JULY 6, 2024 – Through personal hell and high water, for nearly five years straight I’ve not missed a single day of posting on this blog . . . until the day before yesterday. I cannot erase this gap, but I can explain it. No remarkable circumstances caused the break, but the interruption produced “material” and validated the fear that had driven much of my writing for past half decade.
That fear was that if I skipped a day, no matter how legitimate the reason, I would be doubly tempted to miss a second post; then a third . . . and so on. Before long the house of cards I’d constructed out of nearly two million words, the equivalent of over 18 average-length novels, would collapse in a virtual heap on an abandoned website. My blog would be no more, forcing me to find an alternative application of my time and mental energy, such as learning Spanish with a bad American accent, playing chess against fictional characters on an online app, or writing the Netflix series that I’ve been living recently in my imagination.
To avoid missing a day at the top of a slippery slope, I’ve compulsively forged ahead in good health and bad; over and around all reasons good and bad. Most recent of sound reasons was a late-night conversation with a family member/cabin visitor whom I hadn’t seen in ages. The clock struck midnight before the porch talk ended. By then the post I’d begun earlier in the day still required an hour of work to be halfway presentable. Despite extreme fatigue, I dared not touch the banana peel of precedent; I refused to skip a day of writing.
Later I regretted my decision. Not only was I not pleased with the post—fractured, unpolished because I kept nodding off—but the consequent sleep deficiency that night (morning) left me drunk with weariness the following day. Make that the following two days, in fact. Only a solid night’s sleep last night restored me to semi-alertness.
To counteract the dangerous precedent, I’m determined to limit my straight-line descent down the greased slope of precedent. One day skipped was a single point; two days suggested a direction. I can’t allow a third day to go by—and a pattern to form.
The “material” to which I alluded above will be revealed in due course, but meanwhile, I should describe the alliterative reason for the two-day interruption: particular people in a particular place. Certain critical aspects of the occasion were spearheaded by our younger son. Details were left to hands and minds practiced in the art and science of hospitality. For my part I helped to ensure that the grounds of the Red Cabin were presentable; that the pontoon was fueled and in ship-shape; that my “Captain Grandpa” hat was kept clean, sharp, and accessible for frequent ferry rides between principal venues; that I took initiative to help out one way or another. As I watched the many lighten the load assumed by the few, I marveled at how family and guests pitched in so thoroughly and cheerfully—Democrats and Republicans alike!
The weekend has been a whirlwind. Without a second cup of Java early this afternoon, I would not have kept pace with the high-tempo cadency of a most memorable occasion.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
