I like to think I keep my mind busy, exercise my imagination, stay up to date with current events, do a lot of reading and am, generally, well informed about current happenings in my world.

Just this week I learned how it feels being the product of donor conception and that Arizona has had a 143-day drought. I enlarged my vocabulary with the words absailing and potholing, discovered there is a brand of toilet paper on the market that is to die for and studied up on which saints to pray to when.

I joined a club, did some artwork, visited both Scotland and England and learned and laughed about relationships. I wrote about my life and even took the time to open the windows and enjoy a little thunderstorm.

Then, yesterday morning, a friend called. She wanted to know if I was okay.

I’m thrilled that anyone cares enough to pick up the phone and check in. It calms my fears of dropping of a heart attack and not being discovered until the dogs have picked my bones clean. And, well, it’s just nice to be loved.

“Of course I’m okay,” I tell her, “why do you ask?”

“I was watching the news,” she said, as if that was self-explanatory. I considered uttering the things one utters when they have no clue what their part of the dialogue should be: ummhm, ah-ha, oh that’s right, you don’t say . . . but I opted for honesty instead. Well, sort of. I told her I’d been busy writing, as I realized I’m not sure I’ve left my chair all weekend. I had no clue what was on the news.

Evidently, the thunderstorm I celebrated yesterday was something close to a natural disaster. That’s right folks, I blogged through a tornado warning. Fortunately, touch-down was nowhere nearby.

Clearly I have a problem. I’ve hit blogging rock bottom. And, I know what I need to do:

Go wireless, so I can blog from the storm cellar.