I went to a funeral this morning to stand with some of my treasured friends as they said goodbye to grandma. Grandma was 98 and had a room full of people there, loving her and loving the people who love her. Afterwards I was chatting to my friend’s son (10), who told me he didn’t realise his family was so big, or that I would be there. I explained to him that because I love him and his family, I’d be there for all the good stuff and the bad stuff and the in between stuff. He told me that he’d been made a prefect and as he burst with grief the cracks were healed with pride.
Tomorrow I’m heading to a blogger meet-and-greet thing here in Newcastle. It’s going to be interesting to meet other locals who do this. I introduced myself on the Newcastle bloggers page and said the usual stuff – who I am, what I write about, how often I post. There was some surprise with the frequency of how often I write. I had a think about it because their surprise has shocked me a bit. If you want to be a blogger, shouldn’t that involve some pretty regular blogging? I don’t get paid for this and I do it because I love it. But isn’t that part of the whole thing? Just writing and writing and maybe hitting a few people with your words and your thoughts, and every so often writing one that shits over all the others, and maybe people sharing a post that helped them or some chick-oriented publishing place emailing to ask if they can share it through their website, and trying for bigger and bigger things – but the reality is that I’ve been doing this for two and a half years and I still don’t get paid – but I do love it. So of course I blog regularly.
After that, the first of several Christmas dinners will hit. We’re bringing dessert and I have just made a Toblerone Cheesecake. It’s bloody spectacular and to make up for an embarrassing Christmas video I made and posted to Facebook, I texted my beloved to let her know I had made some mini ones for dessert tonight. Clever, hey. This is the cheesecake:
Another thing that happened to me this week was a phone call that really knocked me for six (by the way, that is the only cricket reference you will ever hear from me). The short version is that my integrity was called into question. It’s a hard thing to recover from, even when you know you’ve done nothing to justify the doubt. So I’ve decided that I won’t be rocked by it. I know the truth and I know who I am. And I also know that the people who rang had been very misled, by a flappy tongue connected to a vicious mind. A terrible combination, those last two. To be clear, I 100% know that the callers weren’t behind the doubting, not really. But it was still very shit.
When I started writing this blog, I put the title as “With Love”. Then I wrote all of this, and maybe it doesn’t fit anymore. But it does. Because I try to do stuff with love as the intention behind it. Which is, I suppose, why it does rock me when I am confronted by words or people who just don’t have that same intent.
Here’s our Christmas video, by the way. And beloved, before you get cross, remember the mini cheesecakes: