Back in the saddle?

I miss writing...

And am, I believe, about to return to the traces and begin making regular entries here in BurkeDroppings.

Part of me (the "professional purist") says I shouldn't just give my writing away -- that I deserve to be paid for what I write; but another part admits that I really never have written mainly for the money and that the benefits derived outlast and overshadow the filthy lucre.

I've a fairly impressive (for a part-time pro) stringbook with scores of published pieces ranging from news briefs that appeared in the Orange County edition of the Los Angeles Times to a series of columns titled "From this Valley" that were often featured on page one of the perspectives section of the Merced Sun-Star.

But, in a way, I'm most proud of the very prolific year I spent blogging while traveling all around North America. That publication was "Wandering Dave" and it's still available -- though I can't perform any edits or updates as I've lost the password and can't seem to get a new one -- http://wanderingdave.blogspot.com

Anyway, and to finally get to the point (maybe a better pseudonym would be Rambling Dave), I'm ready (I think) to make a run at beating my old record and stringing more than 220 entries together over the next period. This new body of work is titled "BurkeDroppings."

I won't have the stimulus provided by an 18,000-mile trek through the U.S. and Canada; but I rarely suffer from writers' block and suspect that I'll find no shortage of topics which may be of no real importance and even little interest to many people but which are part of my life.

So, as I'm now wont to declare: You are welcome into my back yard anytime to see what's on my mind; but if you decide to visit, wear a hat, you are likely to get hit by some BurkeDroppings!

Soylent Green repackaged

I'm approaching the end of week two of my new (and, as of yet, still only half-implemented) "Toward Fit and Trim" campaign which is my latest obsession.

I've decided that I suffer from a version of OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder). Not to worry, I don't think my case requires professional therapy -- I'm guessing that we're all "suffering" from one disorder or another (or several).

Anyway, my temperament has, based on my own reflection, led me to focus attention pretty much only on one enterprise at at time. Oh, I do things other than the one thing; but my focus is pretty much single-minded -- I tend to think about that one thing all the time.

That means I go to sleep thinking about that thing and wake up still thinking about it. Much of my nocturnal musing is very non-productive -- I do experience epiphany from time to time, but more often mentally "churn" stuff and nonsense.

Anyway, I've set aside my most recent obsession -- a 20-month effort to create value as a community volunteer -- and am now focused on consuming fewer and more healthy calories. Soon, I hope to add moving (exercise) to that focus.

So, on the advice of a well-meaning friend, I just consumed about 4 ounces of tofu. And it that's not a bleached and re-packaged version of Soylent Green, I don't know what it is.

Obsessed as I am, I can eat the stuff -- and I'm going to finish the remaining two or three servings in the package I bought -- but it's kind of vile...

Soy milk (vanilla), on the other hand, is great with rice chex.

Now I cry at movies

Reflect on your present blessings, of which every man has many; not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.

-- Charles Dickens

A new year begins and, as usual, I find myself living in the future -- as opposed to the present.

This "outlier" blog was set up months ago, but tonight's is my first entry. Watching an inspirational made-for-television movie reminded me that some of the most powerful forces in my life operate, most of the time, in my subconscious.

One of the more powerful proofs of this reality comes when -- as in this evening's movie -- someone's young wife or daughter dies.

Before I remember that my own losses -- one in each category -- were triggering the response, I'm surprised when my eyes mist and my throat tightens. During the first 45 years of my life I believe I never cried at a movie -- in fact, I believe it's accurate to say that, until that fairly advance point in my life, grief was a rather theoretical emotion for me.

The movie -- which, of course, is a contrived event often intended to "tug at heartstrings" -- generates an unjustified or false response. But when I recognize that I'm really reacting to actual events, the impact is magnified. Real grief resurfaces and the misting and tightening sometimes leads me down a now-familiar path ending in self-pity.

My motivation for finally attempting to make a go with this new blog is to devote some energy into addressing hidden demons -- and hopefully into uncovering some buried angels.

More than once during the now-seventeen years that have come since the advent of angst (I mean sorrow, but like the alliteration in "advent of angst" and only found 18 hits when I Googled it) I've tried to complete a transition that I refer to as a "return to life" (borrowed from Dickens' "recalled to life" from A Tale of Two Cities).

The author originally intended to use the "recalled" phrase as the novel's title. It remained the heading for the first section. Most folks "recall" (sorry) the first sentence ("It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,"). Dickens' recalling is not only about transition, it is about resurrection.

My previous blog was inspired by Steinbeck and documented (after a fashion) a year-long trek around North America ( Wandering Dave ); perhaps I'll use Dickens' ToTC for this new effort.