Words fail me. Our perhaps it is the ability to form words. Or maybe I just don't know what the heck I am doing.

I have had this vague outline for a post rattling around in my brain for a long time now. I am frustrated in that I lack the ability to move my thoughts to paper electronic screen. It is, alas, a nostalgia post. Perhaps you enjoy those walks back through my own Vaseline-smeared lens of past reflection. More likely, you read a line or two and move on. Such is life in the blogging world.

My great-grandma Hoosierboy's house had a particular smell that I can sniff clearly in my brain but escapes description via letters and words. It was the smell of cooking grease, and pipe tobacco, and old people; all supported by a subtle, permeating odor of apples in the cellar. It is my failure to accurately depict that particular olfactory base that plagues me to no end.

I never imagined myself a good writer. I strike out more often than not. I have occasionally hit a solid single up the middle. A few times I succeed with a little bloop to shallow right. The post swirling unformed in my skull will take true Mantle-esque home run power, perhaps even juiced with steroids and a corked bat to succeed.  Unfortunately, that effort is far beyond my meager writing skills. I fear I will never put the unformed thoughts to electronic page and you will never have the option skip right over the words.