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 |  My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| 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. |
| PROMPT: Creation Saturday! When someone says "And this is where the magic happens", what are they referring to? Take this prompt in any direction your imagination lets you... Is it just me, or is this line rife with sexual innuendo? Cough, cough... excuse me? No matter the setting, that nuance simmers below the surface. Take a bakery...A man clad in white and a fine mist of flour brags, "This is where the magic happens. Care to rub and roll with me? Oh, that's good. Knead a little harder, faster"... This could be a garage... A mechanic swipes his oil-stained hands and crows, "This is where the magic happens. It's all in the hands. A tweek here, an adjustment there, and she's purring, ready to go"... Whew! If these words were uttered by a masseur... , well, you get my drift... hum, mmm... But, no drifting just yet... Dannica could feel her heart thudding in her chest, and her hand was definitely clammy. so much so, it nearly slipped from Stan's grasp. This was a surprise. When he'd arrived a short time ago, he'd asked if she trusted him, and then he'd pulled a bandanna from his pocket. What could she say, but yes. He seemed kind of excited with the biggest grin she'd ever seen as he proceeded to blindfold her eyes. During the car ride, Stan had refused to speak, and now he was leading her past some bushes. They snagged at her clothing, and smelled of cedar. A few times, Dannica stumbled, but Stan pulled her upright before she fell. She could smell grass, and wet earth. The traffic sounds, the honking, the screeching, the constant rumble had faded. Where was Stan taking her? "Okay, lift your feet now, and climb these steps. There are ten of them." Obeying, Dannica followed Stan and his voice. Without warning, her hand dropped, so, Dannica froze. Reflexively reaching for the rag, Stan stopped her with, "No, let me do it." Once her eyes were freed, Dannica squinted, and swivelled her head seeking something familiar. Huh, she recognized the amphitheatre in the park. Why had Stan led her up on the stage? She didn't have to wait long for an answer. Striking a match, and holding its flickering flame to a candle, Stan knelt before the stunned Dannica in the gathering shadows of dusk. Sweeping his free arm in an arc, he shouted, "This is where the magic happens!" Ruffling her hair, and smoothing her dress, Dannica's mind raced. Could this really be what she thought it was ? If so, it had caught her off-guard. The two of them hadn't been stepping out for that long. Stan was full of surprises, she didn't think he had this in him, at least not yet. She still wasn't keen on his name. Her friends and family called him that tired 'Stan the Man', or' Stanfield'. Sigh, it was kind of blah. She'd always imagined she'd be swept off her feet by a Raoul, or an Antonio. Why did his name have to rhyme with bland, or bran? Perhaps he had a more appealing middle name he wouldn't mind using, that might help. Drat. Stan still knelt on one knee, and he seemed to be looking at her expectantly. Right, he anticipated a reaction, some sign she'd heard him. Swallowing, Dannica mumbled, "Um, er, when?" Jumping to his feet, Stan whispered, "Tomorrow." Dannica couldn't help it, she shrieked. Her legs crumpled, crashing her to the spot her boyfriend had just vacated. It took a few moments, but no one was helping her to her unsteady feet. Where was her fiancé? Where was the chivalry? Shaking her head, a flash of bright colours cascaded over her shoulders in an unending stream.. Then she noticed a smiling Stan. She gasped as if seeing him for the first time. He stood pulling scarf after scarf from his sleeve. Before she could react, he leaned over, reached behind one of her buzzing ears, and produced a shiny coin. Still he had more...With a bow, he presented a bouquet of blooms that somehow materialized out of thin air. My god, Stan was a magician! |
| PROMPT: Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1928, Walt Disney's "Steamboat Willie" starring Mickey Mouse was the first successful sound-synchronized animated cartoon. What is your favourite Cartoon? What? Again with just one? My 'mostest' favourite cartoon?( I must insert this brief aside... when I first typed 'mostest' my helpful computer substituted the word 'moistest'... haha! Not at all what I intended, but, hey, I fixed that with a '.) First of all, did I ever thank you Walt? I am a Disney devotee, and I approve of the name Mickey. yeah, Mortimer wasn't a great fit, but then again neither was Murray, or Mitchell, or Matthew. Despite liking all things Disney, my 'mostest' favouritest cartoon is.... insert drumroll and dramatic music here... SpongeBob Squarepants. There, I've admitted it. Yes, really, it is, I should know. My kid sister got me hooked simply by saying, "You should watch this." I relate to the corny humour, the spoofs, the ridiculous improbabilities, and the main character himself. What's not to like about a perpetually