Day Two

Though it is hardly day two, I am back again. I feel somewhat foolish, like I have signed up to perform open heart surgery and no one knows yet that I can’t do it, that I’m a fraud. I like technology, some of it. Much of it threatens my sense of self-esteem and at times makes me feel downright useless. But still I try. I have a 91-year-old uncle who happily goes about sending emails and searching the internet for things.  So if he doesn’t shy away from it, why should I. But still.

I don’t imagine anyone will ever read this, so I needn’t worry. My secret of inadequacy is safe within these walls of my office.

I’m going to start out each blog, being thankful.  I mean each “next” blog I shall start out being thankful.  Because, obviously, I have started this blog above and made no mention of that which I am thankful for.  I will tell you what I am not thankful for, parking tickets. I don’t mind getting a ticket if I parked where I shouldn’t or over the time limit I was allowed. That deserves a penalty and I will pay it.  But yesterday I got a parking ticket for being more than 100 mms from the curb.  I didn’t have a ruler with me but I’m pretty sure I was no farther out than the car ahead of me or all the cars behind me.  I was angry. Got an instant head-ache that made me wince and hold my hands on either side of my face. I wanted to shout at someone, but alas there was only my daughter with me and she certainly didn’t deserve to be shouted at.  So I am not thankful for parking tickets.  I’m not even thankful for the parking police.

But I am thankful for my clothesline. I love hanging my wet heavy clothes there and coming back to find them light and airy and dry. They smell divine and there is no manufactured scent that can match that.  And every single time I take my clothes off the line I remember my mother making my bed with me in it and the sheets drifting down to settle over my face with the most amazing aroma ever. And I am happy that I remember that, because my mother has Alzheimer’s and she doesn’t remember me or anything about me.  So I am grateful for my clothesline.  And the best part?  I built it.  I dug the holes and put the post in and filled it up with concrete and strung the line through the pulleys and painted the posts, not in that order, but the clothesline is all my doing.  My daughter helped me and I am thankful for that, too.

So, back to work and putting away my clean laundry.

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