The thing about trying to write a blog is you have to have some sort of subject to write about. You want to keep things fresh and not gasbag on the same topics. I could always write about the pandemic or the political environment and that truly would be gas bagging but the object is to get people to read your blog. I love to write but I am truly out of material. I like to write about food. Part of food is going to different restaurants which aren’t trending too high right now. I love music but lets face it you would get tired very quickly of me gas bagging about what passes as music these days. I love to read. That’s is an attention getter. I’ve already written about a bookmobile so I won’t pull anymore toenails on that subject. My volunteer work on is one my passions. I love talking to people and learning about them. I also try to learn something new every day. Mahatma Gandhi said to “Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” I can relate. So having said that you would think that I would have many subjects to write about but my mind draws a blank. When all else fails, I guess you can write about yourself. That should draw many readers to this blog. What have I got to lose.
I have had a wonderful life in spite of a lot of “life” events happening to me at a early age. My mother died of ALS (Lou Gerhig’s) when I was 12 and my dad died as I reached 21 of a stroke. I never really got to know my mom because her last years she was confined to a wheelchair and if anyone knows about ALS, it is a terrible disease that takes your body but not your mind. You are in essence trapped inside your body which is a terrible thing. ALS attacked her lower body which was unusual. It usually attacks the upper body. What my mother learned while fighting this battle was she had a talent. During her sickness she picked up a paint brush and found out that she could paint. She became kind of famous in Indian Land where I grew up. Fort Mill Times ran a story as well as The State newspaper while she was hospitalized in Columbia about her painting. I’m sure these stories wouldn’t have been written if it wasn’t for her sickness but it was interesting nevertheless. At one time I think everyone in Indian Land had a picture that my mother had painted somewhere in their home. As a footnote one day my grandmother was cleaning up and found some of mom’s paint and canvas board and tried her hand at painting. We found out where my mother got her talents. My grandmother at a very late age had a talent that superseded her daughter. Her bedroom and adjoining room at my aunts, where she lived became a studio. To this day I cannot figure how my grandmother packed so many hobbies into her life. She was truly a renascence woman. Gardener extraordinaire, fisherwomen with her trusty cane pole, journalist, snake hunter, painter and to me a teacher. A woman of strong faith, a woman who became my mom and dad.
I always thought I could write a book based loosely on my life. It’s been quite a ride full of ups and downs but always interesting. I was that guy that parents refused to let their daughters go out with. I wasn’t a bad person just a little “wild”. There may be carcasses littered with failed relationships along the way but I was a slow learner. Drugs of all sorts starting at an early age that lasted for many years but during the height of my usage I decided I would quit and with no rehab whatsoever I did quit and have been drug free for 35ish years. There are many stories that I could tell during that period. Stories that I am quite ashamed of but happened and would be great book fodder.
I could write about my crazy, alcoholic step mother. Many, many stories like weed Saturday mornings. Delirium Tremors anyone? Hallucinations? There are all sorts of stories about Satan who came in the physical form of my step mother. That would be great in a book.
I could write about my wife and the crazy paths it took for us to get together. Remembering a time drinking with a group of people and this girl walking in, sitting down, opening her mouth and me asking friend of mine who she was and after 20 minutes telling him that “there was no way in hell I would ever go out with this chick.” She would later be my wife and are now celebrating 21 years. Who said God wasn’t a jokester.
I have written about seeing a man rummage through my garbage and because of that a soup kitchen, shelter and now tiny homes will be built.
I could write about the pivot point in my life when I realized that my life was truly crap and that I needed something else and found it in the form of my faith in Christ.
I guess I could write about all this but a blog on Livermush would be so much better. Fry it up in cast iron pan sauté onions, scramble a couple of eggs……..boom!!!! Cook up some grits. It will make you want to slap your step momma.