Hang in with me dear reader as I reinvent myself, the arthritis has gotten worse and I've always liked invertebrates. I can't use my hands to write anymore if I want to be able to use them for anything else, like brushing my daughter's hair.
I'm using voice recognition software and it's bumpy. I'm bumpy. My hands have been intermediaries, traders in the Khyber Pass between the warring countries of brain and page.
I'm not going to edit this, because I tell my kids all the time making mistakes is what learning something new looks like. I'm a 7-year-old learning how to read. I'm a 40-year-old picking up a new instrument. Everybody around me puts their earplugs in.
In the section about cephalopods in my Field Guide to The Atlantic Seashore, it is written, "Some of these live on or near the bottom, far out on the continental shelf or beyond; others swim suspended in the darkness above the abyss of the deep-sea."
And this, on the Paper Nautilus: "the shell is secreted by 2 modified arms of the female as the brood chamber."
Brood chamber. I've been looking for a long time for the words to describe what this blog is.