Of Politics, Sports and Stuff

I wrote this a few weeks ago but didn't want to post it until I let some time go by so I could think about it some more and to see if my feelings would change. Spoiler alert - they didn't: 21 years ago almost to the day, in August of 1998, Cheryl moved in to my house in Thorndale with her two awesome daughters, Elissa, age 12 and Evelyn, age 5.  And on that day, my life would change forever. My bachelorhood ended and my life as I always imagined and fervently hoped it would become, began. Two years later, Trevor was born, and at some point, I remember telling Cheryl that coming home from work each day, and opening the door to that house, felt like Dorothy opening her door to Munchkinland, not because of the size of the inhabitants, and not because of the gingham dress and sparkly ruby slippers I was usually wearing, but because I was moving from my very satisfying, if often uneventful, dare I say dull, life of black and white, into a world of color, imagination, surprises,

I find myself often torn (Have you ever found yourself? Other maybe than when you was lost? Have you ever been torn? Gosh I hope not.) between wanting more people to see my posts (validation, after all!) and wishing I didn't know if anyone read them, or who read them, so I could write ever more freely about my often wacky and revealing (oh - the intrigue!) thoughts. Other than from devoted reader Becca, I rarely get any comments on here, and since there is no "like" function, it's entirely possible that the handful of people who have signed up to see my posts the day they are written via auto-email actually are horrified by what they read and go by the dictum (Dictum?! Hell, I damn near killed him!) that if you can't say anything nice, you should keep your damn mouth shut/keep your fingers off the keyboard. But there are some incredibly supportive comments that I have heretofore (And just how far is it from heretofore?!) not posted, surely completely out of s