This blogging has been a struggle. There are bursts of enthusiasm followed by weeks or months of nothing. And, so, in an attempt to learn, I read articles and watched YouTube presentations on blogging. The advice was, well, diverse with many recommendations.
Have a theme.
Use “I” and “you.” Don’t use “I,” but some “you.” Sound conversational.
Be consistent. Be meaningful.
Use catchy titles.
Keep it short, but be yourself. Write in depth.
Use one line paragraphs or no more than a few lines. Use short sentences.
Wow. Now what?
First, shorter is better, but with at least 300 words. My objective has been around 500. I skip wordy or lengthy posts myself. No references – nothing formal here.
Second, catchy titles or headlines make sense. And I need to take a look at past posts.
Third, no theme. In a sense there is a theme if the post is whatever pops into my head today. I’m not selling anything. This is purely entertainment for my friends and acquaintances. There could be them...
Memory is tricky when you’re in your late 60s. In a few days I will be 68 and a couple of days after that, I will be living in my 70th calendar year. Born in 1950, I only lived about a day and a third in that first calendar year and was in my second one to live really fast. And so it is for December babies – they add up calendar years in which they’ve lived faster than say a person born in January who lives almost a whole year before hitting that second numbered year. So when starting my 69th year upon finishing 68, the numbers just keep piling up. I suppose piling up years is better than not doing so.
Where was I? Yes – memory. And all of us likely have sad memories. We may all have things we wished we had never done. Some may have suppressed ones. The sad ones do something to help us grow, maybe help us understand life in some respect that we would not have otherwise, and should not be wished away or wished they never were. Every experience forms who we are. Would life have been bette...
The search for better health through personal training was not driven by any particular illness or injury. There was no desire to become a gym rat. Becoming some chiseled old guy never crossed my mind. Already had a six pack – the other kind… It seemed that a personal trainer might help me learn a few things about taking better care of myself. Being fit was good.
And the search started in Grand Haven. I was already a member at this gym where the treadmill was my favorite and there I found my first trainer. He had a way of pushing me that didn’t feel like “pushing.” And there was improvement. Losing weight wasn’t a bad result – that was one of my goals. That seemed to bottom out; he explained that muscle weighs more than fat, so maybe there is a point where the scales are going back in the other direction. OK.
My physique mentor then had a knee issue that took him out for a time and the substitute took me forward until he returned. All was well until he moved out of state. So now the sub...
Needles have never been very exciting to me. That opinion likely did not start in the fifth grade when I was poked with a compass that was supposed to be used for drawing circles. Perhaps, then, the beginning of the needle fear is lost in obscurity or suppressed. Nevertheless, there is a fear. The last remembered near fainting response to a shot was in my early twenties or late teens. Having me lie down was better than watching me fall over. Once in my thirties the nurse knew of the fear and had me lie down first. Maybe that was overly protective.
The fact that my last known “over reaction” was close to fifty years ago does not mean that the fear has evaporated. You learn to cope. You never watch a shot being given. You definitely don’t watch blood being drawn. Your mind travels somewhere, anywhere. You don’t talk with the nurse or technician. The last time I gave blood the bag filled too fast, which can leave you a tad faint. You’re quiet. You practice calmness. It’s a true fear.
“The Pursuit” series in the blog is great – up until the last one… That’s where a new name for the cabin was revealed; however, it’s too long. Oh, not LEGALLY – it’s just too dang long…
Now everything in that January 30, 2018, blog post is really fine except for the cabin name. The logic for the initial naming thought is fine – and might tell a little bit about who this cabin dweller is. The other information in that post is fine – except that the Curly Shingles Cabin sign might be somewhere other than the Country Club Road side of the garage – or not. All is good, except the name. And since that blog post in January, I have learned that the county – Brown County – considers Curly Shingles Cabin to be the name of the property if it is used as a seasonal rental property, as it has been in the past. And that’s fine.
So, what do we do about that? Come up with a new name seems reasonable.
