Thursday, April 2, 2020


In the last few years I've noticed a LOT of young people on Social Media claim to be suffering from burnout. I'm not a doctor so I don't know if they truly are or if they are merely claiming to suffer burnout because they don't know what else to call it.  Is suffering burnout a new fad thing that I haven't heard of? Since I don't know the answer to that question, I'm going to approach this by taking people at their word. So....what on earth can be causing these (30 - something people) to suffer burnout?
Listen, I know I'm an oldster and it's easy to think that I'm out-of-the-loop, I don't-understand-how-it-is-now,  I'm too-old-fashioned-to-understand-the-Internet-and-how-Social-Media-works, or how important it is to be "an Influencer". While that may all be true to some extent, it also means that I have lived through a time when the 30-somethings weren't even born yet. I know, from experience, a different way of doing things. I grew up in a time when kids had to be face-to-face to play a game; people spent time outside in the fresh air and sunlight. People looked at each other and made eye contact.

Chatting was something we did on the phone or over a table while sipping our favorite beverage; chatting was not something we had to read. 
Granted, the Internet has made some things incredibly easy, and Social Media has allowed us to be closer to, and more involved with, our friends and family across the country, this digital highway is definitely fabulous —but it needs to not take over our lives. Let's look at “burnout” with these young people. You kids are inheriting a sick world, and I apologize for that because my generation was part of the problem and not a big enough part of the solution. I know job security is a term you aren’t familiar with. I watch you kids (yes, at under 40 you are still a kid to me) putting out "content" at a rate that keeps you constantly busy.
I admit I’ve slowed down a bit, but you are cranking out “content” at a rate that I can barely fathom. The only way I can see you doing what you do is if you are giving up on “living” and putting it off until you’ve “made it”. I fear you are going without proper sleep, nutrition, hydration or recreation. We all need to give ourselves room to breathe and to acknowledge ourselves as human beings…not human doings.
We need to look around us at this beautiful world and realize we are connected to it, to each other and to all the life forms on this planet. Please, take time to connect and reconnect and rejuvenate. Don’t let the algorithms strip you of your humanity. We have a richness of thought, feelings and human experience that algorithms cannot have. This marvelous superhighway of the Internet has also created some bad things that didn't exist in such big numbers before. Stress for one.
The stress created by Social Media is insane. That's right...insane. It has the potential to drive anyone who becomes enslaved to it insane also. Different social media platforms began (I think) as a means for people of like minds to share what they loved. However now, thanks to big-business, big-government and big-money the Internet is no longer a place that affords easy, social times for people who live far apart. From what I've noticed, social media is becoming a bigger advertising venue than TV, magazines, or radio ever were.
Years ago, a lovely little Social Media channel began, actually two began. The first one I was introduced to was Facebook which allowed me to be in contact with my siblings on the other side of the country. We could share information and photos almost immediately which gave us the opportunity to stay in touch in a way that was not available before. We were able to work on ancestry information without having to meet in person to share info. This saved us a lot of time and some money in travel expenses.
Instagram came along very quickly after (or maybe beside and I just didn't learn of it until after) and provided a great way for artists and photographers to share their work with one another. It was great to get feedback from others with the same passion. Fast Forward to cell phones that take pictures and access the Internet and now there are apps to do just about everything. They make it easier to access the World Wide Web than our computers do, and they are always at our fingertips.
I understand the concept of wanting, and needing, to make money. I don't mind an occasional ad... but instead of an occasional ad from a legitimate advertiser we now see almost an ad every two to three images and sometimes there will be three ads in a row. This is right on target with prime-time TV.
There are several young women whose entire feed is about helping you get thousands of followers who will engage with your posts and help you create an income stream. (By letting advertisers piggyback on your posts I would assume.) Judging by the number and variety of the ads I see in my stream; advertising may be the main function of IG very soon.
Back to the IG "experts" (these young girls) talk about posting every day, mini-blogging in your IG stream, and sometimes posting multiple times a day, in multiple platforms, plus a separate blog or vlog that you are active in at least once or twice a week. You'd think that might be enough but no... you also need to add a podcast and/or YouTube video (also being posted at least weekly), and a "live stream", etc.
Is it any wonder that a human can't keep up with all this?  Do you begin to see how "burn-out" happens to young, healthy people? The most important thing to remember is this...these social media sites are run by algorithms (computer programs) on machines. They are not run by people.
I repeat... They are not run by people.
You really need to work to find a way to connect to a human if you have a problem. There are no phone numbers listed and it takes some dedication to find an email address or snail mail address. The algorithms are designed to push into the limelight those who are posting often enough (with high enough follower numbers) to be of value to advertisers. They are also pushing the posts of the advertisers themselves (those who've paid handsomely) for the privilege of being pushed into noticeable places. To push your account and posts into the top positions so that they are in many feeds and they come up to the top when anyone searches for any of the things advertised takes huge dedication.
"This" is designed by companies who can throw multiple employees at the algorithms to stay on top of the Social Media search engines and feed machines. It's not impossible to break through that, but it becomes increasingly more impossible to find followers because everything is built to keep the small account small and to feed and funnel viewers to corporate accounts.
As tempting as it all is, and as seriously as I need to create something that will provide us with residual income to flesh out our retirement; I still hold out against the algorithm. I am not a machine. I need to eat, use the facilities, sleep, and do some things for relaxation and enjoyment. Sometimes I need to help my adult children and sometimes I need to spend time with my grandchildren. Once you leave the high-energy 30-something age, you begin to feel your mortality and realize that you ARE a Human Being, not a Human Doing. This one life that we all have will be gone far too quickly. You don't want to be lying on your deathbed wondering what happened to your life, and if you aren't very careful where you spend your time, you could be. you young people out there...fight the machine, or the man, or whatever it's being called today...fight the algorithm, force these social networks to give more than they take. Refuse to play the game of the advertisers and big corporate accounts. You have the power, because if you aren't "buying in" they'll need to do something else. If corporations aren't getting clicks from the social media networks, they'll quit paying to be there. That means, don't click on those links within your social media accounts to buy something...go out of IG, or whatever site you’re on, and type in the actual search bar to find what you want and then get info or make your purchase from there.
This protects you also by making sure you are going to an actual website instead of getting ripped off and believe me, I've been burned twice by this crap. So be smarter than I am. Don't click on advertisements within social media. Whenever you can, thumb your nose at Social Media convention and don't write the mini blog, after all...a picture is worth a thousand words, so a good image only needs a few words of introduction or explanation. Let’s stick together and help each other. The Corporate Monster needs to be sized down and we small people with talent need to be noticed and appreciated. WE have rights and together we have the power to change the world.


