Friendship, to slightly misquote Lord Byron, is love without the wings attached.
It has to be worked at, but if dropped can be picked up again. It sticks around; true friends are there in the background of our lives. It's not fickle, doesn't depend on the vagaries of our hearts and is not thrust upon us by family ties.We choose our friends and they choose us.
But sometimes, we loose them. Sometimes our lives move on; we move away; we make new friends and only a chance happening - a place, or a sound, or a smell, will make us stop for a moment and wonder, "What is she doing now? How has his life turned out?" Usually, unless we make an effort, the answers are as elusive as the moments that made us think the questions and we skip back into our present lives. Maybe, there's a twinge of regret; a fleeting feeling of guilt that we didn't try harder - that something about our friendship wasn't strong enough for us to keep in touch. But still we look ahead, not back.
Then along comes a friend request, on a social media site and suddenly, a school friend is there, in photographs with a child; in a place she calls home and liking all the things she enjoys. You accept the request, say hello, comment occasionally on her posts and something that makes you feel warm inside is rekindled; you're suddenly grasping your past, remembering other friends, other places and you are telling your children about who you were and where you are from.
Social media sites are not perfect - I am not blindly defending them - but for finding old friends and keeping in touch with distant ones, or ones travelling through their own life-adventure, they definitely have a role. And for opening up windows into our past they are addictive, time wasting .... and have my very grateful thanks.
How to link a tale of old friends to a rather out of date one concerning photo-shoots? The out-of-datedness is entirely due to the considerable inconvenience of the hours and hours and hours of work I had to do this week - a case of touting around for a job; someone decides to upgrade their computer system to one that I unfortunately know how to cope with already; and suddenly instead of the manageable three or four sessions I normally do, I find myself with seven and we're eating ready meals: I'm sending children to school with dirty games kits, and completely failing to Walk the Dog (blog) or walk the dogs (exercise).
Old friends and photo-shoots?
Man's best friend, of course - specifically, Four-legged-friend and Bertie Baggins:
I thought I would add to my portfolio of dog pictures - in part, this was precipitated, early two weeks ago, by Four-legged-friend and Bertie Baggins being dropped. Dropped as in cast aside. Not from a height. They were no longer required as aspiring models; their dreams of lifetimes of free food and comfy beds dashed ... through no fault of their own. Their home - specifically, the utility room - was of insufficient proportion to fit the "long shots" required for their photo-shoot. No heated beds to try; no visiting dogs to chase; no photographer to menace (see Blog entry on 2.2.13); no fee to spend on treats/dog insurance/repairing photography equipment. Instead, lives destined to plod on into their doggy sunsets ... undisturbed and calm, with only myself and a few other besotted family members to pander to their we-want-attention-from-the-paparazzi wishes.
But their family paparazzi aren't professional photographers and for every photo like this
there are dozens of bottoms (my phone camera has a bi...i...i...ig delay between 'click' and 'take' photo)
smudged moving heads
half a dog
and (almost) no dog at all
And while I am on the subject of 'no dog at all' and reminded by the vile-din of my post title - my list of things to do (in addition to the mundane - conquer the Everest-sized pile of washing, that defies the laws of Physics and spontaneously regenerates every twelve hours; iron, iron, iron; and encourage Littlest to practise her piano scales) includes, designing a writer's website (I have started but not finished ... ho hum ... !), rewriting my submission letter (again! ... ho hum ... ) and playing the viola, which is a lot harder than I had anticipated - my brain appears to lack the capacity to remember the names of the notes as written down. And as for where they are on the viola ... ho and decidedly-tuneless hum!
What have any of those got to do with 'no dog at all' and vile-dins? You have probably guessed -
Bertie Baggins lying quietly on the once-upon-a-time-dining-but-now-music room floor:
and after I started to practise -
P.S. Bertie Baggins was called up to model after all - heated bed (not plugged in) and an electric-shocking collar (Nooooooooooooo! Hideous things! American!). And thanks to copious amounts of cheese, he ate neither photographer nor camera equipment.
