Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Feather River Canyon, the round-hole rock

Feather River Canyon
Originally uploaded by jhhymas.
I saw this from the road last year when we stopped for Wolfi's personal needs. It was across the river, so I couldn't examine it up close. The round holes reminded me of acorn grinding holes I have seen in other places. But I seem to remember about a river erosion process that could also create them by twirling smaller stones that were trapped somehow. Or did I dream this?? In any case, this rock has a great shape.
Tonight we are clearing out the kitchen counter and the top layer of drawers, so Tile Man can rip it apart tomorrw. I took a break to write this. It seems we are actually starting this kitchen redo, but I am still slightly in denial.
I have been thinking quite a bit about blogging; in some ways is it like grinding acorns in a round hole that you gradually make bigger and bigger? And your family gets to eat dinner, too. Probably not the dinner part . . .
But what I've been thinking about is the interface between what the blogger writes about life, the inner life and the outer life. And then how the people she comes in contact with are identified and what they would think about that. I've been using only first names or initials, or made-up identifiers like Tile Man, because I am not comfortable putting other people's names in a public place. The other thing I think about (and this may be because many blogs I have looked at seem to have a strong element of revenge, cherished victimhood or anger) is to wonder how clear I can be about some of the things I am thinking about when someone else might read it. That's not expressed very well, but I do think I have a strong wish to please and to smooth over the rough spots in human interactions. This is not entirely a bad thing and often has been useful to me, but it is also probably limiting in some ways. When you are writing for famliy and old friends, as well as for yourself, these are things to think about.
Good night, sleep tight. Mom used to also say, "Don't let the bedbugs bite," although, luckily, we never had any. And I never reallty wondered about them, which now seems odd to me.

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