Tag Archives: blogging

The Blog Who Became A Book

 

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Alesia is Seeing Green in her garden!

Sitting out in my garden this afternoon on a beautiful Saturday with bright blue skies, I brought out a new book to enjoy reading.  This book is very special to me and if you are a gardener you might want to think about picking it up on Blurb printing.  I am thrilled today to share my friend and fellow blogger Kevin G. Loud’s book Seeing Green.

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The Organized Writer

IMG_8524You ever wonder what the most touching blog posts are written about especially those that always bring back your audience for more? By having a blog and developing a number of readers over the years who have in many instances stayed in touch with me through email, Instagram, or Facebook , I have found that my platform strategy in writing is utilizing my personal life experiences.  For example, I have worked over the years to deliver topics around my son Luke who has autism and the many struggles that have followed us through various experiences.

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WWII veteran turns 96 today

A contemplative Roy as he sits to enjoy the artwork

WWII Veteran Roy McGinnis turns 96 years young today. Feel free to wish him Happy Birthday in the comments and I will be sure to pass them on. My step-dad Roy as you can imagine has truly been a shining example for any young person to emulate with his striking career in the military along with his civilian time as the Director of Veterans Affairs for the State of Alabama.

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Luke And Alesia

My friend from Kitsap texted me last night inquiring about my New Year festivity’s. I texted her back a photo exactly what I was doing at 8pm. I was standing in line at McDonald’s! Such excitement with my autistic son Luke, but when I look into his eyes I know exactly this moment here is where I belong.

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Moments

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Blogging is a vehicle that I enjoyed utilizing in the last few years.  In the fringes of life and just holding on with a pen in hand,  I can truly say my blog was a godsend.  As the moments of my life converged into a simple exercise on thoughts put to paper,  I worked toward illustrating my ordinary moments as extraordinary with eyes wide open to the vastness of those everyday experiences.  That was intentional on my part. After all, most life is ordinary and only a tiny portion of is extraordinary.

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The Ferry

The leaves had turned and within six weeks Christmas would have come and gone. Rolling my suitcase off the bus toward the slippery Seattle street in good spirits, my eyes glistening with excitement, I focused on the ocean within my view. After all it was Thanksgiving and my friend promised a wonderful meal for the holidays. What she would do for me is what I had done for her over the years, as my memories conjured up my kitchen with savory smells that my taste buds couldn’t wait for again.

Manhandling my heavy luggage, staring at the lights dancing off the buildings near the Puget Sound’s emerald waters, I could see the Bremerton Ferry awaiting for me. I arrived a couple of hours early bought my fare and rested on a construction site zone bench, where waiting for my friend to arrive was my goal.

Time went by rapidly, but it had been some time before I heard from her and all to knowing work at the hospital was the culprit. Not a surprise and it did not bother me in the least.

The ferry dock information lady stared at me as I asked her a question.

“Where is the best clam chowder?”

Undeniably she said pointing to Ivars, “right there!”

Yes. Of course.

Suitcase in tow, I decided best to get a bite. It was a good thing as my two hour wait turned to four. What was so interesting besides being physically tired, I enjoyed every minute of that beautiful scenery as dark got darker and the afternoon turned to evening.

It was late, but she arrived and off we went from the ferry to her car parked on the other side of the sound. Driving those dark roads, we reminisced of days gone by and how we both loved the tall pine and fir trees in our view as we weaved the curved asphalt road. I was mesmerized by this part of earth I call home. Yet a part of me was lonely. It was my first Thanksgiving without my sons in 25 years.

When we arrived at my girlfriend’s home, she announced,

“Would you be OK if we have our Thanksgiving meal on Friday?”

Studying her tired face and all to knowing that feeling I made sure to remind her the most important part of hanging out was that we weren’t alone. She smiled and agreed.

Long before she and I would find ourselves together this night, I could not help to think long before in the heavenly it was decided how we would be a help to each other in the present. No Thanksgiving meal on the actual holiday, but my day would not be spent alone and the ferry made sure of that.