Text and voice: Elouise Oyzon Music: John Oyzon cinnamonboy Someone said, “Tell me a story.” And I did. Sentence at a time in a chat window. I saved the story as post. There was a point where I tried my hand at audio posts. My brother, John (aka Beau) took my voice and made music with it. It is sweet. I think I will take his music and my voice …
I think you are the only one who comes here. I am glad you do. Oh! I am trying to get old blog posts moved here. Found comments from you, and Bridget, and Elsie, and Liz, and my family, and…and…and… This used to be a happenin’ space. I should do something about that. đŸ™‚
Does this blog skin make me look fat? Trying on different looks. It’s something to do while I try to get the posts of the last ten years in order. It’s been a while. I can’t even find my bloggeversary. Looking through the wall of text, I found many friends. This used to be a happening place. Maybe I can find my writing mojo under these superficial changes.
A bit rumbly in the tumbly. I don’t usually envision Pooh when I start with caveman, but there it is. In an effort to save my life, I’m giving the Paleo diet a shot. Hence the rumbly tumbly bit. It’s only day three of this. Was advised to give it at least thirty days. So I shall. Before and after shots? Sure. Tomorrow. I promise. In the meantime, some …
Bits of life in one hundred and forty characters. Life in haiku; in bite-size digestible chunks. Low social media profile of late. Elaine was worried. It’s okay. Winter is for hibernation. I am limping along, stingy with my reserves.
I think I could love again.
When traveling it seems my soul lags behind. It’s been different since the event. Sluggish, my body follows at a distance from where my mind believes it should be. But maybe it is catching up. I am awakening. Spring is coming. It is. And I will walk barefoot in the grass with all the grace I can muster.
It’s a cane day. Even before I open my eyes, I know. Human barometer. Looking for patterns: dry days? wet ones? warm? cool? cold? changes to any or all? Afraid to admit it, but maybe I am finally aging. Which is not the same as growing up. Heck no.
This year I resolve to have fewer strokes. Sometimes I think it was a bigger deal for those around me than it was for me. Â Brushes with mortality are. On a camping trip we played hide and seek in the night rain. I jumped over a low stone fence. Next thing I knew I was hanging over a fast river. My friends pulled me up. There was am-I- dying? Then …
