Getting Old?

Depending on which ex you talk to, I am either immature, not mature at all, completely immature, and terrible in bed generally cranky.  I like to think that I am maturing slowly like fine wine, or whiskey, but I have these moments when I feel as old as my parents.  I filed my taxes on time this year, I keep track of my bank balance with online banking, I pay bills on time.  I am much more diligent about cleaning my cottage, and doing the dishes.  And yet all this progress on the orderly life of a mature American feels wasted because I have been having the worst trouble figuring out Blogger's new dashboard, and am almost at the point of watching a video on the use and abuse of the new setup.  It is almost as bad as the new Facebook, and by new I mean the changes made to Facebook in early 2009.

That whiff of smoke that I thought I smelled earlier is definitely not coming from my moustache.  This is country living, I guess.  I better go check that out.  Someone is burning leaves or brush.  I don't understand the need for this.  Leaves can be composted or mulched into your turf, and brush can be tossed in the woods.  Two items we have an abundance of in this area: room for generous compost piles or mounds, and woods.