upbeat, childlike, innocent, naïve, optimistic, and persistently positive guy named SpongeBob? His predicaments tickle my funny bone. He never gives up. He is loyal to his friends. He means well, but...And we both have a loud laugh. He doesn't apologize for his. Okay, this is the premise of this cartoon in a nut shell, or sea shell if you will. SpongeBob Squarepants lives under the sea in a community known as Bikini Bottom. Hey, remember, suspend the disbelief... His home is a pineapple, yes, you read that correctly, and he shares it with his pet snail, Gary, or "Garebear". His best friend, Patrick Starfish lives next door under a rock. Yeah, poor Patrick is as dumb as a bag of rocks too, but he's a loyal pal, and he worships SpongeBob. The other neighbour, and SpongeBob's co-worker as well, is a grouchy, opinionated Squidward. He's kinda like Dennis the Menace's nemesis neighbour, Mr. Wilson. SpongeBob works quite contentedly as a fry cook at The Krusty Krab, yep, a spoof of McDonald's, where he cooks the krabby patty. His boss is a money-loving skinflint, Mr.Krabs. Oh, there are a slew of characters such as Sandy Squirrel who lives in a glass dome. I really like the two old geezers who live in a retirement home. They spoof Batman and Robin as retirees. Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy still wear their super hero outfits complete with masks and capes, but their only acknowledgement to age is slippers. Mermaid Man has dementia, and Barnacle Boy now resents his name and lot in life as a sidekick. Like the caped duo, they have a secret lair and gadgets, one of which is an invisible boat. SpongeBob worships them with unwavering awe. He fails to recognize that they have aged, and no longer fight crime. Oh, did I mention the French narrator who moves the action along with a Frenchified accent, "one hour later"? Okay, these are the basics.. Cue dramatic music again,, maybe a drum roll and horns...oh, and underwater noises too... this is my 'mostest favouritest' episode..da-da-de-da The Camping Episode! Patrick and SpongeBob have decided to camp in their front yard, but Squidward is annoyed by their obvious enjoyment, and pooh-poohs their efforts. He disdainfully informs them that it can't be real camping ten feet from their homes, but SpongeBob replies, "Outdoors is camping." Squidward mistakenly believes they have challenged him to try camping, and so he joins them. Perversely, he is both annoyed, and wistful. He also thinks he can do better than SpongeBob at most things. SpongeBob shares that it is traditional to sing campfire songs, and they sit next to a roaring fire. He belts out, "It's nice to unwind with a nice campfire song. C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E S-O-N-G, song." Then he continues to repeat it quicker and quicker. An irritated Squidward pulls out his clarinet which is his pride and joy, even though he's not the gifted musician he believes himself to be. He is told by the guys, "It's too dangerous to play the clarinet badly in the wilderness." He is told of sea bears. An incredulous Squidward laughs this off as just an old legend,wanting to know who claims this. Patrick answers, "Bikini Bottom Enquirer." "Oh yeah, what does bother a sea bear?" Since he asked, the guys are only too happy to tell him... "Don't play the clarinet. Never wave your flashlight back and forth. Flashlights are their natural prey. Don't stomp, they take that as a challenge. Don't ever eat cheese cubed, sliced is fine. Never wear a sombrero in a goofy fashion, or clown shoes, or a hoop skirt." To prove he is right and these restrictions ludicrous, Squidward tempts fate by doing all of the above. Of course, he riles a sea bear and is attacked, repeatedly. SpongeBob and Patrick yell encouragement. "Don't run, sea bears hate that. They hate limping more than running. I should've warned you about crawling. Maybe he doesn't like you. Try being someone else." Meanwhile, the true believers are safe in their anti sea bear circle drawn in the sand.... After too many assaults by the all-too-real sea bear, a battered Squidward finally listens and attempts to save himself with a circle. No luck, he is again attacked. SpongeBob chides him, "That was an oval. It has to be a circle." In desperation, Squidward shelters in their circle which can be lifted from the sand, and moved, carried around them. Squidward had learned his lesson the hard way, and he's relieved it's over. Patrick and SpongeBob have more news...They are just glad it wasn't a sea rhinoceros...It is attracted by the sounds of a sea bear attack...SpongeBob and Patrick laugh in relief because they are wearing their anti sea rhinoceros underwear.. |
