Extra #3: How to Bookmark the Blog

Today’s second posting is extra—not my usual Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday story. It’s full of “how-to” instructions. Some of you will know all of this—and much more!—but a few friends and blog visitors are unsure of this new process called “blogging.” So here’s my attempt to answer your questions. I’ve received inquires about four aspects of the blog: 1) How to add a comment; 2) How to get notification when I post a new story; 3) How to “bookmark” my blog address for easy access; 4) How to use the archives on the blog site itself. I hope to address these concerns in four extra postings. The teacher in me makes me do this!!!!

           This posting explains how to bookmark a blog. One fact: I use Safari and that is the only web browser I know. So what I’ll say in this posting will be about Safari. However, I trust that whatever browser you use will be similar. At least that is my hope.            

            You may enjoy my blogging and simply type the blog address on your browser ribbon each time you want to read one of the stories. However, there is an easier way than trying to remember that address each day.

How to Bookmark a Blog Address

1.              Go to your web browser, Safari or whatever.

2.              Type in my blog address in the white ribbon where you normally type some site you want to visit: http://www.cominghometomyself.blogspot.com

3.              Click on the address in the white ribbon. Your web browser will open and you will see the blog.

4.              Now go to the horizontal menu at the top of your screen. You will see the words: Safari, File, Edit, History, Bookmarks, Window, Help.

5.              Click on the word "Bookmarks."

6.              A menu will come up. Note that the second item on the menu is "Add Bookmark."

7.              Click on that.

8.              A small window will come up with the name of my blog in it.

9.              Note that the name is long and takes up a lot of space on your bookmark ribbon.

10.           So here’s what I’m suggesting: Highlight my blog name. Then delete it and you will have left an empty space that awaits the new, shorter name you want to use for this blog.

11.           Type the words "Dee’s Blog" in that empty space.

12.           Look below where you've typed that. There will be the words "Bookmark Bar."

13.           Click on those words. 

14.           That clicking will add "Dee's Blog" to your bookmark bar. (It is the white horizontal bar that runs across your Safari web page. It is about an inch down from the top of the page.)

15.           You probably have other bookmarks there—like The New York Times and Goggle and Amazon or whatever.

16.           Look at your bookmark bar. You will—if the above instructions are clear—see the words "Dee's Blog" on that bar.

17.           Now, whenever you want to see the blog, you simply go to your web browser and click on "Dee’s Blog" in your Bookmark Bar. The click will open the blog site. I know that most if not all of you have been doing this all along. That is, when you find a web site you like, you add it to your bar because that makes going to the site so easy. Please be patient with my compulsive/obsessive teacher behavior! That is, when you find a web site you like, you add it to your bar because that makes going to the site so easy. Please be patient with my compulsive/obsessive teacher behavior!

        I hope this helps anyone to whom blogging is new. The initial bookmarking process I’ve detailed may seem long and tedious to you, but being able to do this really helps you get to—easily—the web sites that are your favorites.

            And I hope my blog will be one of your favorites!!!!!

Peace,

Dee

Extra #2: How to Sign Up for Notification

Today’s second posting is extra—not my usual Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday story. It’s full of “how-to” instructions. Some of you will know all of this—and much more!—but a few friends and blog visitors are unsure of this new process called “blogging.” So here’s my attempt to answer your questions. I’ve received inquires about four aspects of the blog: 1) How to add a comment; 2) How to get notification when I post a new story; 3) How to “bookmark” my blog address for easy access; 4) How to use the archives on the blog site itself. I hope to address these concerns in four extra postings. 

           This posting explains how to sign up for notification. I admit, up front, that I’m not exactly sure about what I’m going to explain. Why? Because I haven’t signed up to have my blog sent to me each time I post something new. Perhaps some of you have. If so and if I give inaccurate information here, please let me know.

How to Get Notification of a New Posting on Dee’s Blog

·      Click on the red word comments below the story. When you do, you’ll see any posted comments. You will also see, at the end of the comments, the words Post a Comment and a white box.

·      Beneath the white box and to the right are the words, in red, Subscribe by E-mail.

·      I think, but admittedly I’m not certain, that if you click on that, you will get a notification by e-mail each time I post something on my blog.

·      If I’m wrong about this, please let me know.

Peace,

Dee

Extra #1: How to Comment

Today’s posting is extra—not my usual Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday story.

            It’s full of “how-to” instructions.

            Some of you will know all of this—and much more!—but a few friends and blog visitors are unsure of this new process called “blogging.” So here’s my attempt to answer your questions.

            I’ve received inquires about four aspects of the blog:

·      How to add a comment.

·      How to get notification when I post a new story.

·      How to “bookmark” my blog address for easy access.

·      How to use the archives on the blog site itself.

I hope to address these concerns in four extra postings. This first extra post will explain how to comment on a posted story.

        

How to Comment on a Blog Story:

·      Should you read a posting and want to comment on it, click on the red word comments below the story. You will see a number in front of the word: 0, 1, 2, whatever. That tells you that there are no other comments or that there are one or two or whatever the number is. When you click on comments, you will see any that have been posted and you can read them to see what other readers have said.

·      You will also see, at the end of the comments, the words Post a Comment and a white box.

·      Put your cursor in that white box and type your comment.

·      At the end of your comment, you may want to add your first name, but this isn’t necessary. Do that only if you choose. I suggest you be prudent and not type your full name there.

·      Beneath the white box is a menu. On it are the identifying words that can appear on the blog at the top of your comment: It can be your first name or your own URL or the word Anonymous or whatever you choose to appear at the top of your blog. Click on your choice.

