I’ll blog about nothing until I have something to blog about

I am tired of neglecting this space. It isn’t as though my mind’s a blank. I do have thoughts scurrying around in the darkness, much like the tiny mouse that inhabits my garage. It’s rarely seen and yet there’s a tiny hole in the garage wall with some insulation hanging out. My thoughts are making similar impressions somewhere on my person, I suppose. So we’ll try using this blog as a mousetrap. Something might wander in.

So far the nothingness has taken the shape of waking up to the smell of the awesome Ethiopian Sidamo coffee. Just a hint of caramel and it was the best beverage to start the day. At least you can’t say I am not waking up and smelling the coffee these days.

I had once read someone’s blog that suggested that a combination of Sumatran and Ethiopian Sidamo coffee would yield a taste similar to the south Indian coffee I love so much. I don’t think I ever got the proportions right, never found the right blend of the two. But, individually, both Sumatran and Sidamo coffees taste wonderful. I even searched for and found coffee with chickory. Tasting that was another exercise in awesomeness.

Coffee in hand, I crunched my way through the ice on my driveway. Thinking about how overdressed I would look in my heavy boots because as usual New York wouldn’t even have a trace of snow. I swear, sometimes it seems like it only snows right above my home.

Reminds me of one of the stories in Jack Finney’s I Love Galesburg in the Springtime. The story of which I am reminded was the one about a young couple having trouble agreeing on a design for the home they wanted to build until they stumbled upon an ancient blueprint of a home that was never really built. They fell in love with the design and had it built. They stayed very close to the details, used the material that would have been used for building homes at the time the blueprint was created and eventually saw the creation of a magnificent home.

The only problem was that once they moved in, they too went back in time. Their attitudes, their attire, their activities all changed to reflect the time of the conception of that house.

Even the weather patterns they experienced were from a time in the past such that sometimes it only appeared to be snowing or raining on their home while it was sunny everywhere else. Perhaps the homes in our little cul-de-sac are all trapped in an alternate weather zone. [Before some literal friend, plodding away in a logic swamp, jumps in to educate me on tri-state area weather patterns, let me say – no – I don’t really think that]. I just feel this way sometimes.

It’s getting really dark, really early these days. We are all rather nocturnal on weekends. It’s a form of rebellion against the early rising we have to do on weekends. But waking up at noon is a bad idea these days because by the time one struggles with a late lunch, showers, accomplishes other minor chores, the day is done. There’s no daylight at 4 PM and it’s worse when it’s raining or snowing.

Nothing new here. It could even be something I complain about annually. However, each year seems a little bit darker. If life was a piece of music, while writing it I would write in fine printed italics, underneath last few measures rit. for – ritardando – meaning gradually slower. Like music, why can’t life get gradually slower? One rarely sees the instruction rapide as a piece of music is ending! And yet each year is further accelerated into nothingness.

The darkness must be affecting a lot of people these days. There are so many commercials on television, about the latest depression drugs, each commercial more creative than the previous one. One shows women sitting around with expressions as blank as can be. Their loved ones, drawing, sketching, playing, living around them while they mope around, unresponsive, unreactive and transparently invisible or invisibly transparent while a wind up doll slowly loses steam and droops. That’s until she tries the new pill and is “wound up” again, letting out the occasional laugh and going to see a movie with friends.

There was another commercial spotted last night showing various people taking on the colors of their surroundings, like creatures adept at camouflage, merging with the supermarket aisles, their couches, subway station walls. Made me wonder what it was saying about the disease of depression, that depression makes you invisible, or makes you feel inanimate or invisible and inanimate? Perhaps poets are now incharge of writing the copy for depression ads.

They are certainly interesting to watch, until the kiddo spots one and asks, “Mommy what’s depression?” You’ve got to admit that people appearing like they are camouflaged with their surroundings, with just a mopey, Eeyore-like head sticking out, would appear interesting to an inquisitive child.

So we make our dark winters bearable by laughing at these commercials. It’s a good way to keep the dreaded D away. Especially since neither the wind-up doll people, nor the camouflage people have got it right yet. How it feels is never easy to describe, as some friends have indicated.


  1. God, it must be awful indeed! But you at least have the weather to blame it on: someone like me has virtually no prop to hang the big D on, yet it's with me. Add a 4-day old fever and, well…you can imagine!Lovely essay, as always.

  2. Keep the D at bay and get well soon, Speckled_Band.

  3. as I have the advantage of knowing that this nothing's be gonna go further…the yarns spun seems to warp & weft into something cozier than just webs…lead me on… pragya…

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