Tuesday, August 26, 2014

don't even get me started

All day long—all the time, really—I’m bombarded with ideas. There’s the slew of NPR shows I like to listen to when I have a morning in the kitchen. There are the blogs, Facebook articles, and magazines. There are the books. There are the sermons, classes, and conversations.

So many ideas, so many thoughts. Some of them lap at my brain like the ocean tickles a sunbather’s toes, but others are like giant waves, begging to be played in. Most of the time, I stay on metaphorical dry ground, enjoying the crashing wetness from the safety of my towel. Once in a while, I turn playful, jumping into the foamy spray, yelling and getting soaked. Rarely do I actually make something of the waves (that are actually ideas). Which, to carry this analogy through, I guess would be ... a friendship with pod of dolphins? A meal from seaweed? A driftwood couch? Homemade sea salt?

Whatever.

The point is, I do a lot more input than output, idea-wise. Sometimes I feel like I’m missing out by not fully processing—making something of—all the ideas at my disposal.

Not that all my reflections are worth expounding upon, of course. For example, take the eggs. Just this morning I read about someone’s intense gratefulness and delight over the deliciousness of bright-yellow, homegrown chicken eggs, and I thought:

Bah. There’s not that much special about homegrown chicken eggs. I can’t taste a huge difference. Besides, eggs aren’t really my thing. I mean, I like ‘em, but I prefer the buttered toast that’s served up alongside.

And what’s so great about homegrown stuff anyway? The cherry tomatoes from Costco were far tastier then the red ones we grew. WHICH ARE NOW ROTTING IN THE GARDEN BECAUSE I DON’T CARE. In fact, I’m EAGER for them to rot themselves into oblivion so I’ll have an excuse to eat store-bought cherry tomatoes again SO SUE ME. 

Sure, homegrown food tastes better (usually, ha), but many times, the difference is all in the head. The brain part of the head, not the tongue part.

(I do believe I just handed over my credentials as a gardener and food blogger. I should probably be impeached or something.)

See what I mean? All this from one measly phrase about eggs.



It's probably best I don't detail all my reflections. Still, I'd like to push myself to think things through just a little more thoroughly. Package it up presentable-like.

Unlike this post which my husband says makes no sense whatsoever. But I'm posting it anyway because it's all I've got.

This same time, years previous: atop the ruins, on not rushing it, chocolate malted milk frosting, and my new favorite fruit.

7 comments:

  1. I know this isn't the point of your post (if it has one) but eggs from chickens that scratch are very different and much tastier.

    As far as the rest of your post, it sounds a little manic-- "bombarded with ideas" etc, etc. And your face looks a little wild and crazy. I expect by now, you've calmed down a little.

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  2. I could never even keep track of the number of thoughts that run through my head during any given day. Are you saying that isn't normal, to be running a constant commentary on whatever is happening around me?

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    1. The commentary is normal, yes. (I think?) It's that I want to use it as fodder for output, not just random chatter in my head. Is this also normal? I don't know.

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  3. I love your posts usually, however I really have to agree with your husband on this one! haha

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  4. I don't think your face looks wild and crazy. But then that's not saying anything.

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  5. I like this post very much. My input these days is far far greater than my output, but I'm hoping for a change this fall. As such, I am taking a three-day workshop on storytelling this coming week. o.O

    Oh, and the tomatoes in my garden are rotting off the garden as well. Good to know it is not only I.
    I'm glad you posted this, quite frankly. It seems quite normal to me. Which might say more about me than you but ... *shrug* ... whatever. Post on.

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