Aloha good friends.
Tell me about blogging? Is it worth it? Don’t talk about yourself some say, yet myself is the person I know best.
And I like sites of women going off, living their lives then telling of it. I love to hear about the animals and the winds sweeping across the plains slamming tumbleweeds against the side of the house, and stacking them up twenty feet high, and how they get up at 3 am to midwife a calf. Oh, nobody writes of that? Well, they should.
I’m in a rare mood, and don’t know what to do with myself—tell of a friend dying and feeling sad about that? Tell of my little Peaches dog who has Addison’s disease—that is a failure of the adrenals glands—and we give her medication daily and fluids every other day? She was diagnosed way before we went to Hawaii and managed fine for that year. Right now she is sleeping on the floor beside me, and it thrills her to go in the car or truck, so I take here every chance I get. Shall I tell of the 80 degree weather we had yesterday, and the fruit trees blossoming, and the fuchsia-colored flowers in one fruit tree I can’t identify? Or that it is a-buzz with bees?
Shall I tell of the grapefruits wintering-over, and that they are still hanging on the trees shinning golden as Christmas tree balls? Or that they don’t taste as sweet as the summer ones? Shall I tell that across the street the grapefruit trees are square? They trim them with a giant mechanical device that has a blade like a helicopter that cuts the tops of the trees flat, and then the blade is rotated horizontally and it cuts the sides—result? Square trees. Neat though, and looking out over the varying topography the square trees follow the land curving with it, rows behind rows, a graphic grapefruit orchard.
I shouldn’t write about that? Okay. Bye.
We are all a little weird and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love. –Dr Seuss
