Facebook. I want to give it a stand alone par, but I can't. It doesn't deserve it. Call me old fashioned, but social networking sites will never take the place of real hand to hand combat in the traditional social interactive arenas.
For example, I'm off to the monthly Chamber of Commerce lunch in the next short while. I love it. I get to catch up with the local movers and shakers of the far far north, have a glass of lunch time wine and listen to inspirational speakers. My favourite time of the whole affair, is the half hour of drinks before the action begins. When the punters get to size each other up, jostling for position to catch the eye of the social pages photographer, or that little informal chat to our fair Mayor. For Miss Mich, she has her faithful Thai waiter on hand, giving him the nod to trot out extra glasses of bubbles as we exchange stories of Buddhas and the temples of the far far East.
What we are really talking about here, Dear hearts, is Communication. That's right. Capital letter. Capital idea.
The songbird and I were just discussing the very same this evening. In the last few days before she wings her way south to Melbourne, university and the local inner city music scene, she has sent the Italian artisan of the car panel a package. One of songs written because of, and for, his sweet self. Art and words and feelings and the viscera of her emotion. Laid bare. With passion. For him. Lucky boy.
My advice to her is that no matter what, the grand sweeping gesture of what she has sent him will stay with him and mark her apart from all others. It will mark him as well. It is not often we are the recipients of such romantic expressions. There ought to be more of it. It harks back to my list for 2010. Say what you mean and mean what you say. The songbird always has the last word...that is her nature.
So many ways to communicate, so little time. Miss Mich finds herself, sometimes calling the baby in the next room...calling on her mobile...God forbid she should get out of bed.
Post Secret. Miss Mich has shared this with you. I would like to open the forum here, invite you, Dear hearts, to share your secrets with me. Safe and sound. Send me your naughty thoughts. I am happy to get the ball rolling if it helps. But you must promise to play with me. How much fun will it be. Anonymous of course. You need not give your name. Those of you who send me comments can stay safe and sound and unknown except for said naughty thoughts.
Miss Mich's grandmother still sends letters. In the post. How quaint nest pas? On flowery stationery in a slow cursive hand that is so familiar and takes Miss Mich back to the verandah of the grand white house in Mosman overlooking Balmoral Beach. Memories of swimming with Weedy Seadragons and eating passionfruit ice cream. Playing in the shallows at the beach and watching Grandfather mow down the lines of daffodils on the terraces of the lawn. Understanding much later that he was mowing his regret at the memory of the gardener leaving him...
All communicating emotion, memories and experience.
Miss Mich is big on communication, obvi..And sharing. By sharing our experiences we realise we are not alone. We are not like that song of being slobs on a bus trying to find our way home...well we are in a sense, but No...The camaraderie of the human condition is that we are able to share. The good and the bad. Even if it is on Facebook.
Miss Mich leaves you with her naughty thought...She is pretty much up for anything the Libertine has in mind. Especially if it is in public. Especially if it involves her arse...
Enjoy and share your naughty thoughts.