Ep. 41: This, Our Daily Bread

Olivia Luz, our little princess was born two weeks ago tomorrow.
She is merely one of my many daily blessings.

Lately, almost all of my one hour of "free" time has been spent playing semi-mindless WWF during my daily commute to work.

I'd word-whittle my time away on the return trip too, but these days I'm almost always the guy with a little drool sliding down the side of my snore-hole.

The first true love of my life, writing, has had to take a back seat to juggling two babies, a manor-of-a-home, a happy marriage, a blended family made of rambunctious boys, and my evolving 9-to-5 (i.e., there is no such thing as job security anymore, adapt to the culture of "constant improvement" and reorgs, or - be ready to fill that cardboard box).

I'm writing now because this catharsis is long overdue. No complaints apart from the fact that I don't have time to pen my thoughts, share my observations and express my appreciation for all the wonderful little things that fulfill my days.

As I told Margarita yesterday whilst shoveling in my last scoop of her heavenly Posole, "As veces, estoy en la oficina y me pregunto 'Porque estoy aquí?' Entonces regreso a casa, a mi familia y cenas maravillosas como esta-y recuerdo."

"Sometimes, I'm in the office and I ask myself 'Why am I here?' Then I return to my home and family, and wonderful meals like this and I remember."

Ep. 15: Woe is not me; Fodder for a post

Like me, Willy was in love with writing.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

I am now officially seven days behind in writing posts to The Peekskill Commuter.

I've taken dozens of notes over these long lost days, but simply haven't had a moment to spare.

In addition to time, writing requires a tranquil place to compose.

As I've done for the last week or so, I can take notes on the fly—typing them on my iPhone’s Notepad during my round-trip commute, dictating thoughts as voice memos as I walk to work, occasionally opening up my catch-all Word doc at the office as thoughts fruition—but to properly and aptly congeal them into a fluid composition I need a little more than a patchwork of moments.

I need a good, solid, chunk of space—physical, chronological, mental and emotional—one that lets me work out all the intriguing problems of composition—context, fluidity, transition, structure, comprehension, relevancy, propulsion, originality and of course, the most wonderful conundrum of all—astute word choice.

It is this sacred place and space where I clip and cut and insert and play with my words until I can read and reread and be happy with the results.

Alas, resolving my linguistic puzzles and problems have had to defer to greater, more immediate, concerns —clogged shower drains, clogged toilets, carpeting saturated with years of cat dander and urine, broken shelves, broken banisters, no place to hang towels, is there heat in the house ?

No, now my worries weigh upon me as a slew of do-it-yourself home repairs, and new bills and accounts to keep on top of.

Woe should not be me though, for at least I have a home.

And admittedly, prosaic troubles such as this, feed the beast and have given me fodder for a post.