Monday, September 28, 2015

First Date

It begins so early, when a boy and girl meet.  Their eyes connect, hormones rise to the top, and tuh-duh!  It all goes from there.

Grandson Benjamin and unknown floozy

But, must it start so early?  When both are still in diapers/nappies?  When running without falling is an accomplishment?  When words are understood by the parents, and few other people?

I guess it does.

Friday, September 25, 2015

David in the Library again

David's library

David found himself in a belligerent mood, stormily striding to the Library.  The entertaining outer façade matched how he viewed his parents: shallow, fake, and idiotic.

Giving his backpack a big heave-ho, David growled as it settled next by the leather chair hidden in the corner. The next edition of Lord James St. John was in reach. 

As he always, David thumbed a few pages into the book.  …hate introductions, hate …hate dedications…
Ancient Egyptian Mummy

“…the burial chamber stank…but there it was, in its own sarcophagus, an excellent….of mummification….not ancient mummifying…., but one….skill of modern surgery. Even the scent of ether lingered in stale air.

“Lord James peered closer, observing…evidence showed that this mummy definitely was prepared by…to make evident stratify of his resemble ancient mummies…skull had begun to calcify by some unknown…This corpse was no more than three years old.”

Kate Dolan asks why libraries are throwing books away
This makes me angry!!
David leaned back in the leather chair, his mind agitated.  This is about the dullest Lord James Book I have read so far.  What in the world was the author thinking?  Or was he even thinking?

Tossing the inadequate book in nearby trash can, he decided, Time to terminate this, head to Starbucks. They have Wi Fi.

Wednesday Words have been a bit of a zig-zag with some delightful bloggers filling in for Delores at Under the Porch Light as she did battle with her computer. Many kudos go to all those who ran the race with Delores.


Thursday, September 24, 2015

Wednesday: Significant Victory

This week's Wednesday Words have been supplied by The most...of every moment... of every day..

She is providing words for the rest of September.  Delores began this delightful Wednesday Word writing challenge, and then....

passed it onto to Elephant's Child, who sent it to the ever delightful River.  

River handed the baton to Randomosity, who presented it to The Most of Every Moment .

That brings us full circle to Delores who begins again with "Thursday Trauma (I think)".

Today's words come from Susan, whose name I share.  Phew!

Understand Dyslexia Step 4
Read this article
After Lisa helped Linda fill out the application, both were soaked with sweat. 

With many rehearsals writing her name and answering basic questions regarding this business, Idaho’s Best Potato!, Linda felt this interview would go well, just might go well.

Linda had had so many horrible experiences.  Although she was intelligent and vocal, letters swam before her, making it impossible to read, let alone write.

This interview was significant.  Past failures had narrowed her horizons to the point that no light could shine through. This has to…has to...

Her entrance into the reception area was anything but confident, but she smiled at the mature woman behind the desk.  Then she looked at the sign in.  

Taking a deep breath, Linda wrote slowly and carefully, just as she and Lisa had rehearsed.  Loop…point up…dot…

The mature woman stood and shook Linda’s hand, “Wonderful! You have the job!”

Tears ran down Linda’s cheeks as the woman handed her tissues.  She whispered in Linda’s ear.  “The letters dance in front of me, too.”

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

The Yellow Plane

This photo prompt was provided by Delores at Under the Porch Light

Flying in this yellow box with wings and engine, Florence clutched her new Coach handbag.  It cost her $600, and dammit, she deserved it.

When her fiance, Winthrop, decided to take her up in his brother's plane, Florence hesitated.  James was an excellent pilot, she had been told.

After a spectacular loop and bank, Winthrop turned to her with a giant diamond ring in hand, "Will you marry me, Flo?"

Florence looked at him in a daze.  She opened her $600 Coach handbag.  "Blaaah!" and she threw up.

This was first published in October, 2012.  Delores is brilliant.

Monday, September 21, 2015

Brothers Prank, #3
Another batch of piglets were born, cute little black and white Hampshire oinkers.  Sow rejected all eight of them, every single one.  Not much to do but to hand suckle them with nipples on soda bottles, while they squealed in the large paper box by the washing machine.  

So cute, my five year old sister Mary and I held them, deciding on their names.  Life was good for them, giving us a warm glow within.

The box became sodden just in time for the eight to be moved to their own pen.  The brothers (Yes, them.  The Bastards.) were told to take a strip of heavy fencing and construct a round enclosure, stake it down, attach it to the tree, and make an opening to bring a five gallon buck of watery feed to pour into the make-shift trough.
OK Brand Max 50-10 Fence Panel 5ga 50
Just imagine the vertical fence support on the end snipped off...

They took the 10 pm shift and I would take the 3 am shift.
At 3 am, my alarm went off and so did I.  Down the stairs, putting on the wellies/rubber boots, mixing the feed with water, I dragged the heavy 10 gallon bucket to the fence.

