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:
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!
Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:
Quirk of Habit
Which quirky habit annoys you the most, and what quirky habit do you love — in yourself, or other people?
Some things just annoy the heck out of me, but because I am polite and civilized I never call people out on these niggling bits. Okay, every now and then I might say something like, “Are you a freaking idiot?” That’s polite, right?
There are two verbal tics that make me clench my jaw and grind my teeth. The first is the insertion of the phrase, “you know” into every sentence–sometimes multiple times.
Example: I was, you know, going to, you know, buy a new brassiere, but, you know, they’re just too, you know, expensive.”
You might think I’m exaggerating, but my college roommate was a world champion “you knower.” I found myself copying her speech pattern and flipping “you knows” about like pieces of confetti. When I realized what I’d done I had a long talk with myself and banned the phrase from my vocabulary. You know, I’ve been fairly, you know, successful.
The other thing that drives me crazy is hearing people, most often women, order their food in a restaurant by saying, “Could I have…?” Even if I don’t know the person, even if she is sitting two tables over I want to leap up and say, “It’s on the damned menu! Of COURSE you can have it.”
Instead I say a silent curse at whatever cultural practice makes women think they have to ask for permission to order something that is clearly available for purchase. It’s the same as our reflexive “I’m sorry” for things that aren’t our fault. I’m guilty of that one, lest you think me perfect. And I am so sorry.
http://videos.nymag.com/video/Inside-Amy-Schumer-I-m-Sorry
Quirky habits I love? That’s a little more difficult. I love the way Studly Doright can fall asleep and begin snoring softly the minute he closes his eyes. Of course sometimes this habit falls into the annoying category if I’m unable to join him in slumber within five minutes.
Another habit I love is one found in those people who are so filled with gratitude that “thank you,” in many different forms has become habit. My friend LeeAnn is one of these people. Her conversation is peppered with sincere expressions of gratitude, “How kind!” “What a blessing!” and, “I’m so thankful.”
Likewise my friend Janie has made a habit of finding the good in every situation. She calls herself a “lucky, lucky girl” and she makes everyone else more observant of the good in their own lives.
I’m sorry, but I’m just not good at being thankful, you know. Sorry. You know, I’m working on it.
Peace, people!
Patches had been in this position, motionless for the past five minutes. 
I don’t believe her eyes have blinked the entire time.
If I weren’t a chicken I’d look up to see what has her so fascinated. Please, oh please don’t let it be a gigantic woman-eating spider!
Peace, people!
Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:
Say Your Name
Write about your first name: Are you named after someone or something? Are there any stories or associations attached to it? If you had the choice, would you rename yourself?
The story of my first name, Leslie, hinges upon the story of my middle name, D’Aun.
My mother had a close friend whose daughter was named D’Aun, (pronounced Dee Awn). Mom was enamored of the name, but didn’t want to infringe on the friend’s daughter’s name. And I suppose that might’ve been awkward.
“D’Aun, stop that right now!”
“But Mommy, I’m not doing anything!”
“Not you, D’Aun–D’Aun!”
So rather than deal with the confusion and the imagined penalty of name theft Mom elected to find a first name to precede the name D’Aun. Apparently that was no easy task. Many names were considered and subsequently discarded.
Then as my mom’s due date drew near her mother, (my Nanny), found my name while reading a book. The heroine was Leslie. And that name seemed to fit well with D’Aun.
I’ve always believed the book Nanny was reading was Giant by Edna Ferber. It was published in 1952, and I was born in ’56, so the timing would’ve been right.
In the film version of Giant, Leslie is played by Elizabeth Taylor, so that only adds to my certainty that I am the character’s namesake. I mean, just look at her and then look at me! Or not.
The pronunciation of our names is different, though. Having only seen the name in print my Nanny believed Leslie was pronounced with a soft “s” sound, whereas in the film it’s a “z” sound.
Oh, that friend of Mom’s with the daughter named D’Aun–I don’t recall ever having met her. As is often the case friends from those early years drift away and are never heard from again. They could’ve left D’Aun as my first name and no one would’ve cared.
There was a time in my life when I wished to have that romantic sounding moniker. D’Aun! I imagined in high school how much different my life might be as a D’Aun! But plain old Leslie suits me. I don’t think any other would fit me quite as well.
Peace, people!
selfies:
one of the kardashians, kanye’s wife,
kim, published a coffee table book around her favorite
selfies.
hundreds
of pictures of kim, provocative, poised,
playful, compiled for public perusal,
appropriately titled
“selfish.”
i did not
purchase this book; however, i wonder
if it could be used as a template for my own book of
selfies.
so far, of
the twelve selfies in my iphone, only
two do not render my visage as a distorted picasso
painting.
much work remains.
Peace, people!
Copyright 2016. All rights reserved by Leslie Noyes.
Note: I have no connection at all to Picasso, nor to Kim Kardashian, never have been or intend to make any monies or free lunches on the back of this post, and to my knowledge was never a model for Picasso or for Kim.
I just woke up from a three hour nap.
Yea, that’s how we be rollin’!
Exactly.
I’m hungry now.
Peace, people!
Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:
Naked with Black Socks
Are you comfortable in front of people, or does the idea of public speaking make you want to hide in the bathroom? Why?
