Always that idea of writing is in the back of my head. So many of my thoughts, I feel, would be good pieces to write about, and now they are gone. I have the need to write, but not the determination, the ability to put TV and games and who knows what aside, and walk into the office and write.
Age is often on my mind. Why it takes me so long to do things. Why I think I look like I did years ago, even while looking in the mirror (obviously, not closely). People my age and younger have died, and I wonder how many years I will have. Will there be more dogs in my life? Will I do or experience something remarkable?
I am reading and listening to books, and they, too, put many questions in my mind. Recently I read Sarah Bird's Above the East China Sea and I am just finishing listening to The Yakota Officers Club. I vaguely remember Sarah as a classmate at Highland High School, and I think we shared an English or literature class. I know that Sarah was an army brat and spent some time in Japan. Those are reflected in her writing, and make me wonder how much of her writing is autobiographical. Did she have a sister she didn't get along with? Knowing a little background info about the author is a dangerous thing. It makes me read too much into the story. In this case, I so want to go to Sarah's Facebook page and ask her all my questions, but I know these questions are naïve, to expect so much of the story to be from real life. This is probably because of my own lack of imagination for creating stories.
My reading makes me think of my reading choices. I tend to pick books by the same author, books with the same characters in the cozy mysteries I enjoy. This probably began with Nancy Drew, the comfort of spending time with old friends. Thinking I know the author from what she had written.
My dogs. I am so full of love and concern for them. Even this sentence makes me smile...
Babies. Wendy's foster baby, Precious. I love seeing her change and grow, even though it means there are not as many smiles for me now. I fell in love with another of Wendy's fosters, Michaela, a three-month-old infant, who was only with her a week, until she was turned over to another foster family who could deal better with the surgery the child needed. I had never held and fed a baby before for any amount of time, and I have missed her.
Politics, of course. I try to distance myself from the Republican/Democrat fight, and the disdain for our new President. Am I an intellectual snob because Trump isn't smart enough for me, or should POTUS be above the populace, better in every way?
Does a summary of my thoughts provide the same catharsis and writing them down as they come up? I don't know. I do know that memories of thoughts lack detail and clarity. I think I'm more eloquent when ideas are in my head. Maybe....
