Happy belated birthday.

It's my blog's birthday--turning seven years old this month. That's 1472 posts and 60,000 (and change) page views (only about 30% of which are probably mine, from when I was constantly refreshing to see if anyone had left any comments).

Here's my very first post. And here are a few of my personal favorites:

Open letter to my bed: "Oh my darling clementine, my bed, you are, at the end of a day like today one of the brightest ideas ever to issue forth from the mind of humankind."


The historian quotes scripture: "Historian: Slow to anger and quiet as an . . . owl? And wise as . . . a goat."


Open letter to my proclivity for complaint: "The barbarians are at the gate, and by God, they eat off dirty dishes, the ones that were supposed to be clean."


Me and Almost Famous had brunch together: "Also, Patrick Fugit in Almost Famous looks almost exactly the same as I did in my yearbook picture, junior year."


California sketches: "Also, [my] quick-witted friend, the birthday girl, happens to know where cake is to be obtained."

To the desert:  "I am thinking about diversion a lot, because I realize, what I've been seeking to be diverted from is my life, my actual life."


Like a heartbeat baby trying to wake up: "Sometimes, this little bit of the song keeps me awake at night, because I myself need something more sub sub sub substantial."


Muffin, I presume: "A muffin is not a cupcake. It is a quick bread, which means that, categorically, it has more in common with the scone, the biscuit, the rusk, than it does with any form of cake. It is a wholesome food, falling on the plain side of the plain/fancy spectrum."


Without peer: "Yes, the people, I was brought to tears over a Coke in a west side Mexican restaurant because my husband offered to take me to the mall."


Clam chowder: requiem for a dream: "There it sat, looking like the paragon of chowder, clam-filled and potato-y and even a little creamy. Why was it so nasty? Why?"


Thanks, everyone, for reading along with me all these years.