I want to live in a Yurt. Sounds strange I know but for many years now I have wanted to live in a Yurt. My Yurt will be somewhere green with water nearby. Snow doesn't appeal to me as I grew up in California. I now have lizard blood and cannot function when it is under 60 degrees. Small bouts of snow might be nice however. I have never lived with snow but the few times I have experienced snowing I have enjoyed it.
My husband does not want to live in a Yurt. I cant really blame him . Living in a tent has little appeal when all the experience you have had is sleeping on the hard ground in a sleeping bag. But I don't want to live in a tent . I want to live in a Yurt. A beautiful Yurt with all of the conveniences of home. I want to step outside to crisp clear green-ness with cup of hot steaming coffee in hand. Breathe in the fresh dewy morn and watch the birds frolic in the water.
This happens to me every time I open the Yurt email. I always open the Yurt email. As I have an Internet business I am deluged with hundreds of emails. Most are never opened.Pages and pages of emails erased daily.Doomed to premature destruction ,never to see the light of day. Not my Yurt emails. That word just always seem to pop off the page. Its a cool word and part of me wonders if I don't really want to live in a Yurt but just like the word.Nah I want to live in a Yurt.
The Yurt folk have a wonderful email .Regularly they send me Yurt sale notifications with tons of Yurt photos depicting happy little Yurts living in Wonderful beautiful places. I got my Yurt Email today. Spent at least five minutes scanning the Yurts and dreaming of my wonderful life living in each one. The most interesting being the Yurt tree house. Yes they made a Yurt tree house. Actually they built a platform between trees and placed a Yurt on top. Ingenious!!!
Hmmmmm I wonder if they deliver to the Greek islands ?

JAN 23 - CINDY MCCAIN BECOMES A SHERO....SURPRISINGLY.

I wanted to blog about this photo at length but it creates so many thoughts I can even begin to organize them to adequately describe my feelings. So basically I have decided to pay tribute to women who step out of their molds . Whenever I see a person who steps out of their mold to stand for a cause or just for personal reasons I will post a small blog.
The woman on the right is Cindy McCain . I believe the other woman is her daughter. Yes she is the wife of Republican candidate John McCain. I watch a lot of news . Probably too much news. During the elections I formed a dislike for this woman. To me she was a scary plastic Barbie woman. I instantly judged her on her robot wife like appearance . I was mildly shocked at how much I did like McCain .He too would have made a good president. Unfortunately they chose to drag some poor woman from her good life in Alaska and exploit her. They still are exploiting her. The Republican party is imploding. Trust me . The whole party system is exploding. The younger generation sees the rigid party lines and are creating parties of their own. Relying on old party lines does not work with our ever changing world. Sometimes change is good .It certainly nice to see our younger generation interested in the future.
Anyways back to Cindy McCain. The above photo is an ad campaign for Gay civil rights. Ms Plastic Barbie Republican wife stepped out on her own to support gay marriage. I thought "WOW" that takes great juevos to do this. Or true to fashion she is plastic Barbie wife and did it for attention. I went to Wikipedia . My best friend. I love quick simple information. Trust me I was blown away. She is quite the Woman, overcoming drug addiction and accomplishing so many wonderful things. Honestly I am in awe of this plastic Barbie woman. Keep up the good fight Cindy McCain.

JAN 22 WE MADE IT THROUGH THE RAIN...I THINK

Sheepishly I return to the blog. I do have some guilt as I wanted to write in this daily. The truth is I'm not always motivated to do so. I'm a pretty private person. Not anti social mind you , I can talk for hours on many mindless subjects to just about anyone. My daughter told me once I would talk to a pole if it would listen. I talk to my animals regularly. They are great listeners and don't talk back.


Shooting words into cyber-space is something different. I'm use to true human interaction. Connecting with others is truly better when you can see their eyes. I worry about this generation. When you were bored with your parents you went out and socialized. Now they sit on the computer at home typing in code. They are slaying the English language.


