As I sit here, a mug of Earl Grey tea beside me, crackers awaiting my cheese and pepperoni topping, I look at a blank screen and think "If I could only come up with something to write about". The warm smell of the tea, the combination of the sweet cheese and spice of the pepperoni is making my mouth water - awaiting that first bite as a reward for getting started. But it's not getting started that's the problem, it's narrowing down what to talk about really, there are so many things that leap out at me.
I look at my sketchpad, full of drawings of furniture, of rooms, of architecture that I've seen that inspires me. Diagrams of the bunk beds that I've designed for my kids, built exactly to fit in the spaces that I have in their rooms. The changes I want to make to the house, each room drawn out in detail, fully in discord with my wife's design ideas. It's nice that I've drawn these things out, really it is - but anything that involves the house really needs to be drawn up and run by a professional in these things. Your designs are too intricate, not generic enough, all I wanted when I suggested bunk beds was "this". Yet "this" came from a factory overseas, is built out of faux wood, and won't be a legacy to my kids. It doesn't have the permanence that I look for, nor the feeling of "I saw it in my mind, I drew it out, my kids and I worked together to make it, and it's something special." Wood grain veneer over pressboard has no soul, no matter how 'sculpted' you can make it. The desks I've designed for drafting, the workshop and computer rooms that are cozy yet functional, the bookshelves . . .
I glance up from my sketchpad, and look at the shelves that hold part of my book collection. It's not much at the moment, my other bookcases are still with my relatives. These only hold the books that I've collected since I've bought this house, maybe thirty to forty books. One day I'll finish the basement, and have my boxes of books come back to me, greeting them like the old friends that they are. I'm ashamed that I haven't devoted more time to getting them back, but life has a way of making it's own demands. In my sketchbook I've got the room built, everything in a honeyed oak, a circular room with bookshelves around the outside wall, only broken by windows that a man could stand in if he so desired. Inside there's a second circular reading area, on a platform that is reached by three footbridges, with a handrail that gives that solid sturdy feeling but doesn't intrude on the eye. This is a room for old friends, both human and books, where conversations can be had, tales can be spun, drinks shared, and lives both real and read can be revisited.
I think back on the phrase, "since I've bought this house", because even though I live here, I can't say I've bought it -- not yet. So few people actually can say that without being caught in the lie of our lifetime. Who can say that we actually own anything of significant value anymore? Our homes are not our own, unless we've made thirty years of payments on it, and even then we've paid so much more into it than we had originally designed. We so need to have things now, and somethings rightfully so, that we'll gladly wind up paying multiple times the actual cost of the thing - just to have it right then.
But enough of that mental diversion, it generally leads to more dark economic philosophical thoughts, and those generally don't make my stomach set well, and it's quite ready for the happiness of cheese and pepperoni crackers. So I look around some more, and my eyes light on my bowling ball collection. Each one has a story, each one reminds me of some aspect of my bowling life. That row of balls came into my hands when I traded two classic balls that had never been drilled for eight that had been drilled one time. The next row down is the entire line that came out in 2005 from that one ballmaker, it took a while to get all of them. That was back before my kids came along, and I had free time and money to spend.
I hear a thump above me, one of them has gotten out of bed and headed for a call of nature. It'll be a coin flip as to whether they go back to bed, or come down here to see where Daddy is. I look at their pictures, and reaffirm that they're what my daily life is all about. They're in school, and tomorrow is a school day, and I've got to set the example for them each and every day - about learning, about reading, about facing those things that you don't like. Now that both are students, I've got to be a student again. I've let my brain be lax for far too long, and it shows up in many different ways. I've got to be willing to get back into learning, growing, stretching for new goals, new dreams. It's no longer a point of wishing, because wishing is pointless, it's passive - nothing really comes of wishing. It's about actively dreaming, setting designs, making goals, getting past the first step - and the thirtieth step - and the one hundredth step. They can't complain about reading and answering questions if Daddy's doing it every day as well.
But first, I've got to come up with something to write about, every day. Whether or not anyone ever reads it, or finds it interesting, shares it, believes it, it doesn't matter -- if I don't set the example, what example will they follow? If I'm not walking the same walk I ask of them, if I'm not being respectable - how can I expect them to respect me? Dreams have never been the issue, plans have never been the issue, goals have never been the issue -- keeping the nose to the proverbial grindstone, that's been the issue. Fighting through the molehills that seem like mountains, taking the temporary fix over the permanent solution. This is not the legacy that I want to leave for my kids, it's not the legacy that I want for my name. I don't want them to come across my sketchpad, look at it and wonder "why were these never built? Was this all that he was?"
So many dreams, so many goals, so much to say, so much to share. So many days that went by where no progress was made - and months where ground was lost. But little steps forward add up to miles if given enough time, and enough consistency. So there will be a lot of topics, a lot of viewpoints, a variety of subjects, some will make sense - some might not. I could potentially be completely off base on some - but I'll be learning everyday, and everything will improve
Because I'm finding things to write about, every day.
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