I just don't know what to write about. Maybe I could write about that. I admire writers. I like to say "I'm a sucker for a writer." Mike McFeely for instance, is a writer. I asked him if he'd show me how to write. Despite asking and watching him leave the room, I'm no writer. It's like having a deep voice. It's genetic. My dad had a deep voice and so do I. But, he couldn't do what I do for a living, because, (wait for it...) HE HAD PRIDE! He also chose to WORK for a living instead of....well...whatever it is I do. Look at Casey Kasem, (dead DJ.) He didn't have a deep voice but he knew how to use what genetics gave him. Who can ever forget, "...time for a long-distance dedication" or "and, now, the number one on American Top 40." I know I can write. (Look! I'm writing now.) However, to massage words into cogent thought which might provoke action or thought is the work of a real writer. I know how to spell, punctuate, (no offense tea-partiers) and hit "enter." But, I'm no writer. I'm a talker. You should read my son Curt's blog. He IS the best writer of them all. (He didn't get it from me.) And, he too, HAS pride.
On another front, I'd just like to let you in on a weird "Sunday" family worry. My Mom and Dad each died in October. I've had grandmas, grandpas, aunts, and uncles die in October. We call it "Dread October." Now that it's no longer October, I don't really have to look before I cross the street. If I would've been awake at midnight I would've had 21 shots. But, I'd been asleep four hours by then.
Finally, the USS North Dakota is being christened Saturday at Bath Maine. It'll be broadcast on the interweb.