writers' block

I just had a little exchange with a good friend and former co-worker, Ravis. Ravis does some writing; she';s currently working on a children's book. We exchanged a little about writers' block. I've had the issue with my blog - writers' block complete with a moat, gators and a squad of Marines.

I am convinced that the only way to get past writers' block is to just write. So, y'all are in on my big effort to defeat this case of writers' block.

Write, write, write. . .

Tomorrow night is our Parish Council Meeting. I'm the President of the Parish Council for St. Mary's Parish in Davenport. I'm also the Lector at the 5 PM Saturday Mass in April, July, and Octob. . .zzz. . .zzz. Well, I'm excited to do it.

Write, write, write. . .

About three weeks ago I drove to Des Moines and stayed for three days. The occasion was the 2011 Annual Convention of the Iowa chapter of thr American Insitute of Architects. The convention itself was a half-day of set-up and a day and a half of not much, but I enjoyed the company of those who staffed the booth with me, there was a free lunch - although, even now, I'm not quite sure what it was - and we had a dinner at a French sort of place. They had "potatoes dauphinoise". While the waitress took our order I mentioned that I'd try that dish just to find out what "potatoes dauphinoise" are. The waitress asked, "Would you like me to tell you, or do you want a surprise?" I took the surprise. They weren't bad. Think of a cross between hash browns and potatoes au gratin, and you'll haved it about right.

While driving across the state I thought often about what a beautiful state Iowa is. Those who are not from around here tend to think of Iowa as a sort of Kansas North, but we're nothing like that. Kansas is a flat as any musical key could be. Those who've ridden in the annual bike ride across Iowa will tell you, Iowa is not flat. Iowa is rolling country. There were lots of trees and the landscape was mostly green, but there was the occasional splash of golden yellow to let you know that the change of seasons was coming. And I found myself wondering, or hoping - hoping Iowans know how blessed they are in their state, in their country.

On I-80, on the way from Davenport to Des Moines, you will encounter the North Skunk River and the South Skunk River. Besides the question of why anyone would name something so marvelous as a river after a skunk (and what any Westerner thinks of as a river, any Iowan or Missourian would think of as a crick), one is left to wonder: How did they tell a North Skunk from a South Skunk? Was it the blue and gray coats?

Write. . .write. . .write. . .

There's nothing like good writing. And that was nothing like good writing. (That was a joke.)

Well, 'nuff for now of my effort to overcome the block. I love having you hang out for a few.