An anniversary

The pretty little Libester token this week caught me up short and set me thinking about the year I’ve been blogging.  It’s been way over a year since I found blogs, and followed many by bookmarking them.  Never confident enough to comment, completely entranced by the possibilities.

But, what to write about.  There really is nothing new under the sun.  One day in my kitchen I was telling Beth an old family story.  Again.  Again she said “You never told me that!”  Grrrr.  But, there it was.  I could write down as much family history as I remembered or found.  Next time I could say “Go look it up!”

The last ten years my Grandma Rolf lived, (and she lived 95 years), family members would pick her up and bring her to family events.  But she no longer looked involved, and I felt sad about her, alone on the sofa.  I’d sit down and ask her seriously about how she did something when she was young.  As if I’d wound the mainspring, she had stories for hours.  I can still see her become eighty years younger, with far away eyes, floating on air across the parlor floor to the doll on the Christmas tree.  She knew it was hers. 

I heard hours of stories and only looked at it as a way to make Grandma happy she was there. I can recall thinking “I should be writing this down.”  Of course I didn’t. I regret this. Later on, the last few years of Mom’s life, I’d ask her the same kind of questions and spent pleasant Sunday afternoons with her observations and recollections.    “I should be writing this down.”  Of course I didn’t.  I regret this.

Beth gave me a reason and an impetus, but how to start.  Still couldn’t bring myself to jump right in.  I got a blogger page opened, then I went to Pittsburgh with Carol, and this delightful kitten came into my life.  The rest, as they say, is history.  Today I even bought a new office chair, because, as you can see, he no longer fits on the old one.

I love blogs.  I’ve met people from all over the world, seen places I’ll never go, had conversations with people I’ll never meet.  I’m having a good time with the stories, and a good time with the cat who loves everything.  Last night I chased him up the steps.  Chin high, long white streamer between two front legs.  He’s much faster than I, and was around the corner and depositing his treasure in the girls’ room.  A paper towel.   The very first thing my three youngest granddaughters will do in June is crawl around under beds and dressers to get out all the forks, pine cones, spools, yarn, socks, toe people, and now paper towels he’s hidden away.

A year of Toby, who will be one on or about Mothers’ Day, USA: