First time for everything I guess.
At 50 years of age, I find myself blogging for the first time.
I wonder if this is how my great-grandmother felt the first time she listened to the radio.
According to stories told through the family, my great-grandmother immigrated to the U.S. from Scotland and had never before heard of the radio. She couldn't understand how they could make someone fit inside that box.
Now my two high school-aged children are as comfortable blogging as I was playing stick ball in the summertime in the S.F. Bay Area when I was growing up.
Life moves on and we either must adapt, or get left behind.
Spring is on the way
Spring Sprung Blues
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