Adventures in Blogging

Apologies if my website and blogging have seemed a little haphazard lately. I walked away from blogging earlier in the year. Chase, our diabetic kitty got sick.

I don’t regret working from home during the covid panic because I got to spend his last few months here with him. If I had been at work, I wouldn’t have had that time with him. We had a really big scare with him where his blood sugar was down to 38. I had to rush him to the emergency vet. The next week we’d go to our regular vet and hear the awful words “there’s a mass”. We heard that just over a year ago with Ginger, then this year it happened with Chase.

I was so distraught after we said goodbye to him that I had no desire to write or post. I was deeply saddened to see that fellow bloggers had also lost pets while I was away. I have to give you all kudos. I don’t know how you kept positing. I just couldn’t do it.

Four months passed, and when I finally felt like I could post something again, it was to discover that everything was now under the dreaded block editor. My first post was a disaster. I worked hard on it, and I thought I had selected classic editor only to find that my post was an empty one. NO text anywhere to be seen. I think I re-did that post two or three times.

Then I decided I wanted a fresh start. I cleaned up my header and decided to go with a new theme and a logo only. Several posts in, I found out the (useless) theme I had chosen had no option for reader’s comments.

Another re-think and re-design this morning, and I now think I’m where I want to be. I edited my header to use an actual image of my husband’s truck. I also wanted to add my bass guitar since that is also a big part of who I am now.

This post is primarily a test post. I’m hoping it doesn’t come out blank, and I’m hoping this new theme includes a comments button. Please? (fingers crossed).

It’s good to be back.

Solitary Preoccupations

I’ve been trying to keep busy as my work life invades my home space, and I spend most days indoors in self-isolation. In my spare time, I’ve been binge watching the Slow Mo Guys on YouTube. If you haven’t seen them before, I highly recommend their videos. Their slow motion clips are short, usually awe-inspiring, educational and funny.

In addition to watching TV, I’ve been writing. I’m also learning Swedish using Duolingo because I have the time. When I’m not doing all that, I play my bass.

I’m taking vocal lessons now (as part of my bass lesson) since we were supposed to be recording a Christmas music CD on April 26th. That has since been postponed, of course. Still I’m practicing both bass and singing.

Even with all of this added learning, activity, and practicing, it’s hard not to get stressed out and fed up. I’m actually taking a vacation (ha ha ha) day tomorrow. I need a break from staring at the tiny 6″ x 10″ Chromebook screen I’m using to remote in to work. When we make it through this nightmare, I hope none of us ever takes the blessing and routine of a normal life for granted.


The nice part about age is you no longer care as much what others think. You dress how you want, look how you please, say what you feel, and do the things you want to do. That was one of the things I admired the most about my grandmother. 

Gramma lived until 98, and she was well known for speaking her mind. She was funny, sweet, and irreverent as hell. All the borderline raunchy expressions we knew as kids, we picked up from Gramma. My mother wouldn’t allow us to say “hell” or even “damn” at home. I remember sitting and giggling with Gramma (my mother’s mother) at some funny thing she’d said or something we’d seen together. 

2BC35592-15FB-468A-B585-3DF8E0C411ACBecause I couldn’t swear at home, of course, I swore like a sailor away from home. I swore at school all the time. My mother always thought swear words showed a lack of intelligence. I loved my mother, but I can see now that my mother was uptight and prissy as hell. Where she got that from, I don’t have a clue. Gramma was a stitch, and my aunt (my mother’s sister) was a lot of fun, too. 

I remember my mother being horrified when my aunt MaryEllen said, “If you can’t beat them, join them” about swearing (and her own teenaged children). In hindsight, my mother’s method didn’t work either. Her strict rules (she yelled at my poor father once when he said “kick him in the balls” when he got excited yelling at a televised football game) only made me want to rebel more. She didn’t make me more refined or softer spoken. 

F6367446-4A8D-456D-AEEB-5298DF5C3482This was a woman who watched AND laughed at Monty Python sketches, for pity’s sake. She had a sense of humor, but  she didn’t swear. Her favorite expression when arguing with my Dad was, “Oh, go soak your head!” I will admit that I have told my sweet hubby far worse in the heat of battle. 

