I had a blogging idea as I was waking this morning. It started with the old saying, “If you build it, they will come.” (I don’t really know how old this is – I remember it from Field of Dreams, which IMDB tells me is 1989. 28 years is a while ago – for me. Someone happened to remind me of it a few days ago.)
Anyway, I was thinking that each piece I write is like a brick, crafted from the mud and straw of my memories and experiences, carefully placed to form a house for me and mine to live in. Of course, I want it to be a beautiful structure to look at as you pass by, with serene landscaping and clever lighting, a fresh coat of paint – even on the window trim, and a late-model car in the wind-swept driveway. I want it to show how witty I am; how goodly and righteously and prosperously I deal with grammar and living.
But that’s not my real estate, is it? (I suspect it might not be for most of us.) My life has a very much lived-in look and feel. It’s that slightly dilapidated three-bedroom ranch with too many trees dropping their leaves and broke-off branches all over the lot, with the porch light that never goes off – even on the bright, sunny days, and some kids’ rain-stained toys, long-neglected, laying about in the side yard.
Because the bricks I build with are quite transparent, aren’t they? The materials I use in my construction are solid and real enough to me, but they are actually made only from my aged thoughts and worn-out dreams. There’s ‘nothing’ to see, yet everything to view; a house of glass. There’s no fiction here, except for the denial with which I outsmart myself.
I suppose the beneficial part of being clear is that I’m constantly reminded of my Dale Carnegie: to never criticize, complain, or condemn; to try and say your name enough to remember it, and to always smile – at you and, I hope, with you.
If you know that “How-To” book, I want to tell you about this other, much older one, and it’s my mission to urge you to simply read it for yourself. Now, if you have visited me before here at my see-through dwelling, you do know which book I mean, don’t you?