Fur Carpet

My first memory of any pet was a cat that showed up on our back porch one spring morning. She was beautiful. She was a soft, cloudy-foggy grey with dark stripes running through her coat like a tiger. Her huge, pale green eyes were rimmed in black as if someone had put eyeliner on her. She also had stripes that looked like an 'M' on her forehead which made me think of a crown.  It was many years later that I learned the 'M' meant she

Sunday, March 1, 2020

Useful Links

 As a creative and entrepreneur I am constantly researching ways to get my images and creations in front of the public and potential buyers. I read everything I can get in front of me and while some of what they say, I refuse to follow because it goes against my promises to myself that I won't sell out in order to make a living, other options are possible.


Take this with a grain of salt...don't let Internet Marketing become your whole life. Take it from me, a 64-year-old, life doesn't wait while you make money; before you know it, your youth is gone and your life is nearing it's end, and you've missed too many opportunities to experience joy and companionship.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Still Kickin' :)

Wow, it's been a long time since I blogged last. I know everything I read says if you are going to blog, you have to be consistent...does consistently bad at it count?

Babysitting has pretty much ended until the holidays hit, so I hope to get back on track soon. After all, there was no reason to start this if I'm' not going to buckle down and stick with it. So....if you are one of the few who've been wondering where I am...I'm ok and I'm almost back :)

Can I get at least a small...yay?

Monday, March 27, 2017

Bathroom Blues

(Copied from my earlier post on WordPress)
Every now and then I read something so well written that I am ashamed of myself for not having


(Published by me originally in WordPress.)

Interesting birds, buzzards. I've seen them soaring aloft for most of my life but never in the numbers I have since moving to my current home. I remember hearing about the buzzards circling


Originally posted as a page on 3/21/2016 at 17:06

Over eleven years ago I spent nearly a month having a visitor every night after I'd gone to sleep. It felt as if I was falling asleep and immediately being met by a beautiful little girl with dark golden curls and grey eyes who

1880 or 2016? 136 years of women's exploitation?

