Five years ago today I signed up to blog at a place called Blogstream. I had no idea what I was getting into, how much joy, anger and sadness I would find on a monitor screen. Many, many people were here then that aren't here now. Some told us where they were moving to and others just faded away from our sight. They left before Blogstream became a fond memory in all our lives.

As my last post here, on this, my 5th Blogaversary, I am reposting with additions a poem I wrote using the blog titles of some of my favorite bloggers.

Life is full of Second Chances,
And Uninspired Thoughts.
Along The Spiral Path of life,
I wonder, what has it brought?

Whispered Promises, My Mindlessness
Or am I Just Being Me?
Trying Not To Come Undone,
Should we ask Mr. P?

Inside The Flame, a River Rat
In the Pirates Cafe
The Good The Bad The Ugly,
I really couldn't say.

I'm in The Dog House, I believe,
Along with Library Cat.
Whit's Whittling My Nutty Life away,
I don't know where I'm at.

Echo's From The Tomb, I say
My Momma Never Told Me,
I'm Burning the Wick at Both Ends
Oh my, it's Ain't Life Peachy.

Ordinary Stuff from Ordinary People,
Deja Vu All Over Again.
Pets Discuss Their Problems
When will it ever end?

From inside the Inner Sanctum
I gazed at the View From The Bluffs
I've also seen MacKenzies Inner Fire
And I can't get enough.

Lifes Lesson's Endings and Beginnings
The Bits and Pieces of my sleep
Living And Dying in 5/4 Time
It's enough to make one weep.

Touchy Subjects or Strange Phrase Indeed?
Life Is Not One Big Joke.
I think I'll retire to Mr Ornery's Corner
And have myself a Coke.

Bella's Got A Brand New Blog
With Music Music Music.
I'm caught in My Soap Opera Life,
Help! I'm in need of radicaldiscipleship.

There is Ice on the Windshield
And I'm Blogging Along In My Automobile
Is this a quest for One Perfect Moment?
Or is it time for a brand new deal?

No, this is just a Stream of Consciousness
Flowing out like My Life On The River
Trying to catch hold of Moonsilvers Dream
Before I go Streaming Yellow Zonkers.

I'm taking Railroad Street to catch the train
And I won't be back again.
Beloved Blogstream will soon be gone
And all your memories will linger on.

Many thanks to all who contributed to my education regarding the use of computers, and the nature of blogging. A special thanks to Pioneer who created this place and allowed us to connect. It was something I'll never forget.

Bella

Belle

BMCohen

Bohemian 

capananda

Formerly Debunkem, now Monro Tweeder-Harris Esq

gjwlegs

Heatherscot

Illumination Guy/ Joram

Johnny Pazzesco

Kristen

lalepop

L.Cat

Mr. Ornery

Notacynic

PolarB.

Rita B.

Sarge

Scratch

John The Squabbler

TrustTheRust

wayfarer

The Yellow Fringe

Whit

ME, of course. LOL

It isn't easy to find the new blogs in Blogger, plus it isn't that easy to navigate around in if you are somewhat technologically challenged. If you want your blog added to this list, I need your URL AND blog name, especially if you've had to use a different name over there.

When I first read that Blogstream was closing down on April 30, I felt a sense of sadness, and relief. After 5 years I was finally not going to have to feel guilty for not feeling like blogging. I decided that I wasn't going to move anyplace, just keep up my Twitter account and give my friend Egaladeist a blog post once in awhile for TheTAZZone.com. Yep, no more sitting in front of the computer wracking my pea brain to find a topic to post about. No more sitting in front of the computer reading everyone and trying to think of something intelligent to say in a comment. I was done. Finished with blogging. I could rip out a few more posts in the next few weeks and then celebrate, somewhere around the 26th of April the end of 5 years of blogging rather than the beginning of the 6th year.

Oh yeah! SUUUUUUUUURE I could.

I'm sure that since I mentioned it enough you all remember why I started blogging in the first place and how I chose the name for my blog. The title is just an adult way of expressing the visceral pain of losing ones beloved Mother. We can't go around screaming I WANT MY MOMMY when we're over 50. Well, we could, but after awhile someone will tell us to grow up. However, expressing it quietly and with love in a blog title by choosing a frequent bit of wisdom one's Mommy shared, works pretty darn good. Only, I was about to lose that avenue of expression and I'm not adult enough, even at nearly 62 years of age to handle that without a tantrum. Ok, so I didn't really have a tantrum, I just simply started quietly freaking out.

