carrying notebooks

buzz, post, twit, blog?  i confess, it has me all feeling a bit. . . discombobulated.  it's like anna's notebooks in lessing's the golden notebook although i'm not quite sure which is the green and which is the red

(although some of my favorite people carry a tote for the sole purpose of multiple notebooks--i myself need a mulit-pack of pilot precise V5 pens--the one with turquoise and pink and purple in it)

(and looking for a book link i just found this fascinating group reading of the novel--somehow seems appropriate and of course i'm thinking--ok, these are the kinds of "post dissertation projects" that exicte me).

but what selve in what place?  although, despite the more "public" forum the blog, this space anyhow, feels more private, more familial, more personal, more narrative.  whereas the posts and the buzzes are spurts, links, quick snaps.  or at least that's how it's come to be to this hyphenated existence.  but these buzzes are a way to check in, stay connected, be part of a thread especially when i'm spending so much time writing so intensely, and i admit, so narrowly.  the blog, this space, though, is more document, testament, personal narrative that somehow seems indulgent when i'm on word count--with 3 chapters completed at at least one more to go in the dissertation and the family tag teaming in this final stretch.

of course the journey, the narrative is important.  the balance of mothering creatively and writing intensely, of outlining theoretical queries on post enlightenment lacan and of taking a bucket of sand toys to baby beach.  it's the balance between the ready made trader joe's chicken pot pie (which, by the way, is phenomenal!) and the sweet first pick of george's strawberries bought from the farm zested with the first lemon from our potted tree.  so i guess i answered my query--and reminded of the things i've been collecting for this space. the story behind the red velvet cupcakes (which were not red at all but a beautiful muddy purple) and the frame by frame of my little chef cracking the eggs and scooping the flour (and of my four year old proudly moving laundry from washer to dryer) and the gorgeous simples-worthy toppings (and the simple, healthy recipe) to the black bean chili (from the purple cooking light!).  the food and the love, and the sadness and the loss that is part of the celebration (the trip we're taking to p-town to remember kind grandpa fidler and how in the midst of this sadness i'm so wonderfully relieved to have this time with michael's family). . .

and as i feel a bit less chaotic (although if you're still reading this you may be feeling a bit vertiginous yourself) i'm reminded of a quote i've often use as an epigraph to my syllabus for english 1a--something to the effect of i write to know what i'm thinking, how i'm feeling and where i'm going.  so i write to exist, to think, to create, to share.  to start that thread, to find the window when the door isn't apparent.  so no, writing here isn't a distraction from writing there and writing here, i think, helps me get there--because i know i certainly am not going this journey alone.  thanks for listening. and reading.  and being part of the adventure. . .