Yes I do. Today is the second day of my holidays proper, that is the second day I would have worked had I not been on rec leave. Somehow it's much sweeter than my usual long weekend. Yesterday I went to a morning tea that turned into lunch in beautiful gardens with some lovely lady bloggers. I had been totally mixed up about date wise. So on Sunday night, when I realised it was tomorrow, it was all OK because I was on holiday (and one of the days Grace attends childcare) and even though I had a mild laundry crisis and transient attack of the shys, it was all good.
As I approached the venue at the appointed time, I saw no-one I recognised immediately. Then Mary pointed her camera at me and I knew I was in the right place.Fairlie and Stacey were there already and Suse emerged from the caff and there were introductions all around. Stomper joined us later. As usual, meeting these women was excellent, the conversation went on and on. It was such a beautiful way to spend the first proper day of my holidays.
Three years ago (or thereabouts) when I popped through the rabbit hole and started blogging, I would never dreamed of how blithely I would go off to have coffee with women from the internet. But there's something about the reciprocity of blogging that makes it sit well with me. You already know whether you like the person you are about to meet. And if you are introduced to someone new by a fellow blogger friend, well it's a bit like meeting through mutual friends or at a party. And then you can go home and read their blog. Which is always a good thing. I'm trying to say something here which is not quite coming out how I mean it. Something to do with being a reader - there are many blogs that I read and don't comment on or interact with beyond reading, that's normal I think - or a writer. Part of this blogging caper for me was always meant to be about the writing. A way to record my life, kind of like a cross between the handwritten diary I used to keep and something more formal. I thought originally that writing a blog might mean that I would one day attempt fiction again. I prefer blogging as a form to fiction, but I don't regard it as proper writing in the same way. Perhaps that preference comes from a certain laziness or desire for instant audience. Mind you, twitter and facebook seem to make blogging look positively considered (nonetheless Twitter is a good excercise in brevity for me). Or maybe it's that old pragmatic thing of being able to fit blogging into the rest of my week. And yet it has taken on a life of it's own. How strange life is sometimes.