Tag Archives: blogging

A Year in the Life of a Blogger

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So I’ve been forced to reprint a posting from 2016. By forced I mean I didn’t write this week. (Oops, my bad.) Do people still say that? Anyway, never fear. Tonight I’m going to start writing next week’s blog just for you. In the meantime I hope you enjoy this one…

Hard to believe I’ve been penning this blog since November, 2012. In case you suck at math, that’s 169 blog posts at once a week. That’s a lot of posts. Just between you and me, sometimes I wonder if I’ll run out of words. Although, as you’ve probably discovered, days when I have little to say hardly ever happen.

I don’t write about anything life changing or probably even interesting, mind you. It’s all mainly humorous observations about my life. That’s a quote from my About Me page, which you’d know had you read it. No worries.

I forgive you

If I’m being honest here, I have to admit I didn’t post a new entry every Sunday. And the reason I know this? Because I get a stat report at the end of each year from WordPress. You can’t believe the stuff they track. Don’t worry, nobody’s stalking how often you read my blog. That would just be creepy. I don’t actually know my readers’ identities unless they comment. (Hint, hint.)

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Last But Not Least

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Last but not least in the lineup of my furry family is Mango, an orange and white tabby female. You’re probably relieved to hear this is the last chronicle since it’s taken a couple months to introduce you to each animal. Let me tell ya, coming up with new blog posts 52 times a year isn’t easy (and why I sheepishly reprint some from years ago). I’m counting on you not remembering them because sometimes even I don’t.

Mango’s first photo

Anyway, when Mango was a feral kitten, a friend’s neighbor fostered her. He’s a cat guy (yes, they actually exist). But when he couldn’t keep her any longer, I decided to foster her and get my orange cat fix since I have a thing for them.

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How I Conquered a Phobia

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Originally posted in 2013

I think most people harbor a fear that borders on phobia. For me it’s snakes and small spaces. I understand why snakes give me the creeps, but small spaces? Maybe it’s the fear of suffocation or being trapped. Regardless, neither sound inviting to me.

I remember when we were kids, my brother put a pillow over my face as we played. I felt such terror that all rational thought left me; I screamed like I was dying. That feeling is still with me today whenever I feel confined.

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My Chosen Few

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There’s an elderly woman in middle America who blogs about her gout and what she did that day, which sometimes includes visiting the local Hy-Vee market to buy groceries. Why don’t we call her Mabel? Mabel then proceeds to explain how she cooked supper that evening. All in one run-on sentence with just a few typos.

Probably Mabel

Mabel

I don’t recall how I came across her blog out in the vast blogosphere but I forced myself to keep reading. I was fascinated by its mundaneness while being intrigued with her large following. Nearly 1000 readers follow Mabel’s blog. That’s a dream to me. An unrealistic, keep on dreaming kind of dream. dream a little dream

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The Situation

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So here’s the situation. It’s 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night. I just spent the day cleaning my garage. Loads of fun. I’m grimy, dusty and full of chili because after I spent the day cleaning my garage I made a pot of veggie chili. Then I made macaroni noodles to put the chili on because that’s how my ex’s family did it in Kansas City. So since 1982, when we married, that’s how I’ve eaten it and now I can’t eat naked chili.

Anyway, now I’m stuffed. I also fed my animal crew and my foster cat, all of whom I assume are stuffed as well. My foster cat is nameless because I don’t permanently name them until I know they’ll be adoptable. I foster feral kittens and semi-feral cats. For some reason it’s harder for me to have to relocate them to outdoor homes (if they’re too feral to be adopted) after I’ve named them. Weird, huh?

So when I enter the room in which I’m housing a big orange tabby female, I say ‘Hey Boo Boo.” No reaction. Sometimes I say, “Hey Monkey.” But again, no response. I’ll try on a bunch of names during the time I’m fostering but once I realize that cat or kitten will be adoptable, a name will suddenly hit me and that’s the one that sticks.

Whats-Your-Name

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