If you're reading this then thank you. Looking at my blog statistics is becoming a bit of a guilty pleasure. Not just the number of page hits (a boost to my ego), but the page view locations. From the top of my head I know you're reading/have read this in USA, UK, Netherlands, Norway, Australia, Russia, Finland, Venezuela, Oman, Belgium, and I'm amazed and slightly curious.
Certain locations make sense, there are obvious connections that I understand, but other places I'm read in I have absolutely no idea how I've arrived there (Venezuela and Oman!). But to you all, thank you. I may be a middle-aged woman in a middle-aged mini-identity crisis, but thanks to you readers I feel like I have a voice.
Blogs are a funny old thing. Some passionate with a considered theme, like a political campaign, with ardent followers, and others blow hot and cold, depending on the blogger's available time and (dis)inclinations.
My inclination is that I write this as a kind of therapy. A balm. A way of reconciling and recording events, an aide-memoire, a diary. On a mortal note it's also something for our children if anything happened to me.... And I do now wonder what my memory of recent events would have been if I'd not written them down.
I'm not exactly worried. About my memory. I think it's just some people are better at remembering details than others, and I'm not sure it's all that important. Maybe the dementia nurses would have something to say about it, but I'll worry about that when I'm older (or maybe I won't)!
Some friends, and family, can remember exactly what happened at junior school, or what they were doing when they were 21, or are good at remembering facts and figures. I feel I'm more of an impressions person. I have a sense of how something appeared to me at the time, and may recall small details, but certainly wouldn't be able to give a verbatim account. So by writing things down here and now, I've got the account, both recorded (time and date) and impressionistic.
Equally, unless I've just finished reading, I will tend to forget the exact plotline of the story, but will have a sense of whether or not I enjoyed a particular book/author. Maybe that's just my way of handling the vast number of books I've read in my lifetime.
In the meantime, here's a photo of the Easter hot cross buns I made. Quite pleased if I say so myself. May make them again!
Keep it sweet, thanks for reading! Kat :)
Certain locations make sense, there are obvious connections that I understand, but other places I'm read in I have absolutely no idea how I've arrived there (Venezuela and Oman!). But to you all, thank you. I may be a middle-aged woman in a middle-aged mini-identity crisis, but thanks to you readers I feel like I have a voice.
Blogs are a funny old thing. Some passionate with a considered theme, like a political campaign, with ardent followers, and others blow hot and cold, depending on the blogger's available time and (dis)inclinations.
My inclination is that I write this as a kind of therapy. A balm. A way of reconciling and recording events, an aide-memoire, a diary. On a mortal note it's also something for our children if anything happened to me.... And I do now wonder what my memory of recent events would have been if I'd not written them down.
I'm not exactly worried. About my memory. I think it's just some people are better at remembering details than others, and I'm not sure it's all that important. Maybe the dementia nurses would have something to say about it, but I'll worry about that when I'm older (or maybe I won't)!
Some friends, and family, can remember exactly what happened at junior school, or what they were doing when they were 21, or are good at remembering facts and figures. I feel I'm more of an impressions person. I have a sense of how something appeared to me at the time, and may recall small details, but certainly wouldn't be able to give a verbatim account. So by writing things down here and now, I've got the account, both recorded (time and date) and impressionistic.
Equally, unless I've just finished reading, I will tend to forget the exact plotline of the story, but will have a sense of whether or not I enjoyed a particular book/author. Maybe that's just my way of handling the vast number of books I've read in my lifetime.
In the meantime, here's a photo of the Easter hot cross buns I made. Quite pleased if I say so myself. May make them again!
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| all my own work! |
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