I don't know why I ever stopped, I loved a lot of what I had written and one day I thought "who is going to read this crap" when an answer didn't come to me I erased it all. Like it so often happens in life, we regret something we did in the spur of the moment. I never thought what I had written was exciting enough, not when I read other blogs, so here I am, a couple of years later writing again. I've written journals for the past 50 years and here and I offered to read it to someone, no one was ever interested, but when I turned my back, I discovered that they read it on the sly. I could never understand "underhanded and sneaky" but guess some people thrive on it, so what the hell. I'll begin again.