After years of writing emails to friends and lovers, arguing politics with strangers on AOL, reading others intimate thoughts on everything and being told I must have my own Blog...I now have my own Blog. So, at last, at least my two children and spouses and my three grandchildren will have a place to read my thoughts. The friends, the few still living, can join them and perhaps add something once in a while. When one is is old as I, the number of friends still around wanes... sad that they are not made of the tough Lancashire stock from which I came.
Now that I have been home recovering from two dreadful attacks of first very bad flu after a long plane trip, then an apparent attack of the "peanut whatever" which laid me low for a terrible long weekend, I have had time to get back to my writing. After all, there are only so many conversations one can have with one's cat. Granted, my cat Sylvia is very bright, but she is no Siamese, so her conversation is somewhat limited. However, her purring is quite loud.
And...the food is hopeless, particularly for someone who is an excellent cook and a gourmand. Rice cooked in thin broth and dry toast with gingerale does not strike me as a lovely meal, but it seems to soothe my gut after a terrible experience of almost living in the bathroom and tossing up bile all weekend, so I put up with it. Even added a bit of my own apple butter to the toast this morning....very tasty, but no eggs Benedict. Oh, are the days of a porterhouse and buttery mashed potatoes just a memory?
But at least the sun shone in the tall, tall window to my left, Sylvia sat on the back of my chair in the sun's warmth, and three little hummingbirds came to drink in the nectar from the tiny red trumpets that have blossomed again outside my window. An early Spring in San Francisco... perhaps something to do with global warming or whatever they are calling it now. Ah, well.......