Hungry piglets squeal louder than one would think.  And they also charged the opening where food would magically appear. What’ll I do?  What’ll do?  They could get out!..OhwhatllIdo?

Managing to open the fence wire while carrying the bucket was no easy feat. Sharp deep cuts striped across my skinny eleven-year old arm, but I carried on dumping the bucket.  

Closing the gate wasn’t easy, but then I could see that the fence wire had been snipped such that the sharp raw ends were left hanging out.

I ran into the house, crying while I heard laughter from upstairs.  Turning on the kitchen light and dripping blood along kitchen linoleum to the sink, I tried not to cry.  But, I wasn't quiet enough.

Mom emerged from her room and gasped at the blood running down my arm.  Mom rarely swore, but she let fly some good words as she cleaned and wrapped my arm. Sending me upstairs, she said she’d “fix it”.

The next morning Dad "fixed it."  He grabbed the two responsible criminals and dragged them out to the pen, showing blood still visible on the sharp edges.  They confessed.  Dad whipped and whaled them, and hard. And then they fixed the opening.

There was a degree of satisfaction to hear justice administered, but a sorrow for I knew the punishment had hurt more than my arm.

The Bastards.

p.s. I still have the deepest scar, on my left arm.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Monday's Finish the story: What the Witch Saw...

From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.....

From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by, remembering sadly her lovely forest home.  A forest fire had raged and taken her ancient house, with the only safe place to hide was behind an old iron stove.

Sigh, so many memories…

Today Wanda was waiting for the painter, whom she had hired from a town 200 miles away, to come and cover the hideous pale blue kitchen walls with bright swirls and stripes. How can anyone stand such blandness, no excitement, no taste?

Wanda rocked and gazed through the screened in-balcony, seeing neighbors was along the street in front of what was now her home.  A jogger, who was drinking bottle water…well, he's a bit stringy! Tsk. Tsk. 

Then a muscular man walking his miniature poodle strolled by.  My, he’s burned off every bit of fat…  He waved at Wanda, as she called out, “Hello, dearie!”

Then the mailman who walked briskly, no time to linger…then the old woman with walker, skin sagging from her bones…

Finally, a rusty truck braked in front of her house, and “Painter Pete” stepped out.  “Howdy there, Mz Wanda!  I’m runnin’ a bit late, but…”  Wanda had ceased listening to his prattle.  She was instead noticing fat buttocks, portly love handles, a pudgy gut, and massive possibilities. 

“Come right in, Mr. Pete!  I have been waiting for you!”

Yes, Wanda had been waiting.  The oven was hot, the cleaver sharpened, and a hypodermic heavy duty sedative waiting.  Knocking someone out with an iron shovel was so old school.

Don't you just love Cloris Leachman?

Today's Wednesday Word Challenge is being provided by Defending the Pen.

  A fellow blogger Barbara Beacham has selected a photo prompt and a sentence written above.  

While the rules limit the length of the flash fiction to 100-150 words, I am a rebel, always have been.  

Please click on Defending the Pen site to see what is happening there.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Read the Directions

DSC 3283
I can do this...
The following is some advice that all should follow to make lives easier.

   Read the directions first.

   Follow the directions.

Now this is the hard part.  No matter how many times one has assembled an IKEA product, no one is an expert.  No one can open an IKEA box, look at the parts, screws, and that one lonely Allen wrench…and say, heck, I can do this.  Then toss the directions (unread) aside, to proceed.

The pieces of a furniture kit
...I know I can do this!

   After screwing up the whole process, take the object apart and read the directions this time.  Hopefully, your failure gone unobserved and no one is giggling. Hopefully, no screws are missing. If they have, you are in big trouble, especially if the Allen wrench is gone. Oh, man, this is bad.

Here is another bit of advice:

 Set the timer.
It does not matter what is being done.  If the directions say: Set the timer for 15 minutes to allow the glue to set.

This is also a hard part, as most assume that surely it was meant to say 45 minutes.  When maybe an hour has passed and the project is finally checked, no profanity should be allowed.  It is your own damn fault.  Call the 1-800 number to see what can be done to un-stick the glue.

      Set the timer.

    If the cake directions say 35 minutes at 350°, then do it.  Do it.  Taking a burnt dry cake, covered with thick icing, to a family function will not disguise this error.

    Set the timer or else.  

I   When adding water to the pool, set the timer.  When 45 minutes should do it, and then forgetfully, let it go for an hour and a half, water will flow out onto the concrete, etc.  This, too, cannot be disguised.

     Set the blasted timer.  
I   If a soccer-playing child is supposed to be picked up at 4 pm, and 5 pm rolls around, then is instead brought home by a friend who thinks that parent is... embarrassment is inevitable.  The child will also tell his other parent. Nothing ever remains secret.

