I’ve just registered my daughter for the 3rd grade … Sigh. Summer is almost over. It’s been a busy one for sure.

** To make things a little easier, hence forth my daughter shall be “L” and my husband shall be “D” … So it is written … so it is done **

I haven’t written in a while. I have no real excuse, but I did do some traveling! I went home. Alaska in the summer time is the best. I’m too much of a whimp to brave the cold in the winter along with the rest of the tourists (not that I’m calling myself one of those – dirty name calling doesn’t suit me). I admitted to the possibility a few months ago that I can no longer claim to be “from Alaska” any more … Sure I grew up there, but I couldn’t live there again. TOO COLD for this Texas girl … I’m sure I’d get used to it again though.

Funny thing is that D and I actually discussed moving back while we were there. That was my fault – putting the idea in his head. I miss my family and the history I have in Alaska. Not to mention L is an only child (this will not change – keep you opinions to yourself, it’s none of your business) and she has a few cousins up there that I would love her to grow up with. D was stationed in AK while in the Army (other than fate, this is why we met – Not how … how is a whole other story). He likes to say that I was the best thing about Alaska … ok – that’s a little embellishment … he just never wanted to live there again since we left. Then all of a sudden, I put this idea into his head (ultimately he wanted to make me happy whatever the cost) and his wheels started turning. He started dreaming. Oh Lawd when that boy dreams it gets serious. So I pulled the reins a bit … by a bit I mean I squashed the idea.

Not only would leaving Texas mean leaving the job he loves (love is a strong word, but he really enjoys it), chances are he wouldn’t find something in the same field, nor would he be happy with the pay … or the cost of living in Alaska. He knew all of this, so it only took a little reminding and we agreed … no moving to Alaska. At least not until we retire … … Then we can summer there … 😉

This isn’t my first time

This isn’t my first time blogging. I’ve tried this many times before and it normally doesn’t work out for a number of reasons. Mostly I get busy and I forget that I have a blog. This happens to me with journals as well. I’m just not good at commitment … that’s something my husband probably would have liked to know [read that as a joke … because it is one]. This is my way of apologizing in advance for the content, or lack there of, that will grace these pages in the future.

I collect journals. This is something I’ve mentioned in other blogs and to the majority of people I consider friends (a tiny clue to my identity). I like journals. I like the crispness of the paper. The precise lines on the pages. The crinkling noise the spine makes when I open to a middle page. I like the idea of journaling – putting my thoughts on a page to later be picked up and read by great great grand children when I’m long dead – sounds like something from a movie or the makings of a good book. But when I go to write those thoughts, I feel like what I have to say isn’t good enough to soil the pages. So they sit empty in a box somewhere.

The internet is an amazing place. Blogging feels less poetic than journaling … I can make mistakes and just hit the delete button … or delete the entire blog if I feel like it. Also, a little confession, my handwriting is atrocious (they say that’s a mark of a genius – HA!) and I type faster than I write, so typing is the easier medium for me anyway. That said, with the amount of smut that is all over the internet, my thoughts suddenly feel like they may be worth putting to paper … digital paper anyway.

I have no delusions of grandeur here. I am well aware that my husband may be the only person I know to ever read this blog and I am more than ok with this. His opinion is the only one that matters in this arena anyway. He says most blogs fall into 2 categories; those written by people because they want readers, and those written by people because they have something to say and they are passionate about it, readers be damned [that last part is me]. I am clearly writing in the later category.

I have little hope for this blog, only that it will last longer than the others and I intentionally take time to write in it. I don’t hope that my readers enjoy it … that’s a given. I don’t hope that it helps my readers in some way … that’s a happy outcome however. I’m not writing this blog for readers, I’m writing this blog for me. I unapologetically don’t care what you think.

This is my life …