When I published my first blog post on August 31, 2004, I
didn’t know that I would still be writing and publishing essays 22 years later.
In that time, I have published 251 essays, about 11 per year. Not consistently
or regularly, I admit. In 2010, I only posted 5 times and all the essays were authored
by my extremely talented cats. Most years I posted occasionally until my world
crashed. After my granddaughters died in January 2022, I didn’t post again for
3½ years.
My post on July 13, 2025 announced the completion of my
memoir, The Requirements of Love: Forging
a Family Against the Odds. Not that I thought the world was breathlessly
waiting for that news, but because I needed to acknowledge it for myself and
start on the next part of that journey, publication. That July, I decided that I would post again. I committed
to myself to write an essay every week. I didn’t know what I would be writing
about or who I would be writing for. Probably myself, I thought, but what the
hey? Without my book to write and rewrite and revise and re-revise, what would
I do with myself? So I embarked and here I am, a year later, with 52 essays
under my belt. (I feel a little bit like Chaucer's pilgrims, entertaining each other in The Canterbury Tales.)
I’m proud of myself. Once or twice, the posts missed the
Monday target because of circumstances, but I always got an essay published
before the week ran out. By now, writing the essays is an imperative. I start
envisioning topics almost as soon as the current essay is finished, although I
never “finally decide” until the moment I open Word on Monday afternoon.
(Aside: do you remember The Lovin’ Spoonful’s 1966 hit “Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?”?
Writing “finally decide” started the melody playing pleasantly in my head.)
It’s true that I have had this particular essay firmly in
mind for weeks, anticipating reaching my goal of 52 continuous posts. It’s a
relief to have accomplished it and also a challenge to keep it up. Having some
interested readers pleases me, and I don’t take that for granted. Thank you.
The sky has grown dark; the thunder and lightning outside
is getting ominous. I believe it’s time to shut down my electronics. Thank you
for sticking around as I give myself a pat on the back.
What are you proud of
this week?
Ciao
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My mother always says, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I agree.