DAY TWO

The snow is falling softy this Saturday morning and I’m listening to television's "VH1 Top Video Countdown" channel as I type this, something I haven’t done in years.

Not sure if it’s because I share the air with someone else, or if I got tired of all the rap music they used to play. Or, it might because the last of my kids moved out, into their own place. I realized listening to the stuff they played is what kept me in touch and stopped the aging process.


In any event, it is playing softly in the background and I have to say, I am into it again.


Taylor Swift (“Fifteen”) and some chick that played in Michael Jackson’s band named Orianthi (didn’t catch the song title) just finished up before the commercial break, and I hear Willie Nelson singing “You Were Always On My Mind” for ASPCA.


I write this to answer your beseeching “Why the hell is she writing this?” because I am trying to stay true to an old resolution I completed a few years ago (probably when I was watching VH1 Top Video Countdown) which is to write something everyday.


I fell out of the habit of engaging my brain everyday (some would say years ago) and lost the creativity that used to hit me in the head every morning. I woke up one day and poof! it was gone. Gone missing was the spark that used to fire every time I opened my eyes. I know writers block happens everyday to other people, but this was a series case of constipation. (“Breakeven” by the Script is #17, even though the title should be “Falling to Pieces” since they repeat it 200 times.)


I didn’t write anything except for my column at the paper, and I had a whole week to come up with something to fulfill that commitment. The dry spell lasted for nearly two years, just about the time I started promoting my books and cd’s. I never thought of myself as not being a multi-tasker, but learned early on that perhaps I had pulled myself in too many directions.


I also realized writing is a very solitary experience, work which requires your full attention. I am a very social person, I love a party and I love spending time with my family. The grandkids keep on coming, which warms the cockles of my Irish heart, even though the fiscally conservative side worries how will they afford them. My realization used to be “So what, I’ll just throw another potato in the pot!” used to satisfy my worry. Now that I’m older, I think in absolutes and worry about the future. (I absolutely love Alicia Keys' "Empire State of Mind -New York!")


Perhaps the passage of time has done that and it was inevitable, maturity and all that. Maybe it was the acceleration of these feelings since 9/11 and the insecurity I feel due to our present leadership. (The dogs are barking to go outside; the plow guy is here and of course, they have to supervise. Glancing up at the tv I see a group called "Lifehouse" singing about something “around the corner.” Its #14.)

Maybe it’s the interruption of the dogs, of babies, of friends and family that saps some of the creativity. I know I wanted to write when I was younger, but had a living room full of arms and legs all over the rug, spilling into the kitchen. It was much more fun than writing the editorial about Governor Pataki I had intended to send for the Opinion Page.


Uh oh. “Lil Wayne” and “Shakira” are rapping, but its not too bad. I’ll try to stand it. She’s doing dance moves that I do in my exercise class, so how come I don't look like her? The dogs are scratching at the door to come back inside. Apparently, the plow guy knows what he’s doing and doesn’t need their help. Why does this feel vaguely familiar?


I guess its time to do some laundry and while I do that, think about how I can get the good people of Pennacook through the latest crisis they are experiencing. Don’t worry, they make it through and someone falls in love.


I don't need to listen to the show until the end - I probably don't know the #1 song anyhow. What the hell ever happened to Sting, anyway? Good thing Michael Buble is singing “Haven’t Met You Yet.” Some things are worth suffering through, I guess.