Well we made it through the rain . I think. The worst of the storms is over. Or so they say. The media has become a Drama Queen. You know that person. Life is always a train wreck. Someone has always wronged them and this year has been the WORST year ever. Ever growing networks facing competition must draw you back into their lair of overblown information. They promise you destruction .Its happened before don't you know. Don't get me wrong. I do believe they serve a great purpose and save many lives when we are faced with possible disastrous situations but all this drama? Is it really necessary? It does keep me watching though so I guess it works.


Anyway, my hood has changed drastically. At some point in these last few days I realized that except for Jose down the street ,I don't really know his name as he speaks only Spanish and we needed something to call him , we have lived here the longest. Twenty years ago a young single career woman wanting property for her horse moved to the stix. Well not really the stix but back then we were surrounded by orange groves and had to drive 20 minutes for anything but groceries. Now we have 3 grocery stores, a Kohl's, a Kmart , approximately 3 Starbucks and more Americana style franchises than you could count on both hands and feet. The Orange Groves have been replaced by rows and rows of cookie cutter McMansions.


We have always been a "starter" neighborhood. Actually the hood had began as a retirement neighborhood. People wanting a nice quiet rural place to build a little house on a bit of land to tool around on. There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to the building in this area. Streets and lots being loosely formed by orange grove land owners haphazardly selling off chunks of their land. Need a new harvester? Well I guess I will sell off 20 acres to that construction speculator. Bingo!


Boulder Avenue has been born!!!


As housing became impossibly expensive in Orange County droves of middle class families moved to The Inland Empire for the American Dream. Many found the gentleman farmer dream appealing. A small house on 1/2 an acre was the perfect place to raise their growing family. My neighborhood began to grow. My daughter who grew up with dogs and goats as playmates finally had other children . Houses popped up yearly. We did not become the desperate housewives Wisteria Lane with block parties and drama but more a semi rural socialness. Waves and smalltalk over the fence. The occasional barbeque. Kids playing on the dirt road. A middle class slice of country life.


I don't remember the first time I saw it but in the 20 years I have been here Ive seen some doozys. I'm referring to the river that flows through my property a few days each year. In true California tradition these houses were built with no consideration to water flow. You see our problem is not the weather. It is the lack of planning for it. I have never seen rain like I have seen it in Arizona or Texas. That is true drop buckets from the sky rain. This is truly just regular rain storms with no where to go.


Over the years families have just learned to live with it. Putting channels in their yards,and drainage pipes under driveways .Neighbors with tractors fix the deep water cuts in the road. Yes Ron if your reading this you are missed. Not only for your friendship but the bobcat too. Small streams cut through most peoples yards. I have the distinction of having the arroyo. Yes an arroyo. When it rains water rushes through and just as quickly dissipates. With my trusty chain link fence rake I kill the small dams built from the debris that finds its way into the fast moving waters. Its my job . Its an important job. The street depends on me to keep the flow going. Without me the street will have 3 feet of water in it and no one will get home.


I hate to admit it but I love it. Yes at times It has been stressful .More than once I have had to move horses to a neighbors property and the looming fear this may be the year my house floods never really goes away. Watching the ducks and geese play and bathe in this new found wonderland is beyond describable. Mother nature and the force of water is enlightening. If I ever move I want water around me.


It became a neighborhood event. We would all plan the best way to guide the water across the road. Making small berms and filling ruts with horse manure and dirt. The kids would don bathing suits after the rain and slosh around in the water. Finally culminating in a messy gooey mud fight. Our own special "snow fight" Boulder avenue style.


Like everything that has now changed. The housing boom created an indescribable bubble in the hood. Watching housing prices rise hundreds of thousands of dollars my middle class neighbors were enticed with the lure of easy equity money. Most of the retired neighbors sold their overinflated priced houses for a new future somewhere not as crowded. New middle class neighbors enticed by greedy lenders bought these houses for prices way beyond there means.


