Minie ball divot in brick wall of outbuilding at The Carter House – Battle of Franklin
I found this list of favorite things on another blog and immediately decided to get my own Von Trapp on, minus the rain, the upholstery lederhosen and Nazi boyfriend. So, these are a few of my favorite things…
“Further On Up The Road” cover (technically) by Johnny Cash
subtlety in home decor
a picture of my nephew playing his homemade didgeridoo
the idea of the Baker Street Irregulars, but maybe not the Baker Street Irregulars themselves…I’ll let you know
horizontal lines (except in fashion)
that Swype is a Browncoat poser (it knew Jayne Cobb, but went with brickbat on Browncoat)
I find the introductory post to be cliché, boring, and the least indicative of who a person truly is as a communicator. It’s reserved for the blogging ideals and goals, which are never completely achieved as they are so carefully outlined in that inaugural post. It’s filled with promises of timely, regular and insightful opinions that are at first occasionally broken, and then as interest ebbs, those same earnest promises drift into internet oblivion.
Sometimes good intentions are enough. Creativity flows, so you start a blog and you share life as it’s lived or as you think or wish it would be. And then creativity wanes. But there is now an eternal snapshot of your mind at that moment in time. It’s what you could or wanted or allowed yourself to give. It’s enough. You’ve now contributed to the global community, where someone else hasn’t.
Use this post not as your introduction to me, but as a welcome to my creative snapshot in time. As an invitation to secretly observe or loudly participate in my mostly contradictory and occasionally coherent contribution.
I’m choosing to leave these first four paragraphs as I wrote them a few days ago, as it so seamlessly represents me and the blog. In a true indication of my stumbling contradictions, I leave them as snobby, pretentious and, yet, oddly open-minded as they were. You should know that the cringe etched between your eyebrows as you weed through the ostentatious mess is only deeper between mine. But due to laziness and the knowledge that my opinions may eventually revolve back to the original pompous prose, I leave them.