At it again I see. I am trying to get into the habit of daily writing once more. Not broadcasting the news, just writing. If people find out, then that’s fine. If they don’t, they don’t. Last go around I did yell into the void to see if anyone or anything would respond. There were my faithful two, my sister Annemarie and good ol’ Harry. I knew they read the blog and heard of others that read it, but no one stepped forward to say ‘Hi”.

This time I think I am better equipped to deal with the silence. Especially if I am not reaching out in the darkness. This is day 3 and yes, I can write. My once great Legume now drifting towards estrangement mentioned that I have a way with words and I just looked at him dead in the eye and said ‘You have no idea’.

And I don’t think he knows of this so let’s keep it that way. Seems more like heavy lifting this trying to create a habit of writing every day. But here I am. Bill noticed and stayed out of my way which was sweet. I told him didn’t need to be. A moment of irony- just now while writing that last sentence Bill calls from another room asking me to come in and hear something he had just written.

Bill did tell me he was going in the room for one hour to work and I figured I could use that hour to write, but he didn’t know I was writing since he was in another room 20 feet away. So my flow was interrupted but here I am writing. It was not that big a deal.

I purchased a book from a dear friend of mine from the Hoboken/Weehawken days, Cheryl Welch. I saw she had posted something online on social media and was quite taken with it. Another seed planted. I told her so this afternoon and she actually visited this here blog and quoted it back to me. We’ve traveled in close orbits for years and now she’s in California and she seems very happy!

It’s a humid evening in this mile-square city. And it’s been raining quite a bit for the past couple of hours. It seems to have stopped leaving one feeling that they’re wearing a wet wool sweater.

How do I write? Do I plan it out? Rarely, if ever. It just pours forth from my brain to my fingers usually unexpurgated. Then I would read it and publish it. Then I edit. Yes I know, it’s rather haphazard but that is how I roll, or in this case, write, or as Truman Capote would call it, typing.

Can anyone do it? I believe so. Should everyone do it? Maybe, maybe not. Hey, I’m just trying to get into the swing of things, getting some words on a computer screen. It would be cool if it were a typewriter and paper, but with these typing ‘skills’ the sheet of paper would be mostly covered by White-Out.