I changed my mind. I got the jab

31 August 202131 August 2021 ~ Fiona ~ 4 Comments

Foreword

Health is a personal matter until it’s a matter of public health. Like when the world is in the grips of a pandemic as it is now. I would not normally (I don’t think) share the sordid details of my illnesses. I qualify that because I suffer, happily, from rude health. The rationale for what I’m about to share is also not to change anyone’s mind, but rather to share why I did. Your choice remains your choice; your beliefs, are yours, too. I respect both.

A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing

When talk of the vaccine started, last year, I was anxious and skeptical. Through the work that I’ve done over the years, and again last year, I’ve learned the lengths (and time) it takes to get medicines from development to market. Partly because of this, and also living in South Africa, where we have the highest infection rate in the world, I’ve tracked the thirty-plus year journey to develop a vaccine against the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV). Again, through my work, I’ve ~~been~~ ~~exposed~~ to had to work with the data.

Not enough information

I am not a scientist, but understanding the processes was enough to make me skeptical and scared that things – developing a vaccine – were being done in a rush. Mostly, I kept my own counsel. The Husband and I, both, at some point, said to ~~ourselves~~ each other:

Nope. I won’t get vaccinated, I’ll take my chances.

Like so many, that was before we knew, or knew of, people who had been afflicted, survived and/or worse still, died. That was also before there were known variants. A development that only surprised us in the rapidity with which changes are happening; all viruses mutate. That shocked us, as did the fact that with each mutation, this virus seems to get more vicious.

Besides anything, it was becoming increasingly evident that dying from, or living with, the long term effects of Covid disease didn’t bear thinking about. Two people in our local friendship circle, that we know of, have had the Delta variant, one after her first jab; both were very ill. The daughter of an acquaintance, remains fatigued. None of them wishes the disease on their worst enemies.

Paying attention to the news – some of it good

Like most people, I’ve paid more than passing attention to numbers and, as I mentioned, the vaccine “race”. More than that, though, are the ~~stories~~ reports of the extent to which this pandemic has stretched countries’ health systems: in South Africa, particularly in poor and under-resourced areas, as well as in other parts of the world.

More telling, though, is the fact that among the cohort of health workers who received the JnJ vaccine, and where there were breakthrough infections, only point zero five percent (0.05%) resulted in severe illness and death. The results are similar for those of us who have received the mandatory two doses of the Pfizer vaccine.

The work started donkeys years ago

For at least the last twenty years, there have been public service announcements exhorting the population, particularly over a particular age, and with co-morbities (now we all know what those are…) to get the flu jab. Influenza is also a member of the corona virus family. All the research that has gone into the vaccines for Covid-19 is built on this solid foundation. And then some. The research into messenger ribonucleic acid (mRNA) is not new, or confined to Covid.

People developing the vaccine

In this country, we are privileged and proud – well I am – to be home to some of the world’s leading public health academics. They are doing important work on the pandemic. One, Glenda Gray, whose name I remember from the early 1990s and early (and ongoing) work in HIV has not only helped to secure vaccines for South Africa’s health workers, but is a leading researcher in the JnJ trial. Another, and who, until recently, played a significant role in advising the South African government, is now a member of the World Health Organisation’s Science Council.

Their calm, reasoned discourse has had a profound impact. That and constantly adding to my little bit of knowledge:

I began to change my mind. I did.

Then the vaccine roll-out

Here, as in most countries, the vaccination programme was rolled out in a triaged way, beginning with anyone over 60. The initial timeframe, saw me getting vaccinated sometime in 2022. I, like so many South Africans were disheartened, especially those not a “special” group like mine workers, teachers, or…. However, that has changed and just in the last two weeks, anyone 18 years old and up can get vaccinated.

Putting my phobia behind me

I am both needle phobic and have a terror of most things medical. Thanks to a bad experience in childhood and a three-week hospital stint after a car accident in my early 20s. In early July, just a day or two ahead of The Husband’s scheduled appointment for his jab in Robertson, the window opened for the over fifties. We decided that I should go along for the ride.

