Some of you may have wondered “where is she?”  The windows of wending.wordpress.com seemed to be boarded up these past three months.  At first, it appeared I had taken an extended Christmas vacation, understandable.  Perhaps I was busy working on the New Years resolutions.  Losing weight. Organizing my files. Filing my taxes early.  Perfectly explainable.

Then months past.  The “Gone Fishing” sign on the door was collecting cob webs.  Graffiti began to pepper the paint peeling walls. 

I would like to say that I had been captured by Somali pirates, awaiting ransom.  I reconnected with my high school boyfriend and realized I have been living a lie as a sushi-loving, married to a rock star wine maker, Obamacrat, mother of three beautiful children.  I was forced to assume a new identity under the witness protection program and now blogging as a Latino man by night as I run a youth hostel in Borneo by day. 

But in truth?  I lost my muse. I would sit down to write a post and it would go something like this:

“Kids say the darn-dest things.”

Or

“Ever wonder where those little lint bunnies come from?  Me neither.”

See?  You should be PAYING me not to blog.  You should be begging me not to pollute the blogosphere.

So, as my colleagues – Hemmingway, Salinger, Dickens, Morrison, Plath, Hurston, Twain – knew all too well, writers block can be debilitating.  One day you and your muse are smoking along, the next: nada.  The adjectives have dried up.  The similes have vanished.  The anecdotes disappear.  You consider writing a sequel to Fun with Dick and Jane. See Dick run.  See Jane run. Run Jane, run.

But today is a new day.  Today is the day I channel the tenacious spirit of Scarlett O’Hare crossed with the prose of Garcia Marquez.  Today is the day I write the great American blog post.  No pressure.  No worries.  Just me and my muse writing a few pithy paragraphs of humorous, poignant, full-circle observations that every sentient being must read before dying.  Easy peasey.  Walk in the park.

Here it goes…

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.

Perhaps a bit too much attitude.  And what if my Mom reads it? A little too honest.

All this happened, more or less.  

Strike that, either it happened or it didn’t, right?  Too James Frey-ish.

Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buenda was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.   

Kinda depressing.  Really, where could a story go with an opening like that?  No one would read it.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom…

Catchy, but how can it be the best AND the worst of times.  I think I would have to pick one. 

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York. 

Draws the reader in, but I’ve only been to NY once.  Do people really want to hear about the Rosenberg’s in 2009?  Perhaps something more current.

The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting.  

Whoa – don’t know where that came from.  Who knew I could write about military maneuvers.

Call me Ishmael. 

I’m imagining a whale coming into play. I don’t know.  Might be short on dialogue – a guy and a whale.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.  

Yeah.  That’s it.  Romantic.  Family-appropriate.  Something for all ages.  Lacking controversy. Ohhhh – this is gonna be good.

I don’t think it’s too soon to say:  I’m back!

Most days I try to keep my feet on the ground, after all I hale from the Midwest and we are a stoic bunch not prone to emotional outbursts.  Today I need to gush.  I need to brag unabashedly like a teenager who just slept with a Jonas Brother (oh that’s right, they are chaste) well, then _____________ (fill in name of favorite teen obsession). 

BARACK OBAMA.  Mr. President.  President Elect.  Mr. Rock Star.  I watched 60 Minutes last night, thanks to TiVo, and I am once again BLOWN AWAY. 

Steve Kroft asked Barack to comment on what being the first African American elected to the White House meant.  Without flinching, without throwing his shoulders back and puffing up his chest, he reflected on what this accomplishment meant to older AA’s like his mother-in-law.  He talked about what it might symbolize for all people of color.  He didn’t own it.  He didn’t bask in it.  He didn’t diminish it.  It just was.  It was OUR win.  OUR night.  OUR victory.  People voted for his vision.  His skin color was just the icing on the cake for the whole country.  We as a nation decided that anyone could be president, not he.

Then Kroft asked Michelle what she whispered to Barack when they took the stage on November 4.  She said “Wow, look at all these people.”  Screaming, crying, elated people.  Once again, Barack said he was humbled and taken aback by so many people who wanted and needed change.  Not HIS people.  Not HIS night.  Not HIS moment. 

The truth is that Obama’s humility, humbleness, reverence, respect, and vision are really just the perfect delivery mechanism to his real gold: Frickin’  INTELLIGENCE.  Really frickin’ amazing intelligence with a big-ass serving of CURIOSITY to keep it growing.  I know, crazy.  Who would have thought you should be as smart as a rocket scientist (with social adeptness) to be president?  Turns out, to ready himself for the job, Mr. President is reading about FDR’s first 100 days and Lincoln’s Presidency.  I couldn’t help but wonder how Sarah Palin would answer “what are you reading now?”  if she were in Obama’s shoes (shudder to think).  Danielle Steel novels?

My President wants to stretch.  He wants to absorb new information.  He is the manager, the CEO who listens to the masses, consults the smartest people he can find, and then makes a hard decision without patronizing or apologizing.  He LEADS.  He makes mistakes.  He takes calculated risks.  He is our steady hand at the wheel of a ship that is caught in a perfect storm.  Who knows if he will find a port, but I think he’s our best bet.

And did I tell you how FRICKIN’ SMART he is?

Lest you think I have gone completely Obama-Crazy:  Here is a video from the onion parodying people like me. 

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/obama_win_causes_obsessive?utm_source=embedded_video”>Obama