my life as a hooked rug

A friend recently told me that my blog wasn't a 'real' blog. When I asked her to explain, she just said that most blogs were more like diaries, just streams of thought, unedited musings on life and daily happenings. She said that mine was a bit too 'overworked' and 'short story-ish'. Then she quickly added that it was 'really good' and she laughed 'like crazy'.

It's taken me years to finally jump on the blogwagon just to find out that I'm doing it incorrectly. And although that's just a bit unsettling I will admit, I don't want to read anyone's diary and I don't want anyone reading mine. To me, it would be like observing a circumcision or listening to the married couple next door screaming at each other about their financial problems. I drive by traffic accidents without looking. Reality TV shows make me squirm. I respect privacy.

But, more to the point, I'm not much of a joiner. That's why I've seldom kept up with popular fads. Only last year did I finally break down and buy a pair of Earth shoes. I freely admit that I love my popcorn ceiling. Most of my dress pants have pleats and cuffs, my ties are far too thin and my suit lapels are far too wide. I've even been known to wear a 'windbreaker' at special events.

I still love my Carly Simon 'Hotcakes' album and delight dinner guests with Ritz cracker mock apple pies. I've been known to spend evenings burning incense while manipulating jute into macrame plant hangers and, last month, I 'hodgepodged' the Desiderata onto a wooden box lid, then 'antiqued' my bedroom dresser and bookshelf - all in one day!

My life is complicated. I can't seem to let go of the things that make me happy in order to make room for the the latest everythings with unproven track records. And unless I'm given explicit instructions, I don't feel badly when I make a different choice. I have to go now. The oven timer just went off and my Chex party mix is ready.