| PROMPT: The Wildcard Round! Unicorns...They're special and unique and fun and whatnot. But what are they, really? What do they eat? Where do they live, and where do they sleep? What do they do when they're not out unicorning or whatever it is they do? And what's the proper name for a baby unicorn? Please write the Wikipedia entry on unicorns from your special, unique blogging unicorn perspective. Questions, questions, so many questions...It's a wonder any of us slumber with the complex conundrums swirling in our fevered brains... Well, since I'm wide awake , and incapable of concentrating on any other mundane tasks, I shall attempt to explain/validate/elucidate... First and foremost, I will clear something up. Although the name 'unicorn' means 'one horn', this mystical creature is not in any way, shape, or form related to other 'unis'. You know of what I speak; 'unitard', 'unicycle', 'unibrow'. I know for a fact no self-respecting unicorn would forgo personal hygiene/grooming to permit the growth of an unsightly unibrow, or carelessly choose to flaunt a ridiculous garment such as a unitard. And why would this graceful beast teeter and totter atop a one-wheeled contraption when he/she could gallop like the wind? So, there we have it, unicorns are a wee bit vain. They are well aware of their flowing manes, and their pristine white coats. They have an image to uphold. Unicorning involves a certain amount of physical fitness, running, leaping, and swimming. It takes a continued effort, a regime to maintain their strength and sleekness. They believe in the motto 'heal thyself'. They cannot very well heal, or help others if they are themselves lacking. Their positivity results from this physical presence. They are confident. They are in control. Unicorns represent endless possibilities, and optimism, anything is achievable. They flourish in that intangible world that exists between wakefulness and sleep. They are ephemeral like dreams, whispy, gossamer ghosts. They leave undeniable prints. They slay negativity, and self-doubt. They feast on fear, and regret. Unicorns are our hopes and dreams. Baby unicorns are known as 'sparks'. From sparks of imagination, sparks of brilliance, sparks of self-awareness, sparks of humanity, they flicker. |
| PROMPT: War Chest Wednesday! What Lo-Fi, non-electronic, or old school things from the past do you still enjoy today? Gee willikers, where do I begin? Fishing for age clues, generational gulfs, er, um, I mean gaps are we? Yes, Timmy there once was a life before batteries; before bells, whistles, and bright beeping lights. Communication could not be immediate unless a landline telephone accepted a call. There are a few of these dinosaurs lurking, tethered to a kitchen wall. But they too subsisted on electrical power, so, I digress. The communication I speak of consisted of putting pen, or pencil to paper , and manoeuvering the hand in swirls and squiggles known as handwriting. The purpose of this was to share news, greetings, jokes, and tidings in a missive, or letter. Usually, if a letter was mailed, a reply was anticipated, and this took time, meaning one had to wait. Back then mailboxes were not stuffed with flyers. They sheltered real mail of letters, bills, and packages; packages were the ultimate. Yep, I still pen snail-mail letters, and postcards. Now, I'm not advocating pigeon carriers, but mail carriers of the person variety. So, I still enjoy pencils and paper, the two make a dynamic duo. Sometimes ,when I am between letters, I cannot resist doodling, or sketching. Attempting to transfer this action to a computer screen via a mouse, or a stick-thingy isn't the same. My artwork is not in danger of winning admirers, or awards, but online it resembles a child's scribbles. I prefer creating with my lead-stick, and not the mechanical sort. Who invented those, and put them forth as a good idea? The lead is sensitive, and prone to breakage. I prefer a pencil that is sharpened by a handy-dandy handheld device known as a sharpener. You'd like this gadget, Timmy. Twisting and pushing results in a satisfying point. Yep, you can poke holes with it. Just today, I learned of a new application for a pointy pencil, and it's one I'd never considered. Apparently, holes may be poked into drywall. I know, radical, eh? Oh, that reminds me, pencils will mark almost anything, not just paper. They also make a handy splint should you ever snap a finger. And pencils may be twirled around the fingers when you're bored, or thinking deeply. Listening to music, a set of pencils doubles as drum sticks. If you dare to cohabitate with a cat, he/she will most likely bat your pencils about the house, they roll and scatter satisfyingly. Oh, Timmy this is a useful tip, so try not to forget it. If you should ever be forced to endure the stifling torture of a plaster cast encasing one of your limbs, you will experience the most persistent itching, an itching that may be eased by scratching with a pencil. Just don't lose your grip on it. And I personally do not endorse chewing on a pencil though some develop this habit. Did I mention that pencils are not simply black, or grey? They flourish in the many colours of the rainbow. You do not need to add water such as paint requires, and they do not melt in heat like crayons. Timmy, it is possible to have your name inscribed on a pencil, or a cartoon figure, or anything. I myself currently use SpongeBob pencils. There's one other important thing. Pencils are forgiving. If you decide to edit, or move a line, the pencil's trail may be erased. Genius! Sigh... At one time, Timmy, people would book appointments by promising "to pencil you in." |
