#MAYkingItWork: If You’re Not Having Fun, Then Why Are You Doing It?

Pansy, from the French word Pensie, means Thought or Remembrance.

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Having fun? 

Thinking about my personal blog…

Wondering how it fits into my life. At this point.

Not daily, but at least weekly.

Ideas expressed. Information shared. Observations noted.

Adding value is fun.

Never mocking or mean.

Photos and images to add a cheerful vibe. Pretty.

Quirkiness a given.

Lest there be no fun. 

No ruts, please. Keep it varied. Can you say eclectic?

Do it or delete it. Do it or delete it. Do it or delete it.

[The academic ‘publish or perish’ concept adapted to the personal blogosphere.]

Kindred spirits are fun.

Looking for people who are curious and thought-filled. Creative. Sincere.

Well-developed sense of humor a plus.

No one self-absorbed &/or uptight need apply.

No fun there.

Follow me. Follow me. Follow me.

Welcome. Nice to meet you.

Comment when you got ’em. I’ll do the same thing for you.

And please, for the love of all that is good, remember to have fun.  

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H/T to #MAYkingItWork hosted by Isa-Lee Wolf  and David.  Read about it here.

#MAYkingItWork is a commitment to making something come to fruition in May by finishing a writing/blogging project/post that you’ve let slide/been thinking about.

And lately, my gentle readers, I’ve been thinking about the effort I put into keeping this blog and what makes it worthwhile for me.  In a nutshell, I blog because it’s fun.

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How about you? Why do you Keep a blog? Why do you read someone else’s blog?

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The Stuff Of Family & Ancestors: Thoughts While Sorting Through Boxes

Does this make me feel more alive?

[The question to ask. Always.]

I’ve been in a deciding frame of mind this month. Must get rid of a past that doesn’t serve me.

A past that in many cases is not mine, but I reluctantly accepted and boxed up when elderly relatives passed on, storing their stuff in my closets, I did.

Now, I want empty closets, the feeling of lightness.

Been going through dusty boxes of old family photos and documents and letters. Pamphlets and newspaper articles.

Memorabilia, too.

Does this make me feel more alive?

I shred the photos and docs and letters that don’t call to me, and save those that might… might… might… someday find their way into…

a blog post?

an article or essay?

a memoir, perhaps, even?

But as for the family memorabilia, it’s a different kind of past. Remembered with objects, things of history.

Personal cookbooks;  and 1940s slides [with a projector];  and  handwritten family stories;  and a diary;  and a daguerreotype;  and [of all things] a Civil War soldier’s personal mirror with carved initials.

What shall I decide about these objects, I wonder.

Does this make me feel more alive?

Difficult for me, an adult orphan, to know what to do with these things that held memories for someone who is long gone. Someone who I may never have met.

I intend to make peace with these objects, sending them on their way…

to history museums or libraries?

to antique malls?

to the dump?

I’ve been a good relative, respectful, but now I’m ready to have more space, both literal and figurative, in my life. Must get rid of a past that doesn’t serve me.

Does this make me feel more alive?

A Klutz Rakes Leaves: The Battle Of The Mantras

Out raking the leaves.

Half an acre lot sloping down into a ravine with a creek.

Maybe about 28 trees on it.

[Never doubt that trees beget leaves.] 

Getting tired. Getting bored.

Mind starts to offer mantras.

“I think I can… I think I can…”

Childhood wisdom gleaned from reading.

“When in doubt, don’t.”

Adult wisdom imparted by yoga teacher.

“Yes we can.”

Political slogan, uplifting.

“Be careful.”

Mom, always.

Then the deciding factor.

While raking on the hillside, giving it my all, I slipped and fell on my backside.

Just. Like. That.

Nothing hurt. Not even my ego.

I’m a klutz* after all.

But suddenly the angels sang and I knew which mantra to follow.

DID I KEEP GOING INSPIRED TO OVERCOME or DID I MAKE A STRATEGIC RETREAT?

Discuss.

* Previously documented examples of my klutziness: 1) fell on face while carrying donation into Goodwill;  2) thrown off Segway while moving through cemetery;  and 3) during house party dropped ottoman on toe breaking toenail.