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Thoughts and takes on the way life presents.... |
| Thoughts and takes on the way life presents.... |
| ** Image ID #2055495 Unavailable ** Kip reeled in frustrated torment. To the light where the spirits watched, he screamed. “I was relying on this!” Kip is slashing his arm across the rubble that once held hundreds of homes and businesses now laid to waste. “How am I supposed to rely on this?!” He slashed his other arm across the landscape where his manor home and fields were burnt and laid in ruins. “I don’t have time to play. What did you do? Why?” Each shouted utterance was met with silence from the Heavens to which he made his plea. Kip fell prone, waiting impatiently for the spirts to give him an answer. The rains started slowly and increased its rhythm and velocity. Kip could not hold back the tears that joined the driving spheres hitting his face. His soul screamed to survive, his heart would not oblige. Where was his mate? Where was his family? Did anyone make it out of this devastation alive? He raised his head from the puddle that was accumulating where he bowed down. He let the rain wash the mud away from his face where it accumulated between his spread fingers. He managed to get wearily to his feet and let the water soak his clothing. He was now muddy, cold and wet. The spirits were not kind. The spirits were silent. The broken path in front of him beckoned. It was as good a choice as any. One foot in front of the other. The journey had to start. He did not know where to go or how he would get there. There was just this one small bit of resolve within him to find the spirits and get answers. [word count: 282] |
| Did you know you can tell the age and gender of the person who is trying to ace you out on the freeway? You can. The young men with more looks than sense – well, scratch that – young men will scope out the competition for ten cars ahead and gun it. Then they get pissed when some innocent law-abiding person such as myself comes along and they have to slam on their brakes and obey speed and traffic laws. And they do it with a courtesy flashing of the lights or honking of the horn. The young women will usually book it right along and then as soon as she is in in mid-ace, she slows down, forcing you into slamming on your brakes or moving into the pull over lane. Then she goes back to her conversation on the cellphone. The older men have the common sense to look stunned when they ace you out. I don’t think they honestly expected to be the idiot on the freeway, it just turned out that way. The older women just toodle on oblivious to the honking horns and screeching brakes. This concludes your public service announcement for the day. |
| Prompt: Why are works of historical fiction so popular with today’s readers? What appeals to you the most about these types of books, if anything at all? I don't know about anyone else, but for me, there is so much drama going on and I easily go into sensory overload. Anything to escape, like going back to a time that was simpler and more carefree is much sought after. Then there is a cliche that may have caught on: If we don't learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it. I am not one to go on ad infinitum, so off I go to more pressing needs |
| Me: Hello, law office, how may I direct your call? They: _________ with Corprate Office from your copier company calling to verify the make and model of your machine. Me: Oh, are you from Metro Sales? They: Yes. What is the make and model of your machine? Me: What do you have on record? Click. The scammers are still out there looking for a pigeon. |
Prompt: Name five things that make your house a home. It's funny this shows up at this time, because my daughter and her husband just closed and are making the house their home. It doesn't feel like home to them yet. What will make it so? We just talked about this so this is what showed up in our conversation... 1. Sleeping in it. Nothing baptizes a house more than feeling safe and protected within its walls. 2. Pictures. She has a favorite picture that she cannot display in her current abode. It is a picture unique to her personality and would be a personal statement for her home. 3. Smells. I don't care if its the smell of food or cologne....there are smells that when you encounter them, you know you are home. 4. Paint. If the wall color/treatments belong to someone else, change them to what screams home for you. 5. Flooring. If the carpets are a color you can't stand or are not you, rip them out and put in a color or surface texture like hard wood that make the place seem more homey for you. |
