“Ok,” says the Little Dog, “where are we going today?” It is amazing how quickly she has adjusted from travel in the motorhome to travel in a car. The same goes for us Oldies too. Maybe the novelty will wear off soon, but right now all that has to happen is that someone says, How about a Day Out . . . . . . .? and we are soon ready and off with a picnic to follow our hearts. After all, we have to make the best of the weather.
So far we have covered around 1200 miles, so projects at home would be put to one side you might think. Sort of right – I’m not so inclined to sit at my computer or do blog updates – sorry about that. But I have managed to do some work on my Memoirs and the standard housekeeping tasks are more or less up to date.
Re the Memoirs thing – it has surprised me how much emotional energy it takes. I am discovering new things about myself and the whole process of writing. I had always intended to take up a writing project when I retired, but the time just didn’t seem right. Attempts at novels have fallen by the wayside and the years roll by. It led me to think what we all wanted when we set off with trepidation into the world of blogging. Way back in the early part of the century – yes, it nearly is that long ago – a blog post was usually a short paragraph, in my case, about what was going on in Dalamory. Sometimes it was a thought, sometimes more serious and at other times it was simply designed to amuse. As the years passed, changes took place. The style evolved into longer stories or homilies. I tried to avoid sermonising, at least in a negative way, and yet I also wanted to be reflective and honest about life and the universe.
Ten years ago in May I simply posted a photo of you’re-bound-to-guess-who – and felt no need to add in any text at all. Five years ago on a Wednesday in May I published under the heading of Wordless Wednesday and if you click through you will see another photograph that could almost have been taken today. (Except that thankfully I am a couple of stones lighter and probably in better health.) Thus it seems that my themes are often the same in a recurring pattern of spirals and pictures. Just over a year ago it was a post about Dancing and a photo of a tea-table. Photos therefore are important in the production of a post.
Nowadays many blogs are opinion pieces. Serious bloggers have been taken notice of by news media, and some have a regular slot. Many are unpaid of course and that has enabled the genre to explode. My own blog, though dear to me, is not read by a huge audience and in a way I am quite relieved. I have little need to worry about trolls or cyber-bullies. Come to think of it the WordPress anti-spam programme probably takes care of that. Long may it do so. Thus, it is likely this spot will remain a snapshot of a life lived in rural Scotland in the early decades of the 21st Century. Did you notice the way I said – decades – thereby inferring a long life? I hope it is merry too.
Happy Bluebells and Blessings from Dalamory.
I am thrilled!!!
So nice to have you drop in , Freda, and give me a comment! I just had to learn more about you . Now when I’ve taken a quick glance at just one post, I can understand your emphasis on pictures. I certainly have much to learn, and getting quite a collection of good teachers!!
After tomorrows, ah, todays services, I’ll be back to read more from you. God bless!!
Always a puzzle to choose a blog topic. So, I write my post like a newsy letter to my sister. I have many opinions, but the world is not suffering a dearth of them lately. Dogs make better topics. (love the photo of Misty)
David has been working on his memoire and stopped cold. Don’t know why, he doen’t want to discuss it. I have a feeling it is too painful.
I enjoy your newsy posts, Dianne and of course it is a help having a note come through to my mail when they happen. You just pop up in my inbox. I’m not surprised that some people find the whole Memoir thing too hard. Maybe he will go back to it later.
I’m a long time fan of your blog and have so enjoyed watching it evolve over the years.