A day or so ago, Flamingo Dancer posted a blog “Remember Why You Started”, a nostalgic look back at why she started blogging. This triggered my thoughts about starting to blog – remembering why and when. It was back in the fall of 2009, I believe, when I started a blog on Blogspot with the goal of keeping friends and family advised of where we were and what we were doing while we were on vacation, driving back to Minnesota to visit brother and sis-in-law. Long ago and far away, I think those posts no longer exist – I migrated to my own website for awhile, using WordPress software, then to WordPress where I have stayed quite happily.
Looking back at the oldest posts available to me now, starting in January of 2012, I see a change in my postings. A change I’m not certain I’m pleased with. In those earliest days, the days of Blogspot probably, many of my posts did not contain photos. The addition of photos – beyond those first posts on vacation – happened as time went on. Many of the posts without photos were voicing thoughts and opinions of items seen in the news, as I recall. That changed, I started playing more with the camera, and playing more with words. The days I see now as the fun days in my blogging. But reading those in my WordPress archives, I feel like I am less creative now. Using less imagination. Drier. Boring? Yet those days were more fraught with stress and problems than my days are now. So what happened?
I am living in the same world, yet it is not the same world. I am in the same body – well, a semblance of the same body. Gravity has been winning more of our battles, the skin is less elastic, is showing more character (that’s what we call wrinkles, you know), wearing a few more badges of honor for having lived a few more years, more of my body is in my feet I think – at least they seem to have grown some. Yeah, changes happen. Change is the constant. But through change I think it critical to preserve humor, to be able to poke fun at yourself, to find the best there is in each day. I wonder if I’m losing that. I want to work on finding more of it.
I want to play more with my camera. I want to sit less, move more. I want to broadcast my foibles, lest you all begin to think I am just too perfect. Yeah, that’s going to happen, right? I want to grow feistier as I grow older. I want to walk down the street, dragging my cane along the metal fence posts, announcing my presence. I want to spend my Social Security on brandy – no, make that wine – and chocolate. I shall wear a purple dress with a red hat (Warning by Jenny Joseph), paint my house pink with purple polka dots, talk to the birds, the squirrels, the rabbits. Raise chickens. Ride my quad in circles in the dirt, pretending to be a Moto-X contender. And then I want to take a nap. So I can awaken refreshed and ready to go again.
I want to be – who I was. I want to be – young at heart. I want to be – the old lady walking down the street who makes people think “Oh no! What is she up to now!” Or something like that. I want to be me, but better.