

So, here I was. On a walk with my dog. Staring at a bunch of starlings wondering what I would say about them, to who, and why. I missed writing. I needed to start writing. I just needed to move the furniture out of the way, start taking down outlet covers, and patching nail holes.

Today, on the feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, archangels, I just started. 

I have no idea where this is going to go, but I think there really is still lots to talk about that doesn't have to be about cancer, or recipes, although at any given time it could be about either, or both. If you want, you can come with me.

See you soon.