I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon.
You have lovely memories of your library. You must have lived close enough to go on your own. I loved my local library too. I went on Saturday morning with my dad.My favourite books were Little Women, What Katy did, Heidi, and any Dickens books.
Happy 10th WDC Anniversary, SandraLynn Team Florent!! I'm sorry I can't battle alongside with you, dear Florent. Go forth and go well! You are doing excellent!
WWAD-what would Andre do! Maybe he could get a 3D-printer, make bracelets with WWAD on them and sell them on the side.
We get our dogs braided rope toys to chew on and use dental sticks to help clean their teeth. Perhaps Andre would enjoy a nice braided chew rope, and if someone would make a banana flavored dental stick, he could use it for a swizzle stick in his drink and chew on after he downs it.
My grandgiggles now ask if I'm wearing bubble wrap when I venture forth for a meander/walk/stroll. I thought a clumsy monkey could be conceivable and that he'd be told the same thing I am. Be careful. What is that? Accidents happen, to me any way.
QueenNormaJeanGreeneggs&vegham You win! I've never been shot at, well, not directly. I once experienced the back window of my car being shot out as I drove along a highway. I believe it was a hunter's errant bullet. I wrote about us accident prone people. I refer to it as O.U.C.H. I believe I intended that to mean Our Unique Clumsiness Hurts. We create our own writing material.
Oh come on - I've had so many weird accidents - last one I swear I tripped on a feather. Broke 2 bones in my hand, cast for 4 weeks and now I'm going to see the doctor tomorrow. Cannot move the blasted hand at all.
Car accidents, been shot at, blew my knee getting into a truck. falling down drunk and waking up looking like a prize fighter when I had to go to a family funeral. I've had a few good ones.
I'm the accident-prone one around these parts - although most people would guess my most-used word falls into the "swear" category, it's actually "ouch."
Write about a community service or volunteer experience you’ve had in your life that made an impact on you. "Okay girls has everyone washed their hands? Oh, and dried their hands. C'mon please use a towel, not your shirts." I take a deep breath and glance at the Girl Guides gathered around the kitchen island. I grin back at them and stifle an urge to join in their jostling. I'm a leader and as such I must set an example. "Who would like to crack an egg? In a bowl. This is an important first step in making a cake. Yep, egg guts can be slimy. That's okay. If the shell falls into the bowl, you can scoop the pieces out with a spoon. Don't worry about it, all of us have dropped eggs on the floor. Watch out, don't step in it. Egg guts are slippery, too. What are you doing with the salt, Rebecca 1? Huh, that's a smart idea. I've learned something new. Salt congeals the egg, nice." Eight giggly girls are eager to bake three cakes. This means there is the potential for triple the mess, but, hey, it's a process. One recipe is passed around and scrutinized. They form 'teams' and measure out their ingredients. Sugar scatters all around us, but sugar likes to do that. Some of it grits under our feet. Fine flour dust floats in swirls and coats every surface. Rebecca 2 decides that we should look like bakers and this means dotting each other's noses with a hint of flour whiteness. Most of the Guides agree shortening feels 'funny', yet one slathers a dab on her hands as if it was hand cream. Someone, could it have been Kaitlyn, dares her fellow bakers to taste baking soda. I laugh at the screwed up faces. Only girls can over-exaggerate a gagging reflex. Everyone wishes to stir their mucky mixes and not all of the batters remain together in their respective bowls. Stirring takes strength and finesse. The transfers to a cake pan proceed without too much fuss. Of course, not all of the wannabe cakes will be created equal. With careful planning, everyone has a sample to lick from the bowls and a few eschew spoons for fingers. Taking one last peek with noses pressed to the hot glass window of the oven, we turn our attentions to the clean-up. This occupies our minds until the cakes are edible. Oh, there is grumbling. Who likes to wash dishes? Soon, we are dampish and the growing puddle on the floor causes our sneakers to squeak and the girls to yep, giggle. Water sploshes. Elbows collide. Every available dish towel is pressed into service for drying duty. The cutlery drawer is only pulled all the way out from under the counter once, but that's all it takes to tip the contents onto the floor. At least everything was super clean afterwards. The oven timer shrills and eight Guides stampede to it almost ripping the door from its hinges. "Remember the oven mitts! Perhaps you should move all the soaking wet towels to make room for your cakes. Oh, did I not share with you the good news? You may eat one of those cakes this evening. The other two are for next week's Mother and daughter tea party. Won't your Moms be surprised?"
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