One year later my neighborhood died. Me and Jose the only living survivors of the Apocalypse. Oh and Darey a newbie who is still trying to sell his house for over $500,00. Good luck with that one . Empty houses outnumbered the full ones 5 to1 .Walking down the street was eerie. Pretty green lawn replaced by brown shrubby death. Sad empty lonely homes.


As with any apocalyptic tale life eventually regains its footing. New neighbors have started moving in. Grass is starting to come back to life. An occasional child is spotted on their bike.A lonely five year old boy steps off the school bus everyday and walks down the street. Reminds me of Erin at that age. The "starter" families are returning to the hood. With my daughter away at college I have become much like the retired folks. I doubt we will have or be invited to many more neighborhood barbeques as we have nothing in common. A new type of life has started for me .


This coming storm was bittersweet. All alone I set out on my quest to save the road. Still excited for the upcoming events but without some of the fanfare. Kind of like Christmas without the houselights. Still Christmas but missing something. I'm thankful my daughter was home from college.It was nice to have a bit of company. Yesterday when the ken doll weather man warned us of the impending doom coming our way we went to sit on the porch .Keeping an eye on my arroyo is an important task.


Something miraculous happened. I found a new way to celebrate the filling of the arroyo. As we sat on the porch watching small bits of wood and trash weave there way through my chain link fence. Reminiscing the days of the old hood. The Boulder avenue mud fights. The time the water rose to 3 feet. We watched new neighbor's drive by. Staring wide eyed at my ever growing arroyo. These people had never seen a sight like this. It was all the drama you see on the news but here on their street. Christmas lights began to shine.

JAN 19 THE TIARA DEDICATED TO GLORIA DEE

Well its been a busy couple of days. Saturday night was Redlands Auction night. Got some goodys and have been listing them into the Dageland Curios store. Meanwhile Erin and Erik have been toiling away at the record store giving me loads of records to pack. I have a love/ hate relationship with this auction house. They sell mostly top end antiques, something I love to look at but not really in my budget to buy or sell. My sister attended this auction with me once. Her only remark was "I cant afford to pee at this place". They do however supply me with most of my jewelry items. They sell very large lots of vintage costume jewelry. Overwhelming for the person buying for themselves but perfect for my Ebay store.

This is where I procured my Tiara. Or shall I say victoriously slayed the opposition for the Crown Jewels. Yes I won the Crown Jewels. Normally this is not the case. I am the person who picks up the tail end of large expensive collections. At this auction pretty much the bottom feeder. I am proud of this position. I serve a grand purpose and these auctioneers know this and appreciate me. I am the algae eating fish in the tank of piranhas.

At every auction there is an item that elicits a grand response. Sometimes it is a rare expensive piece but more often than not it is something that brings back childhood memories. Of the 100 or so people that attend auctions there are only a handful of people that buy the items. Many come just to view the wonderful items and soak in the memories of days gone past.

During the preview it was hard to pass the "Tiara" . It had a power just too strong. It sat there atop a large case of glittering baubles from days of past. The Queen of all costume paste jewelry. Sure the tiny plastic combs attached to the sides were long broken off and there were a few missing stones but it still had the power only a Tiara could hold.

I'm sure each and every woman has her own Tiara memories. I imagine this Tiara adorned an excited new bride. Taking that long journey down the aisle where a girl became a woman on the most glorious day of her life. The one day this woman would be Queen. My own Tiara memories stem from watching the Miss America pageant.

Back in the days before pageants were overblown commercial contests sexually objectifying women there was Miss America. The woman every little girl wanted to be. The smartest, most talented beautiful girl in the world. The tiara was her claim to fame. Like the Oscar awarded to the years best actress or the Olympic gold medal reserved for the best gymnast the Tiara was her crowning glory. Ill admit it. Although I am a pragmatist I daydream constantly. Still to this day when I watch award shows a smaller albeit same form of childhood daydream fantasy creeps in. And yes the crowning of Miss America is no exception.

