Now that the holiday weekend is behind me, it’s time for some catching up. This blogging challenge – write a post to your dream reader – is making me think. Who is my dream reader? My blog covers a little bit of everything, so at first it seemed like there needed to be more than one.
Is my dream reader a foodie? A gardener? A lover of parks and easy walks? A fiction reader? A humorist?
Yes to all of these, and more. But, then I thought about it some more. What elements do these readers have in common? After a day of thinking about it, I think I’ve come up with an answer:
My dream reader loves a good story. That story may be about anything, but it needs to have a beginning, middle and end.
That’s as true for a short story as it is for a home-made vacation video. I always try to start at the beginning and make my way logically to some type of conclusion.
So, dear reader, I hope you’ll follow me as I go on my various adventures. And, I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
I really like this Blogging 101 thing. It’s taking me back to the very beginning of things. Why did I start to blog? Good question.
First, I really like to write. I’ve kept journals since I was 14 and I still have those around somewhere. They were private musings by default, of course, but they kept me sane during some of my darkest days. It seemed only natural for me to start blogging once they came on the scene. These would be public musings, unlike my paper journals, and that changed my perspective, if not my voice. I had an audience!
I started blogging on Live Journal, back when it was a thing. I decided to start a “five senses” journal: sight, smell, sounds, touch, etc. It was a place for me to practice writing and it was hard work. I wrote about what I saw walking down a street in Boston, including my own reflection in mirrored skyscrapers. I saw the pavement, the sky, the people, the buildings.
I wrote another smell and touch-centered post following the death of a member of my extended family. Poles have a tradition of cooking a meal for the bereaved, so I took on that responsibility. I made a leg of lamb and brought everything to serve it with: food, platters, plates, the whole bit. I’m not sure what happened to those posts. They were good.
From Live Journal I moved to Vox and found a community more compatible with my age and interests. We all hung out for a long time until Vox decided to shut its doors and kick us all out. I ended up on WordPress, which I’d been using for other blogs anyway.
I have a problem when it comes to cats. I love them. They love me. A meeting with any cat is inevitably accompanied by a few circle-eights around my legs followed by a visit to my lap. They purr. I rub beneath their chin and scratch their ears. They either purr more, fall asleep or play, depending on their age.
But here’s my problem: I’m allergic to cats. I hate locking them behind doors just because I’m there. Cats have their own ideas about these things and they’re not the least bit quiet about them. It’s annoying for the cat and induces no small amount of guilt in me. I’ve tried antihistamines. Then I’m drowsy, but still stuffed up and sneezing. I must be the price I’m paying for sins I committed in an earlier life.
My love-hate relationship with cats makes me all the more nostalgic for them. I want them, but I can’t have them. So when my podcast friend, the library ninja named “Juice” (no, really) did an entire episode about his beloved cat, Winston, I was all ears. And a lovely cat-tail/tale it was, nice enough so that I downloaded the mp3 just to share with you all. So, sniff, sniff, a-choo!, on with the tale: