I’ve been writing blogs for a while now. It depends on the mood as to whether it is something fictional, or a retelling of a youthful adventure, or a nonfiction blog on being healthier or on my cancer battle back in 2008.
The most fun to write are the sharing of how much fun we had growing up here and how special family has always been and continues to be. My mother made sure that we knew how special each other were and how to act with love and respect. Oh, we had out battles, it would have been impossible not to, but we always got everything straightened out and there was never left over hurt feelings. Our bond was too close.
Way back when we were young–warning, a back when I was young lament–back then, we played outside. (Told ya) We knew what it felt like to run barefoot on dry ground, rocks, grass, through puddles and creeks. We rode our bikes not only barefoot, but without helmets or padding. We knew what the summer sun felt like on bare legs and arms without sunscreen, rarely were we burned. That drink of water from the creek or from the garden hose always tasted so good.
I guess that by the standards of today our parents and grandparents would have gotten in trouble as when school was out and the days warm and bright- we were expected to be outside. We could be playing, resting in a hammock or working in the garden. We were not, sitting in front of a television mindlessly watching what ever was showing. Then, there wasn’t such a thing as video games to entrap us to where outside ceased to exist. They came along later but our parents were bright and caring enough not to allow us to become to preoccupied by the little bouncing blip. They even censored what we were allowed to watch on television, imagine that. The house wasn’t filled with junk food, our diet consisted mainly of good, home cooked -whole- foods that were not filled with no one really knows what. We loved the fresh or canned foods that came from the garden. I may not have liked all the work involved in the canning and freezing process, but later on, I realized just how good that stuff was in the cold of winter.
We practically lived on our bikes. We made many trails through the woods and made it a regular practice of riding every one of them. We had no fear of anyone or anything being out there that would be a danger to us. There was a special freedom to be allowed to ride like that, out of sight but never out of hearing.
Our Grandfather had a road of sorts for his tractor to go through the woods to the big power lines that crossed the area. Down along there he would dig up good soil to put on his garden. Many times we road on the back of the tractor on in the wagon to help. He was a wise man with many great stories to tell. I wish that I could have captured them on video, but maybe, seeing him might hurt too much.
Our Grandmother was a gentle yet fierce force. She fully understood tough love, mostly love. They lived right next door which was convenient and special. We spent summer days with them, while mom and dad worked. Meals were the good old fashioned stuff that included things that doctors would cringe over now but we worked any bad stuff off through play or chores. Yes, we had those as well.
The thing is, with a childhood such as this, we learned how to do things on our own. We learned how to spend time alone or with family. We learned what imagination was and how to use it. We learned how to appreciate nature and what it has to offer and the force of storms. It has given me the desire to write, and write I will whether anyone reads it or not. I may.. no, I will grow frustrated. I will stop, and start again, because the desire, the need, the have to write flows within and must come out in some way. I may share a truth. I may share an adventure. I may share something so fictional it sounds like truth. And even if I’m writing for myself, it doesn’t matter because writing is like breathing. I can’t not breath, and I can’t not write.
I’ve also began playing with posting video blogs. Posting them just to see how it goes. Trying and hoping that maybe more will view them and my writing can be shared in another way. We’ll see..The road is long, the door is open and the future awaits. Online time and trying only continuing on will tell me what happens. Wishing and dreaming are all well and good…but what counts is action and its past time to act consistently.
Catfishing 101 or My Husband gets Schooled
Scared Straight With Love