What was a quiet, "I'm going to miss you guys, hope you'll tell me where you land so I can read you" became an OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOO, IM LOSING EVERYTHING! WHAT'LL I DOOOOOO? Ahem! Excuse me a minute while I compose myself. I'm sorry, Mom's been gone now for 5 years this month, and I'm not willing to stop honoring her by giving up the one thing she tried to encourage me to do.

See? Blogging is the perfect writing avenue for me. I never had a desire to publish a book or even write one for that matter. I always enjoyed the writing of letters to my family when I was living in another state, and I wrote numerous letters to young men I cared about who were serving in Viet Nam. The writing for a living bug never bit me. Even after 5 years of actually writing, it still hasn't. Writing as a hobby is another thing entirely. When I sit down at the computer, I hear my Mom say; "You are an excellent writer, you should write books".

I've always felt that Mom is somewhere over my shoulder reading what I write and admittedly not always approving. She raised me to stand up for what I believe in and fight back when someone got in my way. She couldn't do that, she didn't know how, yet she raised me to be who I am. She never understood how I became who she wanted me to be without knowing how to be it herself. I never told her that I figured out that in order to be what she wanted me to be, I had to do everything exactly opposite of the way she did it. So, in essence, she raised me by providing an example of who not to be.

She couldn't stand on her own two feet and fight back. I had to do it for her. There were times when she felt I had gone too far in that fight, but she was satisfied that I could make it on my own. She accepted that I didn't have the desire to write and while disappointed in that, she was content to watch me achieve what I did in whatever else I tried. My ability to teach myself to paint was something she admired most. However there still was her voice saying to me "You have all this talent, what a shame you won't try writing."

So, after she was gone, I tried writing. Did it on a regular basis for 5 years next month. Some of my efforts I'm proud of, some I just enjoy a lot. Some of it I could have lived without, but that's the manner of the writing beast.

Now, we are nearing the end of Blogstream and I found that I'm unable to let go of what I started doing for her because now I do it for myself. I write for ME. And if you're still for some strange reason willing to read my drivel, you can find me here:

Raindrops Make Things Beautiful 2

I was half listening to one of my clients complain about her financial situation today when this song popped into my head and simply wouldn't leave. At first, I thought it was happening because, at times, working for this particular lady feels a bit like being imprisoned for two whole hours. Then it kept playing over and over no matter where I was and all my other Wednesday clients are people I adore.

Having a few Type A tendencies means that I can obsess over things most people dismiss as unimportant. It also means that sometimes my mind leaps into seas uncharted and lands on an island that others might see as something else entirely.

Taken literally the song appears to be about someone who is physically imprisoned and torturing himself over escaping to be with someone he loves. Just suppose, for a minute, that the object of his desire is actually money. I could turn this into an anit-GOP rant by claiming they are guilty of trying to keep all the money in the pockets of the rich regardless of who they are torturing. The problem with that is my understanding of human nature. We tend to create our own prisons with our own emotions.

See? This particular complaining client isn't as bad off as she believes she is. She owns her own home that she actually paid cash for. She paid $50,000 cash, bought all new furniture, had an elevator installed so she could get into the basement, had a new roof installed and still has money in her savings account. Her monthly income is twice that of most of my other clients. She doesn't qualify for Medicaid, food stamps or HEAP. She believes she should. It's a bone of contention with her that she has to pay her own way while others get away with all those freebies. I've bitten my tongue so many times to keep from saying anything that I'm surprised I have one left.

My other 2 Wednesday clients live on Social Security checks amounting to just over $700 a month. The live in senior apartments that are not much bigger than postage stamps. They get Medicaid, and HEAP, close to $200 a month in food stamps plus meals on wheels. The rent they pay, out of their $700 a month, is more than the complainer pays in property and school taxes thanks to the STAR program. They pay the exact same amount for their Medicare as she does, out of an income that is half of hers, and not once have I heard either of them complain.

Neither of them have created a prison of "I wants" because having money for nice things is far less important to them. They have no problem hopping on a bus to travel to one or the other of the Senior Social Centers here to participate in a few hands of cards, do some crafts or just to socialize. Sometimes they get together in the recreation rooms in their buildings to put together a puzzle, or search the shelves for a book they haven't read yet. They aren't making the best of a bad situation even with their ailments. They are happy with who they are and the choices they've made.

Charlie Sheen joined Twitter this week. More than a million and a half Twitter users followed him within the first 24 hours his account was open. I wasn't one of them. Tiger blood and Adonis DNA? Sez who?


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