MARTINI, EXTRA DIRTY

Two Blue Cheese Stuffed Olives

Staring at a blank sheet of paper unnerves me.

My blog inspirations sneak in from anywhere: an overheard conversation, a news headline, a random memory, or, in one recent case, a Facebook post.

That blog started as a comment, just a quick reply to someone’s opinion. But by the time I was halfway through my response, I realized two things: (1) they weren’t looking for a monologue, and (2) I had way too much to say. So, I cut and pasted my ramblings into a new document and shaped them into a blog post.

I have always enjoyed writing, but I never considered myself a writer. As I approached my late 60s, something shifted. I’d grown comfortable in my skin and comfortable with simply being. I wanted to write about my comfort and anything else that came to mind. My husband, my forever cheerleader, encouraged me (as he does with all my brilliant ideas) to explore writing.

Still, it remained just that: an idea.

Until around my 70th birthday.

I don’t know why, but that birthday did a number on my mind. I loved turning 50. I loved turning 60. But turning 70? Seventy is old, right? Seventy means I might start snarling at children, forgetting names, or wandering into a room and wondering why I’m there.

Then it hit me, I’ve always done all three. That realization gave me comfort. It “braved me up,” so to speak.

My thoughts don’t always translate easily into writing. Once I wrangle them onto the page, I spend time shaping them into something coherent. Four drafts of a single blog post? Totally normal for me.

I hand-picked my first few readers from work and play, friends I trusted to read my posts and give honest feedback. Some did. Some didn’t. And to those who did, and offered pointers and encouragement: you are a blessing. To those who didn’t, I still love you, and I get it.

I began writing on February 2, 2025. This is blog post number sixty.

My readership has grown substantially since I started, and I’m deeply grateful. Thank you to my original 27 readers. And to my actual subscribers: you’ve given me more confidence than you could ever know.

All of you, go have an extra dirty martini with two blue cheese-stuffed olives. You’ve earned it.