“We Thought it Was a Pot Roast” is merely a structured excuse to sit on the sofa and write something on Saturdays. I run a rural non-profit, so don’t expect to find prolific posting here. I’m too busy trying to fundraise during an economic downturn.

As you may surmise from my posting about first grade playground traumas, I’m one to be more concerned with basic survival than with winning. (Note that though I played tennis for nearly a decade, I still apologize when I win a shot. Admittedly, Pictionary is an exception though. In that arena, I grow bloodthirsty and gloating).

Anyway, like the piano helped Władysław Szpilman survive the Holocaust, the pen helped me survive recess. In the third grade, I wrote my first story about a red dragon that loved to play Atari, especially the game in which a poorly rendered yet valiant knight  must capture a gold chalice from a fire breathing reptile.

Soon, I began collaborating with my best friend (another recess reject who could produce spot on Yoda impressions) on adapting our stories for stage. All of the playground’s prima donnas wanted to be superstars. So, as long as we had a play in the works, we felt protected. 

I’ve often allowed every day demands to block me from writing. This is surprising. Considering the mundanity of the every day demands in my life, one would expect me to use writing to procrastinate, not the other way around. But things have not worked out that way. I now realize the potential for blogging to lend me the focused time & safe outlet I need to reconnect with my keyboard. Perhaps this will help me better navigate the political intrigue and perils I face in the small town non-profit milieu. 

Oh and I also like climbing trees, ghost stories, inner tubing, lemon custard ice cream, and weird human tricks. Oh and otters.

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  1. I’m not sure how or why, but here we go…I went traipsing through Solstice Canyon a couple of days ago…Malibu…Had a spooky hike through three year old, fire charred Chumash homestead thousands of years before we arrived.There were trees and ghosts and a terribly cute , if not snake-filled creek. No ice cream…just mandarin lime soda…and seven…no…eight weird humans.Cottontails outnumbered us by far. Your writing is so much fun to squint at…whoever you are.

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