You know what I did. I blogged (almost) every day, 28 times, at least. Three days of doubled posts, but considering my stubborn inclination, even against myself, to resist schedules, that's not too bad. Earlier this weekend, in an e-mail conversation with Penny, I wrote that "I discovered this month that daily blogging is not for me, but I admire those who do it. It isn't that I run out of things to say, but rather that I just don't always have my computer on at home, especially on days I work on campus, and I find myself resentful when I have to turn Rupert on...and I do not like typing on the iPhone for more than a brief message."
This has been a good project for me, though, and I may repeat it again in the summer when my time is more my own.
February wasn't just about the daily blogging, though. I have been enjoying the Olympics so much. Sure there were times when I wanted to watch something else or have the house quiet with no television going, but as the Winter Olympics come but once every four years, I savored the excitement as much as possible.
Today's hockey game was fantastic. I had hoped that Canada would win, despite the chiding from Neal and my SnB girls. The girls and I met at a local bar and watched the game, got our medals, and showed off our knitting.
I did not come close to finishing my sweater, but I made good progress on it. I am a slow knitter, and I knew it was foolish to think I could knit an entire sweater. But it is about striving, right? About the try. At least for me it is. Others may disagree. Others may think things only matter if you win. The joy, for me, in most of life, is in having a beginner's mind. Being curious. Being willing to fail. Being fine with being a fool. And I am. I'm filled with joy right now.
After not having a television for 14 years, these Winter Olympics stunned me. I was moved to tears a little earlier today when I heard that all the athletes enter the closing ceremonies together, not by nation, but together. I sobbed as I said to Neal, "this is one of the few times, few places that there is anything resembling peace." I couldn't express it as fully as I wanted, nor can I still.
I'm signing off from my month of blogging, from my Olympic knitting, and I'm going to savor the closing ceremonies and go to bed early. I'll leave the month with one more question:
What have you attempted, knowing you would most likely fail? How did it make you feel?
At breakfast, I usually skim our local paper, the oldest continuously published newspaper in the United States. I'll be frank. It has turned into a rag, little better than a local USA Today. By the time I finish my cereal, I'm done with the paper, but I still have a tiny glass of oj, two vitamins, and a mug of coffee to consume. I turn next to magazines, which are far more satisfying than the paper.
My love for magazines started at a young age with my very first subscription: Highlights Magazine. Even as a first grader, I enjoyed getting mail. Eventually, I read my sister's Seventeen and later Elle came to my house every month. For a while in high school, I read The New Yorker, though I really wanted it for the cartoons and the fiction.
Fashion, literature, and fitness were the topics I was most interested in until I picked up a copy of Martha Stewart Living not long after it was first published. It was almost a relief to find it, too. Just the things I was interested in, good writing, beautiful photography...the same qualities I value in the blogs I read. In the late 1990s, I learned to knit from an issue of MSL. My baking improved dramatically from reading issue after issue. I've been disappointed in the magazine lately, but I still subscribe. I'm sentimental that way. When I see an issue in the mailbox, it does make me look forward to finishing whatever work I have to do, making a cup of tea, and settling in to enjoy the good writing and photos, even if I'm not as interested in the subjects of an issue.
One of the things that bothers me about MSL, about many magazines, is that I'm directed to visit the website for more information. Allow me to whine...if I'm in my cozy chair, tea in hand, flipping magazine pages, the last thing I want to do is bring Rupert or George into the picture. I'm old fashioned, I suppose. I want a magazine to be complete, to stand on its own. Sure, I love the MSL website, but I'll go there for different reasons.
When I get my hair done, one of the things I look forward to is looking at a fashion magazine. I no longer subscribe to any (Vogue tempts me on occasion), but I do enjoy the fantasy of many of them. What do I subscribe to?
Melanie is totally to blame for my addiction to chocolate bite-sized rice cakes dipped in peanut butter.
Karen replied to my Twitter request for topics with many subjects. One I considered was Pet Peeves, but I'm not feeling snarky tonight. I'll save that for later. The other was the epic battle: Rain vs. Snow. Which sucks more?
