Why did you start you blog? Is that will why you blog, or has your site gone in a different direction than you’d planned?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us BEGINNINGS.
When I was a kid, my dad would tease me with silly questions, one of which being “Why did the chicken cross the road?” I would study for ages to find an answer which was probably dad’s intention to keep me quiet. Eventually he would supply the answer “To get to the other side” as simple as that. So why did I start to blog. To write something of course.
I was a working woman most of my life, and as a side-line brought up a family. Some might call it multi-tasking, I just call(ed) it hard work, but it got into my system. One day I was retired. There was no-one to tell me what to do, when to do it, and give me a purpose in my life. The kids had long found that the word “mum” was redundant, only necessary combined with “Hotel Mama” or “Mum, what’s for dinner?” I was left to myself with a wage from the government(s), both British and Swiss called pension.
Free at last to do what you want to do: this was great, but what shall I do with all this free time? I was always a computer “freak”, Bill Gates had given me untold opportunities in my life. I no longer had to do anything, like completing export documents sending goods to other countries, I could choose what to do. It was then I discovered the word “blog” and believe it or not I did not have a clue what it was. I asked Mr. Swiss, but he was too busy uploading music onto his iPod.
I discovered it was something like writing compositions in school, but choose your own way to go. As I write this I seem to have a déjà vue. Have we had this prompt before?
Anyhow I began to blog, nothing fantastic, but something was missing. Perhaps it is a character thing, but I needed an audience. I love audiences, not to clap and praise, but life can be a lonely thing when you just do it on your own. If I cook one of my super hit suspicious menus at home, Mr. Swiss is there to clap, complain, or whatever. If he claps he has a happy Mrs. Angloswiss, if he complains I suppose the idea is to do it better the next time, but he is there to pass judgement and I am there to react.
I have been through a couple of hospital visits, no major operations to be entered into the Lancet as operation of the year. They did remove my twin sister about fifteen years ago (that took three operations). I seemed to have killed her when I was born. Anyhow she just stayed as a collection of cells in my back, to start complaining in my later life and start growing again, known as teratom. I asked the surgeon if that was something completely different, but he found it now and again happens. If Stephen King had not got there before me, I could have written a book, something like The_Dark_Half. Back to the audience, I never stayed in a hospital in a private ward, I love people around me to share every tablet, every infusion, every injection that I received. Apart from that life in a hospital bed is not boring when you have someone to talk to. Once I was in a room all to myself through circumstances. The nurse almost apologised when she said I would have to move to a general ward the next day (not more than 5-6 people in Swiss hospitals), but I was glad. It is really boring being on you own in a hospital: no-one to share the operational experience.
So back to blogging: I never had in intentions of being blogger of the year, but it is really an experience when you notice that someone gives you a click, a like, a pingback (which I still do not know how to do) or even suggest an award. I learned that if you give you receive in many ways in life. I used to be a blood donor, and when I had my big seven hour operation (to remove the twin I stifled at birth), I got a few pints returned. I used to do ancestry research, hoping to find I was a direct descendent from Queen Victoria of England. Unfortunately this was not the case, I got near to the French nobility, but my ancestors were Huguenots and they did not like them in France. Most of them found their end on the galleys, were thrown into the Seine, or had to escape from France. Such was my luck in life. On my way through my ancestors (no, Jack the Ripper was not one of them) I quickly discovered that you only receive results if you supply information. It is no good keeping secrets in genealogy, as it is then impossible to find your long lost famous and rich relations.
So there we have it, I love people, I like to keep myself occupied and there is nothing more boring than just writing about yourself, your felines, the spectacular events in your life, your achievements (where is the Pulitzer prize for blogging?) without someone to read it, to partake in your struggle for recognition in life.
“What did you say Mr. Swiss. I am overdoing it again.”
Ok, but at least I now know why the chicken crossed the road: To get to the other side? No: to give me a good start to this fantastic daily prompt blog.