Not long ago, my nine-year-old granddaughter took my picture with her iPad and made an emoji of me. I loved watching her do it. She was totally adept at navigating her emoji app to pick the hairstyle most like mine, the color of my hair, eyes, and skin, the shape of my face and lips. As you see above, the final product is cartoonlike, but isn’t that what emoji are? And goodness, she makes me look so young. What woman in her right mind would object to that?
I swore I wouldn’t. Social media is only good if you do it well, but how many social media sites can one writer do well and still write her book? I’ve done Facebook for a long while and have a healthy following. For posting news, sharing events, offering contests, and simply getting the opinions of readers who matter, Facebook is my go-to site.
So why join Instagram? Instagram is just about taking pictures, right? But pictures alone? Why would a writer do that?
I have three sons. All are grown, married with kids, and gainfully employed. They genuinely like me, and I genuinely like them. In all of these things, I am very, very lucky.
That said, navigating the waters with an adult child hasn’t always been easy.
I’m a positive person. I pride myself on that. But there are times – there are times – when frustration sets in, and I need to vent. I’ve shared pet peeves with you in the past, but I’m revisiting them now. Do you agree with any? Do you have your own?
First and worst, drivers texting. When someone darts out in front of you from a side street, then crawls along for a block before suddenly speeding up? Or when a driver slows on the highway, even weaves a little between lanes? You know that driver is using his phone for something that takes his eyes from the road. And urgency is fine. But put on a blinker and pull over, then text all you want. Or wait before barging out into traffic and holding up everyone while you do your thing.
In honor of Mother’s Day earlier this month, I posted a Facebook tribute to my mother along with her picture, and I invited readers to do the same. The response was amazing. The number of people reading the post and sending corresponding tributes to their own moms was heartrending. Their words touched me deeply.
Whoa. I just looked at my last blog, and realized how long I’ve been gone! Well, not really gone. I’ve been here at my desk the whole time, plugging away at my new book. But now we’re into October, and sweet corn is passé in New England. What’s in? Apples and cranberries (the picture below is actually of cranberries). Ginger and yams. Cool nights. Fall foliage.
Well, how appropriate. We’re at the lake, and I’ve decided to blog about what I hear. Cradling my laptop, I head through the kitchen porch toward the open deck when there’s a shout from inside. “Don’t let the screen door slap!” I won’t tell you whose voice it is lest I incriminate him, but suffice it to say that, after many years of resolving issues, I know how to handle the guy.
Let me make one thing clear. I don’t blog to express a political opinion. As a novelist, my taking a stand on anything political or religious is disastrous. When I talked here last week about civil discourse, it was to vent not about what we say but how we say it.
So there you go – one reason why I blog. I blog to vent about something, be it civil discourse, airport security, or plastic bags.
But there are other reasons. I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting around with nothing to do. I have to put blogging on my calendar, or else it gets lost in the shuffle of the daily writing, in this case, of Sweet Salt Air.
Let me be clear. I hate the look of a pacifier in a child’s mouth – hated it when my kids were little, hate it now that their kids are little. I like seeing that little mouth and hate having it hidden. I also like the convenience of a thumb. Pop it in, take it out and smile without worry of dropping it on the supermarket floor.
That said, I saw the bright side of passie use during our last visit with our nine-month-old granddaughter. We were having a birthday dinner, nine of us eating after the baby was asleep, and, naturally, there were bursts of noise. During one, the baby woke up and began to cry.
Baby gear. It’s a whole other world out there. We have a six-month-old coming for the weekend, and the house is suddenly filled with stuff. Remember the high chair you saw in my basement? It’s now in the kitchen alongside the jumperoo.
And the Pack N Play?
That’s my assistant’s office, where we can close the blinds to assure darkness and quiet. The baby will be cozy sleeping there.
My daughter-in-law is bringing the stroller in which the carseat is embedded, removable for attaching to a base anchored in the back seat of my car.