I've hit a dry spell. Sitting here, looking at the screen, trying to think of a clever or witty topic to write about. Oh, I have been tagged recently for two memes. I cut and pasted the info and still am not ready to write six or seven random thoughts. Maybe that's because I can't think of six or seven things in my life that I want to share publicly, eh?
I probably could reveal that I overcook broccoli and occasionally dream of my high-school boyfriend. Hmm, that's two out of seven already.
And I have more books on my shelf than I'll ever finish reading. Wow, only four more to go ...
I squeeze peaches in the supermarket.
I could play Flight of the BumbleBee on the accordion when I was 14 years old, but my real show stopper was Malaguena.
I never learned to drive stick-shift, kept stalling the darn car.
I have been driving (automatic) since age 16. It was more fun than playing Flight of the BumbleBee on the accordion. My first car was my dad's 1960 aqua T-Bird. It is still my favorite car of all times.
I went to several proms in a '57 Chevy driven by the high-school boyfriend I still dream about.
I had my first crush on a boy in third grade and kissed him in the Tunnel of Love boat ride at a school picnic. Sophie tells me that she's already got her eyes on someone in first grade.
I kept a diary all through high-school and one year beyond. I still have it.
I just did a re-count and I'm over the limit. Maybe I can do this after all.
I can't tag fellow bloggers, though, because most of them have already been through this exercise.
I have just used the pronoun "I" over 20 times in this post. My psyche is imploding. I must return to "we", "you" and "they" to re-balance.
Hannah and Sophie wrote on-line diary entries with my help. They dictated; I typed.
Babci to Hannah (who was sitting on her lap): "So what would you like to say in your diary?"
Hannah (after some quiet reflection): "Babci, you're special."
I may overcook broccoli but I know how to raise grandkids.