I just thought this was funny.
And I’m willing to bet, if you’re of a certain age, you probably sang this line in your best imitation of Frank Sinatra.
If you aren’t of a certain age, here’s the reference. Croon along:
http://youtu.be/J9Enr0FW6E8
Peace, people!
Beautiful! Read more at redswrap.wordpress.com
I thought I’d found my son’s mother.
She had the right name. She was about the right age. She was born in his country. And she looked like him. I enlarged the photos of her on Facebook, studied her face. She was stocky like him, almost barrel-chested. She had a full proud face that looked like his, the melding of Indian and European that is Nicaraguan. I want to say she was the spitting image but it minimizes what I thought. I looked at her face and I thought, good Lord, I found her. In her profile picture, she was standing in front of a restaurant in Los Angeles, dressed up with a nice skirt and heels. She looked pretty. Oh, good, I thought. I was glad my son’s mother was pretty.
“I think I found his mother,” I told my husband. He was reading the paper in his chair…
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Just shy of midnight she sobs into her pillow. Gut wrenching, heartbreaking soul-searing expulsions of unmitigated sadness.
Down the hall, behind a sterile and locked door he offers a handkerchief, white, unsullied, starched and ironed to perfection.
Fat lot of good it does to hold out a hand that she’ll never see. But it’s all he has. All he can risk, this offer of quiet condolence.
This one is called, “In My Pajamas Before 7 p.m. on a Saturday Night” or “Too Sad for Words.”
Good stuff from Gretchen Kelly.
I’m hearing the whispers of the Third Party voters. You’re everywhere. You’re young, you’re old. You’re Independents, or you’re disillusioned Democrats and Republicans. There’s a lot of you this time around.
And it scares the hell out of me.
You might think I’m being dramatic. Or experiencing some longest election year ever hysteria.
But right now there is a racist, bigoted, nationalistic, white supremacist baiting, federal reserve illiterate, foreign and domestic policy ignorant, dangerous narcissist applying for the job of the most powerful person in the world.
And your protest vote could very well be the reason he gets the job.
I understand where you’re coming from. You’re my friend who voted for Nader in 2000. You’re my friend who’s a die hard Libertarian. You’re my friend who just discovered The Green Party. Or you’re my friend who wants to vote for anyone other than Clinton or Trump and you’re flirting…
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In the Quiet
words by Leslie Noyes
After all is done and said,
When the world falls away
Will you still be faithful?
Will my fears be allayed?
I only ask in the quiet
The depths of darkest night
When offense seems unlikely
When the questing seems right.
If you answer directly
No hesitation in your voice
Then I will sense the truth
Then I’ll discern your choice.
But if there comes a pause,
An answer bracketed with sighs,
Sure I’ll keep on wondering,
Sure you’re telling lies.
Beautiful photography by Julie Powell. See more at juliepowell2014.wordpress.com
To my old friends. Every single one of you. Thanks, Jan Wilberg, for writing such a beautiful post. Read more at redswrap.wordpress.com.
Some things people say turn out to be true.
Forty years ago, my friend shouted out to me from her office, “Don’t you think we’ll know each other forever?”
It was said like confetti, a joyful thought thrown into the air, and it rained down on me like luck itself. I was a single parent, a graduate student, struggling with money, struggling with academics, wearing my turtleneck sweaters and acting the part. I didn’t have friends. I had problems as friends.
“Don’t you think we’ll know each other forever?” That seemed unlikely, improbable. She was smarter, at ease, good at things, good at laughing and making people comfortable. She was at home in her own skin; I wanted to leave mine on the coat rack by the door and become someone else. Maybe her.
Sometimes, later in my life, when I had to do scary things like talk in front…
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I spent Tuesday afternoon wandering about the garden section of our nearest Home Depot. I don’t garden, but Studly Doright has promised we’ll fix up our courtyard area this week. And not a moment too soon–I feared hurricane cleanup crews were going to mistake our residence for a disaster area and begin removing debris from the premises.
Studly and I have a great many ideas for improving the courtyard-style entryway. A few of them are even approximately the same.
I know that on the right side I want a garden of low maintenance potted plants and a small potting bench, with a scattering of stepping stones similar to these:
I picture the area as welcoming, and not at all formal. Studly and I can’t quite agree on the material to cover the ground. Do we want mulch or river rocks?
If we go with river rocks, I think dark ones will look spiffy with the red brick of our home.
And the plants? I just have no idea. The area receives full sunlight for most of the day, so something that will grow well receiving the sun’s ardent attention is a must.
We are edging into fall here in Florida, so I’ll need to take that into consideration. Thank goodness for Google and YouTube and every other modern resource at my fingertips. But if any real gardeners have suggestions I’d love to hear from you.
Peace, people!
One night last week I killed a Buick sized roach in my bedroom closet. Now the pest control company, Orkin, and I have this understanding– I pay them a substantial amount of money, and they make sure I don’t see any creepy crawlies inside my home. I assure you, I’m keeping my end of the bargain.
This post isn’t about my one roach. Roaches aren’t really newsworthy in the Florida panhandle, but I have a friend who recently moved to Oregon and her pest issue is enormous:
http://www.dailyastorian.com/Local_News/20160719/animal-versus-animal-as-elk-dogs-clash
Elk are taking over her yard, creating divots that she patiently replaces, and generally terrorizing the neighborhood. And they can be aggressive. I worry for her safety. Say what you will about roaches, but I’ve never heard of anyone being trampled to death by one.
In our text chat on Wednesday morning I suggested various remedies:
Granted, the spikes might be ill-advised, and we are animal lovers, after all. My friend did say they’d tried spraying wolf urine around the edges of their lawn with no success. Can you imagine going into the local feed and seed store and ordering thirty gallons of wolf pee? And having that pee fail to do its job?
I don’t guess Orkin handles elk. On the plus side, one isn’t likely to find an elk skittering across the bathroom floor at 2 a.m.
I hope my friend and her husband find an elk solution soon, but I fear nature will have its way in this case.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 