PROMPT: Talk Tuesday! We're at the halfway point of November. What have you learned from any of your fellow bloggers in the group this month? Now don't blush, or mutter "aw shucks", this is intended as a heartfelt compliment, so, please accept it. My fellow bloggers are great people! They are so thoughtful, funny, and supportive. Well, not all of us are Trump trumpeters, and we share that commonality. To that end, I love Kit  's proposal that we all live together in a writing commune on a deserted island somewhere. I vote for a tropical, no snow climate. Writing barefoot sounds so freeing. Kittiara writes so eloquently, and honestly. I learned that she is a deep thinker, yet she created a wonderful story about Fraidy the cat. Apondia  is another thoughtful blogger who revealed that her first father-in-law smoked a pipe. Obviously, she is an optimist, she remarried. I know she believes in raising children to be free thinkers. SB Musing  Oh, Sara has taught me mucho... She never gives up. She claims I crack her up...thanks. I've learned she too sees the bizarre, the ridiculous, and the silly, and she likes to laugh. Her mind is never idle. I now know she likes 'Princess Bride', and 'Whose Line is It?' Here is a random prop, do with it as you wish. the Wordy Jay This is another blogger who likes to laugh, and elicit laughter. I have learned this is not the son of Brother Nature because he verified this, so, no nepotism. Sadly, Jay's parents denied 'him' toys. Huh... Books were a welcome diversion though. Jay uses emojis.. I like the blog introduction: "wade, splosh." Why not then 'jaywading'?. brothernature Hmm, the first thing I noticed is that his username and handle are the same...smart move. His name is Joel, as in Billy, sort of... He has a son named Jay. He admits to being married with a wife who permitted him to use the term 'stuffies', and, oh, yes, he has two photogenic stuffies, Clown and Monkey. Gasp, Joel confesses to not owning a cellphone! He laments that he is turning into his mother....sigh, aren't we all? His tale about his superstitious mother was hilarious. Oh, and he agrees 'A Christmas Story' is one of the finest holiday movies ever made. Acme Huh, another wdc'er who chose to have one handle/username... brilliant! This is another blogger with a terrific sense of humour. He has confessed to a blogging addiction, and he is making valiant efforts...I have learned that this former pub manager once foiled deadly carpet sharks with his sidekick Fluffy. That name does strike fear into my very marrow... So, in summary, I have learned that only the best, the most talented writers hang around this blog site. Thank you! Blog on... |
| PROMPT: Motivational Monday! Prince Charles (the oldest child of England's Queen Elizabeth II), born on this day in 1948, once said "I learned the way a monkey learns... by watching its parents." What is something you've learned from either of your parents, using only the power of observation? I suppose only an heir apparent to the English monarchy could describe , or allude to his mother as being a monkey. I wonder if the Royals hunkered down, back to back, and picked the nits from each other's hair? LESSONS I LEARNED TRAILING AFTER MY FATHER My sartorial splendor is based upon my father's example. Plain, all one colour socks are boring. Sock colour must compliment, or co-ordinate with the shirt, always. Coral, not quite pink because real men did not leave the house in any shade of pink when I was a child, created a few gasps in our neighbourhood especially when my Dad flaunted it in all its glory with both a shirt and socks. He repeated this with purple, green, red, whatever. Other fathers preferred white, or grey socks. From years of study only clouded by an occasional wisp of smoke, I learned to stuff a pipe, and light it. It was quite the time-consuming, precise procedure. First the old burnt tobacco had to be coaxed from the pipe bowl with the aid of a pocket knife. Then it was discarded with whacks, taps, and some muttering, not unlike burping a stubborn baby. Next the pipe had to be clenched between the teeth while air was blown through it. Cradling the bowl, pinches of fresh tobacco are pulled from a battered pouch, and stuffed, pushed, tamped tightly together. The pipe stem is returned to the vise of the teeth while a wooden match is struck and held to the tobacco. Inhaling is important for air flow, and draft. Stare at the end of the pipe, and concentrate. Wave the flaming match to extinguish it, and deposit in a waiting ashtray. Remember to puff. Keep spare matches nearby for re-lights. Father B. loved to cook, with his hands, his mechanic's grease-stained hands. Stirring with spoons was for sissies, he liked to feel what he was mixing, work the dough, the mixture, the sauce with his hands. He cooked by instinct. If he thought to pair certain ingredients, or attempt to re-create a restaurant dish without a recipe, so