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I Didn't Lie To You

I happened to glance up at the top of my Blog Desk Page. This post is number 274. I began it when Maria and I moved to Louisiana. I began publishing it to keep a promise to my friends to stay in touch. 

I have taken a week off here and there, but I've published on Tuesday mornings for most weeks. Because Gmail doesn't allow publishing to large mailing lists, I have to split the mailing list (110 People) in half. In my head, as I punch up my mail contact list (A-List) from my Google Contacts, it's like calling an infield double play in baseball. The first name on the list Balcer to Krolikowski, then La Joie to Zarnow.

I've written this before, but I know from the analytics report that between 40 -50% of the people on my list open the post. I have no idea who these people are. I am equally mystified that if the post is regularly ignored, why don't they ask to be removed from the list.

Then I found out something interesting. Because I'm not addressing the post to a smaller number of people. It may be that some of my emails are going into their spam mail. I investigating another mailing service that can get me over that hill.


Now addressing my need to confess to a misstatement. Last week, I reported the need to recover my lost recipe for sandwich bread and my plan to bake a loaf. I found the recipe. I was going to bake it, I swear. Then the buggy hit the bump in the road, and the baby fell out. 

I met a friend, art teacher, and closest available daughter designate, Anne Wilde, for lunch at the Hollander on Downer. The restaurant offers the inside/outside dining option I wrote about last week. The restaurant is located one half of a block from the Breadsmith.

So forgive me for my trespasses. I caved in like a house of cards in a spring breeze through an open window and bought a loaf of Ciabatta bread. I did not bake my sandwich bread for two reasons. One or the other loaf would have gotten stale no matter how much french toast or sandwiches I tried to eat in one week. I could have made salad croutons out of the stale bread, but the canister is already full. So there it is. It wasn't a lie, but it was a lack of willpower. And I'm sticking to this excuse.


This Jonny Sieve, my Great Granddaughter
Photo by Micka Sieve
I this doesn't light up your day, you need to get counseling.

As long as your smiling, here's a contribution from David Nitz


Webmaster for St Louis Park Class of 59





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