Milestones, Musicians, and Musings
And my parents said I'd amount to nothing. I sure proved them wrong! Aha. I kid, I kid. But really I'm proud, I know it's mostly down to my custom content as opposed to the words I write, but still who would have thought I'd have a blog in the simmersphere that could weather my storms of inactivity.
In other news Josh Groban is coming in April which is exciting. I hope to go, however none of my friends are into him, or rather none of them are ino him enough to fork out the hundreds of dollars it will cost to get tickets, accommodation, and flights to where he is playing. My friends' mothers however are keen so that might be a thing.
I've taken up letter writing. Just between the odd friend from out of town. It's only in its infancy at the moment but I remain postive as to its future. One of these friends quoted to me in a letter the words of Lord Byron (that's right, I have classy friends who quote Lord Byron [removes pocket watch from waistcoat pocket to check the time]). Anyway here is the quote:
“Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.”
A beautiful, though perhaps outdated notion. There's something so heartwarming about a hand written letter. Or perhaps that's just what years of period drama has conditioned me to think. (Downton Abbey Season 6. My body is ready). I'm in a sappy mood at the moment though. (Danny Boy on Spotify, no further explanation required).
My fiction stories come along at the snail's pace to which their author has limited them. Nothing much more to say on that front except that I still remain positive that I shall one day be favourite to win the Katherine Mansfield award only to be snubbed in favour of a more veteran author and continue to consider myself robbed until my dying breath.
I spent Friday volunteering down at a stall for the local cancer society. It was Daffodil Day, a day in New Zealand (spring flowers are out in NZ this time of year) for the raising of funds for the society. My sister was in charge of organising the stall, which raised some three thousand dollars. It was a nice way for me to get involved in my new community as I've only been in this town for three months. It's a lovely little town of about 4000 people, most of whom are farmers and live a million miles from the actual township. It's the sort of place where everyone knows everyone. Truly charming. Think Agatha Christie's Saint Mary Mead sans murder.
I'm in love with the slower pace my life has taken of late; letter writing, board games at the weekend, baking a cake for a sick neighbour. Don't be fooled though. I've still got one foot out the 21st century. But that part of my life has been stressing me out no end. Age 20 and I'm already prepared to pack it all in in favour of a more Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall life in a dinky cottage fifty miles from the nearest traffic light.
Anyway that's enough of my rambling. Good morning, Good day, Good evening and Good Night! Off to bed I go!