As I sat waiting for the auction in my front row seat, yes I have a reserved front row seat not bad for a bottom feeder, I watch as my opposition examines "MY" Tiara. Each woman is transformed to a young hopeful girl as they pass by. Even the sternest of Antique dealers , and I tell you these ladies are scary, soften as they pick up the Crown Jewels. It becomes an object of conversation. Excited conversation. The things people come to an auction for. My stomach sinks .I never buy anything for my self but I want this Tiara. "My" Tiara. I resign myself to being just the daydreamer once again.

As the auction starts my interest wanes. Thousands of dollars are spent on beautiful precious items. Most people are excited by this .I use to be about 10 years ago. Now thousands of auctions later it lulls me to sleep. Ill never buy items like this .It does not interest me . My pragmatic side has long since taken over and expensive worldly possessions do not interest me. As the jewelry comes near the excitement starts. My part of the competition has begun.

I prepare for battle. Drawing in my offense I check the game plan. My amounts carefully written down to assure I do not overspend. I put on my steely armoured persona . I'm ready to conquer all. And yes I have already resigned to the loss of the Tiara. But there are large lots of glittery rhinestone baubles to make my own.

A bit of confusion ensues as the Tiara comes up. No it is not to be auctioned alone. The auctioneer decides to include it into a large lot of paste jewelry. Game plan has changed. The possibility of procuring the Tiara, MY Tiara, is within my reach. Much to the dismay of 2 of my front row seat competitors. Trust me this is a large lot of rhinestone goo. Something they not only don't want but do not need. My heart leaps. The Tiara shall be mine.

Victoriously I smote my opposition. Yes the Tiara had been put on the battlefield and I won. I was the queen warrior procuring the crown jewels. The scary German Antique dealer had been defeated.

Ive have been the proud owner of this Tiara for approximately a year now. I wear it sometimes while I list jewelry. I am the Queen of my realm. The Empress of the garage. The winner of the "Tiara".

JAN 16

My level of confidence is increasing already. The writing is coming easier . I plan to continue my odd little Erma Bombeckish stories but still need to keep my eye on the prize. That is what this all about. The book I need to write will take some time and organization. Three years ago my Aunt Christine fell ill and needed to be put in a home. I was the chosen one to deal with the drama. That's my part in the family. Middle child drama fixer. Somehow I am the person who can deal with every member of the family. My feelings are easily hurt but it always seems to roll off my back. No chips carried here they are too heavy. Its much easier to accept everyone for who they are rather than who I want then to be. Herein lies my pragmatism and extensive knowledge of old sayings.
This woman kept everything. Yes everything. Not in the hoarder style trashed house but organised in piles. On her nightstand were 3 years of Jews for Jesus donation requests. No she was not a Jew for Jesus, Lutheran Protestant all the way. She has 14 suitcases in her spare room full of old linens. Neatly stacked mind you. Her closets were filled with family memorabilia complete with handwritten notes to my father. Emergency money hidden in envelopes all over the house. It took a full week just to wade through the stuff . I'm sure she has a obsessive compulsive mental disorder. She logged each and every phone call by her telephone table. Sure she had a good heart but she was always very difficult to get along with. Especially after a few drinks.
The closet in her spare room changed my life. Not drastically but a light went on. In this closet were her memories. Envelopes of items from past crushes. A cigarette given to her by a special boy. Napkins from memorable nights. A diary of special every day items with notes of "hope" attached. The hope of a young lady waiting for her prince charming. He never came though . WWII broke out . All the boys were gone. Then she contracted tuberculosis and went into a sanitarium for probably a year. Not easy stuff for a young girl. She did date a cousin for sometime but the "God" fear and the guilt precluded her from ever truly committing. It was interesting seeing this part of her. Even more interesting is she kept all of her wartime letters from soldiers she had written to. There were many.
At least 10 different boys. Most of them were from my father though. Its interesting to see the world through your 18 year old fathers eyes. Few people are able to do this. Sure you know what your father does through stories edited by him but when you read a letter written to his sister about the cute Wave he met at a bar named Mildred, my mother of course, you are changed trust me. Any way there is a story to tell here.
About a year ago I obtained another box of wartime letters. These too were written to a woman . I don't know this woman at all but from the jest of these letters the boys who wrote her were way more interested in her than the boys who wrote my aunt. She also has letters from her enlisted brother. From my quick scanning I surmise she was left to run the family orange groves in Redlands with her father. This woman must have had an air of confidence as all her letters are written to her instead of replies to letters from her. From what the auctioneer told me she was happily married for over 50 years and her and her husband had some success. I do need to do some research here.
Two different women with similar circumstances .What makes one a bitter old maid wishing she had traveled more and the other living a full interesting life. The courtship of my mother and father . A blazing 2 month courtship culminating in a 60 year marriage with its own set of tribulations.
Wartime stories of women are seldom told apart from the old Rosie the riveter stories. How I will pull it off I'm not so sure but the feeling this story needs to be told has not gone away in the 3 years its been formulating. An epic novel or maybe just short stories through the blog..hmmmm.....

