At the rate things are going this blog will reach one million hits in the next week or so. I’m kind of impressed. Of course, some of the major blogs do that in a day or two. But I’m not one to fuss about what I have not achieved, although, come to think of it, I really did expect to have sold at least a million copies of my novels by this time in my life.
I appreciate the sentiment, noting Mick and co have sold over 70 million albums, making my million hits bloody paltry.
Love this photo of Mick. I have no idea who took it, and it’s all over the web. The papparazzi love turning him into a cartoon, which I suppose he is, in a way – but there’s still something there, that thing still burns. It’s got nothing to do with age. Mick’s got some other things I don’t have – four grandchildren. I’d happily settle for one or two.
Of course I’ve got a lot that Mick can’t have, like anonymity in a crowd and the ability to go pretty much wherever I want without being disturbed. I’m heading down to the South Island for a week in June, returning to Wanaka, one of the most amazing places on the planet any time of year. I prefer the off season, as the snow is just beginning – too early for ski madness. Clean, crisp, white.
The sun rises about 8.30 or so this time of year and sets by 5.00. I’ll be in heaven with all that lovely low light and the jewel tones it uses to paint the sky and water.
Right now, though, I am merely freezing my butt off. And it’s not even winter yet.
It’s becoming winter. Becoming colder. Becoming, always becoming. We are. It is.
Thinking back on when things WERE. They just were. How they were, When they were. They didn’t change.
Of course they did. I know it now. I must have known it then, but it was too much of a shock to believe.
If I stop and pause a second, I realise there is no becoming either. Becoming implies that you become, but to become is just a moment in becoming something else. Another step. Another moment. Another link in the chain that goes on and on and on.
Too many to count.
Like a million hits. A million times that someone has stopped to read something I wrote or study a photo I took.
There’s a label that fits on it nice and neat and tight. But there’s too much stuff in that box to get a handle on.
I guess I just wanted to say Thanks!
Thanks a million.