Facebook Failure

What’s a Facebook failure you might ask? If there were a picture of me somewhere on this website, you’d be looking at it. I started with Facebook some years back at the behest of my publisher. You know, need to make those social media contacts, after all, and toot your own horn about your “accomplishments”. Only I wasn’t really sure how to make those contacts or what to do once I had. Somehow, though, it happened (thanks to my daughter-in-law) and Facebook friends started to “appear”, as well as the friends I had from my real life, and family members, and oh, jeez, a whole world!

And still I struggled to keep that contact. Really? you say. How’s that? What did you think when you went onto your page and saw all the info and posts and everything? What did you even DO when you saw all that stuff?

Well, for the longest time, almost nothing.

Recently, however, thanks to the pandemic (is there anything we can thank for this world-changing crisis?—no, no, we can’t—except perhaps, the increased motivation to communicate and let people know we care) I started to check Facebook more frequently to see how my rather large extended family was doing, as well as my more immediate family because, you know, sometimes we (I) don’t keep in touch as often as we (I) should. I started “liking” posts, or (gasp) responding to them with an actual comment. Even though I continued to feel like the Facebook introvert for the most part, I did get a sense of connection I sorely needed.

However, the other day I was asked to make a post “sharable” (yes, I had made one of those few and far between posts) and I was flummoxed. I had no idea, none whatsoever. I wasn’t even sure how to find the referenced post, as it had completely disappeared in the onslaught of new posts being made by friends and family. (Timeline? What the heck is that?) The whole Facebook-Failure tag reared its ugly head once more.  

So I asked questions—on the phone, in a live conversation. My middle son, Michael, pointed me in the right direction. It was a matter of clicking on three little dots to the right of the post, which I had managed against all expectation to finally locate, and picking the correct choice (make public or something like that—only a couple days have passed and I’ve already forgotten, although now I know I can easily remind myself by reading this blog…maybe) and voila!

Facebook failure a thing of the past!

Until next time, that is. Because I really don’t know what I’m doing…

Visiting old friends

I grew up in Dover, Delaware, a town that has expanded to the point of confusion for someone like me, who no longer lives there and upon her return is easily confused by the spread of a once small community. Thank goodness I had Kim directing me.

Today, Kim and I had lunch at Grotto’s Pizza in Dover. Many years ago my first job beyond babysitting was at the Grotto’s in Rehoboth. The pizza is still the best and brings back its own memories. Once we had eaten, a drive around Dover was in order, visiting the site of our old high school, since torn down for the construction of the new (which we also stopped to see). Next was a pause at Dairy Queen for cones, followed by a trip to the middle school we both attended, and thence a ride along State Street to the Green, where people in period costumes had just finished some presentation we had missed. We watched from the car, though, as a group of dancers performed to an amazing drumbeat, whirling and chanting, and applauded them from the open windows when they had finished. The next stop was Old Christ Church.

Old Christ Church Dover DE
Old Christ Church, Dover DE

 

Old Christ Church in Dover is on the U.S. National Register of Historic Places. The church was originally built in 1734 and remodeled in the mid and late 1800’s. The center of Dover retains the constant of its 18th century heart. It’s like Williamsburg (another place I love) Church yardin miniature, but the buildings stand where they were originally erected, and have not been placed in historic illustration of the past, as a place of learning for tourists and students. But, like the design of Williamsburg, there is much to be discovered in and around Dover of our country’s beginnings. On the Green, I can sense history going back through the centuries and my connection is as strong as it ever was, first appreciated as long ago as the day Kim and I met, when I was in the second grade and she in the third.

Today it seemed I was not just visiting with my oldest friend, but that we were spending time with another. I have been experiencing a certain absence of roots in my life, but when I am in Dover I realize they still exist, quietly, stretching back through the years of my existence and beyond.