I know; I don't blog for days then suddenly you can't stop me. Tonight I am at das Boot. I'll stay until Tuesday, maybe Wednesday if I have enough clean clothes. I've checked the number of contact lenses I have but not my socks.
Tonight when I stood watching the swans and geese in the adjoining field and MasterB sniffing at a lavender bush, content ed and relaxed until another boater called out to a friend and he slunk back to the pontoon and on board, I thought it was our little bit of heaven. Then a moment ago, Himself came and climbed on me, touched my nose with his, purred and then settle to look at the night and things I cannot see, and I realised that much as I love das Boot, it is just a boat unless MasterB is here; then we are captain and mate, happy in our little floating home for home.
I met up with Sophie Scott in London a few days ago. She's a fellow blogger who has rather fallen by the wayside. She first commented on my blog several years ago, maybe six or seven years, at this time of year, my birthday, and I read her words sitting where I am now, in the fore cabin of das Boot. She is one of several bloggers I have met, and probably the one who is most intimately acquainted with the tough time I was having for several years. Years when blogging took on a greater personal significance. Years when blogging and photography were means to achieve balance in my life.
I wonder, and wondered to Sophie, whether the reason I am not blogging so much, not interacting so much with other bloggers is because there is more balance in my life. Back then my site had hundreds of hits everyday; it felt good, a connection, a validation. A validation I needed as I was being bullied at work. Not fun. Now I don't know how many hits I have. When I look I am surprised how many people come and read even when I haven't posted for days, but it doesn't make me feel better or worse about myself.
However, when I don't blog I do miss the act of processing thoughts. Blogging has become a useful discipline in prodding ideas, turning rage or joy into words, sharing pictures, creating a record of what I was thinking when which I can look back at. That other people, be they few or many, read those thoughts gives me a connection I find miraculous. I never managed to keep a paper diary for long, I know that the comments people make here, the fact that people read my blog makes a difference. So thank you readers. I hope I deserve you and that you will stay with me, that sometimes things I say will resonate with you me that you will continue to comment and help me think harder, think differently. We need all the thinking and connections we can get right now.
Isobel (and Cat)'s Blog 
Good to hear the Sophie Scott is still providing counsel and encouragement. I’ve often considered the publicness of blogging as part of it’s therapeutic nature. Makes one wonder about the great diarists of the past – would the sharing aspect of their writing helped them through the despair or just added to the Narcissism?
Is the diary, on line or on paper, a monument to your self after the fact, a dialogue with oneself, or a group counseling session?
I am so impressed by how immediate and open the communication is in the identity cloaked world of cyberspace. And when one does meet in person, it is a sensation of having known someone for a very long time.
Your blog is a mix of all sorts of things I care about and in it you create a “character” that is you perhaps more or less. MasterB may have his own opinion about your portrayal of him. I enjoy the connections when ever they happen. Thank you for including me in your journey.
I think it can be very therapeutic in a number of different ways, it also makes me clarify thoughts that are jumbling and tumbling around my head; it helps me to articulate rage, joy, frustration, wonder, disbelief, amusement or whatever in a way that feels helpful to me. WordPress, with its emphasis on numbers and building audiences, confuses me, makes me wonder if everyone else out there is mainly motivated by how many followers or comments they receive. It’s the reflection I value most, the chance to share a moment with others, to make connections with people I don’t know in parts of the world where I may never visit, but which underline our shared humanity, and ulitimately give hope.
You could always wash your socks every night, or even buy a new pair!
Good grief, such radical thinking!
I will always read your blogs, Isobel. I may not catch up with you for weeks on end but I always aim to get back to you, as I do with other good friends.
Lovely to hear you are still in touch with Sophie, although your “fallen by the wayside” phrase made my brain conjure a hilariously inappropriate Hogarthian scene. Sorry Sophie! 🙂
“…we are captain and mate, happy in our little floating home for home.” Perfick, as Pops Larkin would have said. 🙂
Thanks Jan, you are of course a blogger I have not met but do regard as a friend. One day we may meet. As for Sophie, well what can I say? A sad descent… 🙂
😄 Gin, I find, is terribly palatable… 😂
Quite.