Tech

So yes.....less than a week of "blogging" and my page doesn't work right.

Figures.

I thought....this seems fairly simple.  Doesn't have to be all crazy complicated.  Just whip together a few templates, colors, basic instructions.....then go out and corral a few of the stampeding thoughts rattling around my brain at any given time and....

Yeah......no.  Wait.  The "followers' gadget isn't working.  Really?  Sometimes they show on the home page.  (All two of them).  Sometimes they don't.

C'mon!   You need this part to work right.  Reload.  Reset.  Delete.  Reapply.

Yeah, no.

So I do what any techno-savvy  does and I google it.  And search bogger.com help.  Find lots of hits.  But....

Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  NOTHING that any of these threads suggest will alleviate the problem.

Fail.

No real profound, gritty, or particularly insightful thoughts here tonight, folks.  Just some good old fashioned ripping on the failings of the digital age.

Boo technology.

Gonna go read my book.

T.

Ahhhhnold

Seriously?

Why is it that every foible, weakness, error of judgment or simply bad behavior is now slapped with a label  entitled "disease".  Hyper-sexuality?  Really?  How about typical urges brought on by that handy dandy substance called testosterone?  How many men walk around with the same thoughts, urges, wants, etc.  Hmmm.  Like ALL OF THEM?????

But to save face in the public forum, the elites that grace our movie screens, basketball courts, political forums and golf courses have to have a finger to point.  A way to say "Hey, its not my fault!  I'm not just a normal member of the male species, my disease made me do it!"

Oh yes....that's right.  Personal responsibility is out of fashion these days.  I forgot.

How can anything or anyone explain away the devastation that Maria and Elin and countless women have felt when they learned their man had strayed.  Do you honestly think they feel better knowing it is a "disease"?  I personally would rather hear "I know I'm a scum sucking bottom feeder who couldn't or wouldn't control my natural male urges and so I betrayed everything that you and I had built together."  At least THAT is honest.

I think we need a revival....of personal responsibility.  Nobility.  Class.  Integrity.  Honor.  Civility.  Honesty.  Owning your mistakes.


You can put hyper-sexuality in the diagnosis manual.....but I ain't buying it.

Mantra

With every crash of every wave, I hear something now.
I never listened before.

I am on the edge of a cliff, listening.

Almost finished.


Words that thrill me, haunt me, are me.   

Musings for another day

I realized today how hard it can be loving a music man.   Loving any man is difficult, simply being such different creatures.  But a music man...an artist....adds another twist I didn't consider in the beginning.  Inherently, you are in competition.  For his time, yes.  His attention, yes.  And it feels like a test of my love for him how I respond to the competition.

It isn't a hobby, a habit, or an addiction.  It is his PASSION.  Does any woman want to admit that her husband has more passion for his art than he does for her?  Of course not. 

I simultaneously support, admire and detest his passion.  To see him in action, whether it be rocking a stage, producing a record, mentoring our son (the emerging drummer), planning the music for a Sunday worship service, changing strings on a guitar, writing songs, building a studio etc etc etc etc...is to witness TALENT.  He is doing exactly what he should be doing, what he was BORN to do, using the talents he was blessed with.  For anyone, in any way to interfere with that force of nature..... is just wrong.

And I stand in the shadows, offstage.

Most days, I am uber-comfortable with that position.  I've always been an offstage kinda gal.  I am comfortable in the sidelines.  The two best friends I've had in my whole life .....I was/am the sidekick.  That is my place.  I like my place. I LIKE MY CAVE.

Most days.

Is some of this speech bravado?  Of course.  Do I ever wish that I for once was the center of attention?  You bet!

But I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam.  Maybe in the striving to be something I'm not is where the pain comes in.

 Play that funky music, white boy.  I will forever love you, nonetheless.


'da Wife.

...And here we go folks!

I've had this ready to go for some time now, but once the vehicle was ready, the words disappeared.  But
I was inspired to write my first post due to the courage of a sister.  A sister in hope, a sister in faith, a sister in chaos.  A sister I admire.

I've often thought of starting a blog.  So many thoughts rattle through my brain at all times.  Thoughts that don't jive with little ones, thoughts that don't wait until the Hubs is available....thoughts I am alone with more than I want to be at times.

Yes please!  Here I can spill them out.  Here I can release myself of their incessant babbling.  And that in and of itself is worth the effort of making excuses, distracting the kids, sneaking away, avoiding the sandman....all to scribble these hasty lines.

Ahhhhh!  I feel better now.