JAN 15 VICTORIA SHOULD KEEP HER SECRETS TO HERSELF

Yesterday was an interesting albeit tiring day. Drove out to Los Angeles for an auction and stayed approximately 15 minutes. Cool stuff just nothing for me. Erin and I decided to take the rest of the day off and do some shopping. Found her perfect glasses at Walmart believe it or not. When did fashion become so homogeneous? Not that its bad but every store had the same hipster dark clothes. All glasses are square and black and boots are everywhere. Urban "decay" oops Outfitters have taken over the world. Its the Internet I tell you.
Well the most interesting venture began in Victoria Secrets. This is a store I rarely visit. I am afraid of this store. They are masters at sucking as much money from you as possible. Back in the day my husband went to buy me a "fancy" bra for Christmas. He left with 3 bags of assorted bras and panties . Grand total of $200 worth of lingerie. Mind you this was almost 20 years ago. Alot of lacey bras. Too many itchy lacey bras. You know the pitch. You buy 1 bra you get half the price off of another. 2 bras will get you a free bra and if you want panties you can purchase 3 pair for the price of 2 but if you buy 4 pair you will get 2 pair free and they will donate a free bra to some poor African woman that has no need for a itchy lacy bra. Plus a coupon for half off of your next purchase.
I should have been born African. I hate bras. They are the work of the devil I tell you. Growing up I was never endowed. Finally reaching a barely filled "B" cup in my 20s . When i had Erin I grew to an almost filled "C" cup. Ive always worn sports bras or some equivalent. Underwires were invented by some cruel woman hating man as well as lace covering. I know it.
Things have changed however as things always seem to do and I now have breasts. Truthfully they are overrated. The power they hold amazes me. What gravity and age does to them is horrific. Any ways back to my story . As we are attending Mardi Gras this year my disgusting pig man husband decided I needed a "Mardi-Bra" . He has been teasing me incessantly. Remember i have breasts now albeit a bit droopy but they do exist.
Walking by Victoria secrets I decide to give it a chance. Erin is with me she can give me support. She has bras down to a science. My daughter was graced with the breasts women pay thousands of dollars for. Where that came from who knows. I believe she was a "C" cup at 13. As we walk through the store my interest wanes. Maybe its my pragmatic side but I never tied my sexuality to pieces of cloth. Itchy uncomfortable pieces of cloth. Thongs. Don't get me started. Tried one on once. Never again. Sex is much better done naked. Buck ass naked.
Erin excitedly goes to work. This is her area. If anyone understands the workings of the female breast it is Erin. The poor child has spent years trying to manipulate fashions meant for waify breastless girls to her perfectly Marilyn Monroesque 50s form. Shes proud of them however and I am proud of her for it. She appreciates what she has. Its sad what society has done to our young girls. Unhealthy weight expectations and an inflated sense of body worth.
Excitedly she finds the "push up" section. As far as In concerned every bra is a push up bra but I guess these are special. We decide to start with the 38 "c" . No lace for me however so we go to the 36 "c" .We get to the fitting rooms and a a Joan Collins look alike clerk helps us. She wants me to have a professional bra fitting. No interest here at all. We ask her for a 38 c and in all her bra knowledge she decides I need a 34 "D". This should work better . She lets us in the dressing room so Erin and my new push up bra can do their work.
What ensues is comedy. As I pull up the sexy black push up bra my body transforms. Not to the perfectly formed zoftic breast look of their 20 something models but a horrific mass of breast and body fat pushed where it does not want to be. Masses of body and breast fat push out of the sides . Erin starts to giggle then laugh. My quiptic daughter remarks that if i had any more lumps I would look like a pregnant cat. Shes right not only do i have 2 large squished masses of breast ,I have 2 more breastlets below each arm pit. As we leave the dressing room Joan Collins glares at us. I have decided "Mardi-Bras" are best left for the young.

