Today is my mother’s birthday.
I won’t bother calling her. In fact, I’m never going to call her again.
Instead, I’m introducing a series of posts lasting one week beginning tomorrow.
None of it was written for her.
It was all written for myself.
Happy birthday, mom.
I’m John Metta, writer, hydrologist, programmer, Irish flute and banjo player, cyclist, brewer, and a digger of all things tech, and all around friendly guy. Nestled snugly in the Columbia River Gorge in a town called Hood River, I survey the world as my own personal playground. Connect with me via email or circle me on Google+