The near empty Callie de Wet Sports Centre converted to a vaccination site. Virtually empty early in July 2021.

With so few people turning out, it was a quick and easy in and out. Despite my phobia, I got my first jab. My Instagram “report” is here.

Six weeks later, as even more vaccination sites had opened up, I was due for my second dose and was designated to go to the local clinic. We both went.

The McGregor Public Clinic overflowing (in a socially distanced way) with folk getting their second jabs. The queue for the “first jabbers” was outside in the sun.

With many more people, it took a little longer, but it was still a relatively speaking quick, easy and mostly painless experience. That IG report is here.

Side effects

Neither of us has had a reaction. Other than tenderness on the injection site and for me, the first time round, a pretty sore arm. My sister-in-law, a health worker, experienced fever and headache after the JnJ jab. Another friend, fatigue after her first Pfizer jab. Yet another had, what the doctors suspect was a minor stroke, on two occasions, and each time, about three weeks after each jab; happily, she’s now recovered. We, and they, all say, rather that than severe Covid or death.

A reprise

In less than ten months last year, between March and November, I wrote eleven pieces that had either this virus, the pandemic and the associated fallout as the central theme. There’s a full list of them here. By and large, my views, other than on vaccination, have not changed and the fallout continues. And will for some time to come.

Part of an experiment

I acknowledge that we are all part of a global ~~experiment~~ learning: scientifically and socially. We can rail against it, but unless one has real power, there’s not a lot we can do about it. That said, there is some logic and sensibility to many of the restrictions. So, we (have to) obey the curfews and stick with the non-pharmaceutical interventions, stay safe and go with a sensible flow.

Getting the jab does not mean life has gone, or will go back to normal, or that we can drop the masks and consort with strangers. We are still in the throes of a third wave. There’s talk of the fourth – potentially in December. Again, for hospitality and tourism, the timing could not be worse.

We are fortunate in our little bubble to have been somewhat insulated from the pandemic but, as we have learned, first hand, breakthrough infections do happen. What the jab does, is prevent one from getting really, really sick, needing ~~hospitalisation~~ to be sedated and intubated or dying. Equally significantly, if I do get Covid disease, I am less likely to spread it to those around me, near and dear (especially) and not so dear. The vaccination means that I will have a lower viral load so I will not transmit the virus as easily.

I would still rather not – get the virus, be ill or spread it.

Looking forward

I want the village – and the world – to resume its ~~normal~~ traditional activities; to dance in the street again and wave the old year good bye. Hell knows, we’ve all had some bad ones.

The annual village tradition of dancing in the streets on New Year’s Eve. It has not happened since 2019.

I want the economy to recover. I need to work again. I want young people to be able to live and let live. I want to be able to celebrate milestones and inconsequential birthdays. I want to do more than share virtual meals. I want to want to put up the Christmas tree. We want to be able, and have the inclination to, invite folk around to break bread or for a gathering in the garden. Just because. We. Can. Again.

Herd immunity

The people who know, tell us that 70% of the world’s population must be vaccinated before this virus will be conquered. This COVID-19 Vaccine 101 Card and which you are welcome to download and share, helped to firm up my decision about getting vaccinated. It’s easy to understand and includes references and sources of more, and ~~current~~ constantly updated, information.

Looking back through my ~~old~~ photographs of times that were happier and more carefree, I realise more than ever that I want that – happy and carefree – for all our futures, again.

Getting vaccinated takes me (and us) one step closer.

Final word

This is just my opinion based on my reading, listening and learning. I made an informed choice and have shared some of the links to the information that made me realise that just a little bit of knowledge was dangerous.

