Tomorrow, Scarlett

To paraphrase Abe Lincoln, I can please some of the people all of the time.  I may please all of the people some of the time.  I cannot please all of the people all of the time.  Personally, I am pleased that anyone reads this journal at all.

I said in the beginning that the purpose was to share day-to-day farm life.  I realize that what I find fascinating or amusing may not be others' cup of tea.  My mother would have said, "Eeuw," at any reference to mice, but I get queries from some people who worry about those babies.  Some might say, "Oh, no, not another photo of a sunset." There are days here when not much has happened of interest to me or anyone else.  Those are the days when I might stumble down memory lane.  Having lived a long life, my memory bank is a full storehouse.  FDR was the only president I knew when I was a kid, and a lot of history has gone under my bridge.  Readers are a kind of captive audience so I can wander around at will in my writing and wait for the comments later.

Living here on the farm with the animals has given me an appreciation of life and an acceptance of the end of life.  It happens.  Writing this journal makes me look at every day and think, really think, about the things that have given me joy (dusting isn't one of them).  I do not live in a Pollyanna world.  I have worries and concerns, anger and angst like anyone else.  I just don't dwell on them.  (Okay, I'm still fussing about the change to Daylight Savings Time, but I'll get over it.)

I thank everyone who takes time to give me a comment about the journal, be they family or friends, positive or negative, in person or on the blog.  Writers like to know they are being read.

In the meantime, the rising sun is putting a pink glow in the sky.  The bright yellow forsythia is in full blossom just outside the window, pulling my eyes away from the computer.  Clay will be here this morning.  Scarlett O'Hara might say tomorrow is another day.  I'm looking forward to today!  I'll write about it tomorrow.