I see that my last post was just over a year ago, at the end of 2015.
How can it be?
I guess the year just got away from me for a variety of reasons. All good excuses, I’m sure.
As a self-proclaimed writer, I guess I’m not – a writer. Writers write, and I’ve not done much of it in the past year. I’ve made a few personal journal entries, written some ecommerce listings, and a random post on some of my other blogs.
But me? A Writer? Not this past year, that’s for sure.
Well, we bought a farm. Not the metaphorical one, but a real farmlet out in Oregon’s Yamhill County wine country. It was vacant and a bit rundown, so I got to spend lots of hours doing man-stuff with tractors, chainsaws, and hammers.
We hired a contractor to remodel most of the whole house. He did a fantastic job, and we do love our new home.
The unaccustomed work did me in, physically. I developed arthritis in my shoulders. I was pretty much worn out from day to day, eating pain pills like candy. It’s better now, but still painful.
We lost our Ziva-dog to the nearby highway. Our fence patches were inadequate. 2 days later, our pasture was fenced on schedule. The dog just wasn’t home to enjoy it.
A few months later, we got our Boomer dog to join my battle-buddy Chloe, our Beagle. He was supposed to come in around 40 pounds. He’s 9 months old this week, and our last vet visit weighed him in at 75 pounds. At least he’s caught up with his feet, and only stands 2 feet tall at the shoulder. We adore him, and he adores us.
He’s sort of a Giant Schnauzer-ish guy. He was supposed to be a cross of Border Collie and Wheaton Terrier. We think he’s really a Wolfhound/Great Dane. Not really, but it seemed like it. He’s giant.
And to think that we didn’t get a German Shepherd because it would be too big to travel with.
We didn’t travel much last year. Too busy with the farm, the gardens, the move from the suburbs where we had lived for 47 years.
It was a rugged year.
Oh yeah. Our Amazon business grew another 20%. We mentored up a couple more Sellers. We bought more and more merchandise. Our basement’s full.
So, what does a writer who isn’t supposed to do?