Near The End

Three things can cause a writer to stop writing: there is nothing else to express, there is so much to write about the writer can’t find the beginning or in my case, the writer's scared.

Technically, there is no such thing as a catch-up blog, a capsule of events for the past four weeks. Blogs were intended to be “hey world, this is what I did today.” Everyone and every cause has a blog because there is an innate need to assume some importance, if not to someone you know at least to some unknown individual who accidentally stumbles across the ramblings while surfing the web for something important, and while doing so found you. Even that obscure connection can make you and your daily activities seem important.

So for the sake of not catching up on the events since December 8th I’ll say that when dad said the snow felt good under his feet as we walked Broadway in Saratoga Springs, I let it pass. But fifteen minutes later when he said it again I had to pause in my pace and tell him I thought white warm sand on a beach would feel even better. Yeah, the snow felt fine.

I am depressed.