Sometimes we get blindsided. We are sure we have made an adventuresome choice for ourselves or others, and we hit a wall. Thinking what I wanted to do in an 8th decade, I wanted the challenge of writing. No desire for the Great American Novel or even a best seller list. With the help of a techie younger friend, the making this happen took about six months. I invited sprawling family and a few stalwart friends to be my audience to hold in mind as I write, and a supporting group of you have hung in there. I get enough scattered responses to keep me encouraged, and I don’t really know if you choose to delete and skip a week or weeks.
Then in our local neighborhood magazine was an article about a book club which invites authors to speak. Bam! One of the members who does reviews said, “When I was trying to decide where I was going to review, I noticed that people were moving away from blogs, going to places like Facebook and Instagram where they already are. I never want to go to all those independent blogs, so I didn’t want other people to have to do that.” For whatever type of dinosaur I am, I don’t do Facebook or Instagram. I don’t dislike, I just don’t do. E-mails and texts are my current contacts resembling letters with stamps. They are a way of sharing one person news and keeping in touch. Blogs are telling a story or my half of a conversation.
So, I hafta say, “Thank you,” to those of you who let me invade your e-mail box on Thursdays. Even the idea that you are out there in the ether of the universe helps me dig in my memory, observe the world, make various comments. To rephrase the philosophical question,” If no one reads, does the writing count.” Yes, oganizing and presenting is the oil for the machinery of my aging brain. In the future I may evolve; for now, this is my happy place.
Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare. Isaiah 42: 9
Let Me Tell Ya 