Good-Bye to All That

One may as well begin at the end.

The last day of 2009. Woke to the sound of sleet on the window this morning. Began with the ritual of the coffee press. Turning on the radio, the noise of news, I heard a commentator refer to this decade--this age of mischief, of grown men (and women) behaving badly-- referred to as the "Naughties". I suppose that doesn't begin to describe it.

I mentioned to M.--over dinner and periods of boredom while watching "500 Days of Summer"-- that I needed a hobby, that perhaps I should start a blog to channel my creative impulse which seems to be called upon less and less these days. He responded with a look of confusion. "I thought cooking was your hobby?" he said as he dunked a Trader Joe's frozen dumpling into store bought sauce. (In my defense, I used Soy Vay and I mixed in a little siracha and green onion, which is a tasty accompaniment to the spice of the pork filling). You are already so busy and engaged. It's not like you just sit around." True.

But I miss the written word. I miss poetry and I miss reading things other than Inspector General Reports and GAO studies. (And I miss feeling like it's perfectly acceptable if I don't define GAO for my reader). And I'm embarrassed by the increasing size of my "TO READ" pile.

The catalpa tree--some call it a cigar tree for the cylindrical pods that hang from it's branches-- has this fantastic, fresh green, almost prehistoric foliage and flowers like orchids arranged in a Victorian grandmother's (or my father's) picture window. (Note to reader: there is a beautiful specimen on the north side of the Pan American Union Building across from the Ellipse. Look for it in bloom around Memorial Day.) I love that the name is the result of a mis-transcription. Catalpa should be Catawba, after the tribe, but so it was written and so it has stayed.

So what to expect in the coming year? I'm going to start lite. A post a week. And then we will see where it goes. The Catalpa Review is like those cigar-shaped pods, filled with little seeds that end up where they will. So will my ideas. This is my magnifying glass (brass handled, sitting on a desk of strewn papers and letters). I will inspect whatever fascinates me at any given moment: Art, Politics, History, Music, Culture. Plenty of commentary. Plenty of morsels that no one may find interesting other than myself (or those who know me). Some entries will be long, others no more than a few sentences--or a simple photo of something that grabbed my attention. I've started at least a half-dozen blogs in my life and none of them have matured.

That I am getting started before the clock strikes 12 is a good sign already.