Look at this poor little blog.
Nobody writes on it anymore.
A few people still read it.
Some are Russian bots, according to my analytics. Some are women who are trying to come to terms with infertility and are just beginning to turn their thoughts to adoption.Some are moms whose daughters have just been diagnosed with scoliosis.
Some are folks thinking about heading down to New Orleans for the Mardi Gras.
Some just googled "big tits."
Yeah. Sad isn't it?
I just haven't had much time to write for "fun." That's because, for the last year, I've had this full time job. And I do mean full time. Today was my ONE day of vacation. For the year.
One year ago last month, I became the sports editor at this little paper called L'Observateur" in LaPlace, Louisiana, which is a suburb of New Orleans.
"L'Observateur" is French for "the observer." No one can pronounce it, though. Most people call it "the L'ObservaTOR." Or just "The Lobster." That's easier to say and to spell. If they would make it our email name that would be soooo much easier.
I joined a staff of eight -- an editor, a receptionist, a graphics person, a news reporter who was greener than grass, a circulation person and two ad reps.
A few months in, the news reporter left us. And, suddenly, I became a news staff of one.
Well, that's not completely true. The editor does most of the crime and government stuff. I just do the sports. And the features. And anything else that comes up.
I've covered football, basketball, baseball, golf, track and soccer, grand openings, closings and a sausage eating contest.
I've covered great athletes, old athletes and some that will be someday. I've seen teams win championships and just fall short. I even got to cover a game coached by my own kid.
I learned how to paginate, write headlines and take pictures. Maybe someday I'll learn how to take an action shot. For now, all my athletes have to stand still. Somebody tell that to the basketball players. And could you ask the referees to stay out of my frame. I have more photos of their butts.
I'm lucky that there have been no shortages of stories in my area. In the past year I have written about a former NBA great and Louisiana Sports Hall of Famer who now is coaching girls basketball, a volleyball coach who went on a mission and entered a body building bikini contest, a rock and roll band that just missed getting a Grammy nomination, a young lady who earned a college scholarship for riding a horse and this newish fad called vaping.
I've also covered the aftermath of a tornado, a deadly car crash that took the life of a local fire chief and the various fundraisers our community has organized to help them.
I've been to schools, the Veterans Home and inside people's houses.
I've written about special kids and kids with special needs.
I interviewed a 3-year-old. Well, I tried.
And remember my friend who lost her sheriff's deputy husband? I got to write about her and her new husband -- yes, another cop.
I write a lot, about a lot of different subjects. On week I wrote 10 stories for two editions. My phone contact list includes the local Sheriff, the DA about 60 different coaches and a dozen or so players.
At least I'm never bored. But I am pretty tired.
So I'm sorry that I don't have much time to write about The Teen, who is now a sophomore in high school and excelling at school. She is fully recovered from her scoliosis surgery with little effects except she can't bend over. That means she can't pick up her socks, much to the delight of the little dog who likes to drag them into the living room. She tried golf at school, but that didn't go too well. You know how they say "address the ball"? She had to propose to it on one knee.
The Coach is still a coach, just without a team. He's actively looking for another team to coach and has applied for a few positions. It has to be right, though. In his free time, he drives an Uber in New Orleans and he really loves it. Keeps him busy too.
He is still teaching Special Education at the local school. The emotionally disturbed kids. That's why I rarely complain about my job.
And Mama is still Mama, calling every other day for help with her phone or her iPad. She's no longer reading cards in the French Quarter, I'm sad to say. But she had a little procedure on her heart about a year ago, which has kept her going and out of the Hospital on the Hill. (Knock wood)
And I still have this little blog. I wish I had more time. I wish had more stories.