Explain why you chose your blog’s title and what it means to you.
I was going to show a self portrait, but I really don’t want to show off about my good looks, my wonderful individual nose (in size) and my blue eyes, people might get jealous, so I decided to show a freshly opened rose from my garden. This is symbolic showing my morning and afternoon beauty when I awake from my golden oldie sleep.
I am an Anglo, a Brit, that travelled to Switzerland, met the man of my Swiss life and became in the true sense of the word Angloswiss. My Chronicles were an idea implanted by my blogger friend Mitch from my Multiply days, and now in Blogger, talking about the stories of my felines as Cat Chronicles. Chronicles is a good description of what I am doing here, the problem being that since the end of last year I seem to be doing it all for the second time, but who am I to complain, better safe than sorry.
Wikipedia tells me
“A chronicle (Latin: chronica, from Greek χρονικά, from χρόνος, chronos, “time”) is a historical account of facts and events ranged in chronological order, as in a time line. Typically, equal weight is given for historically important events and local events, the purpose being the recording of events that occurred, seen from the perspective of the chronicler. This is in contrast to a narrative or history, which sets selected events in a meaningful interpretive context and excludes those the author does not see as important.”
and so you are getting all the histerical (sorry naturally historical) facts of my life, the problem being that lately nothing much is actually happening. My blog has not been recognised for its true value, a distinguishing mark in the life of a blogger that has many times been cheated out of its just Pulitzer prize. My natural talent has not yet been recognised.
Who am I to complain? I return daily to this computer page and write of my experiences in life. Today I cooked a veal ragout in a cream sauce garnished with diced bacon for lunch with saffron noodles and my family survived. I ironed my bed linen that I washed yesterday and hoovered through my appartment. What devastating deeds I accomplished. I eventually wiped the sweat from my brow and tumbled into a welcome chair to recover from these efforts, reading further in my book of the day/week/month according to how quickly I read.
Now and again I peep into Facebook but nothing new there. It seems almost everyone is talking about father’s day and showing photos of their dad. Probably WordPress has not marked this on their calendar of special blogging events. I will definitely not mark this on my Facebook page as I am only there to belong, to be one of the many. After all if you are not a member of the Facebook groupies you are nothing, and your computer is a machine without a purpose. Anyhow, here is a picture of dad who will be 100 years old on 24th September.
I was probably around 16 years old at the time, dressed to kill, although you don’t find much to kill when you are taller than anything worth killing and wear high heels into the bargain. It was taken on a summer holiday when we were going out for the evening. Me, mum and dad – yes we were a tall family. All being well I will be visiting dad in London on his birthday this year.