For even more information –

In South Africa, visit the Department of Health’s Covid portal and/or the National Institute for Communicable Diseases. For readers from other parts of the world, the Center for Disease Control and Johns Hopkins are useful starting points.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

- From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

- Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

- I also share my ~~occasional~~ Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

Grandparents, guides and mentors

22 August 202123 August 2021 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

I only ever knew one grandparent. It’s a partly a function of the era in which I grew up and partly because we literally lived continents apart.

: John and Mary Cameron, late 1950s or early 1960s

These are my Scottish grandparents. My father’s father, John Cameron, died before I was born. How long before? I haven’t a clue. Were my parents married at the time? I don’t know. Wee Granny, as we called her, because, I am told, she was a little lady, I met as an infant. I was baptised out of her home in Glasgow. I remember being told that she visited us in Bridlington in Yorkshire, after my sister was born.

Glasgow calling

I don’t remember a letter or Christmas card from her, but there will have been. I do have a vague memory of the telephone ringing – because in those days they did ring, and loudly, in an echoe-y hallway – in the wee hours of the night, and voices. It would have been around 1972. Midnight telephone calls – actually, calls after 8pm – were never good news.

At breakfast the following morning, Mum said, and before Dad got to the table – he always joined last – “Wee Granny died yesterday.”

“It” was never discussed although Wee Granny did get mentioned in conversation and reminiscences ~~from time to time~~ often.

The one I remember

Big Granny, on the other hand, so nicknamed because she was tall, I do remember. As a six year old, I remember an elegant and regal woman who smelled of talcum powder. She smoked cigarettes using a long, black holder.

Delia Stockford (nee Carrol), 1920-something

Big Granny was born in 1900, so we always knew her age.

Grandpa Stockford and his four daughters circa 1933.

Grandpa Stockford was killed in a shooting incident in a shooting range before the Second World War. Not long after that, all four children went down with Diphtheria. The youngest did not survive.

Big Granny came to South Africa once. For three months, I think. It was from late 1969 and into 1970. My clearest memories of that time is of Mum taking her a daily breakfast tray of black tea and toast. Which she only ever ate with butter. Plain toast and butter always make me think of her. Granny used to write me the odd letter when I was at boarding school. One I distinctly remember: she wrote to me about a beech tree in Kew, and which my father talked about, which had split down the middle and died. There was a drought in England.

I have also never forgotten the beech leaf pendant – a real leaf, dipped in gold, I think – which she always wore. Every day. I often wonder what happened to it. ~~I thought~~ It was beautiful.

After another midnight telephone phone call, Mum went to England in late 1979 because the end was nigh. It was the first time mother and daughter would see each other since that visit nine years before. It was also the first time Granny and her remaining daughters were under the same roof since the 1950s. And the last. She died in early 1980. She was 79 and I, just shy of 17.

Four more Grannies and Grandpas

Because my parents had emigrated, we had no extended family in Grahamstown where they eventually settled; let alone in South Africa. With two children under 18, there were two couples in their friendship circle who became surrogate grannies and grandpas. We were happily adopted and I have fond memories of Uncle Richie baking bread (my first memory of bread baking – he was a baker), and Auntie Dot baking the most amazing Madeira cake. The baker didn’t approve of all his wife’s baking methods, and it was often a source of much mirth.

Uncle Richie wasn’t around for my 21st birthday celebration, but Auntie Doris was. My cake was a Madeira. Her gift to me. At my request.

Auntie Doris, Mum and I at my 21st garden party

Also at my 21st birthday party was the couple who, had something happened to my parents before I reached that milestone, would have been my legal guardians. They were fellow Scots and my father and Uncle Jock had much in common. I remember Auntie Ella as the gentlest, sweetest soul I have ever met. She had wonderful rings which I constantly admired. With hindsight, I think she had always wanted a daughter. They had had only one child – a son. Auntie Ella, thanks to rheumatic fever, had a bad heart so one child was a miracle.

Auntie Ella and Uncle Jock at my 21st birthday garden party. That’s my dad lurking behind my right shoulder.

