Seems to me throughout history folk have yearned to leave some kind of mark behind for future generations to see. Scribbles and drawings are found in Australia caves, put there by the earliest settlers and dating back scores of thousands of years. Europe has its treasured cave drawings and in the ruins of Pompeii graffiti still remains on walls.
Who amongst us can honestly say they never once scratched their initials on a school desk, a church pew or on the bark of a tree?
Today we need no desk, note book or sheet of paper on which to leave our mark, instead we can post it on the net. I understand anything left on the net remains there forever, despite computers having delete buttons.
What a temptation to those of us who like to write, who are full of ideas, who wish to express our own prejudicial thoughts or leave a remnant of ourselves behind when we shake off this mortal coil.
So far I have crossed the dates off ninety one annual calendars. I know that’s nothing to skite about, there’s a lady in Sweden, aged 105 years, who still writes a daily blog. However, my granddaughter thinks its time I too had a try.
There’s always a problem when we start something new. Mine is. ‘What shall I write about?’
The media is full of President Trump, the Middle East tragedies, climate change, Brexit, refugees, right wingers in Europe, China’s expansion plans, the perils of plastic, excess rain and terrible droughts. Everyone can find an article that suits them either in the daily press or on Facebook.
So, what’s the point of putting in my pennyworth, as we used to say in the days of real money?
I was educated in Yorkshire in local council schools. In those days the law stated each and every school day must include half hour of Christian scripture, so I became conversant with Christian hymns and prayers from the age of five.
A verse in one hymn which made which made a big impression on me went like this:
Time like an ever rolling stream bears all its sons away
They lie forgotten like a dream lies at the break of day.
Each evening in a Returned Service Club, the words, Lest we forget, are recited.
Perhaps my blogs will make sure, that for a short time after I am gone, there will be those who read my words and smile. But not being an optimist by nature, its more likely they will shake their heads
and remark, ‘She never stopped talking in life and now she’s at it again from beyond the curtain.’