In my world, the rain sucks more. I kind of liked rain until I lived in New Mexico. Rain scared the living creepy crawlies out of me there, and I'm not easily scared (well, except by scary movie trailers. They scare me). The landscape is not really amenable to rain, and I drove through roads that were way more flooded than I'm used to on many occasions. I have since hated rain. My yard is a lake, but not deep enough to warrant getting out my kayak.
I don't get days off for rain (my sister in TN says her kids do, though!). I get days off with snow. I love, love, love days off.
I also love the "How Quickly you Gonna Get Up" song in the Nike ad.
Pam (no blog) from my SnB group tweeted that I should write about what would go on the ark that is clearly in order in this rain. I guess I'd just try to fit my house in the ark.
I don't have much else. I'm going to watch the women skate. I liked watching the Canadian women's hockey team get their gold medals. That was touching.
Dear Lord, these shoes are perfect!! I've been stalking the Tracking site all day and had an hour or so when I thought they were not going to be delivered today.
Then I heard the truck pull away and ran to peek out the door. In a moment, they were on my feet.
Can I tell you, they feel amazing. I have extra bones in my feet (really! my podiatrist in NY showed them to me via xray), which makes shoe buying a challenge. Challenge no more!
I am a Fluevog convert!
I am. A daily blogger, I am not. I'll say it in two sentences; Karen will say it in essay form with lots of detail, which you might find a lot more interesting than you're finding me.
I just finished up some Open Road Writing work and was about to turn off Rupert when I remembered my little NaBloPoMo project. And resented it. Oh, I'll keep going because that's how I am. I can't win with knitting challenges, but writing challenges? Well, I call myself a writing whore...you got writing? I'll do it. So, yeah, the writing challenges I can finish.
I tweeted, looking for a topic. JessaLu came to the rescue with her suggestion that I write about "NBC and their sucktacular coverage of the olympics (sic)" (jessalu Tweet 1,852) (yes, I'm making up MLA citation format. I'm a dork as well as a whore. Writing whore).
WTF#1: Women's figure skating is on tonight, but I'm watching, what? Not figure skating.
WTF#2: While the little girl whose Mama fell in ski cross had the cutest mittens, I really didn't think it was appropriate to show her fear. This is the OLYMPICS, NBC, not some cheesy reality show. Well, technically it IS reality, but not that icky kind. Stop being icky.
WTF#3: Bob Costas, are you looking for drama? You tried sooo hard to make Evan Lysacek say something ungracious about Evgeni Plushanko, and all that happened is YOU looked like a jerk.
WTF#4: When people win medals, please let them have their moment of glory. Don't act like a silver is dog poop and a bronze is, well, what's worse than dog poop? Frog guts. Yeah, don't act like a bronze is frog guts. Or road kill. Athletes who get to stand on the podium at all deserve some kudos.
What else have I missed? Let me know in the comments!
I started with the usual shy tap, tap that most bloggers write, taking a tentative step into public journaling. Like most bloggers, I have my blogging persona, but that persona is linked fairly closely to how I see and imagine myself. At times writing here or re-reading old posts help to see more clearly who I am and who I want to be.
Whether you've read one post of mine or all 700, thank you for being here, for spending some of your precious time with me.
Every now and again, I have a day when I decide not to turn on Rupert. Sure, it was a work day yesterday, and I was on my no-name work computer for a few hours, but I spent my after-work free time reading a non-work related book and making a tasty batch of tomato soup. As the evening progressed, I realized I needed to post.
"Aha!" I said. "I have George the iPhone. I shall post from my Typepad App." There is, after all, an app for that.
Post I did, and rather wittily, too. There were some clever bits about being an old fogey who can't type with her thumbs. There was a photo to represent my evening (reading, knitting, Olympics). There was a question about what you, dear reader, were doing with your Friday night.
When I turned Rupert on this morning (he likes to get turned on in the morning, why yes, he does), I saw, or rather did not see, my witty little post.
I'm not taking the blame on this one.
Two questions, then: what did you do with your Friday night? and/or what have you refused to take the blame for lately? Stay tuned for 20/28 later today.