| So when we finally started moving in the morning, the first thing we see are these hideous red pictures with squiggle lines that looked like worms. Cindy just had to post the ugly on her Facebook page. Me? I wanted to go as no tech as possible. Cellphone for emergencies only and that was not an emergency. (Messaging the Iowa sign and the Fonda golf course sign to my brother was an emergency because he is snotty.) Seriously, Comfort Inn is proud to display shadow box picture of these squiggle lines that remind me of worms. They truly need a better buyer for their “art” work. They even had the audacity to put their markers on those pictures. Cindy had to post the ugliness on Facebook. As if anyone would dare steal those ugly things. This was a no/low tech vacation for me, so I refused to do FB, or computer anything and the phone would be for emergency only. But if Cindy wanted to use her phone for FB, I was surprisingly okay about that. In a FB message, Denise found out we were all travelling together and told Tom: Safe travels keep those girls in line. His response? "I gave up on that yesterday." Always good to start the morning out laughing. So while we were giggling about this, that and the other, us three women were commiserating about not getting any sleep. So before the gripe and moan session about not getting enough sleep kicked in, Tom pipes in, “Oh, I guarantee you were sleeping, you had an acapella chorus going. It was Sh, sh, purr. All night. You were all in rhythm so I got to sleep eventually.” Little snot that I married. So we filled our tummy with the continental breakfast and headed off to Branson again. I was the designated driver. I could get anywhere as long as Babs told me where to go and I had a co-pilot looking out for the right exits and motorcycles. I was so glad to get into Branson alive. Some dingbat semi driver did not want to share the road. I had to ride the sidelines and pull in behind the fool. All the while Babs is screaming at me to get in the far left lane. Okay, Babs. Here I go. I think the most interesting thing I saw right bfore pulling into Branson was an Amish taxi. For real. I can’t make this stuff up. I bet the semi did not try to run him over. Don’t ever admit to me that you invent round-abouts or wreck perfectly good streets to stick those creations from hell in place. I think I would strangle you or at least kick you in the whoo hoo because I know for sure it was a man who did this and probably just for laughs. As we pulled into Branson to get the vouchers for all the event tickets, I was floored by all the attractions. Old town is fabulous. Didn’t like parking on a hill so much, but the older part of town is gorgeous. There is a huge Amish population in Branson. They roam about, giggling and laughing, spending their money on “modern” things. It was cute. You can tell the difference between Amish and Mennonite in that the Amish men where blue shirts and side button pants, with a farmer’s hat. The married men will have beards and no mustache. The Mennonites drive vehicles and wear white shirts. The sights and smells of Old Town took my breath away. We only stopped long enough to pick up the ticket vouchers and then head out to the home base. Lucky for us there is a Walmart with food on the way so we stopped and stocked up on what we would need for the week. We overdo everything so I not a surprise that this was one more thing where we overdid it. The actual place where we were going to stay was in Hollister. It is easily a million dollar house that the owners rent out to tourists. Babs tried, but the road to get to this hidden treasure is complicated. I am sitting at the stoplight in the far right lane and Babs is telling me to take a left turn. The sisters are telling me I have to go straight and turn around. HA. NOT I. I took a right turn and left u-turn to get pointed in the right direction. Granted Cindy’s tapes went flying all over and everyone except me was grabbing for the suicide handle, but I got the job done. Sort of. After everyone is relaxed again, I asked Cindy why she is not yelling at me and letting me drive. She surprised me when she said she is glad it’s not her driving and she wants me to keep driving. So that’s how I got to be the designated driver for the week-long vacation. The house was a four bedroom, 3 bath, big house. Everything was open and we were on the river. The worst part of the place was this shabby chic décor. But the appliances were quite nice. We pulled in around 4:00 which was just enough time to get a light supper (sandwich) and get to town for the Spirit of the Dance. The four of us used one car and my dad and stepmom, brother and sister-in-law went in the other. I thought we would go as a team, but they shooed us off and went in a different direction. There is only one way in and one way out of that cove, they should have followed us. Instead, they managed to find their way and came up 20 minutes later. Apparently, they thought they knew the way, and my brother was talking over their Garmen, so they ended up all turned around. They followed up back to the house this time and so they did not get lost or turned around, but the stepmom and brother were still bickering all the time. I got a few souvenirs with my credit card and that’s the last I saw of it. The rest of the vacation was using hubby’s credit card or cash. Can we say pain in the patootie? Or ARRRRGGGGHHHH? I needed, like really needed, to shake something really, really hard. |