     Read the directions and then make a decision to pay someone to do something for you.  

     Write down important stuff with your hand, paper, and pen.

    Write important stuff on an honest-to-God paper calendar. Smart phones are not always that smart and tend to need re-charging at bad moments. Pin info on the bulletin board, tape on the refrigerator, or write on the whiteboard.

OH, this list could go on and on.  It is suggested that one add to this list on their own, and then

Follow the directions.

Friday, September 11, 2015

WedWords: Mustangs


Rick answered the door bell with no expectations at all.  But when he saw the uniform he fought the urge to run, but this one wasn’t blue with a badge---just a postal worker holding out a UPS letter. 

Rick was told that this was a classified letter, First Class and it needed his signature on the green card to verify letter had been received. With shaking hands, Rick signed his name, taking the envelope.

Falling onto the stained couch, Rick cleared the beer cans and mirrors off the table in one sweep.  This is one serious letter, man.  Serious m….f….g serious.  Tearing the tab across cardboard, Rick pulled out a regular envelope.  Lookit!  My name typed ‘n everything!   Return address was a local Ford Dealer.  What the f#*)--Ford?

Then the letter…a real honest letter, with stuff about an award, with his personal number—03984…honored to win his very own 2016 MustangHoly crap!  This is real….
My own Mustang…no s*$^?...Rick dropped his head between his knees, contemplating throwing up or passing out.  Sure as h*&& did that last night—all over this dump.

Directions indicated prize winners… Winners?...were to check in by 2 pm today…Today? allow recipients time to tour the car lot filled with mustangs of all colors.  

The drawing would be…Today?  Rick stripped off stained torn clothes, found the cleanest spread over the floor, and raced out to his ‘cylce.  Start, dammit! Start! With a roar, off went Rick, off to pick out his own Mustang.

About twenty men roamed around the car lot filled with sharp cool fast Mustangs.  Rick joined them, each reverently touching cars from end to end, roof to undercarriage.  Hot sun baked each man, none cared;  After all…Mustangs!

When a bald man, gut hangin over his belt, called numbers, checking them off.  Nodding abruptly, he explained, “You guys!  Lissen up!  Your number called, you come up with your letter, and we’ll get outta this damn heat.  Inside we’ll make sure you’re who you say you are.” Nodding again, he called the first number.  “O4669?”

Gut guy and 04669 disappeared inside.  Minutes passed, Gut emerged, called out 06322, and the process went on until only Rick was left, clutching his letter, 03984, precious 03984. Letitbemeletitbeme…

Finally, 03984 was called.  His heart pounded in his chest, Here!  It’s my number.  The door opened into the show room, and Rick’s mouth all but dropped.  Lincoln, Mustangs…I could make big bucks lifting these…

But then, Rick was taken to another room, where a ring of badges anticipated his arrival.  One grabbed Rick, cuffed him, and read the Miranda Rights. 

A big white bus awaited him, filled with all the other award winners, grumbling and shocked.  Just like him.

Mustangs grew small as the bus drove away.  I coulda won the cool black one, with the racing stripe.  Yup, I woulda picked that one.

This story is actually true and has been used as a way to round up criminals with outstanding warrants.  Worked every time. The Simpson Show even had an episode with this idea.
Sorry this is sooooo long. Not my style at all.

This Wednesday, Make every moment count has posted 6 to 12 words to be used by any blogger who wish to enjoy a break from the serious stuff.  Use these words to write fiction, prose, poetry, flash fiction, etc.  Either post it on your own site and link it back to Every Moment or  make your addition to her blog site comment section.

The underlined bold italicized words are this week's words.  Hope you enjoyed how they were used.

Also, many thanks to Delores at Under the Porch Light who started this writing stir up, and to Elephant's Child who took up the the challenge. And also to River who grasped the baton to pass on, then to J. Blethers and now Every Moment.  Brave bloggers, talented and devoted.

Go on with it!  Fling yourself out into the unknown!

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Dinotopia by James Gurney


What began as a children’s book changed into across-the-board book, movie, and mini-series for all.  While this is not unusual (The Hobbit), this book created a world hidden from man, except when serendipitous events occur.

Dinotopia, was a world created and written by James Gurney in early 1990s.  Working with National Geographic, Gurney cooperated with archaeologists to create a world not imagined as yet, painting it, and ultimately produce posters to sell around the world, to a mass of fantasy fans.

Seeing other possibilities, Gurney created worlds and inhabitants.  This led him to write a successful Dinotopia book in 1992.  This other book took him on the path to other books, with the co-existence of sentient dinosaurs and partner humans.

James Gurney is an amazingly fantastic artist.  His work can be found in so many media that it is impossible to list.  This site, Gurney Journey in Art, is worth checking, as he demonstrates his thought processes. 