JAN 13

Well here I am again. This is my favorite time of day. As I am aging and due to the fact my husband has odd work hours I wake up regularly at 5 am. I grab myself a coffee cup and roost in my workspace. Here I update myself with a barrage of computer news while my channel 5 friends drone on in the background . My crazy orange ex-feral cat in my lap. Every now and then she reaches a paw up and scratches my chin. She started this with my bearded husband. She grooms his beard like a mother cat would groom her child. Ive had this cat for 13 years . I believe she was born in my closet.
For an animal she has been through many changes. That may even be the bond we share. I have been through my share of changes. Who hasn't when they are biting on 50. When she was born we kept 2 kittens .Their mother was a killing machine. For years we were the only house on the street with no gophers. Quite a feat for a semi-rural area. It was decided she was to have one litter before being fixed. Genes like that definitely needed to be passed on. Besides we had 1/2 an acre and a small girl who loved kitties.
It wasn't hard to get rid of her siblings. Word had passed of the fantastic gene pool and soon we were left with 2 babies. One short haired like her mother and the other a fluffy little orange ball. We kept females. Anyone who has had cats realizes that the females are vicious hunters and killers. Males just spray all over everything and bring live lizards into your house to play with. Hmmmm that could be a whole other topic....
Its funny she is the only of the three I still have . She was always the lesser cat. Not loving and cuddly like her sister who died at the tender age of 3 . Smashed by big black tires on Wood Road. (rip Lady bug) . Not the perfect gened cat of her mother Lady who left me for a neighbor who's dogs were not so annoying. No she was kind of aloof and just there.
Seven years ago she lived in the garage. She would disappear for days sometimes months and you could not get near her. Once Erin was walking through the garage and she flew out of nowhere and sliced her foot. Erin still has the scar on her foot. I swore she was eating bad mushrooms. Had that crazy feral cat look. She had one friend however my sisters white horse Studley.
When my sister left for Texas she could not take her horses. Studley was a white arab that had his own set of problems. It was not unusual to see them nuzzle each other. That was when I had my blind cleaning business in my garage. We cut down the back door for ventilation. Studley would stare through the top of the garage while the cat sat on the ledge next to him. They were my employees. My company . Now I have my channel 5 friends and the cat.
About 5 years ago our Ebay business grew out of the house. Lets just sat Mom was tired of living in a thrift store. We Traded my daughters go cart that she had grown out of for an office in the garage. To be honest I'm not quite sure what happened but I believe she thought we had made her a house. She welcomed me into her world. Her garage.
Now she is the quintessential (thank god for spellcheck) cat. Rarely leaves the room. Sometimes on a warm summer night she will go out hunting for "old times" sake and last week she went out to defend her territory from Kitty-Kitty, a story brewing in its own right. But now she is completely happy to love on us all and enjoy her unlimited food , water and love.
I don't know if you have noticed but I keep calling her "the Cat" . That's because I don't remember her name. No one remembers her name. She was forgettable. Sometimes we call her "Flusby Jr" because we feel guilty about not remembering her name . But it still does not change the fact she has no name. But whats in a name anyways?