She allowed me to play with her hair. Something my mother never permitted. Ella’s hair was naturally wavy, and when I started playing with her hair, was developing a white wing above the widow’s peak on her forehead. When she died, in 1991, she left me the garnet gypsy ring I had admired most. The Husband who, sadly met neither of them, chose it as his wedding ring. Our home has a number of special things that came from their home and which help them to stay in my head and heart.

Party people

All four of those people loved a party. They loved dancing. Ella couldn’t but she played a mean piano and Jock drummed – on a cake tin with knitting needles if there wasn’t a drum available. They shamed my parents on to the dance floor for years. Both Auntie Ella and Auntie Doris gave this pre-teen more than one dancing lesson. They taught me the twist and the jive – pointing one’s toe, and wiggling the hips… Somewhere, there is was a photograph of this eleven year old dancing with Uncle Jock at a wedding. It’s still in my mind’s eye, my lemon yellow, large polka dot, long frock and my hair in pigtails and ribbons…

The mentors and friends

There are two people who shaped my thinking and, at different times, offered guidance, support and friendship that had a profound effect on my life. One, a former teacher who, like my mother, was called Ursula. She was my Standard 8 (year 10 teacher), and it was she who instilled in me my love of geography. When I returned, reluctantly, to do teaching practice at my old school, she took me under her wing. That I went on to get a distinction for one of those practical observations and a project in which I re-engineered the apartheid human geography school curriculum, is in large part, her “fault”.

Standard 8, Clarendon High School with Ursula van Harmelen. I am sitting third from the right. It was 1978.

I moved on and learned that she had turned to teaching teachers at my almer mater. We reconnected when my mother died: I’d literally run to the sanctuary of Ursula’s down to earth and irreverent and comforting home and person. I became a regular visitor when I had occasion to be at Rhodes University for work. I got to know her sister and now that Ursula is no longer with us, Mary and I (and I know some of Urs’s other former pupils) stay in touch. Yes, the Mary of the flatbreads.

Then there was Bill. Larger than life and who supported and mentored me as I became involved in community work and consulting. After he died, I paid tribute to him here. I could not do him justice here.

Last word: This was in part inspired by this contest. I suspect that because, as usual, I’ve deviated from the rules, this is not an eligible entry. That said, and as I always say, I don’t participate to win but rather because the topic makes me think. This one did. Thank you @galenkp.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

**Post script**
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

Original artwork: @artywink

I also share my ~~occasional~~ Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

What’s in a name?

12 July 202112 July 2021 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

What’s in a name? You may well ask.

My parents rarely, if ever actually called me “Fiona”, even though it was the name they chose for me. My father only ever used my given name if he was getting serious about something.

For years I loathed it.

Why?

Thank you for asking. But first:

They chose the name because it was not common – or so they thought. At the time, nearly sixty years ago, in England, it wasn’t. Common. Little did they know that some twelve to fifteen years later, in South Africa, I would be one of five Fionas. In the same class at school. Although they wanted to be different, they also tried to give me a family name: Mary. After both my grandmothers. They were thwarted. The registrar of births, some how, just left it off my birth certificate.

When I was baptised, and the minister was doing the, “I Christen thee…”, thing, he also forgot. For years, I lamented not having a middle name. It presented quite a challenge when I had to fill in ~~a million~~ forms when I applied for a visa for a trip to the United States. Not only that, online forms generally don’t like double-barreled last names (a comparatively more recent acquisition), so the solution was to use half of my last name as my middle name. That said, do not ever call me Mrs Brown. But that’s another story.

Plain

I remain plain old “Fiona” with a double-barreled last name, who, until I was five and a bit, only ever answered to “Fi”. It was a bit of a shock, going to “big” school and having to learn to answer to “Fiona”. I did and I have embraced it. Although didn’t realise how much until I discovered (only in the last year or so) that I resent it when someone I’ve just met, whether professionally or socially, instantly presumes to call me “Fi”. The dissuasion, depending on whom and how, ranges between gently diplomatic to acid and a direct, “You can call me Fiona.”

