When is a blog not a blog?

You may have noticed and I have acknowledged the fact that my blog is not really a blog, not any more. I have tried not to let it become a diary though it is perilously close to being one: a blow-by-blow account of my days, good and bad.

What it really is, what it has become, is a generic letter to a few dear friends who drop in every week or so to see how I’m doing and what, if anything, I’m thinking about. So—dear June, Joyce, Judy, Marianne, Susan, Pam and Jeff, thank you for your time and attention. Any lurkers out there, you are also welcome, oh, and you, too, Margret.

I also use my blog as a first draft effort for some work I do for a few newsletters I write for. I hope you don’t mind.

I have a new assignment, for a new-to-me outlet. Not sure I’ll try you out on it, or will I try try it out on you?

We’ll see.

the day after

it’s weird—isn’t it? —having such a Big Neighbour next door. it’s given us all a syndrome—no, not a syndrome and not all of us. I think our newcomers have a healthier attitude to Americans than native-born citizens like me. I think they have a stronger sense of self. I mean, I grew up in Winnipeg, for goodness’ sake.

How would you like to be from Canada, Winnipeg and white and female?

And very OLD.

It’s a wonder I have survived.