Ever thought how similar blogs and garage sales are?
An assortment of goods piled topsy-turvy – with the not so goods wedging hopping to escape notice (or just hoping for an escape to elsewhere)
You know the nagging clutter or diamond in the rough all now tagged, priced and spaced out on the table
- Thought it might be something, but turned out to be nothing.
- Brought to the table as it was such a deal or oddity. It screamed, “Take me home!” (Now you just scream…)
- Handed off by a relative or good friend. “You’ll find a use for this.” (Awkward. How many months do you have to wait before they forget?)
- The “Hot Potato” and you’re end of the line in the game. (A family treasure now the curse of being the designated keeper.How did it survive all those years?)
- Or it’s just trend over. Item out of season. (Everyone knows if you put out seasonal stuff when people are thinking of that holiday, you’ll get a better number for it.)
All of it sits sullenly. In sight. Like underwear on a clothesline.
Silently grumbling about neglect and being let down. Stuffed in boxes or forgotten in files.
- Smudged and crumpled. (Post-it notes were never meant to be archival materials)
- Cryptic symbols, abbreviations, and jumbles of words clinging in drafts. (What exactly was that supposed to say)
- Mismatched tidbits of in “Bookmarks”, ripped news clippings tucked under the keyboard, an odd picture or two saved in photos. (What will archeologists, or more likely relatives, make of all of this someday?)
Fleeting – or freeing – thoughts grasp with tendrils just like all those objects in a garage sale.
You know how it goes. At first you’re tough, hard-hearted, and cold. Culling.
But then, as you meander through them, you know you can’t help it.
Quietly snatching back this and that.
Not quite ready to let go yet. There’s something – something- still there. (Certainly the value not recognized by others. Just look how they carelessly toss them aside and go on!)
Like a mother dog gathering up her pups at the end of the day and returning them to snuggle and warm against her at night, writers and bloggers wrap up the small misshapen sentences, the half-baked ideas, and the words that are still bouncing that won’t calm down and get in line – all the vague and imprecise ones curl tightly against the wordsmith exhausted, but happily waiting for their world to be spun.
Priceless is in the rummaging eye,
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.