I think it was Sunday that I added a widget in the footer that invited readers to subscribe to this blog via email. I posted a note to that effect on my FB book page and since then I think four friends, all long time readers of my numerous blogs (I’ve changed blog names and platforms more times than Carter has liver pills) have subscribed. Which I think is just lovely. Well, they’re lovely people, so why wouldn’t it be.
My darling Lisa commented on that post – “I don’t want to miss a word of your insightfulness.”
And that’s what’s been bothering me these past many months. I used to write insightful posts. My Blogger blog is still there with posts I have deemed worthy of saving from these past 20 years (actually some need to be deleted because of missing photos – but never mind that for the moment).
I don’t think there is much here, on this blog, that is insightful – oh yes some of the re-posts, as it were and certainly the poetry – both old and new. But nothing like I used to write, and I’m wondering why.
Perhaps, older and wiser means you give up banging your head against the wall. Age brings enough new physical pain, why add more psychic pain. Perhaps one just gets tired of repeating the lessons learned of a lifetime of “Oops – did it again” and hoping someone might take heed. It is true that one has to learn the hard way – experience life for themselves – only way to really learn, take it in, make a change.
And then today Ally Bean asked “How will you know when it’s time to end your blog?”
And my answer to that is: when they pry my keyboard from my cold dead hands.
I often think of my blog the way Emily Dickinson described her poetry, if that isn’t too presumptuous of me, This is My Letter to the World”
I too live an isolated existence and my blog, and readers comments, are my only interaction with the world. Oh, yes there are the clerks in the grocery store. And the medical professionals. But truly, how much of those exchanges are of any meaningful import? None. They are merely informational or polite civility – nothing more.
So, like Emily, I hope you will judge me tenderly. Because I’m still here, and here I will stay.