Month: May 2015

World’s Most Pitiful Garage Sale

Our little neighborhood of Lake Yvette planned a community garage sale for this fine Saturday morning. Eagerly I joined the ranks of those willing to participate. Gamely I priced some of the treasures (junk) that we moved from Illinois to Florida a little over a year ago. 

I’d forgotten that the roofers were coming this morning. They were supposed to have come on Thursday, but we had rain so they rescheduled. Now there are nail guns hammering to the mind-numbing tune of an air compressor, not to mention a truck partially blocking my driveway.

Here I sit, surrounded by treasures (junk). People stop and look for a few minutes before saying something like, “How do you stand this racket?” 

I answer, “Huh?”

Then they leave. 

I’ve taken in $3. My portion of the ad was $10. My signs cost $7. Only $14 until I break even.

Peace, people!

Oh, Studly Doright is on the golf course, I get 100% of the profits. How much is 100% of nothing?

Nana’s Visit

I wrote this piece for my grandchildren Garrett and McKayla several years ago. Parts of it are even true. 

Nana’s Visit

“Nana’s coming, Nana’s coming!” sang Garrett as he ran in circles around the room.”
“Nana’s coming, Nana’s coming!” echoed Little Mac following closely behind her brother.

Mama covered her ears with her hands.

“Enough, you two!” she exclaimed. “You are making me crazy!”

Garrett giggled. So did Little Mac.

“When will she be here?” Garrett asked, jumping up and down.
“Yeah, when will Nana be here?”asked Little Mac, hopping on one foot.

“Soon,” smiled Mama.

“Are we going to the airport to pick her up?” asked Garrett.

“No, not the airport,” Mama said.

“Are we going to the train station to pick her up?” asked Little Mac.

“No,” Mama shook her head. “Not the train station.”

“Hmmm,” said Garrett.
“Hmmm,” repeated Little Mac.

“Is she riding a bus?” Garrett wondered.
“Yeah, a bus!” shouted Little Mac. “A school bus!”

Mama laughed, “Nope. Keep guessing!”

“Then she must be driving her car!” whooped Garrett. “We can ride around with the top down!”

“Wheeeee!” squealed Little Mac.

“Still wrong,” Mama said. “She isn’t driving her car either.”

Garrett frowned for a moment. “I hate to tell you this, Mama,” he said. “We are all out of guesses.”

“Yeah,” said Little Mac, crossing her arms and frowning, too. “All out of guesses.”

Just then, Mama put a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” she said. “I think I hear something outside our house.”

Garrett and Little Mac raced to the front door and into the yard just in time to see a shiny red motorcycle pull into their driveway. The rider turned off the motor, pulled off her helmet and smiled.

“Nana?” asked Garrett.
“Nana!” squealed Little Mac.

Sure enough, it was Nana.

  

Anonymously Yours

In response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Write an anonymous letter to someone you’re jealous of.

Dear Pampered House Cat,

I want the life you have:  
Sleeping all day, anyplace you’d like. Carousing all night, chasing imaginary mice.
Claiming a lap, making it your own.
Purring when petted, knowing you belong.

Yes, dear kitty, I’m jealous of you
Sincerely,
Anonymous (but you know who.)

 
Peace, people! 

Worth More than a Hill of Bean(ies)?

  

The Princess Diana Beanie Baby. Is she worth anything at all? How does one find out this kind of information? 

British educational terminology: the cheater’s guide

An interesting and fascinating article on schools in England posted on notesfromtheuk.com.

Ellen Hawley's avatarNotes from the U.K.

APROMPTreply asked what A-Levels and Sixth Form are, and Diane Clement wanted me to “explain all the education jargon in the U.K., especially this new stuff that sounds like American charter schools.”

Let’s start with Sixth Form, because it’s damn near manageable. The phrase is left over from an earlier way of organizing education—or at least of talking about how it’s organized. What I (being American) call grades and are called years here but were once called forms. The First Form was the first year of secondary school.

Lanhydrock House, Cornwall, rhododendron, azaleas Irrelevant photo: rhododendrons and azaleas in bloom at Lanhydrock House

Students who stayed in school to study for A-Levels (those are tests, and if I live through this part of the explanation I’ll get to them) went into the Sixth Form, which took two years and was divided into the Upper and Lower Sixths, because it would all be too simple otherwise. To ward off the…

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Recall Haiku

can you remember
that time we danced through the night?
no? neither do I.

  
wear a reminder
on your left hand ring finger
of all we’ve been through.

  
i cannot recall
the last time you held me close
perhaps i am old.

  

Temper Temper

rage boils, surface deep
rising past the release valve
scalding all in reach.

damn it all to hell!
bursts of scathing words exchanged;
none retractable.

prayers for patience
seemingly go unanswered
temper lost again.

  

That It was the Same Only Better

Absolutely breathtaking piece on adoption. Written by Red’s Wrap.

Jan Wilberg's avatarRed's Wrap

Jan and baby boys

I thought God had circled the Earth twenty times until He saw me wringing my hands after another failed home pregnancy test and decided to bring me babies from somewhere else. That’s how far gone I was. I absolutely believed that I was purposely plucked from the vast sea of infertility to mother these two specific boys. All of that business about how adopted kids aren’t born of your womb but are instead born of your heart, I bought all that. I reeked of Hallmark.

When they were babies, I laid them on my chest. Although they were born in another country and born of other mothers, nothing about them was foreign. I knew every inch of them. Their tiny hands, their beautiful backs, the smell of their hair. Though they were toddlers when adopted, their illnesses and delays made them like infants. They were weak and dependent and it was…

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Style Tangents

In response to the Daily Prompt: The clothes (may) make the (wo)man. How important are clothes to you? Describe your style if you have one, and tell us how appearance impacts how you feel about yourself.

i often complain
that i’ve not found my style
some days i’m tailored,
then gypsy awhile.

my brain and my body
can seldom agree
on what I should wear
or what looks best on me.

at my age you’d think
I’d have developed a plan
for looking my best
or as sharp as i can.

alas i’m afraid
more often than not
my style comes across
looking none too hot.

I have some incredibly stylish friends, women and men who know exactly what defines their look. I admire their fashion sense. Occasionally I can almost picture my own style and decide to build a suitable wardrobe. Then something odd or offbeat catches my eye and I’m off on a tangent. A style tangent.

interesting graphic found on Pinterest.