JAN 12 OOOPS!!!

Well I have been a bad girl but Im back. I guess starting a blog on the first day of my husbands vacation was not so smart. I'm proud of Erin though she has kept up with her blog even with all of the traveling. She will be a good journalist. Definitely has the ability to put it all out there. Great pictures too .
Went to Las Cruces New Mexico last week to visit with Erik's father. Interesting town. Probably one of the ugliest desert towns I have been in. Beige and square . Not the beige of most newer California yuppie towns . Its the beige of dirt and grime dotted with the commercial Americana retail we all know and love. And flat. You look closer however and you will see the most charming little pueblo buildings. You cant take this place as a whole. This town is best seen through its finer details. No New York skyline or green lush Texas landscape. Just dirt.
They do however have the best Mexican food in the entire world. They drown everything in green chile's. Not the slimy green chile's you get from the can but spicy green chile's fresh from the plant. Green chile's on steroids. They also have Sopopillas. Just a popover you drown in maple syrup . The perfect ending to a green pepper filled meal. I really don't understand why it works so well. Trust me I have had some of the most delicious deserts on cruise ships .None of them compare to this combo.
I think its more the tradition than the actual taste. Grampa always takes us as a family group. At the end of the meal you feel a certain excitement. Not quite the Santa coming on Christmas morning excitement but more like the Turkey on Thanksgiving excitement. All their eyes light up when the waiter brings the beige square pockets of nothing. They all then discuss the tradition of the Sopopilla. It makes me wonder if they do this when there are no special out of town guests. They must. I have been dining with these people for my 19 years of marriage and this scenario is always played out.
Well gotta go. My morning time is burning away and I must pack records for Russian audiophiles.

Jan 1

Well here it is 2010. For this year I plan to keep doing what I love while keeping a positive attitude. I will keep trying to give support to my daughter so that she can do what she loves while keeping a positive attitude. Not so easy for a mother with control issues. Now she needs to live her life for herself more than ever. The opportunity she has been given is a wondrous one and I am very excited for her. As for me I need to start blogging. Not just for whatever reason people blog but also for practice. I have a book I want to write and I need to practice writing. Back in the day we used pencils and pens. Ive never had typing skills and still don't. I'm finding it difficult to type my thoughts. So here's my blog . I'm going to post this on facebook. Why I don't know but I guess that's all a part of blogging. Someone should read it I guess or it would not be a blog. So right now I will give my disclaimer. I apologise to anyone I might offend. I have a variety of family members I will be exposing this to with a variety of political, personal and religious beliefs. Some I know like the back of my hand but others have spoken maybe 10 words to. I respect each and every person I know even if I don't agree with them. For those who do not really know me I am a very pragmatic,(look that up if you don't know the word it is the most important part of who I am) ,somewhat sarcastic, positive to a fault, loyal , honest and somewhat obsessive compulsive person. Yes I said obsessive compulsive. I have terrible workaholic tendencies that do get in the way of my personal relations. However on the positive side my business does not suffer. I am able to finance my daughters education and travel to wondrous places. Good with the bad I guess. Don't worry this should be the only self serving love fest blog I write and most will be just writing practice. So Melissa ,because i know you will probably be my most loyal follower and probably only one, I expand your responsibilities of plucking my beard in the old folks home to keeping me blogging. You must shame me into writing every day. To everyone have a wondrous Happy New Year. Don't take life too serious and love with all of your heart.
PS "WONDROUS" seems to be my word of the day. Where that one came from who knows.