horses, compost, writing, horses, neighborhood observations, visitors, writing, horses, goats, and being overwhelmed.
I will soon begin again to write about trip plans. I don’t know yet how we’ll pull off doing Part II – it seems like now we’re more entrenched than ever before. The addition of a government funded hoop house and foal complicates matters. We’ll need to find a summer gardener. And we’ll need to find a summer home for Hrimmi. I’d like for her to spend next summer at the Icelandic Horse Farm, where she’d then have access to a large pasture and also be with others her own age.
We also now have near geriatric animals: Rainbow, Jenna, Peaches, and Tinni are getting up there in years. Consequently, the challenge may not be in riding a pre-determined route, but rather, in getting out of here.
I’d also like to resume writing about photography. A month ago, when I was at the recycling center, sorting through books, I came across a text by two compositionists whose work I was familiar with – David Bartholomae and Anthony Petrosky. It was entitled Words and Images. The first half of this book is an analysis of James Agee’s Let us Now Praise Famous Men. Huh. Who would’ve thunk it? At least here was verification that I had a good idea. They, however, had follow through.
I keep at it, though my internal censor kicks into high gear at times, especially in the summer. It is a very succinct censor, which is good because it does not waste too much of my valuable time. A censor stream follows:
Writing about writing. This always fun.
Writing about compost. Takes time away from turning it.
Writing about the cute things that Hrimmi does. She’s getting older, and doing fewer cute things.
Writing about Pete. I can’t think of what else I might say.
Writing about visitors. Makes me seem anti-social if say, someone like Christopher came all the way from South Carolina to spend time with me, and I’m upstairs writing.
Writing about dogs. Has been done. Runs the danger of becoming clichéd.
Writing about my neighborhood. I suspect that this can get one in big trouble. There is a potentially large readership for sites like mine. Someone, anyone really, could tell Idiot Boy that I have speculated about his man cave. I really don’t want to have to deal with his ire.
Writing about the future. Is a fiction.
Writing about the past. Is also a fiction.
Writing about the present. B-o—o-ring. Actually, if it was a slow news day, I might write about the fact that the A on my computer key is wearing down, as is the E. I wonder why the I and the O keys aren’t wearing down. Could it be that I tap harder with my left hand than my right?
Writing about horses. They then go unridden.
I could put out a feeler (this line makes me think of octopi) and ask people – what do you want to hear more about? But I like my more ad hoc approach, which is to listen carefully when here or there, someone says that they read this or that, and this or that interested them. I then write more about it.
Well, today Pete and Christopher are going to the Granite Creek Music Festival. It’s (right now) a bright and sunny day. I can’t see myself hanging out in Sutton for a full day, so I am going to do the usual things here, and at the same time, try to find something interesting to say about the usual things. Emily Dickenson did it, so so can I.
Next: 191. 06/17/12: Still More on the Subject of Life