·      Also beneath the white box is the word Preview. If you click on that you can see what your post will look like. You needn’t do this, but you may want to. (I noticed that when I put a meant-to-be-helpful comment on my own blog—under “A Daily Decision”—I didn’t preview it and left an error in word choice.)

·      If you are happy with your comment, click Post, which appears below the comment and to the left.

Here’s what happens then:

·      Your comment is e-mailed to me.

·      I do not get your e-mail address. Be assured that no one will learn your e-mail address from your posting a comment.

·      I get to read your comment and approve it. Blogger.com does this so that nothing untoward gets published.

·      Once I’ve approved the comment, it is posted on the blog and you and others can read it by clicking on comments beneath the story.

I hope this helps any of you who have been wanting to post a comment. As I indicated above, you need not worry about privacy issues or receiving “spam” because you posted a comment.

            I’ll add three more extra postings to the blog today that will address the three other inquiries.

Peace,

Dee

A Daily Decision

Yearly in Minnesota I’d visit a psychic or an astrologer. Of the psychics, four read cards, one used a crystal ball, one held my hands and absorbed the vibes.

            When I called to set up appointments with the astrologers—whether they practiced Eastern or Western astrology—they always asked for the date, time, and place of my birth. In our sessions they related the aspects of my birth chart that influenced my life.

            Before each yearly visit to a psychic or astrologer, I asked Oneness to protect me so that I heard only that which was for my good. I asked for the white protective light of Presence that would keep me far from Darkness.

            The truth is that I enjoyed these forays into what the Catholic Church would condemn as mortal sin. I always came away from a session surer of my own intuitions. I trusted my deepest heart-wishes more and felt at peace with the promptings of the Spirit.

            Periodically I’ll share with you some of what was said to me that shored up my surety about myself. Today I’d like to share with you the fine art of nice and naughty.

            Here goes.

            I met with this particular psychic in Minneapolis only once. Our hour session was nearly up when she says, “Dee, you’ve been a nice little girl all your life.”

            “I’ve tried to be,” I admit.

            “I can feel that about you,” she says. Then she adds, “The thing is, Dee, you need to shake up your life a little. Do something different. Do something naughty every once in a while.”

            I sit stupefied. This goes against every religion class I’ve ever taken at the Catholic schools I’ve attended—grade, high, college. More importantly, it goes against everything my mother had ever wished for me.

            When I say nothing, she prods. “Tell me something naughty you can do in the coming week.”

            I think. Long and hard. In silence. Nothing comes to mind. And then I get it—what will really be naughty. “I know what I can do!” I say, unable to suppress excitement over what I’m proposing.

            “Yes,” she prompts.

            “The next time I go to Cub, I won't leave the grocery cart in the corral."

            “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”

            “You asked for something naughty. I gave it my best.”

            She takes my hand in hers, pats it sympathetically, and says, “You may be a lost cause.”

            She prods some more. I'm clueless. 
            Still shaking her head, she concludes, "You have nice down to a fine art. You need to work on naughty."
            I leave her apartment feeling somewhat bemused.

            For Christmas that year two friends give me a gaily wrapped and beribboned box. I shake it. No sound. Its weight is negligible. Intrigued, I open the box. Nestled in the tissue paper is a green velvet pillow with the word Nice embroidered on it.

            I gaze at it, perplexed. What use do I have for a pillow so little that my head won’t even fit on it?

            “Turn it over, Dee.” They stifle their laughter.

            I lift the pillow out of the box and look at the reverse side: NAUGHTY.

            “When we visit,” one friend confides, “we’ll see which side’s facing out. Then we’ll know what to expect.”

            One pillow. Two sides. Two words. Daily decision.

            Nice looks nice.

            NAUGHTY looks bold. Independent. In your face. It dares the world to disagree.

            Which to be? Which to be?

Strobe Panic

I’ve never driven with confidence. Honked at by an impatient tailgater, I panic. A queue of revving cars behind me—panic. Can’t think what to do. What comes to mind is inane. Momentary idiocy.

            This was never truer than in Stillwater one evening at dusk when I’d been to the Dairy Queen. I’m headed home, licking a cone, taking my eyes off the residential streets to capture its drips. I know I’m weaving, but I just can’t eat and drive at the same time.

            Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I see the pulsing blue and white lights of a police car. I turn the corner, hopeful he’ll go straight.

            He turns.            

            The panic button goes into overdrive.

            I pull over and turn off the ignition.

            I look at the ice-cream cone. Dripping on my shorts. Sure to be seen.

            I shove it into my purse.

            I stare straight ahead. Maybe the policeman is just stopping to eat a sandwich. I hear a tap on the glass. There he is. Staring. Somber. He motions a roll-down of the window. I fumble, but finally get it all the way down.

            “So Ma’am,” he says. “What’s happening?”

            “I’m going home. To the cats.” Flustered, my words slur.

            “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”           

            “I’m allergic.”

            “Please get out of the car.”

            “I can’t! The cats are waiting for me.”

            “Out of the car, Ma’am.”

            I glance over at my purse. The ice cream’s melting. Oozing onto the car seat.

            “What’s that, Ma’am?” he asks, leaning in to get a better view.

            “My ice cream cone.”

            “You carry it in your purse?”

            “It was the only place to hide it.”

            “Why?”

            “I didn’t want to be caught eating and driving.”

            “It’s drinking and driving that’s bad, Ma’am.”

            Oh.

            “Where do you live?”

            I give him my address, two blocks away.

            “Ma’am, turn on your ignition and drive home. Straight home. Eat your cone there.” As he turns back toward his patrol car, I hear him mutter, “If there’s any left.”

            He follows me home, stops his patrol car, and watches as I unlock the front door. I turn to wave at him. He blinks his lights. Pulls away from the curb. We never meet again.