(Copied here from my original post in WordPress to make it easier for you to use.)

In this cool old book, "Buckeye Cookery and Practical Housekeeping"  the preface starts off with "Fortunately it is becoming fashionable to economize," In my local community, in the past couple of years, there have been several events started that aim, or aimed, at helping homemakers learn how

Prince...a farewell.

(Originally posted in WordPress.)


I never met the man, never attended a live performance, and yet... even so.... there is a deep sadness in my heart at his passing. This surprises me a little. Why would I feel so sad, and

Whistle While You Work...

(Copied here from the original post on WordPress.)
When I was a kid I used to love that first week of summer vacation. It was the best of all the weeks of the year. Even though I missed my friends at school and my friends on the bus there were things that I only got to experience fully during that first few days of summer vacation and that made that week so special.

We lived at the top of a long hill. Even most of the back yard was downhill. Down the hill from us on the other side of the house, was a barn full of smallish wooden crates (that we used to play in even though we were told repeatedly not to) and a small room where powdered chemicals in big paper bags were stored until they were needed to spray the fruit trees. That room had a very distinctive smell that I can still recall all these years later. But, I digress…continuing downhill were a cold-storage, various outbuildings, a church, a very small community library, several homes, another fruit farm with a barn and cold-storage, etc., and other homes and buildings and land and a small road before the main road about two miles away where the land flattened out for a while before going back uphill again.

We had single-pane, single-hung windows in our old farmhouse. That meant that in the winter, as often as not, I'd wake up to snow on the foot of my bed. We had a coal fed hot water furnace. Every night just before going to bed, Grandpa would "bank" the fire so that there would be hot coals in the morning to quickly start a new fire in the furnace. So, while it meant that the house got warm faster in the morning, it meant that the house, and the radiators, got really cold during the night. As I understand it, “banking the fire” meant that he would keep less oxygen from reaching the fuel supply (coal) either by partially covering the coals with ash or by adjusting the flue grates or maybe it was a combination of both. Now that it’s far too late, I wish I’d asked him about that. Grandpa would get up at 5:00 A.M. (at least that’s what I thought, but to be fair to him, it could have been three in the morning for all I knew) to go down into the basement and fuel up the furnace so that the radiators would feel warm to the touch by the time I got up. Even though the air would still often be frigid, at least I could sit on the radiators and put my clothes on them so that when I got dressed, the clothes were warm. It also meant that when I got out of bed I would need to brush the snow off of the bed so that it couldn’t melt on my bed and get it wet all the way through to the mattress because that would still be wet when the house went cold again. I think I was about twelve when we got the gas furnace and the days of coal were done. I remember how luxurious it felt at first to have warmth all the time, and then I missed the cold while I slept. And now, I find myself returning to my childhood roots by going into a spare bedroom and closing the door on those cold winter nights and opening a window a crack and snuggling down into a ton of blankets and sleeping in there. I love being all burrowed into a pile of warm blankets and quilts with cold air in my face. I sleep the deep sleep of youth without a care in the world. It is such a restful and wonderful slumber.

During warm weather, I would slide the bottom pane up and insert a wood-framed metal screen in, the screen would adjust side-to-side to fit the opening and the window sash would come down to hold the screen in place. This allowed me to let in the fresh air while keeping out the bugs. My bedroom was on the second story in the southeast corner of the house. One window was over the front porch roof and faced the road, the other faced east and was a long drop to the ground. My bed was against the wall so that I looked out the east window and it was the one that was usually open when the weather allowed. Just down the hill between my room and the storage was a beautiful old Russian Olive tree. It had long, silvery green leaves, tiny black berries in summer but in the spring, and during that first week of summer vacation, it had flower blossoms.

On summer vacation, those first few mornings when I was allowed to wake up on my own, I can still remember coming back to consciousness, s-l-o-w-l-y. First, was the awareness of light on the other side of my eyelids; then the awareness that the light was warm and that the warmth was on my nose, my lips, the mountain fold where my lips meet my facial skin; my cheeks; the valley hollow where my cheek skin transitions toward the rim of my lower eyelids. Then as my awareness expands the light and its warmth is also brushing against my forearms, right calf and foot. My toes wiggle in delight of the warmth and freedom inviting the toes of my left foot to join them.

