At least, I'm not tagging anyone

First primrose of spring.

I'm going to be really lazy. I spent a good part of yesterday and the night before on Facebook, writing, posting, reading, and commenting on a meme that's going around.

Now I'm posted out.

So, I'm going to paste my Facebook note here, and call it a day.

It's the "25 things about you" meme. More than we usually do in our blog memes, and since it came to me via family, it was a bit more personal and in depth than usual.

I'm being dilatory because I am chicken.

Here goes:

"1. I'm a sucker for these memes. But I never think I have anything to say.

2. And then I say it, at length. I "talk" too much.

3. I am astounded, amazed, humbled by my kids and grandkids. So brilliant, clear-eyed, talented, beautiful, decent, ... When I grow up, I want to be just like them.

4. I haven't grown up yet.

5. I'm a people-watcher. I find them, all kinds of people, endlessly fascinating. I have learned a lot, just seeing what they do, and how they go about it.

6. I like bugs, and all kinds of tiny beasties. I have a spider living in a jar in the living room and I feed it fruit flies that I breed in another jar. When I was a kid, I used to dream of being a researcher into diseases and their insect vectors, then in University, my favourite course was Microbiology. Too bad I never was able to finish.

7. I read all the time. (That's cheating. Everybody who knows me, knows that.) These days, it's mostly blogs, biology, historical mystery fiction (Ellis Peters, for example), some sci-fi. Donald Westlake just died a few weeks ago, and I've been re-reading all of his books that I still have. (That's crime capers, mostly humorous, other fiction, and "Kahawa", historical fiction.)

8. Only 8 so far? On we go ... Deep down, I'm terrified of people, especially people I know well. Strangers are ok; if they think I'm weird, so what? But with people I know, it's different. I care what they think. But I force myself to ignore the fear. It's irrational, anyhow; if I hide from people, then all they will know is the mask, not me.

9. I only learned that last bit about 20 years ago.

10. I eat strange things. At strange hours. I make concoctions with chocolate and fake sugar, with oatmeal and powdered milk and coconut and other odds and ends, to substitute for the chocolate bars I don't dare eat because of what they do to my blood sugar levels. Some of my creations aren't all that good. Some are, though.

11. I never, ever buy anything on the phone. I never buy anything I see advertised on TV, at least until I've long forgotten that I saw it. I never buy anything I see on a billboard.

That saves me a lot of money.

12. Every place I have lived has been beautiful. I want to go back. I love the deserts, the ocean, the rain forest, the fjords, the Chilcotin, Bella Coola, Vancouver, Mexico, Oklahoma, even Texas.

The log cabin in Bella Coola was the best; I remember the smell of it, the old logs, the view out the window at the golden field across the way, the goats tap-dancing on the roof of my car. I remember the long drive up-valley, with every curve a new revelation.

But the cabin in Silverdale was the best. I loved the view out my front door; the deep valley and the mountains beyond, the silence except for the murmur of the trees, the loft, the beautiful slant-laid wood floor in the bedroom, the frogs in the pond.

Or the house on the shore of Nootka Island, with the creek running under my bedroom and the big double living room, with the oil lamps and the wood stoves, and the view out my window, boats, seagulls, the beach, and once a whale. ...

13. At this rate, I'll never get to 25.

14. I burn kettles. And pots. I get too involved in what I'm doing, and forget. And I'm always finding cold cups of coffee in the microwave.

15. But no, the house in Mexico City was the best. The thick adobe walls, built a hundred years previous, the tall, skinny doors, the balconies and ivy, the courtyards, the magnolia tree over the fountain... I want to go back. To them all.

16. I can't remember names of people I meet. I used to blame myself, and try harder. I've tried all sorts of mnemonics, I've tried repeating each name dozens of times. Nothing works. If I remember the name, I can't remember the face it goes with. (I remember one guy from when I was a teenager; a Mr. Wallace. The name was stored with a sentence: "What A Loud, Loud, Awful Cravat. Eek!" I have no idea what he looked like.)

17. Sometimes I can write poetry. Mostly, I can't. I don't know what turns on the poetry generator.

18. But I can always write doggerel. Bad doggerel.

19. I'm getting on in years, and my body is not as reliable as it used to be. But the days are still good, and the world is wonderful. I enjoy life, even when things hurt. And there's always something new to see, to learn, to record, to do.

20. To collect. I seem to attract oddities. Antiques and dried grass stems. Dishes and round stones. Saltshakers and seashells. Old wood and feathers, boxes, tins. I can't limit myself to one thing. Everything is so interesting!

21. I don't have a favourite music, singer, movie, artist, school of art, colour, food, or author. There are too many good ones, and my mood varies from day to day.

22. Today, Laurie was singing Bob Dylan. My favourite for today.

23. I don't have a TV. I don't miss it. I've discovered that most people who make the first statement, follow it up with the second.

24. I'm a bit of a geek. (Actually, I registered fairly high on the geekery scales when I took a couple of tests.) I like to know how and why things work, and be able to tweak them, so that they do what I want them to. And I think that the Web is the Real World. Laurie disagrees.

25. Whew! Last one. I give names to the squirrels that live in my back yard. And to my spiders. Not to the birds, though; there are too many of them. Those names, I usually remember. Go figure."

I added, on Facebook, a photo of Brownie, the spider. But she's been discussed here already. Instead, here's a bit of early spring colour:

Catkins

.