So who asked you?

Sixteen Years Ago

You don't have to read this -- but anyone can. Sixteen years ago, I started this blog. I was 48 and had spent a lifetime writing things no one ever saw. 

Oh, I'd spent over a decade working for newspapers -- dry, local politics where molehills turn into mountains and parking locations foster speeches quoting things like the Magna Carta and very specific translations of the Bible. I hated it because all my eye-rolling gave me a headache.

These days, no one is reading lengthy prose, so it's safe to come out of my writing cave.* But I'm just not cut out for Twitter -- too many people thinking they're delivering mike-drop jewels of glibness. It may be narcissistic to share this to Facebook, but I don't flatter myself that complex issues can be solved in a few sentences -- not that I'll attack complex issues. There's enough of that static cluttering the internet.

No. I write because of that static that has everyone believing the lie that we have more dividing us than we have in common. But I'll stick to my old format, thankyouverymuch.

Now, take a moment and observe that photo up there. While I admit I used it to lead this column because I'm pretty sure it's the last surviving photo of me as a vegetarian -- meaning I was probably as cute as I was ever going to get. (I also want you to notice the added drama of the fencing, which I thought gave me a sort of tough urban edge when actually it was taken by my husband at our son's little league game.) 

I found this while looking through our photo archives and considered using it to lead all my social media. Then everyone would say, "Wow! She looks pretty good for 64!"

I notice this is a trend among book authors and it annoys me. So, in the spirit of total honesty, I will stick with my usual photo.

True disclosure: this photo is about a year old, but it's the most recent one without a mask. 

Take a selfie, you say.

I don't take selfies. I don't have anything against them (unless the only thing on your Facebook page is one selfie after another, in which case, find a hobby), it's just that my arms are too short and I end up looking like a Shar Pei.

Really -- there are no serious photos of me because it's just my husband and me around here these days and he only takes photos when I look ridiculous. So you get the above and this.

I suppose this is by way of re-introducing myself to what used to be called "the blogosphere," where crickets are chirping and me and my kind can roam free -- free of the nastiness of other social media forms.

...at least I don't have an aol e-mail address...

*Anyone wishing to cause mischief here has probably given up by now because this is way down at the end. If you haven't given up -- I've gone through bankruptcy, foreclosure, joblessness, poverty, and two heart attacks. You can't scare me.