I now have a website with all of my writing in one place.
Here is the link to my Truth Burps blog. Once you are there, I hope you will nose around the other pages and check out my other projects:
Truth Burps
I have to laugh because it is exactly like having a family room after the kids have long gone.
And I am crazy enough to be feeling sentimental about leaving Blogger.
And hoping I can learn Word Press well enough to enjoy it.
I like lots about the site.
(Other than the usual wanting a better haircut or being ten years younger.)
Here's my favorite part. It has coffee stains that move every time you go to the site.
I love coffee stains---how they look, what they mean and all of my writing is done with a red cup of coffee nearby. And I have put in little red cups to click on just for fun, for photos (if I learn how to add them) and random thoughts like--"Is there even such a thing as a sentence fragment any more? They used to be like a sin in college." That sort of nonsense.
What else" Oh, my most recent Tweet shows up on the bottom. Once again, for the fun of it.
I'm stalling. (My house would be much less cluttered if I weren't so sentimental, but carrying it over to a blog???)
OK--now to test the plasticity of my brain with learning to use a real deal website
I have had a wonderful Summery Summer
I almost take for granted that I live in beauty, that I have ease, that my family people are all healthy, that I can buy food when I need it, and I can be frivolous. And I am a white woman second from the top of white males, thinking of the unfairness of that white man at the top and ignoring all the other rungs of the ladder below that of privilege.
It's so fake humble to say I am privileged as a way to manage the the truth that I am over privileged.
I wrote an inane comment to my black pastor about people learning to love in order to survive.
He wrote back, "maybe". I wrote my comment as an over privileged person who watches awful hate from a somewhat safe distance. Of course nuclear missiles carry long range hate, so I am closer than I think.
I did watch news last night and was amused and very discouraged to see four guests erupt into furiously shouting their opinion at one another. It was out of control. They were re-enacting the Charlottesville riot. Thank goodness for a break for ads. Maybe we need a world wide break to cool our fevered opinions of rightness.
So another beautiful Summer day. I will enjoy it. I will have fun. I will have coffee with a friend. I am too far along in life not to savor what is good. But I have a pebble in my soul as I ponder my
privilege and what to do with it.
I hate it when my mood is one hundred percent out of sync with the day.
The day is magnificent. Hot in the sun, cool in the shade. I'm on the side porch of the house which is my bower territory for quiet. The flower boxes look good and usually make me quite happy. I had a great day yesterday frolicking with my daughter going for a haircut (and a couple of blue streaks) and afterward a lovely dinner and conversation. Perfection. I have a stack of good books to read, an interesting week coming up, writing I want to do, and I am grumpy and moody.
So I took a nap hoping to wake up astonishingly different. Instead I woke up with a thought I wanted to share that made me laugh and now can't remember it.
Burpety, burp, burp, burp.
Why so cranky?
I beep if my husband approaches so he knows he is in the smart ass remark range.
Why so cranky?
As I wrestle this mood to the ground, I begin to hit pay dirt. I have the kind of unrest that Seniors in high-school or college have. Something is coming to an end. The future is unclear. What to do next is a giant distraction from fun and everyone asks about it. Will the right thing, the perfect thing, the crack the world open thing come to me? Urgency with no where to go equals moody.
And the definition of moody is angry, irritable and sullen. I suffer from Senioritus.
Mostly I ignore the fact that my time is limited, very finite. A financial advisor friend reminds me of this fact as he talks about the end of my plan--which means I'm dead or broke!! The actuarial tables say I have ten more good years and a few not so good to follow. I have a 'dead' line. How to meet it? What matters most? Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock. I have kids who ask "Don't you need to sell your three story house? Isn't it too much for you?" (I very snarkily think, "Don't you mean too much for you if we pop off mid-mess?")
As I write, my mood shifts. I love deeply, I attach, I care about the smallest tchatkas of my life, I'm sentimental about Sippy Cups. I like surprise and play. So this is the perfect time of life to not know, to not plan til events make you, to trust the next trajectory will come and to fill all the minutes with the deep satisfaction of creating or loving that makes time stand still. So there. My mood lifts to match the day. To hell with knowing.
I just remembered my waking thought--What ever happened to playing Jacks? Hours and hours of Jacks competition with ten different stages to go through to win? Way beyond onsies and twosies. There were double bounce upsies and downsies and over the fence as well. Tossing the jacks on the backs of your hands to see how many you still needed to pick up was admired. The jacks had to be just the right weight and thickness. It was an art form. That thought makes me very happy.
Mood overboard.
PS--I WILL BE CHANGING OVER TO WORD PRESS FOR MY NEW WEBSITE THAT WILL HAVE ALL OF MY VARIOUS BLOGS IN ONE PLACE SO--know that I may miss a post or two or do strange things with them until I master this new technical challenge. As my 4 year old granddaughter says when scared with fists at her sides, "I can do this!".
