WED NES DAY

Valentine Postcards

When I was in 5^th grade I had a teacher, Mr Caponegro. I was always a great speller. For some reason I could not spell Wednesday. It drove me nuts. Till finally he said “Sharon Marie, WED NES DAY.” Just like that it was seared in my mind forever. I cannot help it but each time that I write it I hear his voice. I wonder how many times in life are we just missing a little of the secret sauce to get something done or accomplished? I was missing a S in Wednesday. It was not until someone brought that to my attention that I was able to figure that out. Do we reach out to others when something in life has us stuck? Or are we too afraid to let people in?

When it is something as concrete as spelling a word, it is easier I think. But when their answer might taint our view, do we hold back? Have we become people that let the others talk, so that we don’t have to explain why we feel the way we do? On Social Media, people just spill out whatever they want mostly with no concern over how that might make others feel. They have said their peace and so be it. In real life we would not do that to another. If you and I were friends, I would try to be empathetic to your point of view and maybe not say what I would say to others on a screen that is out in the universe.

Maybe that is it. We have lost the ability to be social. Although they call it Social Media, it is not social at all. I just don’t think that I want to be a part of that anymore. Friends and family don’t speak anymore they send a post, or tag you in one of theirs. It is cut and dry, no emotion. Unless, it is something that makes you cringe as you see your name tagged in it. I think of being bullied as a child even from my family, cousins, and friends and such. Now instead of them bullying me in person they are able to bully me in front of thousands. And no one stops them, no one says a thing. That is what Social Media has become.

I am on Social for the ideas for painting, writing, or things that are important to me like; cooking, nutrition and travel. The rest of it I could care less about. Instagram is my Pinterest on steroids. I stopped posting about my family, or places that I go, and such because the people that know me, have seen the pictures sent to their phone, email, snail mail, or in person at the last get together, when we SIT DOWN and speak to each other. Using a filter because I have had a bad hair day, or my skin is not perfect in or anything that makes me feel uncomfortable because someone that I may or may not know might see this picture is ludicrous. Instead I post a painting or a greeting card, with a link to my Substack and that is it. I also usually do a Story and not a Post or Reel. If you miss it, you miss it. If you see it, that is great.

I think of my grandchildren, and I am thankful that their parents do not believe in Social Media for personal use. They do not post pictures of their children, places that they go, or anything like that. They use Social for their businesses, period. It makes no sense to them to use it for anything else. If they take pictures or a video they send it directly to me.

I am hearing more and more friends of mine getting off of Social Media, and getting on to platforms like Substack so that they can engage with their audiences in authentic ways. This is the real me. I am not trying to be anyone else. I am not using a filter or having AI write my words. I am writing from my heart about issues that mean something to me. It is so good to open Substack and read what others are writing about, hearing it read aloud, or watching a video. It is calming, it is not intrusive, and it is informative. Some writings make me feel heard, or make me think, like a good book except in real time, something that just flowed out from someones heart minutes, or hours ago that I get to read because I want to read it.

I love to write, paint and cook. I am going to start with some recipes that have been in my family for generations written on scraps of paper with no directions. I want to bring these to life, tell you the stories of the people who showed me how to make them, and show you that food is love. We can make real foods, with real ingredients that can sustain us without spending days in the kitchen. Of course I will include recipes that have found my way on to my table through cookbooks, restaurants and friends. But with stories on how they came to be part of what I have cooked for myself and my family on a regular basis.

I hope you will continue to read what I write in the meantime while I get all of this together. It is a labor of love. I cannot wait to share it with you.

Sharon