be it. Measurement, what was that? He created the smidgen, the pinch, the handful, the " that -looks-about-right". One of his signature treats was a sublime melt-in-your-mouth bread/bun thingy we dubbed Father B.'s Biscuits. Oh, I studied his methods, his ingredients, his baking times. I did hit one snag. My two hands combined are still not the size of one of his hands, so, how much flour did his handful translate to in my baking re-creations? Onions, they were a staple in Dad's cooking, they had to be included in everything. Oh, he also sprinkled black pepper liberally. Yep, I too cook with them. Nothing could be denied, or left untasted. Oysters, squid, mussels, brussel sprouts, cabbage, mushrooms, bison, bear, moose, venison, hot peppers, garlic, curries, whatever, it had potential to be edible. To relax, Dad needed noise, loud noise. He would warm up the stereo, the type encased in a large , burnished piece of oak furniture, a cabinet. He would select several LPs, and stack them on the turntable. As the needle made contact with that first album, he would make himself comfortable on the floor. He would lie on his back in front of the six-foot tall speakers, and float along with the music. Often , he fell asleep. I attempted this once. The whole relaxation becoming -one-with-the-notes-thing failed me. I may have been reclined for a few brief seconds before the kids found me . Crawling all over me, poking, and tickling me, prying my eyes open, they asked questions. "Mom? Mommy? Whatcha doin'? Are you sweepin'? I wanna drink. What's that ? You singin' Mommy? When's Daddy comin' home?" Apparently, I missed something during my observation. |
| PROMPT: The Sunday News! This week, it's been reported that Russia is considering blocking access to the employment-oriented social networking site LinkedIn because the site is in violation of a rule requiring data on Russian citizens to be stored in servers inside the country. What do you think about that, and what role do you think governments should play regarding what websites their citizens should be allowed to visit? Huh. In this day and age, this boggles the mind. Censorship still exists? Big brother is watching? Perhaps Russia is holding out for a piece of the lucrative pie. This rule of in-country servers is probably a bid to create service jobs for citizens. Yes, the need for control is also prevalent. Monitoring the supply and the subscribers creates an illusion of freedom. Isn't information supposed to be power? It seems ludicrous for a job-networking site. What is important enough about job titles and qualifications to potentially exploit? I don't believe that any government has the right to control, monitor,or deny anyone website access.Each internet user should have unfettered access. This is about their own choice, and accountability. Censorship is wrong. We need the freedom to view, read, write, and comment on everything, and anything. Creativity is subjective. Its audience varies, and thrives on the great world wide Web. Policing internet access is inexcusable. What is enough, or too much? Who decides? |
| PROMPT:Creation Saturday! Did you have a favourite stuffed animal( or toy) when you were younger? Give it an interesting origin story. Tell us what it did in its life before he/she met you and became your pal. My childhood pal has the original poker face. Some might describe her as a little stiff, and inflexible. These were admirable, sought after traits for Barbara Millicent a girl -who-made-good from Willow , Wisconsin. Before we met, she left home for the bright lights of New York City, and never looked back. Barbie had a dream. She was fearless, and eager to meet all the world had to offer. Fashion was her passion. Her long legs stretched impossibly to her armpits, perfect for strutting on catwalks. Yes, this small -town girl embraced life as a teen model. She revelled in sashaying while doffed in all manner of designer clothing. As she made a name for herself, Barbie adopted the non-stop lifestyle of a jet-setting super model. Being a clothes horse guaranteed runways in London, Paris, and Milan. She learned to ski in the Alps. She yachted on the Riviera. Life was glamorous and fun. In time, her name became synonymous with high fashion, and anyone who was anyone recognized her name. That name also earned its own honourary colour, Barbie pink. Many attempted to copy her trademark posture, and unblinking poses, but failed. No other model could smile unflinchingly, 24/7 like Barbie. Fast forward several years, and Barbie shadowed me. Whether tumbling from my bike, snagging her luxurious locks in my jacket zipper, sweltering uncomplaining in a fur coat in July, dripping in sticky dog slobber, or suffocating under a toss of blankets , Barbie never blinked. She never said no, no matter what I decided we were going to do. Barbie the Beautiful befriended me. |
