I call this work of haphazard art “Classy Lady on Funky Sofa at Home Goods.”
Month: August 2016
Peppermint Scented Cat
Whiskers a foot long
Her black coat soft, tinged with gray
Smells of peppermint
My own bonny cat
Thirteen years to her credit
Smells of peppermint
Like a dowager
Awaiting a grandchild’s call
Smells of peppermint
Luxuriant pose
Paws stretch horizontally
Smells of peppermint
Scout, my feline fair
Lingered, languished within sheets
Smells of peppermint
I’ve been trying to ward off spiders by using peppermint essential oils mixed with water as a spray for our bedding. Scout, our older cat, has become something of a peppermint junkie. She lounges about on my bed all day, smells wonderful, and seems to be spider-free.
peace, people!
What Next, Oh Trump? (A top ten list)
Every day brings a new look into this man’s character, or lack thereof. Today Trump ejected a crying baby from a venue. A baby, for heaven’s sake! Aren’t politicians supposed to love babies?
In the spirit of a David Letterman Top Ten routine, let’s break down the top ten actual reasons Trump might have had a baby shown to the exit:
10. The baby’s hands were larger than Trump’s.
9. Putin called and demanded the baby be ejected immediately.
8. Trump was afraid the baby was demanding the release of his tax returns.
7. Baby’s cries of “Waaa! Waaa!” easily mistaken for “Wall! Wall!” and Trump still has no idea how to get one built.
6. Trump had a huuuuge headache and the baby was getting on his last nerve.
5. The baby’s basic understanding of the U.S. Constitution greatly exceeded Trump’s.
4. Because women are having babies and some of them grow up to be murderers, some grow up to be rapists, and some, he assumes grow up to be good people. The odds weren’t in this baby’s favor.
3. The baby appeared to be rigged in favor of the Democrats.
2. Firing the baby wasn’t an option.
And the number one reason Trump had this baby booted from the event:
Baby might have ties to the Muslim Brotherhood.
Spider Bait
“O what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”
—Walter Scott
“Ouch, dammit! Stupid freaking spider!”
—Me
“Spider Bait”
Spiders help or hurt
Depending on one’s point of view
Mine is somewhat jaundiced
Having suffered bites of every hue.
Apparently my bedclothes
Harbor an arachnid
A sneaky little bastard
Who preys upon my bare shins.
Thoroughly I search the sheets
Looking for this menace
If he be wise he’ll run away
Or serve a fatal sentence.
That’s Not What I Meant to Say
Forgive me, but my language might get a little graphic here. Saint Helen, don’t read this one, or if you do, read it with your eyes closed.
I engaged in a verbal battle with a Trump supporter on Facebook. I would have ignored him, but he called Hillary the “c” word, and I don’t mean “Clinton.” My intention was to call him “An asshole with typing capabilities” but autocorrect kept changing it to “ashore.”
The sentence, “apparently you’re an ashore with typing capabilities” isn’t witty repartee. Heck, it doesn’t even make sense. I finally gave up and told him to piss off, which Autocorrect changed immediately to “pus” off. And that’s just gross.
While I’m speaking of autocorrect, has anyone besides me ever noticed that when you’ve mistyped a word and replacement options are given often they don’t even vaguely resemble the word you had in mind? I once was offered the word “Illinois” when trying to type “loving” in a poem. Granted, I’d gotten the word started with an i instead of an l, but in what context does “His Illinois arms” make sense?
Ok, I feel better now. I’m going to go give that Facebook troll a pizza of my mind.
The Sound of Silence aka The Grandkids are Gone
For almost two weeks we entertained two of our five grandchildren here at Doright Manor. It was the first time Dominique and Jackson have been alone with us for that length of time, and heading into the first week I felt some trepidation.
Would they get bored? Would I be patient with them? Could I train them to cook and clean like small indentured servants?
As they prepared to leave on Saturday morning I asked them each if they’d had fun, and the answer was a resounding “Yes!”
They rode motorcycles.
Fished:
Helped Poppa with yard work:
Visited Poppa at the office:
Chopped down saplings:
Created bird feeders:
Rode crazy rides at Wild Adventures:
Rode motorcycles again:
Enjoyed Japanese stir fry:
Helped Poppa and me build a fairy house:
Created paracord bracelets for every member of the family:
And climbed trees.
They also rode go karts at a local arcade, but the resident documentarian (me) came down with a nasty head cold and stayed at home for that adventure.
Apparently there was no boredom involved. I never even came close to losing my patience–a true miracle. However, the plan to have the kids take over the cooking and cleaning was for naught. Two out of three works for me.
Now to enjoy the sound of silence.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 