At last, I'm up and running with a cobweb site of my very own, ready to answer questions like why don't spiders get stuck in their own webs (I don't know) and do the magic lines really come out of your/my hands (yes). A blog is, of course, a diary, and should be a daily entry, as close to as possible. Not too difficult for me , I hope, as I usually wake u p before 5, lots of time to gather my scattered REM and write something. Right now, it's noon so I'm past due. As Shakespeare said, anon, anon.
Time flies and I did too
I was away - on a circumnavigation of Newfoundland, stopping most significantly art L'Anse aux Meadows, where Leif (the Lucky, son of Eirik the Red) visited but didn't settle some four centuries before Columbus bumped into North America on his way to the Orient. I thought I was searching out, because of my Viking ancestry , a sense of - what? Not of where I came from, didn't come from there, nor from Iceland. I guess I wanted to experience the closest thing we have today to a time machine, going back in the past by osmosis, as it were, by being there, on site. Did it work? Not sure yet. I'm here now, back home, that is, where I live now. I have a feeling, not yet fully realized and certainly not expressed, that the questions I've been asking more and more are rising up more insistently, bringing others with them, silly questions, not only why am I here but also how did I get here, where do I go from here and, of course, who cares?
I do.