To tell you the plot, what happens next, who does what….would make no sense. The best condensed information can be found in here: Dinotopia. Let the photos speak for themselves.


The complexity, co-habitation, shared language, richness of Dinotopia tells much about this series.  Exquisite art grabs the reader, as moves on to be a worthwhile read.

Monday, September 7, 2015


What if...
It is the “What-Ifs” that make me wonder and speculate about different roads created and taken, people born or died or never existed at all—so many “what ifs”.

What if….

…there had been no slavery and Africa was left to develop on its own?

…all treaties made by the federal government to the First Nation had been honored?

…Hitler had never been born? Or, at least, had been born in a remote part of Iceland?

…the Irish Potato Famine had not happened?  Or, if the English government had intervened to help?  Or, if America had intervened?

…Napoleon had fallen off his horse early in his career and suffered a disabling injury?

…you or I had decided a different path in our teen years?

Really, it is a game of dominoes.  Lay the tiles one way or another.  And then stand them up, give a push….then watch all fall.

what if

Friday, September 4, 2015

WedWords: The Diary of Lucy Powell


When the town’s beloved, elderly, and feisty Lucy Powell died suddenly at age 95, all wondered how to peer into her belongings.  Miss Powell had no relatives yet alive and no family to inherit a lifetime of her history.  Her family was her community and friends.

Slowly, close friends began to assimilate bits of China, old books, quilts, and other items into their own homes.  That was when the diary was discovered. Who should take it?  Who should even open it?

A diary can paint a picture of unrequited love with hearts broken, hearts renewed, and love lost then found. Finding a worn diary, fringed from fingers turning pages over decades, awed all who gathered around.

Finally, Old Ms Alda Franklin stepped forward.  I will take it.  She and I shared so many memories… All agreed.

When Alda settled down into her rocker with a cup of tea, she opened the cover and began reading each page. She chuckled, cried, gasped, and sighed until she read the last page:

My life had meaning and gave me reason to exist.  Touching others, being kind and generous, loving those who are unloved: that is the essence of life.

To all who turn these pages: Go!  Make your life count!


This Wednesday, Make every moment count has posted 6 to 12 words to be used by any blogger who wish to enjoy a break from the serious stuff.  Use these words to write fiction, prose, poetry, flash fiction, etc.  Either post it on your own site and link it back to Every Moment or  make your addition to her blog site comment section.

The underlined bold italicized words are this week's words.  Hope you enjoyed how they were used.

Also, many thanks to Delores at Under the Porch Light who started this writing stir up, and to Elephant's Child who took up the the challenge. And also to River who grasped the baton to pass on, then to J. Blethers and now Every Moment.  Brave bloggers, talented and devoted.

Go on with it!  Fling yourself out into the unknown!

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Walt Whitman: A Song of Grass and Fields

Walt Whitman has been called “The Father of Free-Verse”, as a writer in the mid-1850s who was pulling away from traditional rhyming poetry.  So very talented, Whitman was a teacher, a government employee, journalist, and a volunteer nurse during the Civil War.

Walt Whitman was connected to the earth, the soil, and he wrote passionately about its beauty, as well as its cycles of life and death.  Toward the end of his life, he moved to Laurel Springs, New Jersey, which he called “the prettiest lake in: America or Europe.”

I took these photos in Bremgarten bie Bern, Switzerland, when I visited my new grandson (and his parents) in 2012.  The photos reminded me of Walt Whitman’s poetry.

One day....

...and then the next.

A song of the grass and fields!

A song of the soil, and the good green grass!

A song no more of the city streets,

A song of the soil of the fields.

A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers
             handle the pitch-fork,

A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk’d maize.

Please notice the next field over is green and tasseled with stalks of corn.

This was posted in 2014, but I decided to bring out the dusty archives for today.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

The Answers for Wednesday Word's Pop-Quiz

What were the answers to last week's Pop Quiz using the Wednesday Words?  Here are the answers:

Cinderella’s Glass Slipper Gets a Luxury Redo
Can you imagine wearing this??
Who danced in SiO2 slippers?  

Answer: Cinderella

In what book is there a velveteen lagomorth?

Answer: The Velveteen Rabbit

In what book a character fancied Turkish delight?

Another classic which should be read by all

Answer: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

What book was scandalous for its time, with “Lady” as the first word in the title?

Answer: Lady Chatterley's Lover

Pride and Prejudice (1995) Poster
Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennett

Who was the cad in “Pride and Prejudice?

Answer: Mr. Wickham, oh how I hated him.

Who/what was Miss Prissy in a Looney Tunes cartoon that featured a gallus domesticus?

Answer: Miss Prissy was a chicken in Foghorn Leghorn's cartoon.

And that's all, Folks!