Which brings me to its real meaning.

For years, and I was under the impression that Fiona was the Scottish Gaelic equivalent of Flora which does actually mean flower. I’ll come back to this.

The photo below, of the plaque on our fridge, was a gift from my sister-in-law when she returned from a visit to Scotland.

Needless to say, my illusion of being a flower was shattered. “Fair”, though, I’ll take. As I approach the last part of my sixth decade, I hope I live up to it. I could do worse.

But that’s not all:

Back to Flora

Flora was the Roman goddess of flowers and in Scotland, the Anglicised version of the Gaelic “Fionn”. So, there is a tangential connection, but not quite as my childhood memories led me to believe. Perhaps it’s because the Flora we grew up with was a wonderful, madcap, legend of a woman. She drove an ancient Ford Anglia until well into her seventies, smoked like a chimney, was always in court shoes and lipstick. She constantly regaled with stories of how, with her double-jointed wrists, she delighted in upsetting first, her teachers and all through her life, people who irritated her. She’d fold her hands back so that it looked like she had no hands…

Flora was this twelve-year old’s heroine.

Favourites

Regular readers will know that I have a penchant for alliteration. That, only tangentially, has to do with the name I chose for this blog and the handle I use on various social media platforms. Its genesis dates back some nearly 30 years and to a time when I had no work, when I needed to find a way to both keep myself busy and earn. At least something. About the only confectionary I could then bake with any confidence was biscuits. So I made ~~a million~~ biscuits (cookies) for a little café in a village in the Eastern Cape. They were my favourites. Which is why I had developed the skill for baking them.

Fiona’s Favourites was born.

It was logical then, that when I started blogging – about food and recipes – also favourites – well, I just joined the dots.

It’s stuck and I’m in the process of adapting the label for my preserves by dropping the “s” so that it now reads “Fiona’s Favourite…” and it adorns all the preserves I sell, and my stall at the market.

Silver Flower

Recently, I’ve joined and play an active role in a crypto blogging community for folk who’re considered, like good cheese, best mature. None of us embraces the “old” or “elderly” appellations. I suspect none of us feels a day over 25. Blogpal, @lizelle, who started the group, and who incidentally also runs a BnB, coined the name “Silver Bloggers”. I rather like that: silver has a multitude of connotations.

One of the features of the platform on which the community lives, is that its members can choose another handle. Mine, you guessed it, is Silver Flower. It harks back to both what I originally believed Fiona to mean, my love of flowers and my Scottish roots.

The Husband and I, nearly 19 years ago, and when got a ~~middle~~ double-barreled last name

Both our Scottish roots and my love of flowers are evident here. The Husband and I on our wedding day: he in the kilt and the flowers in this buttonhole, the South African equivalent of Scottish heather, and which are also in my bouquet of indigenous blushing bride. I have loved blushing brides since I first saw a picture of them when I was about nine. When I met them in the flesh, so to speak, I wasn’t disappointed. That bouquet weighed about a ~~hundred~~ tons. I now realise that every bloom was probably grown at the top of the mountain above the village where we now live. High in the Sondereinde Mountains behind McGregor is one of the few places they’re cultivated and home to one of the biggest exporters of these flowers. At the time, it was also a conscious decision to marry (ha!) our heritage with our South African roots.

A last word

I do like it that in some cultures children are named for their parents, hopes and dreams for them. Or for the auspicious days on which they’re born. I know that each time I’ve named a~~n animal~~ feline child – after all, I am the Cats’ Mother – I’ve had my reasons for choosing their names. Those, possibly, are stories for another time – along with a few others.

There is so much in a name: love, loss, hopes, dreams and a life of being.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

- From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

- Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

- I also share my ~~occasional~~ Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

Dad’s Famous Tattie Scones

28 June 202128 June 2021 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

Other than beer, there were three things that my Dad cooked. One was stovies, another soda scones and the third, tattie scones. My mother claimed she couldn’t bake anything, let alone scones. Realistically though, neither of these scones were never baked – baking happens in the oven, right? Rather, they are cooked on a girdle (or as the other than Scottish call it, a griddle) and on the stove top.