There once was a time when I spoke in front of groups on a regular basis. I don’t count my years as a teacher because there doesn’t seem to be the same performance anxiety when one speaks to children as when one addresses one’s peers. In fact some of the most poised classroom teachers I’ve ever known would rather be burned at the stake than speak formally in front of their colleagues.
For several years I worked as a trainer/consultant for a non-profit educational foundation. In this role I observed teachers teaching all across the country and then presented new and hopefully helpful information in a culminating workshop.
There were days when I owned the crowd. Words flowed from my tongue like sweet tea from a pitcher, and particpants were clamoring for me to audition as a stand up comedian.
Then there were days when my words stuck to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter, and I could barely coax a smile from the attendees. On those days I’d have gladly hidden in the bathroom. In fact, once I did!
I was at one of the schools I served in Albequerque, New Mexico. The week had gone really well, and teachers were excited about gains their students had made in their comprehension of mathematical concepts. I was super pumped about the workshop and comfortable with the material I’d be presenting.
Then, about thirty minutes before the workshop began the new principal of the school pulled me aside.
“Listen,” he said. “I don’t like this program and if I have anything to say about it this will be the last year we pay for your company’s services.
“By the way. I’ll be sitting in today.”
Then he walked away. I’d only met the man briefly, so I knew it wasn’t personal, but my heart sure took a hit all the same.
When the workshop started the principal was sitting, front and center with crossed arms and a scowl. I opened with an ice breaker and about two minutes in he held up a hand.
“Enough time wasted. Get on with it.”
The teachers were shocked. A couple that I’d gotten to know well looked like they might cry. I was trying to hold myself together and wondering how to begin the program without the segue provided by the ice breaker.
I gave him my brightest smile as I switched to another set of materials, but my flow was gone. I found myself robotically reading cue cards that I hadn’t needed in months.
All of a sudden I had a brilliant idea. I stopped, looked around and said, “You know, I’m afraid we’ve gotten off to a shaky start. I’m going to the powder room and when I return you’d better fasten your seat belts!”
I was shaking like a leaf when I hit the ladies’ room door. But I looked at myself in the mirror and sternly said, “That asshole thinks he can intimidate me?? No way!”
I hit the ground running. The notes went into my briefcase and I asked the teachers, “Who has a math success they want to share?” You see, I knew they had many.
Hands went up. Stories were told. We laughed and applauded. Then I said, “Let’s make more of these little miracles.”
Soon I had the group participating in the activities their students would be doing in the classroom. The principal sat there glumly, but he didn’t interrupt again.
I left the foundation at the end of that school year, so I don’t know if that Albequerque school continued their partnership with them. But I did learn that sometimes hiding in the bathroom is the right thing to do.
Peace, people!
I’m going to rant for a couple of minutes. Bear with me, or don’t. I just need to blow off a little steam.
This afternoon I went on Pinterest in search of a new hobby. I know I’m a blogger and that should be enough of a hobby, but I have this desire to create something that I can caress or sit back and admire. My friend over at https://sanseilife.wordpress.com/ knits and sketches and still manages to blog. Maybe she’s a super human, but she gives me hope that I, too, can enjoy multiple hobbies.
One article I found on Pinterest looked promising. Titled something like “Hobbies for Women,” the piece began by breaking hobbies down as suitable for different age groups.
First it detailed hobbies for women in their 20’s, 30’s, and 40’s, suggesting modeling, photography, singing, and so on. But when I read the next category regarding hobbies for “Older Women” I sputtered out a really nasty word.
Note the first line under the heading “Hobbies for Older Women” and just imagine this 59-year-old woman’s reaction: 
ELDERLY!!!! How dare this probably twenty-five year old twit call women over the age of 50 elderly? And she thinks I’m going to be putting puzzles together and canning tomatoes? Heck, I still ride a motorcycle and dance like a wild banshee. By golly, I’ve got better things to do than play Mah Jong!
I’ve a good mind to beat her about the head and neck with my cane.
Peace, people!
I was in bed, reading the latest adventures of Joe Ledger by the light of my Kindle Paper White when I heard the sound of scuffling cats. My feisty felines do not care for each other’s company, but when they disagree it’s with a great deal of hissing and noisy posturing. This sound was the one they make when in co-pursuit of another critter. Not a good thing to hear at bedtime.
My first inclination was to let them handle the situation, but then one of the cats made a sound of distress. I grabbed my trusty iPhone and activated the flashlight accessory, pointing it in the direction of the noise. Sure enough, there were Scout and Patches standing guard over a rather large lizard.
Cautiously I slipped out of bed and stood over the anxious cats and nervous reptile. I could see one white whisker poking out of its little mouth. The damned thing had attacked my baby!
Throwing caution to the night, I grabbed that lizard by the tail and tossed him out the back door where he landed on the porch with a satisfying “plunk.” That’ll teach him to mess with me and mine.
Of course now the cats are patrolling the bedroom with wide eyes and bushy tails. It might be awhile now before we can settle down to sleep. Maybe Joe Ledger and company can soothe my jangled nerves.
Or maybe not. At least it isn’t The King of Lizards!
Peace, people! I might be awake for awhile.
Praying for Eyebrowz 