The Olympics lasted 17 days and I managed to view about 15 minutes of it, nursing a glass of wine in a seafood restaurant in Panama City. It was women’s curling, Switzerland vs. China. I didn’t notice who won. Then my grilled grouper arrived. Like the curling, it was unremarkable.
See, this is why I don’t blog much any more: For some reason I’m finding it harder to savor my own opinions. Like the man said, opinions are like … well, everybody has one. My views — on the Olympics, on the latest Florida shooting, on the season finale of Downton Abbey — are as misguided as anyone else’s and just as futile. But it still takes me quite awhile to churn out 400-or-so words on any given topic. Since most posts sink immediately into the ether without a single ripple, I have begun to wonder again if it’s worth the effort.
No, this is not another “I will blog no more forever” post. I’ve done that before and it seems kind of petulant. I’m still here. This is just another “what the hell am I doing here?” post. And mostly I’m writing it to bury the ridiculous item about my dream involving Petula Clark. If I were to die tomorrow, I wouldn’t want that to be the epitaph.
This malaise: Is it a normal part of getting older? Could be. I have a birthday tomorrow and the number of this particular birthday seems laughably high. As a young newsman I remember reading accident or homicide stories involving guys my age and thinking, “Well, it’s not like he had a lot more to look forward to.” Now that thoughtless reaction is coming back to haunt me.
Anyway, enough navel gazing. Read any good books lately? I’ve been on quite the reading jag since the start of the year. My favorites so far:
The Good Lord Bird
Saints of the Shadow Bible
The Light Between Oceans
The Orphan Master’s Son
We Live in Water
The Gods of Guilt
I also read, or attempted to read, a number of lesser novels. Which I won’t name just now. Another thing about getting older: I don’t stick with a book very long if it gives me any reason at all to quit.