I wish I knew what had happened to our girdle. I remember its arrival – some time in the early 1970s. Somewhere between my leaving Grahamstown at the beginning of 1986, and my parents’ departure from this world, the girdle disappeared. I never remember my mother using it. Only my father did, and it was always and only scones.

My Dad at 42. Photo: Grocott’s Mail, 1970

He didn’t make them often and it was generally on a Saturday or Sunday morning. Dad only ever used a recipe for the soda scones, but never for the potato scones, so until I consulted Google, I’d never seen one and I always make them by memory and from watching my Dad. He always made them when there was left over mashed potato. I am not a fan of mashed potatoes and even less of bubble and squeak but if they’re going to end up in scones, I’m in. That said, there are some dishes that work best with mash.

Like this leftover chicken dish – a winter favourite – that works best with mash. A couple of blog pals have suggested that I share how I plan meals – especially that I also plan for leftovers. Technically, that means, in my head, that they’re not leftovers at all! So, the idea’s on the ever-growing list and promises to keep.

Tattie Scones

Potato scones are really easy. Really.

Ingredients

Left over mashed potato

I leave the skins on the potatoes, so my mash is always a little rustic. Of course, mash is best with milk (or even yoghurt), butter and salt and a good grinding of black pepper.

The other ingredients are cake flour – about 150 – 250 ml and then extra for dusting the working surface and for the dry fry. Some recipes include baking powder. My Dad never did. I don’t. Perhaps I should.

What to do

Turn the mashed potato on to a generously floured surface and break it up and sprinkle more flour over it. Work the potato and flour to bring it all together to form a firm dough – add flour as you need (you see what I did… ) – until it comes together to form a light dough.

Then, roll it out to about a 1 cm thick on a floured surface.

Use a knife to cut the dough into triangles.

Heat a heavy pan and sprinkle with flour and dry fry the scones until they’re golden brown. Keep warm on paper towel while preparing the rest of the scones.

Serve warm with butter and toppings of choice. I prefer just butter and freshly ground black pepper. I generally do them for lunch and depending on the quantity, sometimes there’s soup or something else to fill the gap.

As easy as pie, and as delicious. A printable recipe is available here.

A last word or three

During last year’s hard lockdown, a friend started a Facebook group – What’s for dinner? I may have written about it in previous posts. The point is, I made these during that time and, as one did (because what else did we do?) I shared pics. More than one person asked for a recipe. I know I sent it to her. I thought I’d blogged about it. Clearly not. So perhaps I dreamt it all – along with a whole lot of other things during that very weird time.

I started this post last Sunday – Fathers’ Day. Kind of apt, I thought. As I finish it, and prepare it to post, there’s a strong possibility that we’ll be returning to some sort of harsher lockdown. I do hope that sanity prevails on the part of government and people. We cannot afford a shut down. We cannot afford for people not to be sensible and take the appropriate steps to stop the spread of this awful virus and its variants.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

- From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

- Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

- I also share my ~~occasional~~ Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

Embracing Silver, Gold and Onyx

14 June 202114 June 2021 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

I have been blogging since February 2014. That’s more than seven years, I now realise. It’s been an interesting journey that began, just focusing on food and recipes. Because of a chance remark on Facebook. It was not without trepidation that I registered on WordPress; it was at least a week, if not more, before my first post. Like with most first attempts, that’s a post best not revisited.

Learning

I have learned much, including about writing and taking pictures. That writing, when I’m into it, comes easily. I enjoy it and it can also be cathartic. I always knew the latter, but never felt confident enough to share it. That’s changing….

On the pictures, I’ve ~~learned some techniques~~ developed a lens. I’ve learned how to neaten and, to some extent, pretty up my photographs. I’ve learned that nothing is not a subject.

