Last night I had a long bus ride, which is was looking forward to, not for the ride as much as to write some material to grace this space. It didn’t happen.
When I worked in downtown Ottawa I would write a post a day during my commute. Some days I’d manage two or three. I figured I could do the same Friday night while traveling to and from Ottawa’s west end.
Theory and practice don’t always meet. I had all sorts of ideas – but the words wouldn’t come.
Which means today’s post will not feature insightful analysis of the Canadian election, nor notions on Donald Trump’s latest misdeeds. Those will have to wait.
Nor am I going to talk travel, sharing photos of Italy, Switzerland or Greece. Those too will have to wait for another day.
No addressing or pressing social issues today, or sharing the latest joke. My mind didn’t want to go there.
I can only assume that my brain was telling me to take a break. Enjoy the ride (and the beautiful sunset). Read a novel. Pray. All of which I did, to varying degrees. Still, I did write this much, and thought I should share it.
For a while I felt like I had to post something in this space every morning. I was in Germany, and my mother would look for a new blog post each day when she woke up. If there wasn’t one she would worry, wondering if I was okay. No matter how many times I told her I wouldn’t always have something ready, she still expected it. It was her way of keeping tabs on me from 10,000 kilometres away. That you got to read it was secondary.
Now that she has moved to her heavenly home, there isn’t the same imperative to make sure there is a daily post. Still, old habits die hard.
The phone rang yesterday afternoon, and my first thought was that my mother was calling. It was the land line, and about the time she would have called. It will be a while before I stop expecting to hear her voice.
So maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus on the bus ride. My brain was in that state of grief that wouldn’t allow it to move on.
Tomorrow’s post will be more coherent (I hope).