blogging and cars

It’s a beautiful February day in Maberga. I’m sitting on one our top terraces of land. This way, while I type I can also throw the lemon down the mountain for the dogs to retrieve. It’s a great deal for me and for the dogs.

(Obviously that photo is from my archives and not one taken at the moment I'm typing this. I just kind of thought a post without a photo is a little like Garfunkel without Simon)

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much I miss blogging regularly. I’ve really got a lot of positive feed back in the past couple of years from people who enjoy reading my ramblings. And that’s nice, but I must admit that I get as much, if not more out of doing it than you all do. Yeah, ok, it’s a nice way to keep family and friends up to date about what’s breaking in my old house (and maybe a knitted project or two). But for me, it’s more than that. It’s kind of like keeping a little diary of cartoons about where I am and what I’m doing. It’s a way to look, quite literally on a computer screen, at the absurdity and beauty of life. For me it’s a way to step back, gain a little perspective. Mostly, to laugh at myself.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this post. Maybe I just wanted to record this great morning that I’m having sitting in the February sun. Not so much for the record itself but for the process of being able to step back, and look at where I am and what I’m doing.

Maybe I’m also trying to apologize for my lack of attention to my blog. I don’t read many other people’s blogs but I do know that it is really disappointing to go to that link everyday and see the same stale old post for days (or weeks!) at a time. I will say there is a direct inverse correlation between the number of hours I put in on my day job and the number of posts that get written. Bloody day jobs.

Ok, enough of all of that….

David and I are looking for a new car. New to us, of course. We’ve already lost out on 3. We came very close to buying a BMW. Any of you who know David and me will find that hysterical. Ok, so it was 18 years old but it was still a BMW. I admit that I really wanted to buy it so I could write a really funny blog post about it. We didn’t buy it because it would have cost more to register it because of it’s engine size than we were paying for it. It seems that we just can’t afford the power that a BMW supplies. At this point I could wax metaphorical about money, speed, power, their relationship with quality of life, happiness, etc. but let’s just laugh at the thought of my driving an 18 year old BMW up the road to Maberga.

We are now on attempt number 4. Photos to follow if it really happens. It’s a Fiat 500.* Slightly less powerful than the BMW.

*No, Mike. It’s not one of those 500’s. It’s only 10 years old.