Something that, incidentally, applies to writing, too.

Grills on a window. Bespoke and beautiful.

Virtual communities

The pandemic, and the now ubiquitous existence, for many, of a life largely online, means that the concept of a virtual community is not entirely new. Anymore. I learned, back in 2014 that the blogosphere (as I learned to call it) is a microcosm of the world. It was a shock: I discovered trolls and bullies and which lead me to write my first piece about things other than food and fluff. I naively believed that all bloggers were nice people and had the interests of their peers at heart. That baptism of fire, if you will, and my own real life experience of bullying (about which I may still write), shaped my approach to the virtual world. It still does.

A fork* in the road

About four years ago, I joined a social blockchain and started crypto blogging.

*Yes, for my die hard blockchain readers, that pun was most definitely intended…

A social blockchain? Crypto blogging? What?

I’m so glad you asked!

It took me a while – like about a year – to work out what it is. I joined and fled for a while. Partly because I wasn’t in the “headspace” to make new friends, especially a new and foreign virtual space, let alone learning how to do basic mark down (coding). I was not in writing mode, either. Yes, writer’s block is a thing. Even if there is an endless supply of material.

Firstly, the social blockchain on which I play, is Hive. Secondly, because it’s a blockchain, you never lose your content, so you stake your claim to your intellectual property in perpetuity. It also means one thinks before one posts. Or should.

Thirdly, it has an underlying currency or token that can be bought, sold and, in my case, earned; hold it on the blockchain, cash it out or do a combination of all of these. I don’t even pretend to understand more than the principles, so you’ll find a more authoritative explanation here. For someone who doesn’t have any spare money lying around to invest in what many suggest is a dodgy world, I had nothing to lose, continuing to blog on this type of platform.

Hive, some in this new world space, suggest, is innovative and a disrupter.

Another driver behind my blogging

There’s another reason why I broadened my blogging purveiw. In addition to sharing recipes, and along with discovering that I enjoyed writing, it made sense to “monetise” it and potentially extend my capacity to earn. That is actually a very difficult thing to do. One needs to have both (a) voice(s) and a portfolio; one has to sell one’s self. Hard. Best of all, is finding one’s self in the right place at the right time. That last doesn’t happen often, so given the opportunity to build a portfolio, earn from writing what I like, without too much of the “sell”, and build a little nest egg was a no-brainer.

So how can one earn on a crypto social blockchain?

This is my still lay understanding of how things work.

The first thing to remember is that every action on the blockchain is a transaction that costs. One is allocated a certain number of (resource) credits that one “spends” on activities. Some of these activities, like blogging, commenting and voting, generate rewards. Saving the rewards from those activities builds one’s stash (wallet) and one’s status (power) on the blockchain. This is a summary from an old post (on the first iteration of this blockchain) of how to earn:

Create content (posts) and/or you curate by voting and commenting on posts.

These transactions come at a cost and with a return:

one earns and is rewarded in different proportions in three ways.

The first two are liquid and can be traded on and off the blockchain via exchanges:

Hive token

Hive Based Dollars (SBD) – these two can be used to buy

Hive tokens
Hive tokens left in the blockchain, are known as Hive Power which is also generated in the process. To “power Hive (and draw it) down, is in itself a process and subject to delays – rather like a call account. Part of the reasoning behind this is to build the big asset using little people investors like me.

And then there’s more –

I don’t have a cherry to put on top, so homemade Malva Pudding will have to do.

The more Hive one has, the greater the value of one’s votes (likes), and to add to ~~the complication~~, that, one gets rewarded for voting, sharing (re-blogging) posts on the blockchain, and by commenting on other people’s posts.

Silver Bloggers: “my” virtual community

I mentioned communities. The name, Hive, is apt. The activity on the blockchain and between people is analogous of those most social of insects, bees. Like a beehive, it also includes chambers or (sub)communities.

