Turning 18 and Still Blogging

Dyslexic I am called by close circles. My doctor says, “Inattention.”

Sometimes I forget left from right in a huge mall; it takes 3 seconds for me to distinguish “push” from “pull;” and I say Dantu Date instead of his real name, Dante Datu. I wrongly put on my clothes backwards. Plus a hundred more. 

So I am qualified to say I turned 18 instead of 81, my age after my last birthday. It was celebrated in church with a surprise bithday cake from the women’s Sunday school, which I help facilitate.  

You are verrrrry oooold,” my youngest ading Dave says to my face. Then he sings the old hymn, “Nearer My God to Thee.”

And yet, at 81, I am still blogging like crazy. My pace has not slowed down—every three to four days, sometimes shorter.

Why?

My default reply, “Writing is my first love.” And now I add, “And my last,” after Tony said goodbye.  

Why do I write? “Why do I breathe,” I wrote in my blog profile.

But I am not old or odd.  

Morrie Markoff (an American) started blogging in his 100s until passing away at age 110 in June 2024. 

I started blogging, midst grace overflowing, in 2006, one year after I turned 60. My sons, knowing  how invested I am in writing, prodded me. 

It’s been 20 years. I will stop only at age_____, when the Lord says, “Time to come home.”