You know how it is. I meant to post regularly, but I missed a day. No big deal. I mean, it was a self-imposed deadline, no money lost, and to tell you the truth, I really didn’t think anyone cared. A day turned into a week and Front Porch writing sat there on my back burner among the other things I have simmering – that book I’m working on, those two other blogs, volunteering, a couple of paying gigs, then after a month, two, three, I meant to write, but something better came up, like checking out my dysfunctional relative’s Facebook page, then, well,I have to write a comment here and there and that sucks my writing juices out of me. Pretty, pretty lame excuse, huh? And now? I just got an email, from a reader wanting to know where the heck the new postings are. You mean someone actually reads this? Enough about me and my insecurities. Let’s talk neighborhood. Speaking of complaining . . . my friend calls me, and we get to talking about stuff, when she segues into a whine about the streetscaping project going on in front of her house, “Those guys are out there early in the morning. It’s really loud,” she said. Boo-frickin’-hoo is what I want to say, but decide on, “It’s the sound of progress, my friend.” Nice looking neighborhoods just don’t happen, there’s work involved. Dusty, loud, inconvenient work. Planters and landscaped medians aren’t brought in the middle of the night by elves, unless those elves are wearing flourescent green vests and hard hats. Just wait. For the artistic railings. The bump outs. The Abbey Road Crosswalks. After sitting through endless meetings, planning sessions, walk abouts, I, for one can’t wait.
