in head first

i used to write for a living. people paid me paltry sums of cash to recount with lovely metaphors the reunion of long lost siblings and the excitement of elementary students experiencing the first wave of school. i've faked my way through weekly columns and feature editions on midwest farming practices - no small feat considering this suburban girl, having grown up among rows of lookalike houses, figured out just what conservation tillage was and offered up smart editorials on ways to save the family farm rich enough to earn awards and get picked up by the associated press.

i have awards and certificates and nice little cards sent to me from ladies who appreciated my work and the masonic men who invited me like clockwork to their installation meetings for the customary - and quite boring - "grip and grin" photos. these recollections of my past, along with the diploma trumpeting me as qualified to be a journalist, now sit in a storage container in my basement.

i don't write for a living any longer.

does that concern me? do i long to account for monthly council meetings or oversee a staff of reporters willing to take that low paying first job because they're going to blow out of there quickly? not really. today i stay home with my sons. a joy and a frustration wrapped into two very rapidly evolving explosions of light and personality. in a sense, they barely need me now. i know they won't need me forever. because of that, i have things to figure out.

do i miss writing? good question.

i keep journals that are too painful for me to go back to. i write letters to someone i love(d). i sign parental consent forms and tackle weekly 'to do' lists. and now i'm trying this. much like i feel as though i'm the only person on the planet who has yet to read 'the da vinci code' (and, despite working in a bookstore, no, i have no desire to, and will sometimes lie when people ask my impressions of it. yes, i gush about how it captures you. um...required to push the books, people...), i've gotten the impression i'm the only one without a blog about something.

so now i am. blogging, that is. i won't be reading that mass market tome anytime soon. i'll do this to figure out if i want to write again. if i'm supposed to write again. or whatever. not sure what it will be. maybe it will be boring. maybe no one will read it. maybe. to quote someone who has told me repeadetedly to do this, 'you're dipping your toe into something that begs the splash.'

we'll see if i make a ripple first.