I was gonna write about freedom and equality and softball and poison ivy.
I was gonna write about the chasm between generations, about gratitude, shoulders, and selective and collective amnesia.
I was gonna write about the paradox of being a Californian in the days following the Supreme Court decision on Prop 8 while celebrating the fifth anniversary of equal marriage as a longtime resident of Massachusetts.
I was gonna write about folk music and about those who snort loudly and roll their eyes at its mention. I was gonna write about the irreplaceable and holy relevance of folk music in times when change is afoot, and how the reflex of apparent dismissiveness leaves so many cold in the storm, unaware that there are well-worn blankets to wrap around themselves, ones that have the potential to offer powerful warmth and surprising familiarity.
I was gonna write about invisibility and separation and how some things are only noticed in their absence. And I was gonna write about how that makes me sad.
I was gonna do links and pictures and stories and thoughts and feelings that pulls all of these things into a neat, or not so neat, narrative.
I was gonna write solely in the present tense, as the most powerful people and the most brilliant writers in my life have assured me that this is the way to write, and I believe them.
I was gonna write it all in pieces, stretching it out across hours, or better yet, days, in the interest of meeting the challenge I have set for myself.
That's what I was gonna write. Just so you know.