In Rattatouille, there's a scene where chef Rat tries to teach his more ratty brother how to put flavours together in more imaginative ways.
Then ever so briefly, the brother hears an visualizes a sort of flavour symphony forming in the air above hime until suddenly and abruptly-- POOF! its gone again.
Such is the tale of Joyce and her blog posts. The word symphonies begin, there are lovely little swirls and flashes and inspirational sort of background music. My fingers start to tingle, and I yearn for a few minutes to find my keyboard so I can let it all pour out of me. Until- Poof! Nope. It's gone again.
And that's why I haven't quite written about
How I Don't Even Know Who I Am Anymore: My Tiny Midlife Crisis, and
Watching My Dad Disappear, and
How I Re-Found My Sewing Machine, and
Life: How Lifelong Relationships Vaporize, and
Brunch With Karla, and
Raising Boys, and
My Body, The Ongoing Story, and
How I Made Peace With My Bread Machine, and
The Last Supper: Giving Up My Position on the Thrift Shop Board.
So maybe I actually don't even know why I am any more. Sure, I'd love to write about it, but it remains to be seen whether any swirly bits of inspiration will stick around long enough for finger to find keyboard. One can only hope.