I had a sharp note decrying my use of the mammogram image in the most recent post. I guess this person thought showing the image was the height of self-absorption, which it surely is - as is the blog itself. What I was hoping to show, however, is how easy it is to panic - to share with you, the readers, the sight of the round black mark I was convinced was something bad, which turned out, according to my doctor, to be nothing dangerous, at least not yet. I was left deeply relieved. An experience perhaps you all can relate to.
This blog is an attempt to transcribe anecdotes, thoughts, reviews, ideas, and a travelogue, from my fuddled brain out into the world. I do not have a huge following as some do for their musings, but a few hundred do follow me, and I'm grateful to them. For five decades, I kept a diary, page after page for myself alone, and now you are there. Thank you for coming along, and if sometimes you think I share too much, you have only to click me away.
And since I'm here, I'd like to say that "Grantchester" last night was one of the best hours of TV I've ever seen. Yes, it's a high-class soap opera, but it's also delving deeply into the meaning of faith, the good of religion versus its petty, narrow, destructive side, love versus lust, and other important issues. And all of this with the usual glorious cast, sets, writing, and direction, plus the sublime James Norton, who was more beautiful last night than ever. Spectacular. You know where I'll be next Sunday at nine.
Monday, July 17, 2017
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I think of a blog as a daybook, a journal. And there's a place for everything -- recipes, overheard conversation, photographs, mileage records for road trips, weather reports, and yes, even mammograms. I'm reading Julia Briggs' wonderful account of the writing of each of Virginia Woolf's novels (a book I read a few years ago but came across again in one of those all-too-infrequent shelving sessions in which the stacks of books piled everywhere get put somewhere else, wherever there's room....). It's so interesting to follow the traces of her daily life as the books were written. An observation, a street encounter -- voila, a paragraph...
ReplyDeleteLove this, thanks Theresa - I'll put that book on my endless list. And yes, the fact is, we create these little things called blog posts, like scribbling messages to put in bottles and throw into the giant waters of the internet. (As the New Yorker would say, Kill that metaphor!) People can read them or not as they see fit, but we have expressed our souls on that day, at that time. I'm sorry if someone out there thinks I'm an egomaniac. All writers are, to a certain extent; we have to be. So please, critical person - just leave that bottle bobbing in the ocean and move on.
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