| PROMPT: Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1952, the first video recorder was demonstrated by John Mullin and Wayne Johnson in Beverly Hills, California. How would you explain YouTube to these gentlemen? YouTube is an all-access theatre of infinite scope, and appeal. It's a twenty-four hour, seven day a week carnival ride with flashing lights, loud music, gawking bystanders, screaming passengers, and addicted thrill-seekers. 'Candid Camera', and LSD collide, collude, and create. A limitless mish-mash of home movies, blooper reels, online journals, how-to instructionals, movie bits, random montages, rants and raves, sound bites, and more morph into a kaleidoscope. YouTube is a warehouse of consumer- generated video. Anyone and everyone contributes film about anything and everything. For many, it's a one-stop hub of entertainment. A video recorder is no longer a klunky, heavy piece of machinery. Nowadays, many people tote a hand-held, fit-in-your-pocket marvel known as a cell phone. (We're leap years beyond the 'Get Smart' shoe phone.) It is a tiny computer capable of accessing information from almost anywhere. People receive and initiate phone calls, they converse on the go. Letters and missives are now text messages. Photos may be snapped and stored on this, or sent to others. Everyone is able to record their own videos, and share them. There is no middleman, no specialty shop processes film. YouTube is the virtual repository for videos. YouTube is the computer equivalent of inviting a few close friends to your unveiling of the latest slide show of your recent vacation. It may only be of significance to you, nonetheless you feel compelled to share it. Content is varied. It ranges from the sublime and inspirational, to the ridiculous and stupid. Babbling babies, angry oranges, cute kittens, adorable puppies, stumbling skate-boarders, wedding proposals, car accidents, whatever, YouTube has it. |
| PROMPT: The Wildcard Round! Pick a quote from one of your favourite movies and tell us how you relate to it. Well, this probably doesn't come as a shock to anyone, but I love comedies! I appreciate the verbiage, the innuendos, the entendres, the puns, and the word play. Imagine eliciting a laugh with just the right line. There are so many movies... so many quotes... Where to begin? Okay, one movie I could happily view repeatedly is 'The Princess Bride.' The dialogue is witty, ridiculous, and sublime. The heroes engage in swordplay as they banter. They laugh in the face of danger. Here are a few sample quotes. "Life isn't fair, it's just fairer than death, that's all." "Love is many things none of them logical." "Mawidge is a dweam wiffin a dweam." "Inconceivable!" I've been married for a good many years to a man I sometimes tease as being humour-impaired. Actually, he just has more of a discriminatory taste. He's not always expecting the bizarre, or prepared to laugh at everything. There's no rhyme or reason, no logic as to why we formed a partnership. I know I never had any clear-cut expectations. Neither of us is perfect, but we respect each other. There was no crystal ball, no portents, no lucky charms. We supported each other, and the best weapon in our arsenal was a sense of humour. We've endured the usual relationship roadblocks: accidents, financial difficulties, illness, death, re-locations, new careers. We never permitted any of it to over-shadow us. Give up?...inconceivable! We're not finished bugging each other. There are so many potential laughs in our future.The following lines star in another of my favourite comedies. Hey, they also relate to a marriage, a partnership. There's not always obvious sexual tension. Sometimes, there is miscommunication, wires become crossed. To be fair, two people are not constantly in tune, or on the same wave length. Admittedly, listening may suffer. Anyway, I present dialogue from a Mel Brooks classic, 'Young Frankenstein.' Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: "Well, dear, are you ready?" Inga: "Yes, doctor." Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: "Elevate me." Inga: "Now? Right here?" Dr. F.F.: "Yes, yes, raise the platform." Inga: "Oh. Ze platform. Oh, zat, yah, yah,...yes." Perspective is everything. Hubby and I still giggle in reference to a hotel stay years ago. Five of us, that is to say us, and our three children, were splashing, and soaking in a pool. As the responsible parents, he and I did more wading than swimming so we could watch the kids. Our youngest had an aqua lung because she could and would stay submerged for long periods. We'd learned this from trial and error. I think she was three, and an avid water devotee. Anywho, three times an upset, irate Pakistani woman rescued this daughter from what she perceived as imminent drowning. She would dive into the deep end, grab our kicking, protesting child, and drag her back to us. Each time, this muttering, head-shaking good-deeder thrust our squirming baby into our arms. To be fair, there was a language barrier, but we understood she was disapproving. We still laugh to see the look of horror on that woman's face when we let go, and our little 'fish' returned to swimming. Did she really believe we were oblivious, and unaware? Inconceivable! |
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