Ron, my husband
I admit sometimes it’s quite hard to figure out what I’m trying to say. It is hardest for my husband, who has to listen to my stories at the day’s end over dinner. We share the office in our house, sitting back to back at computers and every so often he will turn around to see what I’m reading on-line, or writing, or buying, etc. As he reads the text over my shoulder as I write, he often comments on my choice of words, or my sentence structure, or laughs at some big gaffe I have just made.
I do appreciate the help he offers me on this new quest of blogging, but at times it’s like a monkey on my back. I can’t quite shake him. He’s always ‘helping.’ I taught my son that there are three words one should never forget in life which are ‘do no harm.’ But now I have three new words that I often offer to my husband–’don’t help me.’ Yet his help builds my vocabulary, strengthens my grammar, clarifies my story telling skills, so I do my best to resist using my club to get him off. Actually, he is quite friendly–just aggressive in offering his assistance.
This blogging thing is really hard work for me. I’m not a linear thinker all the time. Often I hate to see my thoughts in writing. At times I have to journey along a windy path to get to the end of a story. As hard as I work to speak, it is just as hard to listen. Which is humorous because I think I’m quite a confident preacher. Go figure.
We’ll see as time goes on how well I live with my little primate. Did I mention, I love him?
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