(Like a hubris-besotted power broker explaining his actions in third person, I pose the question of where I have been.  Richard Scrushy, the infamous founder of Healthsouth that rots away in a federal prison at the moment, routinely spoke of himself in the third person, as if there were another entity responsible when “mistakes were made”, etc.)

The answer is nowhere really.  I’m just busy with living life lately, with less time available for simply observing it.  

Besides, there isn’t much of interest going on right now that I haven’t already dished on.  The Euro is doomed.  Yeah, we knew that.  The economy is in a funk.  Got that, too. 

And football season has started, so there are plenty of ways on the weekend to waste time living vicariously through the entertaining exploits of others on the gridiron.  Through forty-eight years of observation and engagement with the world, I still haven’t found a good replacement for football, the first love of my life.  I probably should have gone into coaching, but never really considered doing so, if for no other reason than it doesn’t seem like a real job.  Not that there haven’t been a great many other jobs I’ve held that were not all that real either.

I’ve got several projects underway.  I’m re-reading To Kill a Mockingbird, sort of in recognition of the fifty years that have passed since its initial publication, but also because I wanted to see how the ten years or so since I first read it might have changed my perceptions about it.  Yes, I didn’t read the book until well into adulthood.  It’s sort of ironic that a book the whole world used to understand Alabama’s curious ways was denied its schoolchildren as being, what…too close to the truth, perhaps? 

I’m also starting the middle phase of the memoir centered upon my son’s two bouts with leukemia.  This is the hard part, because this is where I begin to finally, objectively, understand a bit about the world, and I want to ensure I get things right.  Like Harper Lee after writing To Kill a Mockingbird, if I ever get this project finished, I’ll likely never write again, because anything else would just be redundant.  While I entertain no pretense that my writing would ever be as well-received as Lee’s, I believe everyone has a book in them.  Most folks never get around to writing it.  I hope to be one of the few that do. 

Meanwhile, I don’t have any real plans, just vaguely-defined guidelines for how to spend my time; as a result, the blog occasionally suffers.   As has been the case for the near 21 years I’ve been married, the family always comes first, the job second, and me last.  Since the blog is me, sometimes there’s nothing left for it by the time its turn in line arrives.  But I’m not quitting by any means.  On the reader’s end, this is just a lull.