This, according to my calculations, is blog post #1790.
Spent a little time today with friend and neighbor Elaine. She began her web presence today by opening the doors on her blog: Everyone’s Story
I think about the early days of blogging with Ev Williams and his crew. Wow – check out how far back the archives go. Closest thing to having a journal I’ve ever had. I don’t stress about numbers of viewers but it’s fun to watch where they come from and read their comments.
For me much of what was exciting about personal pages and blogs back in the early days (even pre-blogging) is still true today – the ability to communicate and interact with others, showcase your interest and passions, be local and global.
Have fun out there Elaine!
The prompt at Not Without Poetry was to write about an ah ha moment – those times when the lightbulb goes off over your head. Thought I’d share here something written earlier while I ponder that.
Morning Commute
The coffee kicks in.
My age this year
is a speed limit.
Ha! Does it hold me back?
Sometimes I’m faster
Sometimes I’m slower
Sometimes I’m the only traveller
Alone on the road.I near my off-ramp
I see more or less of my days
as the road goes ahead
straight or curving
Sometimes I’m only a traveller
and the road my familiar.Mary Beth Frezon November 2009
How very exciting, the fellow in Austin (OK OK not houston) who has had a web cam pointed at a screech owl nesting box is back in business this year! That’s great! Go here for some amazing photos and news of his owl family.
Well I don’t have much today. Not for lack of trying and thinking! I tried to get started on the hand sewing tonight and only got a little done, but that’s ok. Well, at least it’s ok for tonight.
How about some haiku?
Playing the writer.
Sprawling sophomoric trash.
Just cross it out now.Celebrate the month!
National Poetry Month!
Haiku for the win!I should be sewing
But I’m writing on deadline
Put words on paper.
I found this in my normal quilt-design-planning-whatever notebook from probably April 2009:
Spring after Ice Storm.
Tired from the ice storm
are the slender trees.
They lay down
gently
in banks of curves,
later blurring the road
with their small leaves.From the road,
flashing of torn tops.
White flesh lain against the mould…..
Above, hanging askew
waiting the return to earth.I thought the spring
would mask all this
but more and more trees
topple over each night
under the weight of their leaves.Mary Beth Frezon — April 2009
Nothing would be done at all if a man waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault with it.
