So Beth asked me for an explanation regarding the change, once again, in the name of this blog. I guess I had hoped not to provide one– mostly because I’m sort of embarrassed about changing it yet again– and I guess I don’t have to. I am the boss, anyway, if only of this blog. But I’m going to go for it. It’s Beth who asked, after all. And the change, as you might imagine, Interests Me. So here goes.
As I said, I’m sort of embarrassed about changing the name. The truth is that I remain insecure about this whole blog thing. I’ve been keeping a blog for over three years now, and I suppose I’ve established my own way of blogging. I mean, I have my own style, I do my own thing, I’m not wedded to some “ideal” of what a web-log should be. So why the insecurity? Yet there it is.
Case in point: I’d like to highlight a few other posts on this very subject that have appeared here over the years– a few of my more transparent moments in which I reveal the angst that stands behind whatever in the world it is I am doing here. I’d like to show those to you, but I can’t. And the reason is that, even though I’ve begun labeling my posts by subject matter, I Don’t Know How to Make That Work for me. So when I ask My Own Blog to Search This Blog for one label or another, I get No Information Whatsoever.
What does this demonstrate? I’ll tell you. It demonstrates my utter incompetence in the world of blogging. This electronic world of cyber-communication really wigs me out. I don’t know how to make this stuff work. I don’t make this stuff work. I am amazed daily, quite frankly, that what I write here makes it to my friends down the road, not to mention my friends abroad. How does it happen? Search Me.
And in this electronic world, there is a je ne sais quoi, an artistry, a, shall we say, Cool that I just don’t possess. I have none. When I look about me at what other blogs have to offer, I find, for example, that I am sorely lacking in the right sense of humor. I don’t have the attitude, the scathing cleverness that some have. Nor do I have the artistry. You see this page? Plain as the day is long. Know why? I don’t know how to scan a photo behind the title at the top of the page. I am overwhelmed by the motifs and details that other options present to me. The visual art that aptly and even breathtakingly adorns other blogs would, on my page, Suck the Life right out of my writing. So, honestly, how much art do I have?
The first title of this blog was “Birches,” named, of course, for Robert Frost’s poem of the same title. It’s a wonderful poem, and its message was the sort of thing I was looking for. But the meaning behind this treeless blog seemed, at best, misleading. I jettisoned it about (was it?) a year and a half ago.
And then I settled on “As In A Mirror,” which was wonderfully significant (still is) and meaningful and lifted straight from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. But again, when I looked about me at the Clever and Witty and, well, appropriately less lofty blogs about me, I felt… Stupid.
So last Friday came around and we had our family night, which included a trip to Red Robin for dinner and our first-ever screening of the Disney pic (do I start being embarrassed now?) Meet the Robinsons. A clever film, and fun. Artwork and design that looked familiar long before we realized it was done by William Joyce, and a really heart-rending aspect that had all three of my children in tears at one point or another. And when the film ended, we enjoyed the music of Rob Thomas, who sang a song called “Little Wonders,” and these were some of the words:
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists and turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours
These small hours
I listened to that song, and then I listened to it again. And later I looked up the lyrics.
Not perfect, these lyrics. I mean the “twists and turns of fate” is a little cliche, right? But I do agree with what he’s saying about the small hours, the little moments in which everything matters, whether or not one is paying attention.
I learned to attend to those small hours a Long Time Ago. I don’t always attend, and when I do, I don’t always do it well. But I guess I kind of believe that it’s attention to those hours that make life worthwhile, and if I find a place to record those moments, a kind of sieve to hold what’s precious as time falls (and falls) away from me, well then maybe I’ve done pretty well.
Seemed appropriate for my blog, anyway.
So here you are, dear Beth: the explanation for this slight shift, this cosmetic alteration that, let’s be frank, makes a difference to no one but me.
And I am a little embarrassed about it. But there it is.