A couple of years ago, I started a blog. I’d thought I would start with something lofty or profound: My Thoughtful Insights on God, Faith, Family, Friends, Humanity, Country, or the Environment — a weighty introduction about my Philosophy of Life.
Never got around to that. Lofty doesn’t suit me – I have too many streaks of clown and rambler. If I’m interested in something, I have the tenacity of a terrier going after a bone, a ball, or vermin. Otherwise, I have the boredom threshold of a three-year-old.
I was born in a summer month but summer isn’t friendly to me. Oh, I appreciate summery things. I like flowers, fruits & veggies, thunderstorms, the canopy of trees. I have great memories of bicycling, horseback riding, camping, and picnics. But my internal thermostat isn’t reliable and I get heat sick easily. I can always layer on more for the cold months, but there’s only so much undress anyone can do without being arrested for indecent exposure. Me in a bikini might constitute domestic terrorism or public nuisance.
I’d bought my first pair of flip-flops — yellow and hot pink — since 1972. It was a great relief from toaster-oven socks when the temps climb into the upper 90’s (and beyond) and the heat index is in triple digits. I don’t like the hot concrete & pointy rock folk dance in bare feet, but, even after a couple of years, I’m not used to the feel of the straps or the clop-clop-clop they make when I walk. That first pair turned into a tug-of war toy for my dogs, so they never got a chance for the rubber to petrify long before they molded to my arches, high enough to drive a car under.
Although this year isn’t the furnace or sauna of so many Midwest summers, I dream for the cycle turning to days of flannel shirts under sweaters, wool britches, and half-inch thick legwarmers. I dry sweat from my hands and pick wool clean to felt for new house-boots or crochet new armwarmers, legwarmers, and hats. I work, dream, create — draw, paint, and write.
There’s a volcano in my brain. Stories, characters, images of scenes erupt constantly. If I were faster at typing, drawing, painting I might be able to capture them all, give them their voices, their portraits, their landscapes. Alas, I’m turtle slow and a touch arthritic so they have to wait their turn in the queue. But on the days when the volcano transforms into a pinball machine — sweet! Every ding-ding-ding of completion means a score for another play.
Rim Garrison 2 — ding, new play. Astra Ventus — ding, new play. Troll Bridge — ding, new play. Tools of the Trade — ding, new play. Etude’ on the River — ding, new play. Inspiratum — ding, new play. Drowing in a Sea of Suns — ding, new play. Suntosun Shipping — ding, new play. Catalystica – ding, new play. Runes of Stars and Storms — ding, new play.
Ding-ding-ding — bonus points. The play now is this new blog, logging the journey of a clay-footed wanderer in life and in the lands between my ears. For this season, I wander realms in flip-flops; next season, it’ll be tennis shoes and boots. I listen for the rumble of the volcano, the ding-ding of the pinball machine. But most of all, I ignore the clop-clop of summer footwear and listen for the voice at the center of all my wandering.
And to travelers who would journey with me, I wave a hearty welcome.