The other day, my youngest daughter asked for the address to my blog. I assumed she wanted to start reading my thoughts, but it turns out she just wanted to study my "style" a bit - especially how I began Heartofginny.
An hour later, she came upstairs to repremanded me about not telling her a batch of our baby bunnies died. I was confused a moment because all our baby bunnies are alive and well.
Then I said, "Are you talking about those rabbits that died
two years ago? You couldn't have read that much of my blog. That happened a thousand pages ago!"
She rolled her eyes and said, "I wanted to see how you
started . . . Now, I see should have been reading all along." She gave me that "How could you," look.
Humm... I'm guessing I'll need to censor any delicate daughter commentary from now on.
The reason Neva was interested in heartofginny is, she's decided to start a blog of her own.
She's a natural.
I've always known she was a better writer than I. At eleven, she spends more time reading and writing than I seem able to stay focused for. She is a marvelous poet. I have drawers full of her stories and poems and they have a beautiful literary quality, along with a dash of riveting drama. Last year she won the school award for most advanced reader. This year she toped the charts again and is getting a trophy for "master reader" . It stands as tall as she is - I guess the size is supposed to symbolize her intellect or something.
Sometimes, she'll be sitting in a lawn chair or in the back seat of my car and she'll say, "Have a pen?"
I keep dozens of pens in my purse, as well as pads of paper everywhere because it seems I am always handing them over to her. I'll ask her why she wants it.
She'll shrug and say, "I have an idea for a poem. I wanted to write it down before I forget."
Me? I am never that organized. If I have any inkling of brilliance hidden inside, you can bet every touch of it has eeked away during those moments when I didn't have a pen and didn't botter to ask for one.
The other day she asked me if I had an empty notebook. I am forever giving her notepads and notebooks to house all her creative outpourings. As I handed her yet another notebook from my office, I asked what this one was for.
"I've been thinking about writing lyrics. I have songs in my head," she said. "I want to keep them together."
Later she sang her first original song for me. It was like her poetry, only with a melody. Fun.
I guess it's only natural Neva would feel compelled to start a blog for writing practice.
I'm thrilled. I'm her biggest fan. Besides, I wish everyone I loved had a blog so I had a puny dab of insight into what was rolling around in their heart and mind at any given time. I know a blog is a swiss cheese version of what's going on in a person's world. The fact is, no matter how badly you may want to be truthful and real, all writing is censored and slanted somewhat due to self-consciousness, a respect for others, a desire to protect yourself or avoid problems - something- but even so, a blog still offers an intimate glimpse of how the world impacts a person - it reveals the kind of things that touch them, or gives them pause, or makes them smile. A window into someone else's mind, even if it's made of frosted glass, is better than a wall.
So, with Neva's permission, I'm letting everyone know I'm not the only Hendry in the blogsphere.
www.nevathinks.blogspot.comCheck it out. (And she already figured out how to put a link to my blog on her page. Gee, even I can't figure out how to do that and I've b een at this for two years now.)
I guess some apples really don't fall far from the tree . . .
