Thursday, August 19, 2004


I'm resolving to spend at least some time every day writing, so I might as well do it here.

I'm a bit worried about my work appearing in public, but somehow or other that seems to be part of what's compelling me to do it.

I heard that dreadful Fleetwood Mac song "Don't Stop Dreamin' 'Bout Tomorrow" on the radio yesterday. I am also reading Bill Clinton's auto-biography. Together, a Clintonian interlude in my thinking.

Clinton's book is thoroughly enjoyable -- so far. I'm about half way through, and he's toying with running in '92. He's a wonderful writer, and has led an interesting life. In the spirit of his own philosophy (as reflected in that damn Fleetwood Mac song), I'm looking forward to the next volume.

I'd like to start writing my own auto-biography, and it occurs to me that my impulse to do so is in fact forward looking rather than historical (thanks, Bill.) I'm about at the mid-point of my reasonable life expectancy, and taking the time to do a summary will of course be helpful to my own efforts that great things lay ahead (some pretty great things are in the past, after all). But I'm thinking of it more as a note to the "generations a-comin.'" My own mother lies unconscious, unlikely to survive more than a few more days or weeks. My father is in OK shape, but the effects of aging have left him more or less bed-ridden and unable to care for himself. (A woman at his old-folks-home, Kirkland Village, has evidently completed a biography of him as a labor of love.) So thoughts of mortality, of the finite nature of the life, are heavy in the air, and are no doubt afflicting my own psyche. Hence, the thought about the mid-life auto-biography.

Stay tuned. With God's grace, more tomorrow.

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