Home for the weekend

Drive tonight was lovely.  The stars were brilliant in the sky.  There is very little smog in the sky so on a clear night you get a canopy of stars twinkling at you.  Looking at them you forget your little worries and marvel at creation.  That’s the reason I love the country so much – it’s so easy to pull yourself back from the insignificant bits of life and remember what’s real.

We are all such little speks in this vast universe.  I remember watching some astronauts on tv and they showed a clip of them looking down on the earth as it spun.  It was the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen.  I got chills because for a second I could see the earth the way they were seeing it – from outside, far away, remote.  It was just a big ball spinning in space.  And it was frightening and awe-inspiring – when you look at something from that far away you feel very small and insignificant and part of something so much greater than yourself.

Then you change the channel and you become again the centre of your little universe…the ‘vedette’ of your life.  That’s what a lot of blogging is all about.  The narcissistic certainty that in the world there are people interested in your life – not because you are doing anything grand.  Not because you are making that much of a difference, but because you are you.  My Mommy always told me I was special.  Granny always said I was a star.  I twinkle just as bright as the real ones don’t I? 

I thought when I started this that I would use it as a journal…I’ve written sporadically in journals all my life – why not try a new media?  But I realized quickly that I don’t have the chutzpah to reveal myself for the world to see.  So I write under a made up name, I talk superficially about my life – I try not to to reveal too much about myself, even though I overflow at times.  Not a very good journal I’m afraid.

I have enjoyed the connections made with others, however few.  The comments make me smile, some make me laugh, others make me feel grateful for our ability to connect with each other no matter the medium.  When I was young I wrote letters to people.  I still have a box full of them… leftovers from childhood and a different time.  Can all of you out there in the ether read my typing as well as you would my handwriting?  What can you tell about me?  What have I revealed to you? 


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