Easter, the day on which Christians from around the world celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, has just passed, and it seems fitting that I should resurrect the first article I sent from my new website’s blog. The (slightly altered) repeat is necessary because technical problems prevented the post from reaching a large percentage of those on my email subscriber list. So here it is:

We’re back – after a six-month, unintended hiatus.

On September 1, your faithful scribe moved across the state of Florida, from the West Palm Beach area to the Tampa Bay area, specifically, sunny Clearwater. Sunny except for the city’s dark underpinning. Most of the downtown is owned by the secretive Church of Scientology, by all accounts a dangerous cult and manipulative, profit-making business.

Yikes! I’d better watch out. The leader of the organization is headed by a guy named David Miscavige, who’s been involved in numerous violent incidents. His father and other family members left the church and have criticized it as an immoral organization, and his wife disappeared; Scientology sources said she was being “re-educated.”

So far, I’ve not crossed paths with anybody who, as far as I know, is connected with the outfit – just a guy outside of Costco who asked if I believed in God. Come to think of it, the young, smiling guy with a short beard could have been a “thetan,” a Scientology member. I doubt it, though; he didn’t slam me against my 2010 Mazda 323 when I replied that the idea of God was a deep subject requiring a more conducive discussion forum than a Costco parking lot. He wished me a good day, and left, presumably in search of subjects more receptive to proselytizing.

But I digress. The reasons for my absence from this newsletter are numerous. I didn’t anticipate the plentiful necessary or desired changes to my condo. Lugging almost 1,000 vinyl records, and other heavy objects, to my Home Depot truck and unloading them took a toll on my previously injured back. Carting the records to dealers, who bought or accepted for charity most of them, was a further aggravation, and walking was difficult for weeks. The problem was repaired by injections of ozone and nutrients by a young natural-healing doctor in Tampa.

About that truck. After loading it (with hired help), I departed late the same day on the 220-mile trip. Soon, a whirring noise arose, and grew worse as I drove the mostly two-lane roads in the night. At 11:30 p.m., a mile from my destination, I couldn’t steer the truck, and stopped in the middle of the city street. I backed up, and the steering wheel became manageable. Reaching the massive condo complex, I had to park a half-mile away from my building and walk. Next day, I called Home Depot and related that the power steering had failed. A supervisor instructed me to drive back (to pick up my car) in another truck. Later, a manager, realizing I could have had a serious accident, hired a cab to drive me back – all 220 miles.

Condo improvements have included a new kitchen sink, garbage disposal, stovetop, bathroom sink and medicine cabinet, ceiling lights with the fans, etc. With the help of a woodworking shop in the complex, I refinished my old dresser and coffee table. I still have to hang 38 pictures and lay area rugs. My landline and cellphone services, along with the TV and internet providers, have been continually problematic.

On top of all this, the Coinbase platform I use for trading in crypto currencies consumed untold hours of exasperating efforts over a period of weeks at dealing with the cellphone technology involved in gaining access to my account. The Consumer Cellular technicians at a Target store have gone way beyond the call of duty in working through these problems, which finally were resolved. My fingers were crossed so tight they started turning blue.

On top of the above, the process of having this new website built stretched over three months and three design outfits that proved unsatisfactory. A firm named Site Mammoth finally took over, and the site is all but finished.

As if all this weren’t enough to frazzle me, I’ve been making revisions to the manuscript for my next book, LITTLE RAG DOLL: The story of Wanda, a work of creative nonfiction. The editor whom I hired to do a critique, Jessica Dall, made a host of valuable suggestions. I’m now shopping for a publisher.

By now, you’re probably as exhausted reading about these episodes, from mundane to harrowing, as I am from dealing with them. Before you get too comfortable, though, I’ll be back.

Was that a groan I just heard?