An Artists' Life

Lots of the same picture are maybe better than no picture. And getting rid of the same three posts wasn't impossible. If you want to read the real first post, go to http://faye-merill.blogspot.com. What happened is that I chose this URL that takes you to the template with the gaudy orange star in the corner first- and then Blogger decided I had not done so, and should go about and create a new blog. Frustrating, yes, but patience is one quality I accept possessing, so I did all that.

Now came the acid test. And nothing worked. When I tried to post to the "one-R-URL", Blogger told me it didn't exist and to create yet another Blog. Crying seemed a good option, but I wanted my granddaughters up there on my lap, with Poobah by my side. After all, it would be very easy to figure out who I was. Plus the picture is almost two years old, and I had some plump left, so I like this picture for it's healthy look at joyous blown-away grandparents, so in love with these little creatures we could have pooped in our own pants. That I am sure willl come much later, when hopefully we could care as little as they did.

So I won't write anything else on that URL because this one seems more cooperative, as strange as that seems. Also, my first name is spelled right, which I think is fun. It is already linked up to 'youtube.com', anouther discovery of Leah Miriams' where I can upload movies. I haven't moved any movies into the 'launch pad' area yet, but will. Plans to do so and wondering how it all fits together, if it does, will it work. If I didn't invite anyone to read this, no one would ever find out, and I could go on for a long time, trying. Such as will words and pictures work together to create the kind of blog I want. A picture of parts of my little old life, who I love, and why. How I got going, and where if anywhere, my path is leading now. Harder still, staying in today.

Names come up again and again because I am an isolated woman, who loves her family, friends, and special neighbors. I go almost noplace except to visit my son-in-law and daughter in Rhode Island, about 2 1/2 hours from here, or go to see one of the various physicians who keep me ticking. Also, about every two months I feel well enough to drag myself to see Jacque, my hairdresser for more years than I can count. She is fabulous and a friend, so I also love her and her partner, Lorraine. Solid friends both, it seems I have known them through the ups and downs of the last twenty years. The hairdresser is a confessional, no
doubt. So these are the places I go.

Here is a short list in no special order of where I would like to go: to see Diana and her children in Swanzey. She sold me my car, and is wonderful beyond description. She went on to sell a car to my daughter Rebecca, who I don't know was ever as happy with her car, but did enjoy Diana. The thing I notice about a lot of people, not R, is that they think the salesperson is responsible for the car. i don't think so, there are often a hundred cars on the lot. I am touchy because my father sold cars and supported his family - us - just fine, and w/o 'ripping anyone off'.