A blog is an interesting thing because it’s journal-like, but without the privacy and with input back in the form of comments. It starts out in the beginning as something for yourself, because no one knows you’re writing in a public place. But like many things, once you know you’re being watched (or read), you find that you adapt to it and (too often) write posts that you think your audience might like. Or you start to worry about the overlap between the personal and the private and end up not sharing important things for fear of revealing too much of yourself.

I’ll be honest: When that happens, it dilutes what you have to say.

Back in the fall, I went through a blogging crisis of faith. I simultaneously had nothing to say and too much to say. Those closest to me in real life will find that painfully familiar, as the same thing seems to have happened in my offline world. I was talking (or writing) a lot but not saying much. And suddenly it just seemed like too much and too little all at once.

Did I even want to keep writing? Did I actually have anything to say? Did I want to maintain an online presence if it was detracting from my offline relationships? What exactly was the point of this blog? And whom was I writing it for?

While I mulled over these questions in October, the blog, with the exception of weekly Three Beautiful Things posts, went dark. I just didn’t bother to write.

And at the end of the month, I realized I missed it. This is pretty much the only writing I do these days (whether that’s as it should be or not is a topic for another post on another day) and not doing it made me feel less than, like I was somehow cheating myself out of something important. And so I began anew.

Yes, writing is sometimes hard. And, no, more often than I’d like to admit I don’t have anything of import to say. And periodically it’s not obvious whether I’m writing a post for you or for me. But the satisfaction of a well-turned phrase or of saying something that matters (whether anyone but me recognizes it or not) can’t be beat. And I have to keep writing so I don’t lose what’s important to me.

However, although I have to keep writing, you don’t have to keep reading. Your lives are all busy, and you’ve got enough stuff to do without adding my blog to your list. So it really does mean a lot that you follow along with my random posts. And some of you even take the time to leave me comments. I don’t stop often enough to acknowledge how I appreciate your sharing little bits of yourselves with me in those notes, but I can say that they nearly always make my day so much brighter when you leave them.

So on this, the fifth anniversary of Sprite Writes, thank you, dear readers. I’m not sure which direction the road leads from here, but be sure I’ll be sending postcards and taking notes along the way. Here’s to the journey…

Hey, folks! I hope you celebrated all things round today by eating some pie. (For those outside the know, pi is 3.14… and today was March 14th, so those people fond of dessert celebrate our very own holiday with crust and filling.)

Friday night I announced my intention of marking the day by making hand pies, which are essentially the Southern version of pasties, turnovers, or sweet empanadas. Rudi was intrigued, particularly since he shares my love of the now (mostly) defunct McDonald’s deep-fried apple pie.

Because I’m seemingly incapable of starting desserts early in the day and to recover from frustrating news from Utah, I sprang into action with this recipe from Confabulation in the Kitchen around 7 tonight. Mind you, we hadn’t eaten dinner yet, nor even started to prepare it.

But I peeled, cored, and cooked up some apples and then made a simple dough. Lacking round cookie cutters, I just ripped dough around our cereal bowls and managed to make six reasonably sized hand pies and one large, overstuffed one to finish up my fixings.

After a lovely pasta dinner and an episode of Buffy, Rudi and I headed back to the kitchen to begin the process of frying the pies.

Mind you, we hadn’t washed the dinner dishes or the dishes from the prep work, so space was at a premium. I settled on putting the plate with the uncooked pies into the colander and took the lid off the stock pot so I could balance the plate of finished pies on top. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.

While Rudi supervised my use of hot cooking oil (thank goodness we have an electric stove…) and made some cinnamon sugar to sprinkle on top, I turned sizzling pies and watched them turn golden brown.

And, then, the moment of truth…

I should have suspected they were pretty good as Rudi’s first pie was gone before I’d even sat down…

No McDonald’s retro treat, but still something quite delicious. New England, I highly recommend stealing this Southern treat posthaste!

Dear Conn College Alumni Magazine People,

I have just finished leafing through the Class Notes of the alumni magazine, and I’m a little concerned: I don’t think some of the people you include in that section went to Conn.

First of all, the good news: Sukey definitely went to Conn. She’s still totally recognizable. And while I might not have looked at Stephanie’s picture and seen the housefellow of 17 years ago, once I saw her name I knew it was her.

But some of those other people? Are you sure they were once the people who populated the campus with me?

I saw some names that seemed familiar, but, frankly, I couldn’t pull up faces up to match them. Is it possible you’re just making up alumni now? I realize that if all classes are like Rudi’s and mine, failing to file Class Notes issue after issue, the back of the book would be a bit thin. If you have to invent a few students here or there, it’s completely understandable. But maybe consider sticking them in the older classes. Those alumnae have memory problems and probably wouldn’t pick up on your adding a few extra women from the current New London phone book to their roster.

But just stay away from the mid-’90s. I’m on to you….

Yesterday I spent the evening recovering from the drive back from Connecticut and my workday. Tonight I kept Grey Kitten (or was it the other way around? both, probably… ) on the phone for several hours and then had a few chores to take care of.

Regular blogging will resume Wednesday. I promise.

Regular posting will begin again tomorrow. I spent the weekend frantically working on knitting projects, feeling a bit under the weather, and sleeping, but new topics (and two book reports) will be coming your way this week.

See you then!

I’m sad to report that death has touched three friends of mine this week:

• My colleague Heather found out shortly before she was due to fly out to San Diego that her ill father had not months to live but days. I am so grateful that she was able to change plans at the last minute and make it out to Ohio instead. I can only imagine how devastating it would have been for her not to have been able to say good-bye.
• I arrived home from San Diego to learn that our friend Sam had headed to Florida to say farewell to his grandmother, and last night we heard she had died. I was lucky to have been able to spend some time with Mac and Irv during my senior year of college and the years following, and always considered Mac to be my favorite grandmother not related to me. She was a feisty, loving woman, and everyone who had the privilege of knowing her will miss her.
• In some families, animals are a tier below their two-legged friends, but in others love is equal opportunity between humans and pets. Grey Kitten and his husband discovered their beloved cat had crossed the Rainbow Bridge last night after recently learning Duke had a heart condition. He was a lovely tuxedo cat with soft fur and lots of personality. He’d seemed to rally earlier this week when I was out visiting, but decided last night to curl up for a final nap and exit this world peacefully.

N.B. It would be unfair to equate the death of an animal member of the family with losing a parent or a grandparent, but it is also equally unfair to say that it doesn’t leave a hole in the hearts of those left behind. Love is love, after all, and we are always richer to have given and received it, regardless of the species or the relationship.

My sympathy goes out to Heather, Sam, and Grey Kitten. I wish them all the ability to recall happier memories in the dark days ahead.