Jealousy should best describe my
blog right about now—if it had any feelings. My preoccupation with another
major writing project (a novel) means I’ve shifted my blog to occasional
musings and reposts of poetry.
Even I find myself worrying about my
neglectful ways. I follow several other bloggers who write on a set schedule.
They post once or twice a week with diligence. Then I read others who compose
and post daily. I did a daily challenge when I first started blogging because writing
gave me something to look forward to during the long days of caregiving. I sat with
pen and spiral close at hand, scribbled down ideas or wrote short pieces. Some
days, a movie or TV episode would capture Mom’s attention for as long as
fifteen minutes to half-an-hour. Long enough for me to quickly type up an
entry. Some days found me lingering at the keyboard after everyone else went to
bed just so I could have a post ready for the next day.
I carry a little guilt with me on
the days I abandon my blog for the plotline of the more involved story. I dally
all day in riveting dialogue, or playfully wallow in the luxury that comes from
creating a longer, more involved piece of writing. I love the new challenge of
researching a particular time period and weaving those details into images for
potential readers.
I don’t forget my blog. It lingers
in the back of my mind. Some life event will occur, and I’ll think, “Oh, I need
to write a post about that!” Or one spectacular autumn morning after another
greets me, making me long to pen a new poem.
And so today I opened a blank page in
Word with the intent of writing something absolutely amazing, or wonderfully
witty, or dramatically dazzling. Instead, my mind drifted to the careless disregard
I’ve held for my blog, the friend who steadfastly saw me through one of the most
difficult times in my life.
And I find myself pledging to spend a little more time with it than an
impulsive visit on a lazy morning. I don’t want to turn into that friend who
pledges to “get together” but never arranges a visit, who plans lunch out then cancels, or manages
forget that rendezvous at a favorite bar for evening drinks. I don’t want to my words to
hold empty promises. And so today, I make my intentions clear and known to all
(well, all who take time to stop and read). I will take time out at least once
a week to visit with my swing in a tree.
Empty, but not abandoned, Swing in a Tree
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
