Anniversary Overlooked

I just realised that I forgot my sixth-year blogging anniversary. My heavens, how could that happen! Many marriages don't last that long.

And, yes, the first flush is long over. The "is this all" hit the wall, was rather messy, but I managed (hopefully) to clean it up without anyone noticing (thank you Charlotte and Kristi for your help on this occasion).

It almost makes me teary to think of all the ups-and-downs that I experienced over these six years. Would I start a blog today knowing what I know now?... to be honest, probably not. Would I want to miss out on blogging, no matter how sporadically it has become?... definitely not!

Directly connected to all approximately 1,200 blog entries are the nearly 250 collages I have made. It boggles my mind... here are a good slice of my favourite collages. (I know, you've seen them all, but I thought it would be appropriate to post the slideshow once again.)



I have met great people through my blogging, have developed deep and meaningful friendships, discovered brilliant ideas on other blogs, explored a lot of my inner landscape, and probably left behind the most important document in my life for my children to explore at their risk some time in the future.

Long live the internet!

Icing on the Cake, or Cake Icing

Yesterday, my children and I are sitting quietly in the airport hotel restaurant reading the menu, when a German woman, her three young sons, and a Peruvian-looking woman are seated at the table next to us. Instantly, the atmosphere in the restaurant changes. Where previously there was a sedate, cool, even muffled end-of-the-day feeling, all of a sudden the stage lights are turned on, the temperature in the room rises, and everyone’s attention is drawn to this party’s table.

The attractive, in her early-thirties, expensively coiffed and dressed woman, is obviously accustomed to people hovering over her, staring at her while she does the most mundane of activities. Look, as I sit here with my three adorable boys, as I order some drinks for us all, spend a rather long period of time choosing the right wine for myself, and order a meal tailored to each of my children’s and my particular taste palettes. The Peruvian-looking woman accompanying them is the boys’ nanny. The mother is a flurry of noise, while the nanny quietly questions and commands the troops. She is the only one who actually orders something from the menu.

Admittedly, at the beginning, I do stare and listen with curiosity at this theatrical production. The mother speaks German to the waitress and boys, Spanish to the nanny, and throws in a smattering of English for anyone else who is listening. I find it all rather exotic: the mixture of languages, the play acting, the (very) loud conversation, and the chic attire. I imagine her to be the young wife of a rich middle-aged German business executive, living in Lima, visiting her family in July, going off to Paris with a friend in the fall, skiing at Whistler in winter…

Then the boys begin to fight over the content of the bread basket. The middle boy wants black bread. He shouts this request to the waitress. No please or thank you. The nanny tries to placate him with some white bread. The mother snaps at the nanny to just give the boys what they want. She manages speak harshly to the nanny through smiling lips.

I begin to tire of their obtrusive company, almost feel nauseous. It is as if I have over-indulged with a sweet dessert. No substance. Just elaborate icing.

I gaze over at my children and I am struck at how little limelight they need to order and eat a meal in a public place. They have excellent manners, kind dispositions, and appreciate good food, and so, even at such a young age, they are usually treated well. The rest is just icing, isn’t it?

Project Gal

Over the last twenty-five years, I have undertaken a lot of writing projects: children stories, a novel, computer game scripts for women, a family journal, and this or the other blog. While I was writing these various things, I’ve always kept a journal of sorts.

After writing this entry last week, I decided to open up the boxes with my journals and take a look at them. Can you imagine writing a journal for twenty-five years and never reading them? Well, it’s true; I never did. That is, until four days ago.

I sorted the fifty some odd notebooks into chronological order and I’ve slowly started reading them from the beginning. I can only find journals from 1986 and onwards. A box or two must have gone missing along the way. Still, it’s interesting to read about my life way back then: the balance between mortification and fascination holds at the moment.

Slowly, I am considering what my next project might be. Perhaps a web-based journal: along the lines of my printed family journal. In the family journal, I wrote about time long gone (i.e., my childhood memories), time not-so-long-ago (i.e., stories of when the children were young), and philosophical meanderings on family and friends.

In this new project, I can mix text (e.g. entries from my old journals), photos, film, slideshows, comics, and podcasts all in one “document”. The last family journal took over two years to make. This new one just might be a continual work in progress.

Have any of you done anything like this? Any suggestions about how to proceed?