The REIKIDOGS Blog

It's October, the time of year that for me stirs the nest that is my subconsious, moving sediments of memory into full blown consciousness as the autumn deepens and swells with flavor. Because I live in Florida, I can visit this season only as visualization, but religiously, every year as Halloween approaches, images of the past begin whirling before me, a most joyful and sensual dance. At P.S. 203 in Brooklyn, each fall we'd create "art" with red and gold autumn leaves, study pictures of the harvest, eagerly buy paperback books of ghost stories at the Scholastic book fair in the school cafeteria. I also felt a physical excitement at the first sight of Halloween decorations for sale in the stationery store: cardboard cutouts of witches on brooms, black cats, and full moons with guardian owls. The smell of chewy orange wax harmonicas and red wax lips remains with me. In those urban masquerade days, harvest meant grabbing handfuls of candy corn and sticky popcorn balls....

Six months ago, I sent my blog link to a very good friend of mine who didn't respond. Later that week, when I asked if he had received my e-mail, he said he had and deleted it without viewing the blog because "frankly, blogs don't interest me." I nodded and said nothing but felt incredibly insulted, and then felt -- and remained-- angry at myself for suppressing those emotions. Six months later, I'm carrying that conversation like stale crumbs in unlaundered pants and would like to empty my pockets . What would make my written words"uninteresting?" Is it that writing requires more depth than cursory Friday night conversation at the Chinese buffet and is therefore too taxing to investigate? What makes me acceptable company in the flesh but rejection fodder in print? He didn't even question the blog's focus, suggesting that the blog as a very entity rather than its content justifies disrespect. If I'd presented a published article or a book to ...