Monday:
I had reached the end of my rope, and you guys caught me before I fell.
My writing wasn't working. I had no talent, no skill, no ability. Why was I doing it? Nobody was commenting. Nobody was following me. I don't know who my audience is. What am I doing here anyway?
After grumbling, I checked my blog, The Best Damn Writer's Blog on the Block (You know I'm the only one writing one), and what happened?
Two thousand and nine of you guys showed up on one day.
Thank you for tying a knot on the rope's end so I have something to hold onto.
My morning mistake was to check the political scene. And if you are trying to do anything that requires thinking of anything positive—forget that.
I wondered how people were doing. Some are okay. I don't know if they are thriving under this political regime, if they are numb, aren't watching, don't care, or think he is doing a good job. Some must hate America so much they want to see it trashed.
I lived when Hitler did. I heard about the atrocities under his regime. He was a loser, too, before he lighted a fuse to the meanness of his country.
How does that happen?
Now, some people are whitewashing Hitler; some say the Holocaust wasn't as bad as spoken of. WHAT? Haven't they seen the pictures of skin stretched over the bones of concentration camps prisoners. Didn’t they see the mass burial grounds, or the crematorium? Don't they know about the little girl who hid with her family in an attic and wrote her heart out in her diary and was captured and died in one of those brutal starvation prisons?
"And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me." –Christian Bible.
Don't they know about the barrels of teeth, yes teeth—pulled from the mouths of Jewish people to mine their gold inlays? Barrels, yes barrels. The people weren't worth anything to that regime, but the gold in their teeth was.
Do you know that to save their children, many parents shipped their children to Britain. Dr. Ruth, the famed sex therapist, was one. My daughter was the caretaker for another. Mariam, at six-year-old, was sent via a train to Britain never to see her parents again.
What if that happened to you or your children?
I can't stand it. No wonder I felt lower than a snake's belly.
And I hear someone saying: "It will all work out. We'll see. We'll see."
In the meantime, rough-shod boots are ripping our backs to shreds.
And still, 44 % of the American people approve of this action?
I don't believe it.
It's stacked against us folks, and we opened the door for it.
That was my Monday morning. I try to have a blog ready by Tuesday.
Tuesday came and went. No blog.
"All is not well, but some things are." –stolen from Austin Kleon (Steal Like an Artist)
Wednesday morning: I was awake but didn't feel rested, so I took myself and my little dog, Sweetpea, out for coffee. She had a Pupachino, a little cup of whipping cream. I drank an iced mocha well laced with chocolate. She napped. We were in the pickup—my office on wheels—because I can relax there, and Sweetpea likes where she could sit alongside me on the blanket covering the console. Together, we can park in the sun and look out over fields of green.
The sun was shining gloriously, and when we got back to my office, the pink dogwood tree outside my window that had popped out flowers a day or so ago somehow in the sun's glow coming through my window, it had carried pinkness with it that spread across my white desktop.
Wednesday evening:
I took my Grandson to a Youth meeting, and afterward, we gave a ride to his friend to his house. On the way home, my grandson and I stopped for hamburgers, but when I reached into my purse to pay for them, my wallet was missing.
I had a credit card and paid for the meal. I figured I would find the wallet after we got out of the truck.
Nope, no wallet containing my driver's license, American Express card, and other cards. Rats, a mess.
I retraced my steps of the day—I usually carry my bag back to my office so I have it over my shoulder while carrying other items—maybe I had it over my shoulder when I rescued a chicken caught in the fence. Perhaps I laid my wallet on the seat when I bought the coffee. Maybe it fell out when the kids climbed in, or it followed one when they got out. I drove back to the facility where I dropped my Grandson off, to see if a blue wallet was lying on the parking spot asphalt. It wasn't. After the meeting, the parking lot was gated (for vehicles, not walkers) so that few people could have seen it. I drove over to where we dropped off his friend. Not there. It's 3 am.
Thursday Morning: I take my eagle-eyed husband into the yard:
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#1. The Culprit: a bag with the zipper unzipped.
#2. The Motive: I stopped to photograph apple blossoms in our side yard.
#3. The Result:
Found wallet.
Husband dear found it in a plant alongside the driveway
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“You’ll never find your voice if you don’t use it.”-- Austin Kleon
https://www.bestdamnwritersblog.com/
If all those flowers turn into apples boy, are we going to be loaded.
Yeah, Jo, like the followers you are going to get.
