I just spent two irretrievable
hours of my life wearing one of Tim’s hard white art erasers (not
to mention my thumb) down to frass removing the first three months of journal entries from my
second-decade weather observation book. Seemed like a good idea back in 2010,
making brief daily jottings on the goings-on in the yard in a ten-years-at-a-glance
context. When all interest in continuing evaporated that same May—about the
time when being in the garden was ’way
more appealing than writing about the
garden—I shelved the idea and the book, resolving to deal with the latter
before 2013.
Guess
what arrives tomorrow?
Guess
what arrived today? A New Year’s resolution I know I can keep: after 50 years
in the trenches, I’m swearing off formal journaling.
Obsessive
journaling is really a sort of masturbation. It’s why the blogosphere thrives.
There’s the titillation of others reading, perhaps commenting on, your
revelations. There’s also the possibility of the odd 15 minutes of fame, such
as the kvetching blogging mom who declared her own kid would be the next Adam
Lantz, garnering herself appearances on the morning talk shows. I mean, really. No wonder the kid has problems.
The
realization dawned that I’m no Samuel Pepys (pronounced PEEPS, not PEP-is). The
realization also dawned that I turn 60 in 2013. Over the past several years, I’ve
been moving steadily toward the place where it’s a lot more important to be out
living life rather than just writing about it.
Does
that mean GFTGU has finished its run? No. At least not yet. Playing in the dirt
is a life-long love affair, and the best education, and the best therapy ever. But,
to steal from Robert Frost,
I
have promises to keep
And
miles to go before I sleep,
And
miles to go before I sleep.
Happy New
Year, y’all. And thanks for dropping by.
Kathy
P.S. – Wanna know the most profound thing I erased this
morning? On March 2, 2010, I wrote: “Met Allan Armitage [at the Davidson
College Gardening Symposium]. He’s a jerk.”
