Cookies, Chocolate Chip, that is

Who can resist the smell of baking cookies? Don't look at me. My motto, philosophy, believes that all cookies are good, just some are better than others. I also apply it to tacos, although I'm not entirely convinced about the fish taco. That just seems wrong. When I was in college, I certainly anticipated and appreciated the care package. I remember my mom sending chocolate chip cookies, and me not being able to hoard them well in the house. Generous nature, hoping to gain points for someone elses package that would arrive later, or just plain irresponsible always had my cookies gone in minutes, seconds I mean. I'd mentioned to my middle sister how wonderful those packages were from mom. Lynn was living in Illinois at the time, but she didn't take the bait. I wanted her to send cookies too. I finally came out and begged for cookies, and she said, "Oh, did you want me to send you cookies?" I absolutely said, "Yes!" She told me that she had, but they must have been lost in the mail somewhere. I didn't believe her, but that became our topic. I wanted, and she kept telling me she'd sent them. After several years, and even after I got married, the joke continued. Finally, I tried shaming her. I baked her two dozen magnificent examples of cookie flesh and sent them away with lots of love. Her equilibrium must have been shaken when she opened the care package because soon after she sent me a much more impressive batch. It just goes to show that if you want love, you must be the first to give it away. It will come back multiplied, overflowing. God is like that. Try to outgive Him sometime. I don't know if I'll ever try a fish taco though.

Com post. That is what I'm trying to do. We all know what goes in there. I'd like to be able to freely move around inside the blog world, however, I'm spending my time attempting to solve the navigation issue. This may be a step in the right direction, or it may be more like the bypass to get there, but not necessarily in the right way, and I may not be able to retrace this path the next time. More bypass surgery. Patience grasshopper.

Hello, where do the........... take us?

When I sit down to write, I usually have a point to make. A little rusty with composing since I've been merely writing letters and journaling for an extended period. Merely writing letters and journaling. How wonderful that could be if I had a fervor, a burning, unquenchable need to tell. I always come back to, "Who cares? Who wants to read it?" I used to run to work and home every day. That cleared out webbing and let juices and ideas flow freely. Now I find projects to procranstinate, routes to avoid, and distractions to embrace. A real slacker. Be patient grasshopper and perhaps the way will open again.