I think if my blog were a dog it would also be a bloodhound. Lazy, bejowled, draped over a giant pillow in the sun on a porch during a summery afternoon. In Georgia. After a large snack. My blog would walk slow--a meandering walk with no clear destination, howl a lot at things (but from afar--never really chasing anything much, especially if it took an inordinate amount of physicality). My blog-dog would yawn often, be red-eyed, trip by stepping on its own ears.
Have you ever noticed that the shelf life of most blogs is one year? They even put it in their titles, things like, "One Year Without Bathing" or "One Year, No Whores." The one year thing is for blogs kinda what the seven year thing is (sadly) for a modern American marriage. You know, things start to be a real yawnfest and a person may begin looking for a way to strike out in a new, more desirable direction.* And, well, sometimes they write a book.
I know a lot of bloggers who do the one year blog are looking at their blogs as an encapsulated project. Something with a finite deadline. People with a plan. People who read Write It Down and Make It Happen people. As a friend of mine said to me, "Don't you know it goes: blog, public outcry, sensational media coverage, book, mini-series, another blog?"
But not me, not my blog. I guess I'm more of a Write It Down Because It's Crazy sort of person. My blog has no such "project" in mind, no such destination, no such deadline. I mean, after a deadline, in a way, you're kind of dead. It's the line after which something dies, people. If there were a finite finish line to the almost unbelievable (yet almost always true) things I see in my world on a daily basis, well, then, I think it would definitely have something to do with me taking a dirt nap.
Anyway, if my blog were a one-year blog it would already be long over, beloveds, and then how could I tell you the following:
--My six year old stunned his kindergarten teacher yesterday by howling like a coyote while sitting on the toilet. He calls it his "poop howl," and he lets it out whenever "the poop takes too long or is scratchy," and it goes, Owww, owww, owww, pooooooooooooo!
--My four year old has started to use the expression "jump at the wall" (origin unknown) whenever he is upset. As in, "Oh no, I'm gonna jump at the wall, jump at the wall, jump at the waaaaaaaaaall!"
--My entire family has a false identity, created before the birth of our children by Hub and me, which we have prepared in the event we ever need to conceal who we are. Now that I am telling you we are aka Pete and Nina Gunderson (along with little Karl and Wolfie Gunderson, and our dogs "Lump" and "Spot") on the world wide web, I guess we'll have to come up with a new one.
Now, see, didn't that make the day more special?
*This is in no way reflective of the marriage of this blog's author, which, in defiance of the cultural tides and against all Sturm and Drang of life in a world of suffering, continues bravely into its 14th year, Amen.