My blog was birthed in a bolt of inspiration at a garage sale back in 2011. Or maybe it was a yard sale. Here’s the first post I ever wrote, and it turns out it was a garage sale. But the point was I went out of my way, spent a little money, and wanted to tell the world about it. And over the next seven years, I came back to it whenever I had a thought in my head and a few moments of time to push it out.
In the early days of doing this, I wrote that I wanted to put one million words into cyberspace via this blog. I even had a spreadsheet with the date of a post, its title, and the word count, both of the individual post and the running total for the blog itself. I made it to at least a half million words before that idea went the way of so many other ideas I’ve had in life. So perhaps if I get back to doing this, and one day make an attempt to total up all the words I have written, the million number will have already been achieved. As Nelson Mandela once said, and Bernie Sanders later requoted, it only seems impossible until it’s done.
The forced quarantined that’s about to happen in my home state due to COVID-19 seems like an opportunity to start writing once again. I really did enjoy doing it, as it was an extension of something I’ve been doing all my life.
I tell people that sometimes I’ve had “Writer”—or some variation thereof—in my job title, but I’ve never had a job anywhere that I didn’t do a fair amount of writing, in one form or another. Well, there was a time I literally worked at the Gates of Hell (no lie) scaring people at Halloween, but other than that I’ve always been writing something. And the blog lets me throw ideas out into digital perpetuity on the internet, so why not do it?
The virus is going to do what it does, and there will be a terrible price paid as a result. I heard a story on the radio this morning as I was driving into work about a man who was about my age (whatever that number may be) and also a father who just died from “the rona” (as I’ve taken to calling it). A family member told a story about how he always enjoyed having cafe con leche.
Every person we lose to this virus will have a cafe con leche of their own, and family members who are left with the sadness of knowing that cafe con leche, or whatever else that thing they once enjoyed was, will never again have the same meaning it did when that person was still alive. The numbers of coronavirus cases and deaths will undoubtedly be large and regrettable, but it’s the specific and individualized losses that are already giving me pause.
I always put an image with the posts I write, and here I’m using a cafe con leche image that I took in the Little Havana section of Miami a numbr of years ago. Here’s to all the victims of coronavirus, and all the little pleasures that will disappear when they do. I won’t personally know any of them (I HOPE!!!!!), but I will mourn their departure, all the same.
To one million words….and beyond!