YAY FOR A SHOE LACES GUY

When I put on my sneakers, yank the laces and tug extra hard on them -- I think of Joe Busby. My latest new pair of sneakers arrived with  laces that were too long.

Click.  
Visit what I found on the Internet.


I bought two pairs of strong, correct length laces for $1.26 + $3.00 for shipping. I emailed my thanks to the company, asking, "Who's the owner? How do you guys break even?"

Somebody replied immediately in an email, and said:
      "Joe Busby was a manager for Honeywell. for ten years in Dayton and moved to Cincinnati. He started the shoe lace business for various reasons -- two reasons being he wanted to be able to raise a family and work at the same time and also his wife had a full time job and was traveling a lot as well.  (Honeywell International Inc. headquartered in Morristown, New Jersey, produces commercial and consumer products, including home thermostats, electronic security systems, and turbo-chargers for vehicles.)
      "He selected shoe laces because it allowed him to buy and sell. Thus, when he quit his corporate job he switched from buying and selling to making and selling at the same time and created a niche market for himself."

Hey, Joe Busby -- I am a blogger, writing short essays -- creating them and promoting them on Twitter and Facebook so that they'll be read. Having written six novels that are selling, (not very well) on Amazon, observing that people are reading less and "blogging" with their photos, expressing their ideas with  "likes" -- I feel it doesn't make sense to devote myself to writing a new novel.  (It takes a year or so, to write a novel -- you can create a post for a blog in five to eight hours.)

So I strain my brain every day, figuring out what to blog about. I wonder if Joe Busby felt what I feel -- sort of frustrated, purposeless -- when he was working at Honeywell?

Oh boy, I could write a book about all the things nobody told me about growing older -- like white socks. Years ago, I laughed because my mother, even in the summer wore white socks when she retired for the night. Mom didn't tell me, nobody ever mentioned the leg cramps that we get (my husband gets them too) if we don't wear socks.

Hey -- right now -- wow now -- today, I could start a non-fiction seventh book -- a big-fat-ever-expanding narration about stuff  that nobody warned me about. What fun to research it -- get folks to share what's bugging them, and sell it -- like Busby --  2 cents, + postage. Hey-yay yay -- that oughta keep me creatively percolating, for a year or two or ten.