BLUE SKIES

Blue skies
Smiling at me
Nothing but blue skies
Do I see

Bluebirds
Singing a song
Nothing but bluebirds
All day long

Going to join a few cowpokes at the BlueSky social platform. 

@cowtownpattie.bsky.social

Let the Resistance begin.

"THAR SHE BLOGS!"

 I have been procrastinating a return to blogging. A buggy whip to my own backside may be needed (though self-flagellation is highly overrated).  My first obstacle is to lasso a loss of vision acuity which impedes most every damned thing I enjoy.  Fair warning, if  you see a corral full of misspelled words, it may or may not be due to a lack of intelligence.  Wet macular degeneration is the official diagnosis.  And it is basically an unlucky spin of the DNA Wheel of Misfortune.  Even Vanna White in a Bob Mackie gown cannot fix this game.

BUT.  I also have so many advantages to help me navigate a wonderful world.  To be sure, my  frustrations can make me feel ungrateful at times.  I have friends with the same disease and we commiserate often; I am far from alone sadly. 

My daughters are aware the condition is inherited.  I am hoping they never get it. There  are so many great medical advances just around the corner to preserve vision for people with wet or age-related macular degeneration. 

KMan and I moved to the little fast-growing burg of Weatherford, Texas in 2016. My vision loss meant a retirement earlier than I anticipated.  I no longer drive, though I have a valid drivers license; I do believe I could easily navigate driving in daylight and in Weatherford, but I haven't done so. Fear and loathing and all that Dr. Gonzo's disillusionment crap may be in play. Maybe I need a red convertible. *shrug*

Aging is a weird life thing; only the fortunate get to have the experience.  So, bear with me while I get my old sea legs on my Bloggy sailboat and I promise to chart a fun course.  Libations are BYOB and welcome.  And before our next session, please learn the lyrics to "What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor". Did I mention homework was listed in the syllabus?

CALLING ALL BLOGGERS

Many of us first became acquainted to each other when Blogging was the cool kid on the social media scene. And many of us enjoyed Ronni Bennett's "Time Goes By" site. A gathering that I and so many more have missed.

It is time to leave FB and I currently have no suggestion where the next social platform exists that checks all the boxes. 

Please please leave a comment if you are interested in firing up our little corner of the Blogsphere. 

Let's get this party rolling!

PENDRAGONS IN THE GLOOM

I hinted yesterday to my old Bloggy friend,WhiskyPrajer, that I would attempt a blogpost.

I am in a strange-to-me place in life at the current time of 16:12 on October 11th: recently retired and living on cornbread, beans, and fried potatoes while coming to grips with a 68 year-old body that was chained to a desk gangplank most of her life. I suddenly understand the colloquialism "hair shirt" more personally. I once felt at ease at this blogging game, but now...it's like trying to type on a rusty old manual Underwood that's lived for decades in an abandoned beach shack, said "hair shirt" a constant irritation.

Finally sitting at my bedroom desk last evening, trying to remember the html tricks I once memorized and executed effortlessly, the damned keyboard remained silent. It was uncomfortable and I gave up in both sadness and frustration; sighing heavily I headed downstairs to our lovely deck with my Alexa speaker and a bottle of cheap Rioja. (My oft-summoned muse in the form of Hemingway approved the motion.)

A few weeks ago while searching for the early bloggers I once communicated with almost daily, I gave thought to some wonderful voices now silent except for their ghostly postings still online (for which I am grateful):

Mary Scrivener as Prairie Mary
Steve Krodman as Lost in the Cheese Aisle
Bruce Brownlee as BleakMouse
Chris Locke as Kat Herding
Ronni Bennett as Time Goes By

Maybe I will reconnect and find my old voice; more likely it will be a NEW old voice -vintage with some Bitters of Experience, heavy on the bite.

Yours Till the Cows Come Home - CP