I’m new to blogging, but have studied the basic recipe, which calls for a medium degree of originality and a set amount of time. Freshness. No one wants read about Christmas in February.
We’ve just returned from an extended vacation to Mexico. Oz and I have been making the trip every year in our van with our dogs since before we had kids. The first time my son went south of the border, he was three-months old. My daughter was twelve-weeks, in utero.
For a former Californian (me), this annual pilgrimage is what makes living in the Southwest bearable. First we cross the Sonoran Desert, then we plunge down the neckline of the Gulfo de California, making first contact with the water at Mazatlan. We spend a day or two fondling the wide, soft, vanilla beaches, then drop down into the country’s steamy nether regions. We try not to come back up until late January, after the brunt of the cold and flu season has passed. A large part of (nearly) every day is dedicated to lolling in the sand, catching up with the Pacific Ocean like old lovers who have been separated by far too many mountains.
It’s great for the body and soul, but terrible for a newborn blog. Especially with our limited phone, television and Internet access.
Still, I was determined to not give up on writing. I spent a couple of hours each day while every one else was at the beach, scribbling by hand into my black-and-white notebook, the fan chopping futilely away at the humidity. Not just drafts of blogs, but short stories and screenplays as well. I felt very creative and fertile, burgeoning with new ideas and observations I wanted to share with the world. Occasionally I plugged in my computer and converted some of them into type. But the type had nowhere to go…
Now that I’m home again, re-acclimating to my default reality, I’m not sure how readable any of it is, or relevant.
The important thing— I feel this instinctively—is to start blogging again as quickly as possible. But oddly enough, I have little to say.
The desert looks white and sterile, like it’s been vacuumed clean. The air is cold and dry, the skin on my fingers is cracking, the sun is as bright as studio lights. My son has the flu.
And so, in desperation, I have decided to heat up some of the old vacation stuff, see if it is palatable, and post it on line over the next few weeks. Please forgive the leftovers.
What better way to pass the short winter days, than to revisit the tropics of the mind?