Standing In The Starting Gate

(Getty Images)

This time a week ago I probably couldn’t have accurately defined the word “blog”, or the verb “to blog”.  But this morning I are one, the end result of well-meaning nuns hammering simple English sentences into my noggin such a long time ago.

There is no great purpose to this (although fame and fortune would be nice), except to keep the gears in my head from freezing up–sort of like Slick 50 for the mind.  Whether it’s widely read or totally ignored is ultimately not the purpose.  Of course, every writer wants to be widely read and admired, but no reader is under any obligation to comply.  Subject matter will likely be as wide-ranging and off-the-wall as the echo chamber between my ears.  Means always personal, always self-centered, and so in great danger of failing to interest to anyone else.  Maybe.  Maybe not.

While I’m still in the starting gate: I’ll try to steer clear of politics and religion–except in the occasional historic context.  Those subjects seem to be arguments without resolution and depressing to boot.  Besides, you can get all the bloody politics you want just about anywhere else these days.

The “hill” in the domain name is not very large, but it stands at the very edge of the Great Plains.   The foothills of the Rockies rise just half a mile to the west, while half a mile east the land falls off into flatness clear the hell to the Alleghenies.  Or maybe the Smokies.  View from here runs upwards of a hundred miles in one direction or another.  That view, and its changing light and weather will likely show up here fairly often.  So, too, will my flawed memories of a long, reasonably uneventful life (so far).

I’ve lived through some interesting decades, but my memories–the ones I’ll write about here–are not of great events, but rather the small stuff of every day: movies seen, books read, people and places long gone or still clinging to existence.  Dogs and horses–and people–loved and lost.

And so to begin, every day (if possible)–think of it as an aging guy talking to himself in the mirror, a mirror fogged with hot water while shaving.