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Keep on Dancing

 

So Mr. Google and I have been seeing a lot of each other lately, as I try to figure out some of the cool features he has to offer. Why a he? No idea. Moving on.

As I was sorting through photographs (on Google Photos) I came across a cool feature that probably everyone else in the world already knows about. Google sorted my pictures by events or objects, like boats, castles, graduation, etc. Well, the category that immediately caught my eye was dancing.

I clicked over to that group and was greeted by not only photos, but some short videos I had taken. I got to see my son dance around with intensity at his summer camp performances (I think choreography is a talent of his). It was fun to watch him “Bernie” with his friends and totally get into it.

I also took a trip down memory lane to watch my niece Whip and Nay-nay (I don’t have a clue how to spell that one and frankly don’t care enough to find out). She was a little smidge of a kid at her oldest brother’s Bar Mitzvah. In a few months she’s having her own Bat Mitzvah. She’s grown up a lot.

And then there was my brother and his wife. It was a short clip, but it was lovely to see the two of them enjoying themselves surrounded by family and friends. Finally, and maybe best of all, was the clip of my son dancing with his grandmother. She has about two dance moves and they both involve pumping her fists at her sides at though she’s running. It’s awkward, but she loves to dance, and he loves her, so there you go. It’s sweet, and I’m glad I got to see it today.

It’s funny how something unexpected can transport you to another place and time. I wasn’t expecting to think about any of those events today, but there they are. I’m grateful for photos and videos. I know many people take them but never look at them. I look at them. I like to remember. I also like to dance.

 


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Did I Really Write That?

I’ve been at this blogging thing since June of 2013, so a solid five years now. In that time I’ve published nearly 700 posts. Most of them have a fair number of words to them. Some, however, are quite short, and feature photos or a video instead of my usual ramblings. Still, that’s quite a few posts.

The thing about it is, I can’t actually remember writing all of those posts. It’s almost as if I was in some sort of stupor when I published them. Not all of them, of course, but I have stumbled across several that make me scratch my head in wonder. Are these really my words? Did I really say that?3d-clipart-question-mark-20.png

It’s not that I disagree with my past self, or that I’m embarrassed by anything I’ve written. At least so far I haven’t been. It’s just that it seems like the act of writing should leave more of an indelible mark. I ought to remember my words, as I remember the quilts I’ve made or the scrapbooks I’ve created.

Maybe words are just too common. Maybe it’s more like trying to remember meals I’ve cooked. Some stand out, for various reasons, but most just fade into the background to be forgotten. Maybe that’s how it is with words. Sometimes they stick, but other times they say their piece, only to be quickly forgotten.

I don’t mind, really. Sometimes it’s fun to see the suggested posts at the bottom of my screen and click on an old post. Sometimes it’s like seeing an old friend, but other times it feels brand new.


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Smell

Today I’m writing to the prompt “smell” from Linda G. Hill as part of her Stream of Consciousness Saturday series. It may be rambling, so apologies in advance!

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When I think of smell, I automatically think of the aroma of food cooking. A memory just triggered for me, a memory from childhood.

I recall waking up one morning, entirely on my own, so it must have been a weekend. I was never an early riser, and had to be woken for school. I remember that the house smelled strange. Not bad strange, just unusual.

At first I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but then, as the sleep cleared away and my senses began to sharpen, I puzzled it out. The aroma was meat cooking. My mother had a roast in the oven at that early hour and it filled the house with its rich, robust aroma. It was such a strange smell for first thing in the morning.

What a small thing to carry around in my memory for so many years.