It’s been more than a year since I’ve been here and I must say it feels a bit strange.
First of all, I can’t say I’m liking this new platform, or whatever it’s called (my tech savviness is limited). I’d love someone to tell me why, when it comes to technology — regardless of what it is — they are always tinkering — and, to my mind — never improving anything. It drives me batty. And, in fact, it drives me away.
But in this instance, it has nothing to do with why I haven’t been around, although it may account for why I may not be around all that often going forward. I guess I’ll just have to see if I can figure this out and get to like it.
I must be pretty desperate for content if I’m willing to share this photo with you. It’s me, at about two years old sporting the worst haircut ever! How could my mother do that to me? I particularly love that curl that seems to have a mind of its own. Reminds me of the poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a camera with you at all times? Well, technically, with camera phones we do, but I mean to use it? Constantly. Every minute of every day. Freezing all the moments in time that become your life.
Keeping them intact, as it were. A limitless panorama, there for you to look at, whenever you felt the need or the desire. An opportunity to review, re-live, enjoy again, remind yourself of the lessons you learned, wonder what might have happened if you hadn’t stopped to take that, particular photograph. What might have happened Continue reading →
Normally I probably wouldn’t have used yesterday’s WordPress Daily Post as inspiration for a story. “Bittersweet Memories”. “You receive a gift that is bittersweet and makes you nostalgic. What is it?”
It is a bit too melancholy for me. But I was at the hospital volunteering when I read it; and it instantly conjured a memory for me.
When my mother moved to Toronto she knew no one, other than me and my closest friend. When I was growing up she was a hospital volunteer. It was always something she enjoyed doing, so she told me she planned to do it here, as well. It would not only give her something to do, she figured it would also be a good way to meet people. So she signed up for two days a week, Mondays and Tuesdays.
She moved here when she was seventy-five. By the time she turned eighty, she’d made quite a few good friends. I wanted to make her a party. Eighty is, after all, a milestone. She didn’t want a party. She said she’d prefer to