So I’m BACK. Back to blogging, blabbering and incessantly sharing the triumphs and travails of my little life with the three people who visit this website occasionally — Richard, Google Bot, and Yours Truly — as I used to way back when.
But first things first: there are some two new folks in the yard that you may want to meet: Linda, Mother’s daughter in law; and Elvis, Mother’s grandson. Here’s the long version of the rather short story.
A little over a year ago I wrote here that I was looking for a few crazy young people for a new initiative. Well, let’s say… I pivoted (a term everyone and their dogs seem to be using these days!) from that original idea into quite a bizarre new business, one in which I needed no such crazy people to help out.
Having been chronically irresponsible and a full-time blame-caster all my life, I’m not going to pretend to have changed all of a sudden and accept that the decision to get hooked was mine and mine only. That’s like accepting there’s water in the desert and sand out in the sea, or the earth is up above us and stars are down below, or there are daisies in the desert and roses in the snow: quite impossible!
So I put the blame, the decision pressure to get hooked, squarely on my father. But that’s just the path of least resistance, as my father is no more here to defend himself. How smart heh? Yes, my father passed away just a day or so to my wedding — and more importantly, while on a mission to procure the necessary documents demanded by the Catholic Church for the aforementioned wedding. More about that in future posts. But rest assured I got married, with the full involvement and support of my father, long before the said wedding.
Confused yet? Welcome to the stupidity and intricacies of ‘modern’ Ghanaian marriages!
A Whole New World Called Family Life
So my father passed away. And all of a sudden, I’m forced to be (or at least forced to act being) RESPONSIBLE for another being, Linda. Enough troubles for my little life, right? No. There was one more to come. A baby. A baby boy. Elvis.
Will Poor George survive this brave new world? Your guess is as good as mine. But whether I survive or not, I’m going to die trying. And while I still have some strength left, I’m going to share the journey with you, right here on this space.