Throwing Out Stuff

So I am throwing out 50 years of stuff. Some of it causes memories, most of it doesn't. It is amazing how much stuff I am throwing out. It is bizarre the memories that it causes.

One of the things I came across was an aniversary card from the ex. It was our 21st anniversary. She said that she planned on treating the coming year in a new way. She did, she had an affair. I guess that was differant. Felt differant.

While writing this, four people have interrupted me. They are all younger and staying with me. One is three years old, she only staying the night with her father who is visiting us. The cute little girl decided she would call me "Old Fart" the first time she met me. LOL. She calls her uncle that. It is her way of saying she feels safe around me. I like that.

She came up to my room and interrupted me to say thank you for getting her ice cream. I had been cleaning my room and she wanted to look around. She asked me how I shaved and asked me why I had a hairbrush when I had no hair. Her father grimaced when she asked me that. I thought it was great, she asked a truthful question. She saw the world for what it was, hasn't learned to lie yet. Hope she doesn't.

I showed her a picture I found of my family, when there was one, and my daughter. My daughter was about six in the picture, She is 21 and dating the little girl's father. I don't think she understood it was the same person. People change. I changed.

I do hope my writing amuses. It is nice to get things out and to write. I like writing, I like the freedom it gives me and it helps me to organize my thoughts. I think I am fairly good at it. In the end it is for the reader to decide. There is a French Director named Jean Cocteau. I never really cared for his movies; but, he is considered one of the greats. He said art can only be judged by the impact it has on the recipient. I agree.

Are blogs art? They can be, it is a matter of intent. My intent is multilayered. On occassion I write to be artful; but, not to create art. What than is my writing. Inconsistent.

Well, I did not do what I had intended. I did not write a melancholy piece on memories. Nope, not to be. Instead I had a bunch of young people interrupt me to request that I spend time with them. People in their 20s and as young as three want my company. Pretty good for an old fart. Be well.