David Gane brings so many things to the table that I do not.
David and I had a collaborative blog a while back. It was the Counios and Gane blog. Then Dave streamlined our website and we created a newsletter and have a Shopify store for our books here. Somewhere in there, the blog was no more. This made me sad. I loved the intimate, letter writing tone of the blog posts I was creating but I agreed that we needed to do something different. No regrets.
I made it a goal to try and start my own. Of course I needed Dave’s help setting it up. And, well here I am a year later with my own blog and my own story telling.
Recently Dave reminded me that he still had ALL THE POSTS from the Counios and Gane blog. Oh wow! I was so excited. I got brave and got my external hard drive fixed—and fortunately nothing was lost. So very grateful. Unfortunately there were some technical difficulties. Dave gave me one of his drives. There were more technical difficulties. I contemplated ceremoniously lighting something on fire but chose not to. And am I glad I didn’t.
Dave to the rescue
Tonight Dave did it again! With the part of his brain that I will never understand, he trouble shot the situation of how I was going to end up with all my old blog posts. And, shit damn, folks, he did it!!
Thanks to Dave I’ve got an archive to share and I’m thrilled.
I think many of us have had that situation where we are busy doing all sorts of things at home: cleaning, prepping supper, returning texts, dusting. The space is in general disarray. And in the middle of our doing we open a photo album or a shoe box and inside is a whole world from the past. We sit down with this mini time machine in our hands and muse at our personal history while surrounded by monster size dust bunnies, boxes, laundry.
That’s what happened to me. Well, not exactly. My space is pretty tidy. But, I did fall into the time machine, reading old posts that I love and remembering events around writing and my life.
It’s a good life.
I’m glad there’s some evidence of it.
Leave a Reply