Throughout my life, I've collected many things: Backscratchers. Owls. Shiny gems, minerals and the like. As a kid, there were unicorns and cabbage patch dolls. Pin-ups of the irresistible teen boy-du-jour.
Every accumulation eventually lost it's glamour and wound up suffocating in a black garbage bag on the curb, awaiting the truck from the Kidney Foundation to scoop it up for it's unfortunate fate. Tax deductible.
And then there are the words. Millions and millions of words collected over the years. Hundreds of thousands of words collected since Opal's birth. Words in dribbly ink that smears against the outer edge of my palm. Words in a variety of personality-defining fonts, tiny clusters of gangs in bold and royalty in italics.
I have no idea what to do with all the words.
What I do know is this, there is a satisfaction that comes from offering the words to someone other than myself. To let them view a landscape that exceeds the interior of my desk drawers and hard-drives. This makes them feel at least like free-range notions. Winged thoughts that could blow into some very interesting tundras indeed.
Truth: this blog has a good many words. Likely a few thousand, though I didn't check. As with many of the human-almanac blogs that have preceded this one, the intention is more to share the facts than to entertain, as it were.
Front Row: A 14.5 Month Development-Blitzkrieg as Told in List Form.).