| ** Image ID #2055494 Unavailable ** Karane stifled a yawn. This dark, eerie place no longer generated that sense of eager anticipation and mystery. “We should just go up there, get in, get out, be done.” Jaq stopped his 15th equipment check, “Will you take my word that your plan will not work, or do you need a demonstration.” Karane could be just as snotty. “Demonstrate.” Jaq pulled a flicker from his belt, set the coordinates and let the drone whiz up the bridge toward the dark shrouded castle. The flicker was smaller than a common grammonball, and somewhat larger than the ones used by the professional athletes in tournament competitions. “Wait for it. You are about to witness something spectacular.” The explosion that rocked the valley was deafening, and left a bitter taste of burnt metal in the membranes of her mouth. “What are those things?!” “Genetic mutations. Now do you want to do this operation my way, or on your own?” “What does that mean?” “It means I am lead on this operation. You follow me. You follow orders. Or you man this base camp until we get back.” “I would be bait.” “No more conversation. As of right now, it’s yes, sir; no, sir; no excuse, sir.” Karane bit her lip as she arranged her gear to follow Jaq on this mission. She had to relax the grip on her bottom lip when the taste of her blood mixed with the aftertaste of the smoke from the explosion caused the gag reflexes in her belly to heave ever so slightly. It would take all of her discipline to keep her mouth shut and trust Jaq. The rest of the unit went to silent communication. Hand signals and gut instincts were all that were allowed as this small tight unit moved forward to execute the mission. |
| Music Monday! Tell us about a certain memory that is triggered whenever you hear a specific song. Was the song actually playing at that moment, or is it something in the lyrics or the music itself that jogs your memory? The song that stops me in my tracks and evokes emotions all over the place is One Hell Of An Amen by Brantley Gilbert. The first verses are about parents laying to rest their soldier son. I write to deployed military and that one just gets me right there. My relatives that are currently in the military or who are veterans is in the double digits. I keep thinking, but for the grace of God, that song could be about someone I know. It is very haunting. The second verses are about someone dying of cancer. If I am not in tears by this verse, I soon will be. These verses always bring to mind my mother and my sister who did not win their battle with cancer. I have these little snapshots in the memories of my heart as they moved from hopeful determination to beat this thing to quiet acceptance that they would not win and they had to get their affairs in order. I always stop what I am doing and sing along to this song. I always change the words in the second hook to mama or My sister instead of my friend. And I always change Hell of an Amen to One Big Amen. Hell is not even on the same playing field as Heaven. I will not give it that status even if the song is not "meant" to be like that. I just cannot consecrate those I love to Hell. Preacher said he died too young Over there totin' that gun For Uncle Sam and our freedom Mom and Daddy dressed in black They folded up that flag Handed it dad, and started prayin' Yeah he went out twenty one guns blazin' That's one hell of an amen That's the only way to go Fightin' the good fight Til the good Lord calls you home And so be well my friend 'Til I see you again This is our last goodbye It's a hell of an amen, amen Doctor said he ain't got long He just smiled said bring it on Well if you think I'm scared You got me all wrong No a little cancer can't break me My heart's right and I believe We all hit our knees And started prayin' Naw he never gave up Said the good Lord's waitin' And that's one hell of an amen That's the only way to go Fightin' the good fight Til the good Lord calls you home So be well my friend 'Til I see you again Yeah this is our last goodbye It's a hell of an amen So be well my friend 'Til I see you again This is our last goodbye But it's a hell of an amen, amen, that's a hell of amen Read more: Brantley Gilbert - One Hell Of An Amen Lyrics | MetroLyrics |
| We (meaning my husband and two single sisters) started out at about 1:00 thinking we could get about half way to our destination if we tried. She teased that my brother said we would start late and would not get out of Minnesota before 6:00. So at 1:08 p.m., we stopped and took a picture of the Welcome to Iowa sign. We are such dorks. We probably could have made better time taking freeways, but Cindy like the 2-lane backroads, so that was the way we took. Cindy is a Tetris master. She got suitcases and gear for four people, plus a wheelchair into her SUV, and still leave room for us to be comfortable. She had the whole route mapped out with an iPhone gps system. She fried Sir Bob (her TomTom gps system) so resorted to the cellphone. We started shortening the voice to Babs. She really did babble. We could always tell when we did something stupid because Babs went from sweet southern drawl to Minnesota firm insistence when we missed a turn or took a detour due to road construction. Our biggest tease was to note that we should stop at this auction, we have room. Or stop at the Fonda golf course in Iowa and send a tease to the brother that we even had time for a round of golf. I think the funniest thing I saw in Iowa was a single cornstalk proudly adorning