It has to be worked at, but if dropped can be picked up again. It sticks around; true friends are there in the background of our lives. It's not fickle, doesn't depend on the vagaries of our hearts and is not thrust upon us by family ties.We choose our friends and they choose us.
But sometimes, we loose them. Sometimes our lives move on; we move away; we make new friends and only a chance happening - a place, or a sound, or a smell, will make us stop for a moment and wonder, "What is she doing now? How has his life turned out?" Usually, unless we make an effort, the answers are as elusive as the moments that made us think the questions and we skip back into our present lives. Maybe, there's a twinge of regret; a fleeting feeling of guilt that we didn't try harder - that something about our friendship wasn't strong enough for us to keep in touch. But still we look ahead, not back.
Then along comes a friend request, on a social media site and suddenly, a school friend is there, in photographs with a child; in a place she calls home and liking all the things she enjoys. You accept the request, say hello, comment occasionally on her posts and something that makes you feel warm inside is rekindled; you're suddenly grasping your past, remembering other friends, other places and you are telling your children about who you were and where you are from.
Social media sites are not perfect - I am not blindly defending them - but for finding old friends and keeping in touch with distant ones, or ones travelling through their own life-adventure, they definitely have a role. And for opening up windows into our past they are addictive, time wasting .... and have my very grateful thanks.
How to link a tale of old friends to a rather out of date one concerning photo-shoots? The out-of-datedness is entirely due to the considerable inconvenience of the hours and hours and hours of work I had to do this week - a case of touting around for a job; someone decides to upgrade their computer system to one that I unfortunately know how to cope with already; and suddenly instead of the manageable three or four sessions I normally do, I find myself with seven and we're eating ready meals: I'm sending children to school with dirty games kits, and completely failing to Walk the Dog (blog) or walk the dogs (exercise).
Old friends and photo-shoots?
Man's best friend, of course - specifically, Four-legged-friend and Bertie Baggins:
I thought I would add to my portfolio of dog pictures - in part, this was precipitated, early two weeks ago, by Four-legged-friend and Bertie Baggins being dropped. Dropped as in cast aside. Not from a height. They were no longer required as aspiring models; their dreams of lifetimes of free food and comfy beds dashed ... through no fault of their own. Their home - specifically, the utility room - was of insufficient proportion to fit the "long shots" required for their photo-shoot. No heated beds to try; no visiting dogs to chase; no photographer to menace (see Blog entry on 2.2.13); no fee to spend on treats/dog insurance/repairing photography equipment. Instead, lives destined to plod on into their doggy sunsets ... undisturbed and calm, with only myself and a few other besotted family members to pander to their we-want-attention-from-the-paparazzi wishes.
But their family paparazzi aren't professional photographers and for every photo like this
there are dozens of bottoms (my phone camera has a bi...i...i...ig delay between 'click' and 'take' photo)
smudged moving heads
half a dog
and (almost) no dog at all
And while I am on the subject of 'no dog at all' and reminded by the vile-din of my post title - my list of things to do (in addition to the mundane - conquer the Everest-sized pile of washing, that defies the laws of Physics and spontaneously regenerates every twelve hours; iron, iron, iron; and encourage Littlest to practise her piano scales) includes, designing a writer's website (I have started but not finished ... ho hum ... !), rewriting my submission letter (again! ... ho hum ... ) and playing the viola, which is a lot harder than I had anticipated - my brain appears to lack the capacity to remember the names of the notes as written down. And as for where they are on the viola ... ho and decidedly-tuneless hum!
What have any of those got to do with 'no dog at all' and vile-dins? You have probably guessed -
Bertie Baggins lying quietly on the once-upon-a-time-dining-but-now-music room floor:
and after I started to practise -
P.S. Bertie Baggins was called up to model after all - heated bed (not plugged in) and an electric-shocking collar (Nooooooooooooo! Hideous things! American!). And thanks to copious amounts of cheese, he ate neither photographer nor camera equipment.
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