Mostly True Memoirs
I’m starting a blog.
Facebook is easy.
We’re already friends.
I don’t have to explain myself.
I write my goofy stories.
And everyone knows what I’m talking about.
I don’t have to explain a thing.
Blogging is different.
People don’t know me.
I have to explain.
But explaining ruins the rhythm of the story.
It’s kind of like explaining a joke.
If you have to explain it, it’s not funny.
So I will write this first post to introduce myself.
After that, I’ll just write.
I am a mom and an empty nester.
I have two grown sons.
Both of my children are diabetic.
Diabetes is a nightmare.
But it is also our completely new-normal status.
I have a wonderful husband.
Who fixes things around the house and generally makes himself useful.
And is occasionally the subject of some hilarious stories.
I have a dog.
She is lazy but very cute and cuddly.
I often remind my family that the dog is my favorite child.
I teach English as a Second Language to adults, on line, around the world.
I am a Toastmaster.
A Distinguished Toastmaster.
Being a Toastmaster has definitely made me a better English teacher.
And a better script reader which is my second gig.
I love to write.
I’ve been reading and writing as long as I can remember.
My favorite toys, when I was a kid, were my books, a spiral notebook and a pencil.
A pencil, not a pen.
I’ve always preferred a pencil.
I was born and raised in Southern California.
We recently moved halfway across the country to Texas.
This move was not nearly as traumatic as I anticipated.
I have made lots of new friends in Texas.
I am keeping touch with my old friends through social media.
I plan on making lots of new friends through blogging.
Why am I starting this blog?
Because I’m tired of Facebook.
I’m tired of all of the ads.
I’m tired of all of the political wrangling.
I’m tired of the algorhythms that may or may not be connecting me with the people I want to be connected with.
I want to control my own platform.
I want to control my own intellectual property.
Although I use the term “intellectual” loosely.
Why do I write?
Because, to quote someone whose name I can’t recall, but I don’t want to be accused of plagiarism, “I write because I can’t not write.”