As I continue to wake, along with the warmth of the sun against my skin comes the further awareness of a coolness brushing along my skin here-and-there as if under the control of a master water-colorist whose light touch flits across the surface, and with it comes the most delicious aroma as the sense of smell awakens…that wonderful scent of the Russian Olive tree that to this day I still remember with great love.

Immediately upon that realization comes the sense of hearing waking up as I hear the bees buzzing, the birds singing their greeting into the morning, a tractor in the distance roars into life and there, in the distance, a sound I realize I am very happy to hear. It is a spluttering, chugging, purring sort of sound…the milk truck! Oh wow! The milk truck was coming! Back in those days, our milk was delivered by the milkman. Yes, seriously. As an adult, I learned that my babysitter had been, of all people, the milkman's wife. Yes, I know that would be amazing fodder for Whoopi Goldberg and I am sure I would love to hear what she would/could do with all that. I am not a comedienne so anyone reading this who knows Whoopi, feel free to send her a link to this blog post, I'll be happy to sign a release for her to use the info. But, for the time being, I am simply going to share the lighter, sweeter side of the milk man's tale. On our ample front porch (which ran across the entire front of the house) was a silver box, not noticeable from the road because of the bushes that grew in front of the porch. This silver box, well, more accurately perhaps, I should call it a metallic box because it was dull silvery color, because then, as now, silver wasn’t cheap. It was, most likely tin. So, our silvery tin box was insulated, and the milkman would put our order in there so it would stay ‘fresh’ until someone could bring it into the house and fridge a.s.a.p.

As I lay there, still with my eyes closed, I heard the truck come to a stop, the brakes made a  squealing noise, there was a thumpety-thump-thump as the milk man exited the truck, and then his whistling, and then the sound of the back door of the truck sliding open the clinking of glass, then the clinking and jangling of glass against metal as he walked, whistling a tune and the thumpety -thump-thump-thump up our four steps and more jingling-jangling as he took the empty bottles out of our milk-box and put the full ones in, then the same sounds in reverse as he left, all the while whistling.

Whistling! And not just random whistle sounds, either...songs! Melodies and harmonies and stuff you could've sung along with. Whistling while he worked! The whole time! Everyday! I never heard any other grownups whistle while they worked. Ever! Much less every day. Well, except Cinderella and even though I was a kid I knew she wasn’t real. The milkman must be the happiest person on the whole earth! And being a milkman must be the best job on the whole earth! When I grew up, I was going to be the first milk-woman in the world.

I couldn't wait to get up and run downstairs to see what goodies were in that box! Milk for sure - for cereal and cooking. Usually there would also be eggs and butter, and cream for coffee. Sometimes there would be orange juice and whipping cream or even ice cream when they knew I would be awake to bring it in right away. Such great times.

Well, I never drove a milk truck, but I have done some jobs that I really loved and if I'd ever mastered the art of whistling a tune, there are some that I certainly would've whistled through all day long. And as unbelievable as it may be, one of my very favorite was literally shoveling sh**. Yes, I did a stint as a stable hand and that meant cleaning (such a ladylike term for using a pitchfork to pick up) horse dung and wet spots out of the sawdust in the stalls. I loved the animals and I loved giving those magnificent beasts a clean place to live, eat and sleep. Most of them were very appreciative. I loved them all.
I don't know who this fellow is, this is a photo off the World Wide Web,not one representing my particular milk man or the dairy that was local to us.

Plagiarism? Who?...Me?

(Originally posted on WordPress. Copied here for ease of access by non WordPress.)

When I was quite young there was a movie that came on the television that had a very pretty lady who was very mysterious and Jimmy Stewart was the leading man. I recognized him from other movies I liked. I didn't know the name of the movie but it was about a lady who had a little

Easter...and such...

(Originally posted on WordPress. Copied here so you don't have to join WordPress to read it. )

What makes Easter sweet for you? Are you still following time honored family traditions or


By way of introduction...(it seems like I already wrote this somewhere before - maybe here), but, in case I only thought I wrote it...

Many friends have told me I should write about my life, that it isn't "normal" whatever