Oh, dear, I need a new post—quick!

 

 

                Here it is Thursday and I have no “leading” for a post. Oh, I have plenty of resources, but everything’s sorta’ glommed together right now.

                There’s my “wall of men”--folks I like to look at and remember when I sit down at the computer—Ed Asner, Neil Diamond, Josh Shaw, Ray and Todd and James and Jonathan, Kid Billy. I'll include Bill W. when I print out his picture. Paul Newman and Michael Douglas and Lou Rawls and Ed Ames --  when I find photos.

                Then, I could write about my first experience at picking up trash that either was dropped on my hill or that blew out of an open garbage hauler. Of all the stuff—checks, badges, Christmas decorations, a trapper-keeper full of papers, a sweater, pencils and pens, a letter from the Health Department—from folks with Alexander addresses. I could write a mystery-- but I won’t.

                Also, I could tell about the writers’ conference at Harding University last weekend. I sold two books, bought one, won three places-- two with money--heard three good speakers, one from Chicago, and visited with many folks. Made some new friends and visited with old friends.

                Of course, my journal is packed with observations, questions, comments, tasks-I’ve-completed, poems, names, three-word sentences, places, church and cemetery names, plus items about WW 2 veterans, snippets from obituaries, new words learned by working the crossword every day—stuff like that. Nothing to make a complete post.

                I could list the books I’ve read and stacked close by to write reviews for Amazon—Marjorie Holmes,’ You and I and Yesterday, Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty, which I re-read to see if I wanted to include it as something to read to a sequel character’s toddler, Angelo. No way, I decided. Then there’s Book Lover’s Devotional,  Jeannette Walls’ The Glass Castle, Porter Shreve’s The Obituary Writer, R. Andrew Wilson’s  Write Like Hemingway, and a poetry book, Solidago: An Altar to Weeds by Charlotte Renk.

                Then, there’s always the subject of cats and my concern as to whether to feed the five black  cats that appeared—and now consider themselves part of the landscape—or to rock them out of my sight. I can’t catch them; there are plenty of places to hide on this hill. I couldn’t kill them, but I would pay to have the vet euthanize them. My three fixed inside/outside males are enough for one person. I’m ambivalent about the others: I don’t want to be hauled up and shamed as being inhumane.

                I mustn’t forget about the pear harvest coming on. I wasn’t sure there would be a very good crop, but there is. I’ve worked up several batches so far and have a large bowl full ready to be cut  in to edible “meat.” Maybe while I sit and peel and gouge and cut, I can think of something for a post. At least it’s worth a try.