a stop sign. That was rich. Cindy has a roommate named Sheryl who all of us have known literally since junior high school. That’s a long time. Sheryl is a very strong, down to earth farmer’s daughter with a dry wit. When we drove up to Cindy’s house, Sheryl was on lunch break. She had to leave almost as soon as we got the car parked and unpacked to repack in the SUV. About half way through the state of Iowa, Cindy got a text from Sheryl: I just noticed Cheri and Tom don’t have a van. I’m a quick one.” We had a fairly uneventful trip from southern Minnesota to Branson MO until we hit Des Moines. I did not realize how serious Cindy really was about being a two-lane only driver so when we hit the city driving, she kept saying, "I'm scared." She was doing fine until she figured out where we were, I swear! So I told her I would switch to driving when she pulled over. I should never have said that – it was her cue to pull over and switch drivers, like right now! So at the next Enter lane -- you know the kind that have the long-running enter lane running parallel to the freeway? You know how there is that V where the enter lane merges with the freeway traffic? -- That’s where she stopped and got out to switch spots. We had us a Chinese fire drill on a freeway. Yep, they build us smart in Minnesota. When she was settled in the backseat, she is looking around and wondering out loud how we would ever get back on the freeway. I just said “Watch me.” I gunned it and merged three lanes over in about a minute and a half. When I asked if she was alright, she said, “Yes, I was under the seat and didn’t see anything.” We were all a little dingy by this time and needed a rest stop. Up to this point, we used gas stations and there were really no “rest areas” in two lane backroads. But since we were now on a freeway “oh, Boy", I saw a sign for a rest stop and pulled in and out that fast because there were no facilities, it was just a pull off patch of gravel and weeds. That was weird. Later on, we saw another sign for a rest area. We had to drive four miles to find it. This was a convenience store with one unisex bathroom. I looked at Vicki and questioned how this could possibly be considered a rest area. She said, if they sell food, are open 24 hours and have bathrooms, they can call themselves a rest area. Later on we saw a sign for a modern rest area. Those are the stand alone buildings maintained by the state. So now I know the difference between a rest stop, a rest area and a modern rest area. The funniest rest area I saw was the one that was planted along a construction area. I am sure the construction workers did not mean to plant the port-a-potty right in front of the modern rest area, but that’s where it was. Just gotta love Iowa humor. Since we had a fairly late start, we needed to stop for the night at a decent hotel but we could not stop until we were in Missouri. We promised Brother Steve that we would make it to Missouri by nightfall. I thought AmericInn was the worst, but I think Comfort Inn is just about neck and neck. We just wanted a room with handicap accessibility, but they did not have one. They were willing to give us one with two queen size beds for $89.99 and for just $10 more, we could also have a microwave and fridge. Cindy said she would share with Vicki and Tom and I could have the other. We said we did not need a microwave and fridge so we paid our $90.00 and got to the room. We got the one with the noisy air conditioner. They gave us a fridge and a microwave. They really think they are the Hilton Grand with the tiered pricing, and then throwing us a bone when we did not fall for their scheme. The best thing about the Comfort Inn is that they were right next door to The China King. I prefer buffet, but they had good off the menu selections. When I went in, I just had to interrogate them to make sure they were not Szechuan, which as we know, is just celery and onion in clear gum sauce. Can’t even stand the smell of it. The guy behind the counter was so funny. He said, we can make something else for you, it does not have to be Szechuan. So yes, he did make me some pretty decent beef lo mein. Yea! But it was getting late by the time we got back to the hotel and all I really wanted to do was sleep. But I was not comfortable, or at least I did not think I was. |
| ** Image ID #2055492 Unavailable ** RPG’s were Leon’s favorite pastime. He waited in bored anticipation for his turn coaching. He didn’t particularly like Vicki, she never seemed to progress. That and her costumes were way too big and she could barely get her shield in position. They always had to cinch the belt so tight, coupled with the activity, by the end of the day it looked like she had a tail. Gazing around the arena, he skipped the photographer to land his eyes on a blue clad figure in the corner. That was Derrick. He was a bit odd. He always wore his face helmet all the time. He claimed it got him into character. Leon hoisted his bumblebee shield and approached Derrick. Since Leon was trying for a role as a village defender, Derrick might be willing to do some sparring. He might even have a say in which part Leon could have. |
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