MediocreMan

Love-Hate Relationship · 10 August 2019

I have a love-hate relationship with blogging.

I love to write. I love to post my writing on the internet each week (regardless of its quality). But there are days when I really hate blogging.

I am not new to blogging. I have done it for over a decade now. Every week is different from the one before. But week to week, the process looks something like the following:

Write, edit, post, repeat. Write, edit, post, repeat. Write, forget the editing, just get the doggone thing posted. Write, edit, post repeat. Write, edit, edit, edit, frantically create a picture because I forgot to do so beforehand, post, sigh a sigh of relief. Look desperately to see if I have something ready, grab a picture from the internet (using appropriate citations, of course), post. Forget to write something until the last minute, hastily put together some words that pass as a picture, post at the last minute.

Yes. Some weeks are better than others. Still, I get the posts done, and I enjoy the process. Mostly.

Which is where the love-hate relationship comes in.

You might be thinking that I hate those crazy weeks where I write, edit, edit, edit, frantically create a picture because I forgot to do so beforehand, post, sigh a sigh of relief. Or when I look desperately to see if I have something ready, grab a picture from the internet (using appropriate citations, of course), post. Or when I forget to write something until the last minute, hastily put together some words that pass as a picture, post at the last minute. It would certainly be logical that I hate those weeks. But some of those frantic weeks are the weeks that I enjoy the most. They are the ones that I love. Not that the quality of writing is any better or worse than at any other times. I just enjoy the process as well as the product. Regardless of the quality.

The times that I hate blogging is when I am in a rut. When I have lots to say, but no words to say them with. (Which is different than having writer’s block. Which I have already claimed is a fake malady.) Or those times when I have nothing to say and no words to use. Those are the times that I hate blogging. When the blog just does not want to get written.

But the sign of being a real writer is when you write anyway. When you have too much to say and you do not know where to start, but you write anyway. When you do not have words to say what you want to say, but you write anyway. When you have nothing to say, but you write anyway. When you are in a rut, but you write anyway. Those are the times when you know you are a writer. When you hate to write, but you just write anyway.

Whether anybody acknowledges that I am a writer, I write. Whether anybody ever reads my stuff or not, I write anyway. It does not matter that I have been writing over a decade and still have about the same amount of Facebook fans and Twitter followers as when I started. It does not matter that of my readers (both real and imaginary), I only know two who read pretty much every week. (I am sure there are a couple more out there. Or maybe that is wishful thinking.) But when it comes down to it, all that matters is that I keep writing. And keep working to develop a following. It is not always fun, but I cannot imagine a life without writing. Just like I cannot imagine a life without breathing.

What it comes down to is that I like to practice. I always have. In fact, they call what doctors do a practice. They call what lawyers do a practice. And that is all I do. Practice. I practice writing so that maybe one day somebody besides me will call me a writer. Maybe even a mediocre one. (By the way, as a coach, I tell athletes that they will improve more when they love to practice than when they just love to play the game.)

When all is said and done, I am still just creating a body of work. I am still just practicing to be a writer one day. I am still just blogging one day at a time. And even though they are few and far between, there are those days when I hate blogging. I guess I need to change my premise. I really have a usually-love-seldom-hate relationship with blogging.

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Family Reunions · 3 August 2019

Family reunions are fun. At least when you love your family and enjoy being with them. And I certainly love mine and enjoy being with them.

One of the reasons I love my family is because it is unique. I know. All families are unique, but mine might even be a bit more unique. After all, I am not sure there are that many families who have both sides of the family participate in a reunion. And at this one, there were even more than just my mom’s and dad’s sides of the family. There were people from parts of at least two family trees, and even some from related orchards.

There were several great things about this latest family reunion. Parts of the Matsushima, Miyoshi, Namba, Onishi, and other families who are all related somehow came from all over the country and even from Japan to be together. We had introductions and get-togethers and even pre-get-togethers. We had excursions and eating and gatherings and more eating. (They are probably still eating leftovers from the reunion.)

At any rate, we all had a great time.

One of the great things that happened was that we got to tour the animal science building at Colorado State University. We even got to go see the office of one of its eminent (retired) professors. Those might not seem like such grand things to do at a reunion, but they were. After all, the office was Uncle Johnny’s. And it sure seemed like the building was the house that Uncle Johnny built. I knew he was outstanding in his field (yes, that is a farmer joke), but I did not realize that he was such a rock star. He even had his own wall dedicated to his cattle feeding innovation. It was an amazing tour. I liken it to an Elvis fan going to Graceland. But we were all related to Elvis!

Photo courtesy of Larry Matsushima

One of the saddest things that happened actually came after the reunion. My Auntie Lil passed away. She was seemingly in good health, but was suffering from dementia. I did not see Aunie Lil much since her diagnosis, but it was like she was happy to meet me for the first time whenever I did see her. Still, she seemed like the same Auntie Lil in the ways that mattered. She still appreciated good food even though she could not make her own delicious creations anymore. She still seemed to fuss and worry over the details even though she could not help to make them right. She still smiled. And she still wanted to make sure people were comfortable and happy, which she could still do with her smile. We will all miss her. I am thankful and grateful that I was able to go to the reunion to see her for one last visit.

I must say that the best thing that happened at the reunion was that I got to see cousins and cousins of cousins that I have not seen in years. Decades in some cases. I even got to meet some of my cousins’ grandkids. Those connections and reconnections were special. They were special because sometimes we take for granted that we will see each other again. But when it has been so long between meetings, we wonder. Still, we know we have connections. In our family, we have memories of the farms and other time spent together. We have memories of past reunions. Of Pounce. Of fireworks. Of just being together. Of laughter and love. Indeed, we have bonds that cannot be broken regardless of distance or time.

I love my family. I love our family reunions. They are important reminders that we are still connected in the ways that matter. Even when we may not get to see each other until next time. Whenever that might be.

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Something about Routine · 27 July 2019

There is something to be said for routine. You know, doing the same thing over and over and over again.

There is something to be said for routine. You know, doing something over and over and over again. Until it is a habit. Until it is ingrained in your body and soul. There is comfort. There is familiarity. There is a certain amount of peace. Even if that routine is early in the morning or late at night. Or any time.

I enjoy routine. I like getting up early and reading my Bible, eating, and writing. I do it pretty much every day whether I am going to work or not. This routine is comforting, and it gets me going in a positive direction each morning.

The strange thing is that I find it more difficult to write when my routine is disrupted or when I write later in the day than usual. I am not sure what it is. Maybe it is that my brain is used to working a certain way at a certain time. Maybe it is that I am compartmentalized as psychologists say. Maybe it is just that I am making excuses. Or maybe I just do not know what it is I am supposed to write about today.

In the end, it does not really matter. I am in my routine. I am doing what I am supposed to do. I am writing. Even if it is later than usual. And that is about it.

There is something to be said for routine. There is comfort in doing the same thing over and over and over again.

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