Taking the Plunge

Studly Doright took me out for dinner last night for an early Valentine’s Day celebration. He also bought me a bouquet of tulips in a box. You know, the kind you have to assemble yourself?

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore receiving flowers, but part of the romance is lost if I have to cut the stems, pull the leaves, and mix up that floral cocaine that keeps the flowers fresh. So this year I said, “Thanks, hon. Now you make ’em pretty for me.”

And miracle of miracles, he did! I know I’ll need to do a little fine tuning here and there, but at least he took the plunge. And that’s the definition of love. Taking plunges. 

 

Ok, he isn’t going to make a living arranging flowers, but Studly did this for me!
 
When Studly asked me out on our first date, he took a big, scary plunge. For all he knew I’d turn him down cold, yet still he asked.

Our first kiss was a plunge. I’m not sure which of us initiated the touching of lips to lips, but it was pure bliss and it was the moment I realized I might already be falling in love with this crazy, funny, smart(ass) boy.

And even though Studly was 99.9% sure I’d answer yes when he asked if I would marry him, that, too was a plunge.

Studly and I have been wed for almost four decades, and we’re still taking plunges. We plunged in head first on having children. Every one of our cross country moves has been a plunge. It’s been a veritable plunge-a-thon! 

With any luck, the biggest ones are behind us. But those little ones, like watching my big, handsome man arranging my bouquet of flowers, I hope we have many more of those.

Peace, and Happy Valentine’s Day, people!

The Country Chicken Story

Love, love, love Sonia’s stories of a whole different kind of life. Read more at scribbles59.wordpress.com.

Bypassed

This seriously made me laugh! Enjoy. More at scottishmomus.wordpress.com.

scottishmomus's avatarscottishmomus

wondered where the gargoyle veg had gone

the ugly fruit, the less than pretty perfect

the deformed

th (8)

wondered why shaving skills were

only tested in long sweeps

carbuncled obstacles absent

th (1)

wondered whether they had strutted off

or were shunned by prudish

for daring their genitalia

th (6)th (4)

exposing their subterranean

coitus interrupted

unapologetic

th (7)

prescribed proclivities prearranged in rows

to accept only beauty perceived

by self-appointed guardians of acceptable

displaying uniformity of choice

fixating on one size fits all

reluctance to embrace

or court valentines

different from standardised

not only humour bypassed

th (2)
(sources)

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I’m Not Lost

Expresses my feelings quite nicely. Read more at aroilinpain.wordpress.com.

agarrabrant's avatarAroil in Pain

Damned Evangelists!

In their feverish belief

Casting jagged stones

With their polished rhetoric

Cluttering the path

With traps and pitfalls and snares.

Though I wander, I’M NOT LOST!

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Revisit? I Think Not

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Never Again

Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!” Tell us about it.

Last year Studly Doright and I accompanied friends to a contra dance. Here’s that tale:

http://wp.me/p4O8fw-Gm

Dream a Little Dream

I had an amazingly fun dream last night. In it I was in a weird airport terminal awaiting my flight to a European destination to stay with my sister-in-law Lyn who was living there.
 The flight was delayed and I was just hanging out in the cool restroom–there was a waterfall in there. A young mom with two small kids in tow was crying and when I asked if she needed help she told me she’d misplaced her passport. 

Since I had a lot of time before my flight I helped her search everywhere she’d been. We looked and looked and finally found the passport at a kiosk in the airport. It had fallen behind a rack of designer bags. She thanked me profusely and we went our separate ways. 

I looked at my watch and realized I was going to have to rush to make my flight. So I commandeered an airport transport and went tearing through the airport. I got to my gate just as the plane was pulling away. I was pretty bummed. The next flight wouldn’t leave until midnight. 

But then the the young woman and her two kids approached me. “Come with us,” she said.

The next thing I knew I was in a cushy private jet traveling across the Atlantic. The seat laid all the way back, and I slept like a baby. I guess we made it to Europe. All I know is I woke up in the real world well rested.

Peace, people!

Days and Days

falling out of practice, of silencing alarms and stumbling to the shower                         of matching shoes to skirt and scarf to blouse, willy nilly dash to desk                         days run neck and neck galloping for the checkered flag,                                                 no, the finish line where clocks are punched morning and                                 evening, and mondays aren’t mistaken for tuesdays or heaven forbid, fridays.             appointments keep their allotted places    and there is no need to ask,                          “what day is this?”

  
Peace, people!

Path? What Path?

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Alma Mater

You’ve been asked to speak at your high school alma mater — about the path of life. (Whoa.) Draft the speech.

The Path of Life

There is no path, no paved road, not if you live your life.

In the words of C. G. Jung,

  

Instead, you must forge your own path, laboriously clearing trees and climbing over boulders in the rain, but occasionally enjoying stretches of level ground in the warm sunshine.

There will be times when you believe you can climb any mountain. There will also be times when you are certain that the next step will be impossible to take. 

Through it all you keep going. One foot in front of the other. Good days and bad. Mountains and valleys.

Of course, I prefer to dance and skip as often as possible. No one said the journey had to be boring.

  
http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/prancercise-joanna-rohrback_n_3351722.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular
Peace, people!

Important stories from the British press

Oh my! I love this blog. Notesfromtheuk.com.

Ellen Hawley's avatarNotes from the U.K.

What people lose

You can learn a lot about a country by what it leaves behind. So what does Transport for London report having found on the city’s trains and buses? A life-sized Spiderman doll. A prosthetic leg. Endless wallets, phones, and tablets. Umbrellas. A judge’s wig, a room-sized carpet, and an urn with human ashes. “Enough musical instruments to form a band,” including drum kits. No grand pianos, apparently.

I’m not sure who I’m quoting about that band, but unlike some quotes that drift through the culture, this one seems to have actually been said because the newspaper article I’m stealing the information from put it in quotes. It’s probably from a TfL spokesperson.

Oh, and a brown paper envelope with £15,000. Which the finder actually turned in.

A rare relevant photo: A London tube station. Photo by Ida Swearingen Vaguely relevant photo: Public transportation, although not in London. This is the Exeter St. David’s train station. Photo by Ida Swearingen

I don’t…

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