Communities began emerging, well, it doesn’t really matter when, but for me, I found them a challenge.

I don’t like to be boxed and pegged. I don’t relish being told what I may or may not think. I will agree to differ and respect different views. I am happy to be persuaded into a new way of thinking. With my eclectic range of interests and my penchant to warble on, I had difficulty finding a niche. I dabble, dip my toes and generally blunder about. I’ve made virtual friends (real ones) and developed a following (who would have thought?). There was no community in which I really felt “at home”.

It’s only in the last while, and since fellow South African, Lizelle, started a community that I’ve begun to feel more comfortable. Part of this is because of the interesting, international and eclectic bunch of people who subscribe. We are all over 40 (and most with a lot of tax, too), so we’ve been round a block (or five). It seems to be a kinder and more embracing space than some that I have encountered. I think it’s because life has knocked us all around a bit. The rough edges are softer – mostly. I speak for myself.

Embracing change, innovation and the inevitable

The folk in the Silver Bloggers community, like most of the world, are encountering change all the time. Many of us are at the cusp of significant life changes and approaching what some like to refer to as our autumn years. Whether we accept that or not, is neither here nor there, it’s often foisted upon us.

We’re not digital natives.

I like to think that our capacity for embracing crypto blogging on a social blockchain shows that those of us who grew up with actual telephones and lived (and mostly still do) without smart technology, prove that age is merely a number; silver hair is just genetics – or like blonde often is – from a bottle.

Speaking for myself

My future does not include retirement, not being busy and not earning. Besides the fact that not earning, right now, is not a choice, I enjoy what I do. Mostly. How I long, with thirty years’ life experience to “do” the twenty-somethings again. My head and my heart are willing. The rest, including the twenty-somethings, not so much.

So

The silver (gold and onyx) I embrace, are less about the changing colour of my hair than of the felines that rule our home. Starting with silver: Gandalf the Grey who likes to think he owns me.

Gandalf regularly embraces me and his foot and shoe fetish. Ahem…

The golden ginger: I have yet to physically cuddle Rambo, the ranging and still sort-of-feral tom cat that six months later, is embracing domesticity with aplomb. He’s not ventured on to a lap or a bed. Yet. We suspect it’s a matter of time.

Princess Pearli, the onyx and black pearl arrived in 2014. Her arrival coincides with the beginning of my blogging journey, including an early foray into humorous writing, and brings me to why I’ve warbled on.

A last few words

I admit that I have more than a passing involvement in the Silver Bloggers community: Lizelle invited me to join the leadership team. I accepted and it is a role I am relishing and in which I continue to learn. Every two weeks we announce a topic around which we encourage folk to create content. Anything goes – even tangential. I wanted to make that point and to mention two things –

I tend to keep Hive business on Hive, but there comes a time that the two connect, like now, so the second thing:
the crypto blogging social platform is no different from other parts of the blogosphere in terms of how people engage. I tend to think of it as a combination of WordPress (or any other blogging platform) and Facebook on steroids, without ads and a better return.

And

Depending on the crypto market, one earns something and/or builds an asset (that’s not financial advice, it’s merely part of my lived experience).
One gets more eyes – I have nearly a thousand followers on Hive, but fewer than 350 on WordPress – with the connected “other” social media.
One’s work never disappears into the ether – even if your web host does. I learned that the hard way and which is why my series about Pearli’s Pickles and other posts are no longer here.
As an aside: I am thinking about turning those (that are on the blockchain) into a “proper” series of stories…
If you think you’re too old to learn coding or markdown: you’re not. I have learned a lot – by osmosis. But now, four years down the line, you don’t have to because there are other interfaces with the blockchain that make it unnecessary.

I am learning that even if others think I’m ancient, I am most definitely not too old to be part of the innovative and constantly developing world of blockchain and crypto.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Post script

If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
- re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
- and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.
I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications. From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

I also share my ~~occasional~~ instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.