David Friedli

By the Dashboard Lights

January 24, 2008

It’s Just My Idea

Unlike many writers, I’m not a journal keeper, and my grades from classes in high school and college that were graded on that requirement prove that I don’t write things down daily.

Not unlike weekly efforts in writing this column, the pressure of deadlines would put me at my desk faking daily journal entries, scribbling madly in a log book, changing from pencil to pen, from blue to black ink, all the while constructing fictitious events or observations to meet the requirements of the class.

Life would have been much easier had I spent a few minutes each day jotting down the happenings of life for Sociology 213, noting the behaviors of students for Ed Psych 205 or measuring and recording the appearance of the corn plants I was treating with growth hormone in Bio 101.

Instead, I relied on my creative writing skills. And sometimes I borrowed ideas from other sources. That’s creative research. To this day, I hope there is not a parallel universe where the unfortunate objects of my imagination actually acted out the details I described in those journals and logs.

I don’t journal. But in my trusty Palm Pilot I do write down ideas and incidents and phrases that I encounter throughout the day. Many of those end up as part of this column. Once in a while, a simple idea expands into a workable theme. Often, however, what seems to be the beginning of something good never develops.

Occasionally, I am the victim of bad timing.

This week’s case in point is the idea I had been working on since Christmas vacation when I realized our kitchen table was a kitchen table only because that is the room it is placed in.

The kitchen table at 205 North Third Street is a repository for book bags, mail and clean laundry. It is a homework desk, a computer stand and a craft bench.

It is the scene of discussions, crossword puzzle solving and dog grooming.

Because of a lack of counter space, it is a food prep center, a stand for the toaster and temporary holding area for bills to be paid.

A couple of times each day, enough stuff gets moved from one end to the other that a meal can be eaten from it.

Five family members home for the holidays exacerbated the issue. For the past two weeks, I had been formulating ideas and crafting column phrases during my daily commute, ie., ‘by the dashboard lights’.

All was well and good until Sunday when the Coca-Cola corporation beat me to the punch by producing and airing a commercial during the football playoffs which described the ways a dining room table influences daily life…with a bottle of Coke, of course.

Then and there I pitched the column, because I knew there would be readers who might think my idea was not original. As if I had a history of that or something.