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Just a House · 6 August 2022

When it comes right down to it, it is just a house.

Going through the death of a parent is not an easy thing. It is painful for all the obvious reasons. Most notably, because you lost a person you loved. Which makes getting rid of stuff seem like maybe you loved the person a little less than you should have. And that thought makes sorting through all the stuff of life a difficult thing.

“Oh I remember giving that to Mom…”
“I remember when we got that picture for Dad…”
“I remember being stuck in the house after Mount Saint Helens erupted.”

Those memories make getting rid of stuff a long process. Or at least a difficult one. At least until reminiscing brings up fond feelings rather than painful ones. Which makes getting rid of a house even more difficult. Especially, when that house was the family home where we all grew up.

I know that we should not place too high of a value on stuff. After all, it is just stuff. Atoms bonded together in a certain way. But somehow that stuff seems to hold high esteem in our minds. But I think I know why.

We tend to think that stuff holds our memories. That stuff holds our lives somehow. But inanimate objects are just that. Inanimate. They have no memories. They have no minds. They have no souls. We just think that they do. And so we place more value on them than they actually have. We think of stuff as more than just stuff.

No. I am not saying that we should not be sentimental. I am not saying that getting rid of some things should not be difficult. What I am saying is that even though we associate some stuff with family and friends and great times together, that stuff holds none of those things in them. Even though we often think that they do.

I am writing this because it is difficult to separate the house where my brothers and sister and I grew up with the memories that we had there. Yes. Mom said the house was an answer to her prayers. But might it now be the answer to somebody else’s prayer? Might it be the perfect house for somebody else to grow up in?

Sure. It would be great to keep the house in the family. But sometimes things do not work out that way. Time presses ever onward. And so must we. Even if it means giving up the place where we grew up. The house that we loved. The house that was an answer to Mom’s prayers.

And so we face the difficult task of putting the house on the market. Difficult only because we forget that a house is just a thing. Yes, a thing that seems to hold many great memories. But still, just a thing.

I do love that old house. Nobody but our family has ever really lived in it. But in the end, maybe God is teaching us all a lesson. Maybe He is telling us that the house does not hold the memories. It was a place for us to make memories. It was a place for us to bond. It was a place for us to learn to love each other and to love God. But it is still just a place. The house is still just a thing. Those memories and those bonds live in our hearts and minds. Not in the house. We hold each other in our hearts. Not in the house. We love each other. Not the house.

I love that old house. But in the end, when it comes right down to it, it is still just a house.

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Garbage on the Internet · 30 July 2022

I must apologize. I am sorry for putting out so much garbage on the internet.

I know that garbage is in the eye of the beholder, but sometimes I wonder if my writing is garbage to everybody. Still, even though I wonder about the quality of my writing, I will continue to put more of it out there. Writing that is. Or garbage if that is the way you see it. And like I said, I am sorry for putting so much of it out there.

Of course, I must not think all of my writing is garbage, or I would not put it out there. Probably. Then again, I am not sure. After all, I do have twenty (and counting) digital books available on Amazon. Which amazes me in and of itself. Not that I have twenty books. But that nobody has bought any of those twenty books. (Which is not strictly true. I have actually sold a couple copies of at least one of my books.)

Okay. I actually am amazed that I have twenty books out there. I am not impressed with myself, but I am amazed that I have finished those twenty books and put them out there for people to see. And hopefully, buy and read. And maybe even offer a review here and there. (Hint. Hint.)

I know. It is a bit of wishful thinking. But it is so much more than just wishful thinking. After all, wishful thinking was all I was doing way back when. Back when I was not doing any writing. Rather, not any meaningful writing. Which is not to say that my writing is meaningful. But back then, the consistency of my writing habits was not meaningful. Back then, it was wishful thinking that anybody would buy my books because I had no books out there.

Today, my wishful thinking is that people might actually buy my books (#ad) when I do not ever talk about them. Then again, I have mentioned my books in a few conversations and I have also mentioned them in an occasional blog post. But I suppose that is not enough. I suppose that I have to put a different type of garbage on the internet. I suppose that I might need to do some self-promotion from time to time.

Ugh.

If there is one thing that I am not good at, it is self-promotion. (By the way, if you thought I was going to say writing, you might think about your reading choices. But it would have been funny had I said it. At least to a couple of my readers, who surely thought I was going to say writing.)

Now where was I? Oh yes. Self-promotion.

I am not much of a self-promoter. I do not like to brag on myself. (As you might have noticed from the first paragraph of this blog post.) And I am not much of a social media guy. Which is where I would probably do most of my self-promotion. Which is also where there is already plenty of garbage. Most of which is not mine, by the way.

Well that is about it. Not much left to say. Not much of a conclusion either. Ah well.

I really do apologize for the garbage I have put out on the internet. I have fun writing it. And drawing it. But I still apologize. After all, there is plenty of garbage on the internet without me adding mine.

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Waiting · 23 July 2022

There are times when I have a blog post ready, but I need to wait for a picture.

I usually get pictures for my blog from a royalty free service that I use. I paid for the service (along with other author services), but I do not pay for each picture I use. Which is a great thing. I also use my own pictures too. Unfortunately, sometimes I need pictures from other people. Which means that sometimes I need to wait.

Of course, it does help reduce the wait time when you actually send the request for said pictures in a timely fashion. Which means that sometimes you need to write the blog post early enough to ask for said pictures in said timely manner. Which means that sometimes you need to write said blog post before you know that you need to write said blog post even though you cannot predict the future or know what your feelings will be like. Or maybe that is just me.

At any rate.

I sometimes write blog posts that are personal enough to need personal photos. Which means that sometimes I need to ask before or at least soon after I write the post. Which, like I already said, sometimes means that I need to predict the future of my writing. Which is almost impossible.

In reality, I wonder how the pros do it. I wonder how professional columnists and bloggers and other people who write on timely subjects actually plan their releases. I wonder how you can write something that will be timely and smart and provocative and interesting on a deadline. Is it just the difference between being a professional writer and not? I do not know. All I know is that I can churn out a piece of drivel as quickly as the next guy, but I sometimes need to wait for the proper picture. Which means that I need to ask for said picture. If said picture even exists. Which could be a problem.

At any rate.

I do not know about you, but sometimes waiting just means that you need to be more creative. Which is a good thing. Even if it is not the most fun thing. After all, being creative can be a pain.

Well, if you were waiting for me to actually say something, I guess you missed the point of my blog. Sometimes I just write. Sometimes it makes sense. Sometimes not. And sometimes I just start a bunch of sentences the same way and use other literary devices ad nauseam. Which may or may not be a good thing.

Thanks for reading. And for waiting with me while I wait for a picture.

(In reality, I actually ended up using a picture that I already had on a blog post I already posted. Ah well. So much for waiting.)