"I don't have Twitter. I don't twit."

--my boss

Disappointed, Yes

This afternoon at the gas station I saw a girl jump in the window of her car like the boys on The Dukes of Hazzard. When she drove away I guessed it was because of that huge dent in her quarter panel and not because of welded doors. It's the little things, I tell ya...

Driveway Drama

  (The drama part comes from me, as in the thirty minutes I spent writing ONE paragraph to perfection only to delete it with the swipe of a fat finger!  The actual driveway process has gone pretty smoothly so far.  Proceed.)

  As evidenced by this super (not) awesome photo I took, our house has a one-car carport.  One car, not three cars plus a boat.  It doesn't take much to guess that this can be a little complicated since all four won't fit in one space and no matter how creative we line up on the driveway, somebody always has to move so somebody else can get out.  It just doesn't work. 

  So for nearly two years now we've been parking two vehicles outside the carport and one on the driveway outside the carport, but behind the boat (not pictured, it's in the backyard!)  This has worked fairly well, but it's a grass killer. 

  And see how close Boots' truck is parked to that flower bed on the passenger side?  There's a Hawthorne tree in that flower bed and that thing hurts!  I'm talking thorns big enough to make the thorniest rosebush green with envy if it wasn't already green.

  See, look!  Hawthorne is that big one as tall as the house.  It was waaaaay bigger and more humongous than this, but I've tried killing it (several times) by whacking all the limbs back as close as possible in hopes that it will just dry up and die.  No such luck.  If you want hardy and dangerous, Hawthorne is your man tree.

  After hem-hawing around for about 18 months, I've finally decided that it's time for Hawthorne to go.  So on the afternoon of a 100 degree day, Boots and I dug up and transplanted what flowers we did want (one rosebush, about fifty orange daylilies, and some things I don't even know) and ripped up what we didn't. 

  We're planning to cover this whole dirty area with crushed asphalt right on up to where the grass meets the concrete driveway.  There's just no point in having a flower bed that no one will see because a truck parks in front of it and these two bites of grass are more trouble than they're worth when it comes to dragging out the lawn mower and cutting them.  Neat and tidy from here on out is the game plan.

  (This might classify as a crime scene photo.  See the drag marks?)

  The flower bed was pretty much vamoose at this point other than that little swatch of ivy.

  And my pitiful garden (too much shade) may make itself useful now.

  I watered these suckers every day for three days and then I forgot.  Maybe they'll make it, but probably not.  I have a black thumb.  If they live, they may be moved again to another (better) location.

  So ends Day One of the Driveway Drama.

Day Two (four days later, still 100 degrees) was a bulldozer in our yard leveling off the driveway so it will be nice and smooth for the crushed asphalt.

  The driveway will come together in stages and include a big roller to help pack the crushed asphalt down tightly.  

You can't even tell there was once a flower bed there.  The bricks look so tidy now without all that junk  overgrown mess Hawthorne covering them up.  It should look pretty nice after we get it all done. 

Privacy Settings

I'm more than a creeped out by internet weirdos this morning. I'm wondering if this blogging thing is worth me putting my whole life out there for the world to see. Should I go private? How private? While I'm deciding......

WEIRDOS BEWARE!!!!
I have a gun, it is loaded, I am not afraid to use it!

I have to write.

I can't stop it, I tried. I quit with every intention of never coming back, but this is Eating Crow Pie, right?

Writing is like blood pumping and flowing through your body, my body. Like a cut artery, writing spurts and bleeds until it dies, you die. A tourniquet may slow it down, but it won't stop. For a less gory reference I'll compare it to exercise and the famed "runner's high." It's a release, a way to decompress. Clear out the brain! Tear off the page and start again! I can't not write, I have to.

When confronted with writer's block (I always imagined it was a brick wall) I decided to shrink back and give up writing instead of punching a hole through it like I should have, but writing won't give up on me. Even though I'm not original, I have something to say.

These past five months, I haven't posted a thing, but the writing goes on. I write in my private notebooks, I write to Boots, I write to God. I write things in my head that never make it to paper. I've read hundreds of posts and several books. I've slowed my world down as much as I can. I've crossed a few things off my list, but I continue to add to it daily. Some people said they missed my posts, most didn't notice I was gone and that's ok.

I spent so much time trying to find my niche before, but sometimes I don't like to follow the rules. I don't do twitter like every one says you're supposed to in order to be a popular and successful blogger. (I tried and got hacked!) My excuse of not having a way to post is over since Boots got a new computer and I paid $3 for this awesome (so far) app that lets me use my iPad. I don't care about numbers or comments (anymore). The blog world can (and did) become a huge comparison game, but it's just another thing I have to learn to let go. I'm not trying to make money, although I'm not opposed to it! I'm not a professional photographer showing off my fancy camera (how do I even use mine?) I don't have a graphic designer working on my site. I'm not a food blogger, I'm not a fashion blogger, I'm not a mommy blogger, I'm not a DIY blogger although I do DIY. All I've got are my words and my life.

I want to make you laugh with my funny stories and maybe influence you to care when you read others. I'm not going to force myself to adhere to a post-a-day schedule, I'll only write when I've got something good. I write to remember, I write to share. I won't mind if you decide this blog is not for you, because it's for me.