Blog? Really?

Well, this is another step into technology, I guess. I now have a blog. Huh. The title is 5 title because that's how many times you have to repeat the word title before someone else doesn't have title title title.blogger.com, etc. as an address. Why not?

This is one of those things where I've graduated from college, and I really have to travel to reach people now, and I'm kinda isolated in a big house, inside a subdivision, inside a mediocre city (I miss Chicago!) inside a kinda mediocre state so I'm sure if I write about it, I'll have to find interesting things to talk about.

For one thing, we have a peach tree in the back yard. And the peaches are big, and they have some sort of spotted disease. So I spent some time gathering peaches into my shirt, trying to rescue the good ones today. And now they'll ripen, and we'll have fresh peaches soon! How many subdivision people get to say that?!

Also, I intend to make yogurt soon. Even though most people I've been around for the past while don't eat it, and certainly not my brother and sister, who I'm in charge of, now. Maybe if I bribed them . . .

Right. I'm taking care of my brother and sister for a week, while my parents go off places. And I've decided that I'll never never never have kids. Ever. Although, when I told this to my brother's friend, he explained to me that when you're a sister, you brother is meant to be annoying (i.e. continuously shooting a water gun at your head for minutes and minutes, tackling you, and all those other things little 7th graders do) and when you're a mother, your son will respect you. I don't believe such lies. Besides, I like playing with my brother and sister. Just not all day long.

Because of my brother, though, we have this electric piano that he quit playing around the time we bought it. So now, I've found some sheet music for Carmen, and am learning to play it. I have no sense of tone, but it's satisfying when Carmen-like sounds come out of the thing. Maybe by the end of the summer I'll be able to play something!

Ramble ramble . . . and no more ramble. (Apparently, when you have kids, 10pm is bedtime)