I'm not sure I was made for blogging. I suppose it's just the same as a teenager keeping a diary only many more people than one's mother or brother can get their noses into it. Probably the only way I could be comfortable blogging would be just write a whole bunch of lies as a way of diverting others in a direction other than contemplating my very quiet and not terribly interesting life. Besides, what goes on in my imagination is much more exciting than what's really happening.
Maybe I could just tell you all that I witnessed a cattle stampede the other day at the Glendale Galleria Mall. The cows didn't even stop to look for sales -- they just thundered down the main arcade, mooing and stomping and scaring the daylights out of every small child in their path. Mothers were weeping and fathers were cursing, and everyone was running around in that panicky way that looks just like a cheesy horror movie. Then an army of vaqueros came galloping in to remove the cattle. I haven't seen that many large animals milling around in one small space since the last time Jerry and I drove by Harris Ranch on our way up to Sonora.
Maybe I could just tell you all that I witnessed a cattle stampede the other day at the Glendale Galleria Mall. The cows didn't even stop to look for sales -- they just thundered down the main arcade, mooing and stomping and scaring the daylights out of every small child in their path. Mothers were weeping and fathers were cursing, and everyone was running around in that panicky way that looks just like a cheesy horror movie. Then an army of vaqueros came galloping in to remove the cattle. I haven't seen that many large animals milling around in one small space since the last time Jerry and I drove by Harris Ranch on our way up to Sonora.
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