When posting things on the Web, I always think about time. Should I put OLD stuff on Facebook, which seems more suited to contemporary doings? Should I confine silly stuff to Twitter? I almost never repost anything because it seems so impersonal, already has 52,000 likes and if my friends don't know I'm a liberal, why enlighten them now? But I do some little re-Tweeting in what seems to me a very judicious manner.
These shells are like an illustration of things that happen that take time. Some of them have holes because they were eaten by something that could bore a hole; some because they were worn away in the pounding surf, which has smoothed all the rough edges. Because they are broken, you can see inner surfaces and outer ones. They are pleasing to hold and to touch. I often plan to try to turn them into some sort of necklace, except that I really think they look great in this Pismo Clam shell, which I actually picked up on Pismo Beach long ago, in practically another lifetime.
I always plan to talk about thinking, but mostly I talk about what I did today and why I like my own pictures (because I was there when I took them?) and what I might write about later. Still I am patting my own back over blogging every day this whole year! Also, I miss Joann, who I knew only through her sweet comments on my writing, and who died last year after a long struggle with leukemia.
Here's something delightful from early in George Eliot's Middlemarch
"What elegant historian would neglect a striking opportunity for pointing out that his heroes did not foresee the history of the world, or even their own actions?-- for example, the Henry of Navarre, when a Protestant baby, little thought of being a Catholic monarch; or that Alfred the Great when he measured his laborious nights with burning candles, had no idea of future gentlemen measuring their days with watches."
Kindle page 69.
Think about that! The baby monarch is my favorite part! Good night!