A close friend remarked upon this here blog recently, that he was unable to comprehend why others (especially those who don’t know me personally) would find it so compelling. He dismissed it by saying “well, you’re no George Orwell.” Oh really now? Looking over recent entries in George Orwell’s diaries, I beg to differ. Sure, there’s a slightly surreal aspect to reading about Orwellian gardening adventures circa 1939 but otherwise his entries have the same everyman (or everywoman) quality as my own, or the posts of any other blogger. Hrmph. Speaking of such, after having taken a daily self-portrait for a year naturally this piqued my interest: “18 Years and 6,000 Photos Later, Life Through Jamie Livingston’s Eyes.” But it quickly turned heartbreaking, as Mr. Livingston continued to chronicle his life throughout his losing battle with cancer. The photos themselves can be seen here.
Clearly life isn’t always chock full of excitement or jam packed with happy happy joy joy all the time. But I still feel the need to document it, through my photos and words. Much of it purely for my own benefit. Because I have a lousy memory, and I want to look back and see how much my son changed between kindergarten and third grade or when exactly I replaced my lawn mower or what months/years we journeyed to pizza farm. Sometimes the remembering isn’t quite so pleasant say, the bullying of my son by another third grader. Or the facing down of financial problems, like this week’s $1,000 car repairs that make me wonder how I’m going to make my mortgage on the 17th. But the remembering is still necessary, for personal reasons. But also as a piece of the bigger picture. The recent assassination of Dr. Tiller brought a lot rushing back. Not just for me, but for other members of the “Dead Baby Club” - like authors Ayelet Waldman and Elizabeth Weil. I appreciate the dialogue they’ve started, Kansas Stories: What Late-Term Abortions Are Really Like, because I can, unfortunately, relate. I’ve posted about my experiences in the past, as they were happening. In 2003 my ex and I discovered the baby I was carrying was missing the top of its skull. While the memories are painful, I feel compelled to share them. To remind people (who aren’t members of The Dead Baby Club) that yes, sometimes late-term abortions are medically necessary. By sharing our stories hopefully we can soften the stigma somewhat. If only The Onion’s story weren’t satirical: Abortion Doctor’s Murder Sparks Waves Of Calm, Rational Discussion. But I am attempting to do my part.
Bonus: Anna from local restaurant True Thai has been blogging. A recent post mentions the difference between coconut juice and coconut milk. But I just picked up a very different kind of coconut milk at the co-op. I’m thinking it would be particularly good on granola, and should probably get around to making my own sometime.
Plus: Summer-like weather has finally returned to Minnesota and with it, a rundown of the best fests around the state. I’m definitely not missing St. Paul’s Dragon Festival again (though I seem to make that same proclamation every year, d’oh).
And: Been trying to get my son interested in doing this My Little Cthulu papercraft, but he only wants to stick with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and other CW for Kids crap. BOO!