~:: A Case of Affirmed Identity ::~

Disclaimer

I’ve said it before: thought I’d have huge time drag after the kids left.  Boy, was I wrong.  Genealogy (which is—do not let anybody tell you different—a born addiction that you cannot, hard as you try, deny)  sat in a closet for seven years of so.  That’s because I’d made a deal with it: give me a break while I write a book and I’ll let you out again.  Well, I didn’t get around to the book, so here I am, both the book and the now doorless closet to contend with. (Did I check the probates in the next county over?  Was her middle name really McCauley?  Who was Penelope, anyway?)

Two very charming researchers I was corresponding with back then, people of Significant Age who, until two days ago I’d have sworn were long gone from this earth – aren’t.  So I’ve renewed those friendships in the last week, and now we’re egging each other on to even fiercer obsession.  (Willard told me about a 7x cousin of his he found once in the 1870 census.  In that census, they had an “occupation” field for each person.  For this particular young man’s occupation, the census taker had entered: “He can’t do anything.”  See why we like this research?)

Copper Rose, the sure sign of summer –

And I’m building a book website that I know you are just DYING to see.

And the sun has come out, so I need to kill weeds and play with horses.

At the burger joint with the fam.  G is the photographer.

And I’m finishing up my knit horse pattern, and planning the wedding luncheon favors I’m going to make for M’s Big Day.

Oh – and the fridge just died.  Or is dying.  Or has been dying for over a week – days before we noticed.  Which has had an adverse effect on our digestion, let me tell you.  Nothing like having to buy a new fridge because you HAVE TO—right NOW.  (Thank you Sears Outlet.)

It never stops.

The river, powerful and compelling as it could be–escaping its banks to wash our house away and fill our space with flotsam and jetsam, would be nothing compared to the barging, burgeoning forward forces of time.

Here starts the real blog.

I am here to address the continuing question:

Is There Really Any Virtue in Blogging?

You may remember when I wrote about the visit my friends,  Lindy and Greg, paid us on their way down to Baja last year?  That friendship was made purely through Etsy and bloggin’ but turned into a real life, face to face, wanna crash here tonight, now we know your actual voices sort of friendship.

Then yesterday,

we were delighted to have these blog-found friends, the Earthboys family, drop by on their way north.

How amazing to see these boys running and playing in MY yard.  With MY dogs.  I’ve seen them so often having adventures at their island farm.

May I just say how amazing and wonderful it is to finally meet people face to face – people you’ve only written to and read, who turn out to be every inch as loveable and kindred-spirited as you ever thought they’d be?  To be able to throw your arms around someone and watch her in action and find her just as intriguing and kind and amazing as promised?

I have discovered – in so many corners of the planet – women who amaze me, teach me, fire me up.  Buddies I’d invite to a slumber party any old day.  I dance in the shower of blessings these distant friends let fly.  I defy gravity and shoot up in exhilaration.  What an astonishing turn of history that we could find each other, and care about each other, and bolster each other up this way.

And it’s not like I’ve amassed a multitude, because I couldn’t really deal honestly with that.  It’s just a handful of fine, intelligent, fabulous friends I’ll keep – even if it’s only in my heart and prayers – for a lifetime.  And so fun to share them with my family and Rachel.

What this was like in my eyes when I shot it.

What it was actually like.

So, this is my answer to the question: I’d pretty much have to say that blogging does, indeed, have its virtues.

You bet it does.