blog discomfort

A few days ago I was alerted to a blog that was eerily similar to mine.  It bothered me a great deal…like the kind of great deal that involves tears and ends with a discouraged me saying no more.  I logged on in the morning with the intent to say is it worth it? and blah blah blah.  I’ve been acquainted with bloggers who become discouraged because of this.  It makes me sad to see their once personal and colorful blog become dull and distant.  I don’t want that to happen to mine. Instead I found myself writing about my past and posting it.

And then I woke up this morning saw a comment on my nostalgic childhood post from Lindsey in AL.   It says:

“Loved this! Was part of it posted somewhere else a few years ago? I could swear I've read the third paragraph before, seems like it was maybe a link from another blog or a guest post somewhere. Maybe it was even on an email list. Hmmm. Weird. This is not much like my childhood, but also totally like it.”

Perhaps I’m a little sensitive after what happened earlier this week but it is definitely strange to be at the other side of the copying accusation.  So first please let me say,

I would never use someone else’s words as my own.

Lindsey I know you have visited my blog on other occasions (I remember leaving you a comment about fat quarters vs remnants) and I have enjoyed yours several times, but please know even to hint that I would plagiarize someone upsets me very much.   Never would I even consider taking credit for someone else’s thoughtful and creative process.

Paragraph three (and all the others) in that post came straight from my own thoughts and memories of my childhood. I wrote it that afternoon in the quiet of my house while my son slept.

Nothing in that post is stolen or even fictitious for that matter…

me and most of my siblings with my grandparents.

Carl, look you are holding me…I dare you to try that now.

Many of my siblings read these words. 

As does my mother and aunt and uncle.

 

The views from our home in Connecticut.

Those growing up years were far from perfect but my brother and the land made them happier.

 

My brother Mike and my parents a few years ago. 

This is the only picture I have after 1975 with both my parents in it.

Mike’s duck Doris doing some plowing.  We brought her in the house when it was too cold. Because my mother is nice like that (unless she was in a fowl mood).

My sister Kathy and I love the ocean.  We are goofing on my brother’s motorbike the night before I moved away with my brand new husband.  When we left she chased our car down the road, it made me cry—the emotion not the acid wash shorts.

 Joe at home at the airport.

This is Joe all cleaned up.  He owned Pilgrim Airlines (someone emailed me this question).  They flew to the islands along the east coast from Groton/ New London.  I loved Joe, he’s gone now. He was good hearted even though he always called my husband an *&%hole…even sometimes during dinner.   Would you believe me if I said he meant well? Because really I think he did.

My brother holding a  bunch of nieces and nephews.  As a child he always said he didn’t want kids so we thought it was funny to pile our kids on him.

Each day of my life I am driven by my faith and my family.  It’s His gift to me to be a mother and everyday I pray for strength to raise my children into honest, caring adults that make a difference.

Writing on my blog helps me to find myself within a sea of others.  It’s a beautiful thing to share inspiration and lean on each other even though most of us haven’t met.  It makes a positive difference in my life.

I hope you don’t think of my reaction to your words as harsh.

As U2 sings,

“One Love, One Life…”

And I guess that’s pretty much how I feel.