Normally, when panhandling for website donations, I post an attractive picture (a window decked with geraniums, a field of poppies, a stone cabanon). Looking at today's photo, I notice the pan is smudged with fingerprints and should have been polished before the snapshot was taken, haphazardly.
Before the last-minute photo was shot, I could be found at my desk, canceling all of the automatically scheduled donations to my blog....
Well, now how dumb is that? The thought did cross my mind, but I brushed it aside.
And when the 45 readers who'd signed up in 2009 for a scheduled yearly donation to my word journal--when they began emailing, moments after the cancellation--I wondered once again. Well, how dumb was I?
Now I'm busy emailing everyone back, with this explanation:
Hello Cate (and Roger and Sandy and Lee and Denise....)
* * *
I hope I have made the right decision. I must have--for it comes as a relief to have released certain readers from what could have felt like an obligation.
As for the photo: those sweet petits pois are a gift from my neighbor, Annie. Despite horrible back pain, she planted a beautiful potager this year. And the muguet de mai, or lily of the valley, is from Aunt Geneviève, who offered an additional potted version: "You can plant it in your garden," she said. "It will spread into a carpet of little white bells!" Now there's a lovely thought or two--a little more poetic than my rattling tip jar.
A Message from Kristi: Ongoing support from readers like you keeps me writing and publishing this free language journal week after week. If you find value in this website and would like to keep it going strong, I kindly ask for your support by making a donation today. Thank you very much for being a part of this community and helping me to maintain this site and its newsletter.
Ways to contribute:
1. Paypal or credit card
2. Zelle®, an easy way to donate and there are no transaction fees.
Or purchase my book for a friend and so help them discover this free weekly journal.
For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a Sobriety