tad tired thursday post

Common sense says that one shouldn't feel any pressure or obligation with posting something clever, read- and see-worthy every day because of this blogs-of-note-matter - but as most of us know, sense isn't always common. Far from.

I'm still quite overwhelmed with the lovely comments you've taken your time and thought to leave, so so appreciated. Very much. I've even gotten teary over some of them, the serious sweetness is just... lovely and uplifting. I am planning to take time to at least begin working my way through them and reply/blogvisit you kind people come weekend, yes I do.

But since today has been quite a hectic day - of day time matters, which, as things annoyingly are, aren't nearly as pleasing as evening time matters. But that's another blogpost, which granted have been written with tad different words too many times already... - I'll just keep it reasonably short and answer a few questions from newcomer readers.

:: Yes I do take all the pictures in this blog myself. (On a very rare occasion some years ago I posted photos from a friend, just because she was there where there were kittens and I wasn't, quite obviously I had to post her photos then.)

I'm very much not interested in the more technical aspect of photography, I'm going with my gut feeling. Every time. My attitude towards the art of photography is like with life in general, I'm uninterested in people who try to outdo eachother with their supposed insights and know-it-all attitudes. It's just not very flattering and personally I don't find it confidence-inspiring. I want true passion, teamed up with a sense of I'm-knowledgeable-and-confident-but-I-don't-need-to-flaunt-it. I want heart.

:: The loaf dog extraordinaire's name is Malte and he's a Norfolk terrier. The bouncy, cuddly, super-friendly, stubborn (with a heart), energetic kind of terrier. And cat herder. But mostly a kind such of course. He came into my life (planned) as a puppy, at a low-water-mark-in-life and was such a great help, in all his demanding loafie ways. He turned seven years old last summer, we had a rather awesome birthday do then. Snow becomes him, he loves squeaker toys and greenies, he's an eager walker and a terribly good swimmer. Kind of not to the latter, but an awfully cute one.

See, this is what often happens to the "I'm just going to keep it short"-posts. Mind wanders, lotsa sidetracks, post flourish. By reading I suppose one wouldn't know this really is the tad tired Thursday post.