I am who I am. As far as my mother goes, I might’ve respected her rules more if she hadn’t been so ridiculous about allowing others to speak freely. So what if I said “fuck” on the day of my father’s funeral? I was 28 years old, and she yelled at me like I was 7. So what if my father said “balls”? I do believe that was the only borderline thing I ever heard that man say. He never swore, at least not in front of my mother, but I can guaran-damn-tee it that he swore at work. 

I remember a conversation once when he was discussing his coworkers who were all older men than he was. He said something about how they all farted and they all cussed. My mother was thrilled, of course. She probably thought they were corrupting my Dad. He spent five years in the Army during WWII. Does she think the soldiers were all non swearing, gentle-bred men? It was the Army and it was WARtime!

I often think my mother would be disappointed in how I’ve turned out. I’m happier than I’ve ever been, rough edges and all. Sometimes I cringe internally when I hear myself (thanks, Mom). I swear more than my trucker husband does. My oldest son got worse at his first job. He worked at a car dealership with a bunch of guys, older mechanics. He came home with funny stories about one guy nicknamed “Hippy” who swore every other word. You had to laugh at some of the things this guy came up with. My youngest son swears, too. Who cares?

I know. My mother would. But my mother has been gone thirteen years. So I swear. I have five tattoos. I have pink highlights in my long, naturally curly hair. I wear black fingernail polish, leggings and rock band t-shirts. 

I also have two college degrees, one earned with a 4.0 GPA. I’ve worked since I was 19 (forty years). I’ve been married (according to Date Calculator) 10,451 days or 28 years, 7 months, and 12 days. I have two adult sons, 27 and 22. I have my own home, and I pay my bills on time. I read. I write. I play the guitar. I may not be outgoing, but I can fake it. I may not be a great housekeeper, but I’d rather do other things than clean. I may swear, but I don’t drink or do drugs. 

488723EF-9C98-4247-8212-234CD07D1636I can hear Toby Keith singing, “How Do You Like Me Now?”

I’m not positive my mother would like all of my rough edges (many of which popped out after she died), but I hope she’d find enough here to be proud of raising. 

How do you like me now, Mom? And I’m really not sorry I posted the word ‘fuck’ online for all the world to see. Shit happens. 

Images courtesy of Pinterest

Facebook And Why I Deleted My Account

I’m done with Facebook and here’s why:

  1. It’s run its course. I truly believe Facebook has become passé. It’s old and dated and a major waste of time. I used to spend hours every week scrolling through to see who posted what. Frankly, who cares what Sally had for lunch at an expensive restaurant?
  2. I never used it anymore. See reason number one. I hadn’t logged into it in months. I deleted the app from my phone to see if I’d miss it, and surprise, surprise, I didn’t even notice that it was gone. I found other things to do.
  3. The content was distressing. It had become far too political. If it wasn’t someone screaming insanely over bullshit governmental issues that don’t affect my day-to-day existence one iota, it was some jackass posting nightmare images of abused animals to get me to support their cause of the week. All my pets have been rescue pets. I’m sorry, but I can’t save them all. I don’t need that kind of crap to give me nightmares and keep me up at night.
  4. It makes people ugly. See reason number three. Fighting with family or friends on Facebook is such a childish thing to do. Fighting with or verbally attacking strangers online is somehow much worse to me. It brings out the ugly side of normally nice people.
  5. I wanted to get off of Facebook for privacy reasons. For the same reason I’ve deleted other online accounts (LinkedIn, Yahoo, Snapchat, Google+, Tumblr, CafeMom,, I just don’t want my content out there everywhere anymore. Yahoo and now Facebook have major security issues, and I was sexually harassed on Snapchat (sorry former friend of mine, I don’t need your juvenile young son sending me images of his penis, and when I emailed you to politely tell you what he was doing, I didn’t even get an apology). While it was fun at first on Facebook connecting with old friends and making new ones, I feel much safer trying to limit who sees what.
  6. I remain semi-active for now on Twitter, Goodreads, Pinterest, Instagram and WordPress. And that’s enough for me.


Image courtesy of Pinterest