Privilege Blog

A 200-Word Challenge, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:09am

Here’s something new. Through the end of March, I’m writing 200-word blog posts. No more; less if needs be. I’m not usually one for challenges (excepting Dry January, which matters). For example, I’ve never poured a tub of ice water over my head. But:

  1. I have persistent and unruly tendonitis of the elbow. “Tennis elbow,” as they call it, although I haven’t picked up a tennis racket since I was 11. It’s hard to type at length.
  2. My father died not quite a month ago. I write these Saturday posts on the day they are published, about whatever crosses my mind or has bubbled up in the past week. At this moment, in this experience, every time I sit down and ask my fingers what they think, they think they miss my father. And while I want us all as a society to talk more about death, I don’t want 80% of that talking to happen on the blog. Doesn’t feel right. Wasn’t my intent.

So there, above, is a picture of the harbor at Princeton-by-the-Sea, where my daughter and I took a little vacation last month. Here, in my heart, is rueful understanding, gratitude, sorrow, love, fear, and cheer.

Have a wonderful weekend. This closing line is not part of my word count. It belongs to you.

11 Responses

  1. Very sorry to hear about the tendinitis. Once you get past your 200 word limit (or even before) you might try dictating. That way you would only need to make corrections, which might help relieve some strain.

  2. Writing here from Princeton-by-the-Lake (and the-River, and the-Canal): Take care of yourself, dear one, and of your elbow. As one whose “tennis wrist” became an extraordinarily painful forearm, I heartily recommend a sports medicine masseur (or masseuse) for deep-muscle treatment. I lucked into one at a Canadian mountain resort spa, and the result was little short of miraculous! Of course, the bruises looked pretty awful for a while…

    Take care of your heart and spirit, too – a mini-vacay with your daughter is a Good Thing. And maybe you can round up an old sweater of your father’s to wrap yourself in? Plus a cup of tea and one of his good books?

    1. I hope the doctor I will see next week will order me to have a massage! Thank you, and for your remarks for the Stanford tribune too.

  3. Lisa,
    The loss of your father is significant, and I hope you follow your heart where-ever it leads you.


  4. An excellent challenge to take up.
    I’m sure that your “loved punctuation” Father, at his eternal desk, will be happy that you are keeping your thoughts clear and succinct.

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