I am quite prolific on Facebook as many of my friends know. I like it. I regard it as a bit of fun. And it comes in handy to let friends and family know what I am up to whether I am travelling or not.
I always have a bit of laugh to myself about those who announce they are not on Facebook anymore, like it’s some sort of liberating moment, seemingly intimating that the rest of us are just followers not able to make up our own minds about how we conduct our own online lives.
Blah to them I say. I have Facebook friends who hardly ever use it. They don’t feel the need to delete their profile or make big announcements about it if they do. And of course, you can lock your page up with security features so you can manage who actually sees your content. Or you can just scroll without ever contributing, keeping up with whoever you may as many who I am friends with do. It’s just a form of communication.
It can also be very melancholy. The memories section that is posted every day is starting to stretch back quite a few years for me. Eighteen actually. I’m surprised I have been using Facebook for so long.
On this day last year, I had made a post about how I had spent the previous day. I had been up early. Linda had chemotherapy and we spent seven hours at the cancer centre where she was receiving her treatment. I remember the day. Some of her markers weren’t quite where they should be, and we had to wait before they commenced treatment. They seemed to forget her and so I called a nurse over to remind her we were still there. Seven hours makes for a long day, and Linda got through it quite well, but I was smashed which was what I was admitting in my post.
They were stressful days that we knew weren’t going to last forever.
I look back on that day and wonder where the time has gone. She was living the last months of her life.
Another photo memory that popped up today was from two years ago. Linda and I took our last road trip. She is in the photograph at the top of the page outside the post office in Urana.
We were on our way to Cobram for the night, via Wagga and Urana is on the route. You don’t actually go into the town as you continue on your way to Victoria and I had only ever kept going rather than perusing Urana itself. This time we decided to have a look.
Realistically, you aren’t missing much if you don’t take the right hand turn instead of the left. Urana is a small place although it has quite an expansive main street. A pub. A little store. Big town hall. A few residences. A few derelict buildings. Signs of better times long gone.
We called into the post office and Linda talked to the post mistress telling her of days at West Wyalong and times she had been this way.
Then a stroll through the little park commemorating those of the district who had answered the call in two world wars and those of them who had paid the ultimate sacrifice. And we were on our way again. A small day in our lives but one I am really happy to remember because of Facebook.
It’s funny how time slips away.
Life as I know it now continues with the same rhythm. A little sadder than I want it to be but I am getting by.
Thanks to the memories.
Until next time.
