%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    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. |
| Bard's Hall # 6 I noticed the following intriguing question posted on Facebook. What did you collect when you were a child? The responses were illuminating and amusing. My British born and raised step-mother-in-law Mary, replied,"Empty scent bottles. I loved the shape and smell of them." This shook lose memories of my Mom and her career as an Avon lady. Sure, she received hundreds of perfume bottles for her customers. Of course, I'd been warned not to open every one just to have a sniff. I admit to ignoring this a few times. I could not resist. All the scents mingled and perfumed the air. Um, I do not believe I sneezed into any of those containers. Avon marketed their scents in fancy glass bottles that became collector items for some avid fans. Several were shaped into figurines. Some were beautiful, sparkling glass bells, dinner bells. I picture the lady of the manor raising it with her dainty hand, shaking it and commanding,"Oh Jeeves, did you not hear my summons and why on earth is there a sudden scent of perfume in the air? Jeeves?" I vaguely recall a kitten one. Even the men's colognes sported fancy bottles. Were they irresistible fish, baseball gloves, motorcycles? Hmmm, I cannot remember. One macabre woman responded to the online prompt with this. "Tears from my little brother." Really? Is she kidding? Did she antagonize her victim sibling? Could he have been a sensitive child? Was she a bully? Did she live to torture him? I'm the eldest of four, a boy and three girls. I will admit that when the three oldest of us tired of the baby we united to rid ourselves of her. All we had to do was utter a protest of some kind, something that would register to Mom's ears located elsewhere. It only had to be simple, direct. "Sherry, stop it!" "Sherry don't do that!" "Sherry, not again!" Mom was predictable. She'd holler for Sherry and then we were free. Were there tears? No, not from us... One poster claimed to collect bruises as a child. I did, too, but it wasn't by choice. Bruises just materialized on me. I also collected stubbed toes, fractures, blisters, scars, whatever. They are battle wounds. Remnants of misadventures, miscalculations, missteps and okay, misbehaviour. My mother regaled me with tales of her childhood as the eldest of five. Her nightly ritual, job had her emptying her sister Janine's pockets before bedtime. Mom remembered cringing and taking a deep breath. She never knew what she'd discover and then be forced to dispose of without alerting Janine. There could be one or a few worms, dead, or still wriggling. Pebbles could be nestled amongst chewed, sticky gum. Spiders might crawl out of captivity. Sharp nails could be waiting to stab someone. Yuck! I remember objecting if a sibling dared to request the same wondrous prize from a cereal box that I fancied. The math never did add up, one box, four kids. The odds improved when and if we each had our own box of Cracker Jacks, a caramel popcorn. There's nothing like eating your way through the treat in anticipation of a hidden reward. My maternal grandparents and my parents purchased Red Rose tea which stuffed lovely, tiny ceramic figurines in the boxes. It always produced a surprise. Maybe it would be a cat, or a dog, or a fish, or a horse, or wee children. Nanny lined all of them up along her kitchen window sill. When young, we rearranged them and played with them. I recall collecting empty, glass pop/soda bottles from the street or parks. Returning them to the store meant earning spending money for candy, or another pop. What an ingenious recycling plan! Exploit children to clean up with instant gratification. I suppose I collected and still collect precious memories. |
| June Camping Trip! Monday, June 20th Prompt: While camping, you or Andre spot Bigfoot! What happens? Tell us all about it! A breeze caressed my cheek and ruffled my hair. Without opening my eyes I elbowed Andre snoring next to me. "Andre! Did you forget to zip up the tent door again?" Snorting in reply Andre rolled over. A mosquito buzzed near my exposed ear and I swatted it away. Over and over that persistent pest dive bombed me. Several more marauders joined the first. Waving my arms I sat up and peered through squinted eyes. It took a moment for the fog of slumber to dissipate. Were those twinkling stars? Wow, the moon seemed so big and bright. Wait a minute... "Andre wake up! Where's the tent?" I poked and kicked the monkey until he too sat up, stretching and yawning. Something rustled in the grass and a shadow hovered over us. I may have been half-asleep, but my eyes recorded a tall, shaggy creature clutching our pup tent. "Hey!", I blurted. The thief took off running and stumbling, the tent's poles clanking, the lines tangling in his humongous feet. Andre and I struggled to our feet and set off in pursuit. We didn't cover much ground in that first attempt in fact we face-planted, hard. We'd forgotten we were sheathed in our sleeping bags. I wiggled and thrashed in my cocoon desperate to shed it. Andre grabbed his sleeping bag in both hands, leapt to his feet and began hopping. I marveled at how quick he bopped along. I remember thinking Andre must be a shoe-in to win sack races and I made a mental note to choose him as my partner at the next competition. I couldn't help it, I hollered. "Go Andre!" After more of a tussle and a few choice mutterings I wrenched myself free. I tossed my cumbersome sleep sack aside and followed the sounds of snapping twigs and huffing/puffing. "Andre, I'm right behind you." Into the tangle of trees I plunged. I pushed. I pummeled. Branches snatched at my hair and slapped my face. Mosquitos whined. Shadows flitted past. Things creaked. Things shuffled. Things loomed large and silent. I burst into a moonlit glade. Gasping for air I bent over and grasped my knees. A whimper alerted me to look up and I spied an upside down Andre trussed in his sleeping bag, swinging from the stout arm of an immense tree. As I stepped towards him, the hairy, well-muscled creature peeked around the base of the trunk. He glared at me and raised a giant fist. I froze. Maintaining eye contact he stooped to gather up our tent. Straightening to his full impressive height he cocked his head and grinned. With a wave he vanished. Both Andre and I whispered, "What was that?" ( 471 words minus the 21 words of the prompt ) |
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