Becca Rowan is a writer and the author of Life in General, a collection of essays about mid-life as experienced by an American woman in the 21st century. Becca loves creating connections by sharing stories on her popular blog.
Autumn is a second spring, and every leaf a flower. ~Albert Camus
I treated myself to this package of beautiful postcards bearing this splendid crimson leaf, a true autumnal flower.
I've been writing on them with my lovely fountain pen, copying snippets of verse about this favorite season.
If you love autumn and would like a word or two about it to flutter into your mailbox someday soon, send me your address (to beccasbookstack (at) gmail (dot) com) and one will come winging its way to you.
Yesterday was my husband's birthday, so I took him on a little trip in a time machine. After a long lunch (which included his favorite cocktail as a special treat) we spent the afternoon meandering around Greenfield Village. The streets were nearly empty, and we walked at our leisure across the green, through the covered bridge, past the Suwanee River boathouse, and around the chapel where we were married over 35 years ago. Jim had a long talk with one of the glassblowers in the craft area, and I learned that my husband has always been fascinated with that art form - who knew?
The streets were nearly empty so it was pleasant and even a bit surreal. The sky was
alternately overcast and sunny, so we felt either a cool shiver down our spines or a warm glow on our face. Occasionally a Model T would rumble past us or the train engine would belch and snort as it went around the bend.
Sitting on the patio at the Taste of History cafe, sipping hot coffee and sharing a chocolate chip cookie, it felt as if we'd stepped back in time, away from the stresses of work (his) and the pile of paperwork on the piano (mine). We'd wandered into a place where life seemed simpler and easier, where you might work an eight hour day, share dinner around the table with your family, spend the evening reading, taking a walk, visiting with friends, listening to the radio.
You all know how I fantasize about the Mitford way of life, the kind of slow paced lifestyle epitomized in Jan Karon's series novels set in that small town nestled in the foothills of North Carolina.
I had a taste of it yesterday afternoon, and it felt wonderful.
So I made a vow to return as often as I can before the snow flies, to soak up the serenity of a more peaceful time gone by.
How about you? Do you have a favorite place to go back in time?
A few days ago I wrote a post that included this sentence:
Change is the lifeblood of the digital age, and regular transfusions are mandatory.
The line referred to recent dramatic changes in the Facebook format, changes which caused an uproar in its community of followers. But there are some radical, if more subtle, changes in the blog world too and I've been observing them with keen interest.
Here's what I see:
When I started my blog in 2006, I quickly connected with a group of women who were writing about their lives, their art, their passions. Blogging was a way to explore and share new avenues of creative expression, whether that was writing, photography, poetry, crafts. It wasn't difficult to find a group of like minded people to learn from and share with. Memes were king in those days, and were a way of spreading the word about your blog to others with similar interests. Now Facebook and Twitter have usurped that function, allowing you to send links to blog posts over a far-reaching network of people.
My son, who has been blogging in one form or another since 2003, is in the process of "overhauling" his personal blog for the tenth time. As a corporate webmaster, he knows only too well the importance of keeping things fresh in the digital marketplace. Here at Becca's Byline, I just keep on doing what I do - writing about the intersection of life in general and my own in particular. I'm trying to take some pointers from the young folks. Shorter but more frequent posts seem to be the standard these days, an easy change to adopt. Months ago I purchased my domain name, but haven't been brave enough to switch to a self-hosted sight. I hope to make that happen soon.
Meanwhile, there are so many more opportunities opening up for people who are talented in local search optimization, people who can do local business marketing, or local search marketing.
It's a brave new world out there in cyberspace, and things are always happening to shake it up.
Not so different from life in general, is it?
How about you? Has blogging changed for you since you began? Do you have changes you'd like to make in the way you blog?
I love fall.
Love red and gold leaves sprinkled like "jimmies" over the lush green grass.
Love the crisp cool mornings that demand an extra cup of coffee after we come in from walking.
Love the long, dark evenings when I can stay home curled under a blanket watching new episodes of my favorite TV shows.
Love pulling on cozy warm sweaters and wrapping soft scarves around my neck.
Never mind the cold rain slicing through the sky this minute.
Never mind that fall means an end to flowers and leaves and picnics.
Never mind that winter will follow on the heels of this, my favorite season.
In just about eight weeks, smack dab in the middle of fall, our family will be gifted with new life.
And the season will never be the same.
I love fall.
It's after 6:30 in the evening and our beautiful fall morning has morphed into an evil dark and rainy night. I'm sitting here at my computer, surfing the internet, and waiting for my husband to come home from work.
If I had a dollar for all the hours I've spent waiting for this man during the past 38 years, I know I could retire to Newport Beach and live the high life.
I'm one of those pathologically prompt people - I arrive places way too early, just to make sure I'm not late. My dear husband, on the other hand, is not of that ilk. He waits as long as possible before getting ready to embark on any journey. Back in the early 1970's when we started dating, his scheduled arrival times were always "between" two numbers, usually within a 30 minute window.
"I'll pick you up between 7:00 and 7:30," he'd say when he called to arrange a date to dinner. "I'll be there between 8:00 and 8:15," he'd promise, when I asked him to drive me to school in the morning. So there I'd sit, all clean and shiny and ready to go.
And I'd wait.
And wait.
Finally, I'd hear the distinctive purr of his 1971 Mach One Mustang turning the corner. I'd dash to the mirror for a quick check of my hair, rush out the door, and run to the curb so I could jump in the car before he had a chance to turn into the driveway and waste more precious time.
After we were married and he started working, I waited even more. Seventy hour work weeks were not unusual for young automotive engineers, and he was one to make sure every "i" was dotted, and every "t" was crossed before he left the job site. I spent a lot of time peering out the window for a glimpse of his car turning down our street. Sometimes he could call and give me an estimated time of arrival, but mostly I was left to wait and wonder.
Fast forward 35 years, and I'm still waiting. Now at least, I get text messages with updated stats on ETA and drive time progress. I pass the waiting time with Facebook conversations and blog hopping. I get dinner into various stages of preparation, so that I can assemble it quickly when he finally arrives.
And when I hear the automatic garage door start to roll open, I run to the mirror and quickly check my hair.
It's a good thing he's still worth waiting for.
