Note to Self: Don't Be a Windbag

These toys are made out of windbags. Cute, aren't they?

There is a certain type of writer that is female, usually a mother, who recounts the simpler things in daily life, striving to connect with her readers through their commonality. I hope never to be this type of writer, and if I am or have been in the past, just shoot me. (Not really, it's an expression, but these days, what with easy gun availability and people going off half-cocked, perhaps it should be retired. I'll use it today but never again.)

In our town there is a local newspaper, like local newspapers across the country, chock full of classified advertising and various announcements and notices about things like the Chamber of Commerce or the new school crossing guard. To fill up the space between those ads, local writers are awarded a certain number of column inches in which they may write about anything. Some are political, while others are about lifestyle and family. Years ago I wrote one of those columns for a newspaper in Salt Lake City. It was fun and funny, and full of antics, since at the time my son was young and antic-prone. Now he is grown and there are few if any antics around our house, unless you count the cats or my husband when he gets drunk, a rare occurrence.

Humor is always a good thing, I think, but the local paper here in Maine does not have a humorist; instead they have a lady who aims for being amusing. Her column is named "No Sugar Added," which implies that she is sweet enough all by herself, or something like that, not sure. One of her recent columns was about how socks get lost in the wash and isn't that frustrating and ditto Tupperware lids disappearing in the back of the cupboard. Oh please.

This blog exists to hone my writing and maybe even make a point. Sometimes, on a good day, it's funny; I know it makes me laugh, although not yet in this particular column. I hope I never sink to the level of writing about how socks disappear in the wash, and if I do it had better be wildly hysterical, like Jerry Seinfeld's old stand-up bit on the subject that he did on the Tonight Show back when I was in college. That's how old that bit is. Anyway, if a post ever sucks really bad, I hope someone will tell me.