And is there one word or a shorter name that exemplifies how the cabin serves those that currently sojour...
While reading something the other day, the thought occurred to me that my “listening” had picked up tremendously and my “speaking” had trailed off since moving to Brown County, Indiana. The rationale will be pursued shortly, but first…
There is a difference between “hearing” and “listening.”
“Hearing” is just that – something is heard. And that happens all of the time. You can get used to “hearing” things, but you may disregard a high percentage. When the new windows were installed in my cabin late last year, my “hearing” changed. Previously, one could easily hear a car coming down the gravel road behind the cabin; after installation, no. Also regarding vehicles, you could previously hear engine noise on most vehicles on the road; after installation, maybe trucks, although not all trucks. Inside the cabin, however, most sounds were noticed more and music was clearer. And some sounds were unusual enough, having not been noticed before, that they caught your att...
Letting the garage age gracefully seemed like the right approach. It’s been ten months. My intentions all along were to build a workbench and work area in the area to the right of the garage door, but let’s not rush matters. Treat the garage like a fine red wine… But, then, the urge hit and it was time to start making the garage mine, make it work as was needed for happiness at the cabin. And so it begins.
There was a space of about five feet by fourteen inches behind the side door and next to the garage door. The whole space was not needed for shelves, but maybe about twenty-eight inches would be good leaving room for a trash can or whatever else would fit into the remaining thirty-two inches. And I was using the studs that made the wall as the anchor for the shelving. That was roughly twenty-eight to the second stud. There was a method to the madness. Two two-by-fours were added – one attached to the left side right next to the door, allowing room for the door to open. The other had t...
After writing letters for a time (maybe 18 months or more?), there is a desire, albeit not need, to comment on that. Since February of 2017, about 240 letters have left my home to various destinations, most to Michigan or Indiana addresses. That’s about 16 to 17 a month or a little more than one every other day. Here are some thoughts.
Few addressees write back. Among those that do not, though, are some of the more excited recipients who respond by text, Messenger, email, Facebook, or call. Me thinks that calling is almost as obsolete as writing – not quite. Email is losing ground. Messenger and text are leading the way. Any response, though, is great, but no response is expected or required to get another letter.
Some that respond do so within days; others take a tad longer. Some comment on my meanderings while others take off on their own subject matter – and either is totally acceptable to me. None from either direction have been what might be labele...
Rainy days are opportunities. Sit back, think about life, and relax. While awaiting the world to dry out a bit, these varied thoughts crossed my mind today…
FLAT EARTH: So, if the world is flat, how does the Sun get from side to side? There must be a mechanism that shuts it off and then moves it back into place for the next morning – so as to “queue the Sun.” That could be a movie, I suppose. The show could be about living in a bubble or having gigantic ice dams at the end to keep everything in place. Fixed satellites support the concept, perhaps.
BEAUTY: Without question, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Some like men, some women, some both. Some like red heads, blondes, green and spiked hair, balding. Some tall, some short. There are those preferring thin, others heavy, some well-proportioned, others out of proportion. There are preferences for dark skin, or light skin, maybe muscular build, or just kind of unchiseled. It takes all kinds.
There was a good post on social media the other day from http://elephantjournal.com and, specifically, their page entitled, “I’m not “Spiritual.” I just practice being a good person.” The post stated: “If you drink a bottle of wine before walking your dog, it sort of feels like he’s helping you solve a crime.”
A couple of points relative to that. First, my dogs are females, so this would be changed to “…she’s helping…” or, more accurately, “…they’re helping…” The use of “he’s” doesn’t bother me, but the correction was needed in my situation. Second, with two dogs, the question arises whether or not a second bottle should be consumed as well or one for each dog. My thought is that one bottle would suffice for how many dogs you have.
With those issues addressed, then the focus turns to the solution to the crime and how that is achieved.
My experience has always been that they follow their noses and that means back and forth, left and right, all over the place. So, there is a “sniff-a-thon...