So I thought more than a year ago it would be great discipline and a creative outlet for me to keep a blog. Consistently. Not every day, mind you. Whoa Nelly, can't get that crazy. But a few times a week, or at least once a week. Be good for me. By golly I would do it.
I fell over.
Sooooo, more than a year after my last post, here I am again. Maybe some other girls in their 40s can weigh in here (nooo, relax, not really weigh in), and tell me if you suddenly get slapped silly with the realization that you now know what your grandmother and mother were talking about when they say time flies and "better appreciate this now because one day you realize you're wrapping Christmas presents and doing your taxes while swinging a flyswatter trying to kill the one fly that has managed to live far past his prime and is alive only on the fumes that emanate from zuccini soup in the crisper. IT SUCKS!"
Okay, perhaps that's an exaggeration of what my grandmother and mother said, or at the very least an amalgamazation of all the things they did say. But you get the point. While I was preparing to write my next post: I made cakes, quit my job as a newspaper editor and started a career in design, had five kittens (not personally, you understand), grew a lot of grass (the type you MOW with a John Deere sillies), a ton of tomatoes, an awful lot of fennel (that stuff is prolific), started the requiste number of never-to-be finished projects, have searched for an old pay phone booth, erratically written on my Great American Novel(s), battled with my addiction to lip gloss, and well ... lived.
But by golly, I'm gonna do it.
I shall intermittently post pics of cakes and cake experiences from the past year with new posts. Is it not bizarre I write this thinking this matters to someone? Does anyone ever ponder this question? Am I the only one?
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