Sorry, no recipes to be found here.
Housekeeping instead.
THANK YOU! I forgot to mention it a few weeks ago when this blog officially hit 1000 views. It's now about 1300. Despite being a creative person (or perhaps because of it), I really like concrete results. 1300+ page views says I must be doing something right. I appreciate every single one of them. (Page views, readers, every time I check out a set of search terms for myself and realize this blog is fourth from the top on the first page of a search result.)
Based on the last few posts, it may appear that I have suddenly become bitter about a certain distressing interval in my life. Not really. It's just that I suddenly feel okay talking about it. I know that might seem a little extreme, since it's been over a year, but there are probably still people who met me after my break-up who do not yet know that I was ever engaged at all. Some things are just too painful. Also, I admit that I sometimes feel a little guilty about posting all these stories about Grandmom, since she hasn't signed an official release or anything, so I try and cast around for stories that exclusively involve me (I officially give myself permission to write about me). I didn't start this blog with the idea of making it a digital scrapbook, but that is what it turned into.
And that brings me to my third point: writing is a process. I know, that sounds like a big steaming pile, as one of my uncles would say. It's so indirect and non-specific that it suggests that I, or any writer who utters it (all of them) is a jealous miser crouching over his or her hoard of writing knowledge and beating back potential knowledge thiefs with the phrase "it's a process." I mean, it terms of a concrete answer to how writing is done, you might as well have this conversation:
Curious Person: So, how do you write?
Writer: Magic. (Just for the record, I'm making ghost hands, aka Jazz Hands up by my face, and followed that up with saying "oooooh!")
But it is. Witness this blog. Did not mean for it to be a scrapbook. It is now a scrapbook. I like it that way. While Grandmom does not have any dire health concerns right at the moment, she is my Grandmother, which pretty much states that she is old. This way, I'll have compiled all my happy memories of her in one place, so that hopefully there will never come a day when all I'll remember is that I've forgotten an awful lot.
To conclude: ADD is not a disease. Institutionalized childhood immobilization is. Aka "School". And we wonder why a third of all American children are obese. Obese. That's not counting the ones that are merely overweight. I don't even know the numbers for the ones that are depressed and anxious. Yet here I sit. Well-educated despite it all, unmedicated, happy, totally scatty, and not obese.
Oh yeah! I forgot about the No-Pants Cake Icing. It's a better title than it is a story, but it pretty much sums up Grandmom and me. There's a picture of me about five years old (and I remember the day) wearing a complete 80's style leotard-and-tights combo icing a cake from my EZ Bake oven. Taken by Grandmom, of course. I loved Grandmom and Grandmom loved to cook, so I wanted to learn to cook like Grandmom. I happened to have my leotard on that day and why change? And Grandmom took a picture.
Housekeeping instead.
THANK YOU! I forgot to mention it a few weeks ago when this blog officially hit 1000 views. It's now about 1300. Despite being a creative person (or perhaps because of it), I really like concrete results. 1300+ page views says I must be doing something right. I appreciate every single one of them. (Page views, readers, every time I check out a set of search terms for myself and realize this blog is fourth from the top on the first page of a search result.)
Based on the last few posts, it may appear that I have suddenly become bitter about a certain distressing interval in my life. Not really. It's just that I suddenly feel okay talking about it. I know that might seem a little extreme, since it's been over a year, but there are probably still people who met me after my break-up who do not yet know that I was ever engaged at all. Some things are just too painful. Also, I admit that I sometimes feel a little guilty about posting all these stories about Grandmom, since she hasn't signed an official release or anything, so I try and cast around for stories that exclusively involve me (I officially give myself permission to write about me). I didn't start this blog with the idea of making it a digital scrapbook, but that is what it turned into.
And that brings me to my third point: writing is a process. I know, that sounds like a big steaming pile, as one of my uncles would say. It's so indirect and non-specific that it suggests that I, or any writer who utters it (all of them) is a jealous miser crouching over his or her hoard of writing knowledge and beating back potential knowledge thiefs with the phrase "it's a process." I mean, it terms of a concrete answer to how writing is done, you might as well have this conversation:
Curious Person: So, how do you write?
Writer: Magic. (Just for the record, I'm making ghost hands, aka Jazz Hands up by my face, and followed that up with saying "oooooh!")
But it is. Witness this blog. Did not mean for it to be a scrapbook. It is now a scrapbook. I like it that way. While Grandmom does not have any dire health concerns right at the moment, she is my Grandmother, which pretty much states that she is old. This way, I'll have compiled all my happy memories of her in one place, so that hopefully there will never come a day when all I'll remember is that I've forgotten an awful lot.
To conclude: ADD is not a disease. Institutionalized childhood immobilization is. Aka "School". And we wonder why a third of all American children are obese. Obese. That's not counting the ones that are merely overweight. I don't even know the numbers for the ones that are depressed and anxious. Yet here I sit. Well-educated despite it all, unmedicated, happy, totally scatty, and not obese.
Oh yeah! I forgot about the No-Pants Cake Icing. It's a better title than it is a story, but it pretty much sums up Grandmom and me. There's a picture of me about five years old (and I remember the day) wearing a complete 80's style leotard-and-tights combo icing a cake from my EZ Bake oven. Taken by Grandmom, of course. I loved Grandmom and Grandmom loved to cook, so I wanted to learn to cook like Grandmom. I happened to have my leotard on that day and why change? And Grandmom took a picture.
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