%%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. |
| Creation Saturday! A major toy company is creating an action figure of you! What is its theme, what's it look like, and does it do anything fun or cool? Tell us what accessories it comes with, and describe the world it belongs in. Okay, just so we're clear... the key word is "action", correct? This denotes movement, and the doing of something. A toy on a par with G.I. Joe? Hmmm.... I don't believe anyone would manufacture, or then choose to play with a Mom action figure. This toy isn't feasible. All the actions of a Mom couldn't possibly be replicated. Many are unbelievable, perhaps bordering on mystical, magical, mysterious, and plain inexplicable. I mean I sorta have a signature move, but I fail to envision it as the basis for a toy. My "action" revolves around accidents, and thus I fall down more than most two-legged people. I tend to gravitate towards being described as accident-prone, clumsy, or klutzy. In short, I cannot seem to resist gravity. Just yesterday, I perched on my loveseat attempting to hang some newly-framed photos, when gravity yanked me down onto the floor. Clearly, there was no slip, or loss of balance. My action figure could never be on a par with Superman Superwoman. Leaping a tall building in a single bound is difficult when you struggle to climb a set of stairs, or descend those same steps. Running at the speed of light is only a fantasy when your own feet aren't coordinated enough to stumble a mere few inches. Sigh, my lifelike action figure would be marked with a few realistic-looking scars, and some colourful bruises. It's a female, yet not a Barbie. We've got to keep this real. I'm not into billowing capes. A cape would just be a liability, something to trip over, or something to get snagged. Tights would just get torn. Denim jeans are a wee bit more practical and hearty. I suppose the alternate costume would consist of sweat pants, or track pants. They tend to be more forgiving and they will fit over my various accessories. Do I need a catchy name? How about Calamity Kate, or Klutzy Kim, or Stumblin' Sandy? Okay, my accessories, or extras would be all the paraphernalia a walking wounded woman collects. My figure, pitiful as it is, will come with an assortment of plaster casts that fit over all of the major limbs. Of course, canes, crutches, and a wheelchair will be part of the ensemble. Don't forget about the two walking/cast boots. A mega carton of bandages in various sizes will be included, also. A fun option could be a portable x-ray machine. Maybe the manufacturer should add a gurney/stretcher, an ambulance, and paramedics. The fun comes from attempting to stuff this figure into a car, or a bus, or a train, or an airplane. Mobility issues will be discovered. Manoeuver this hapless figure through everyday scenarios where crowds tend to gather. It belongs in the real world this figure of calamities. I foresee complete play sets that replicate hospitals; waiting rooms, an x-ray department, a treatment room. and more. |
| Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1984, actress Elizabeth Taylor was voted to be the world's most beautiful woman in a Louis Harris poll; at the time she was in the Betty Ford Clinic overcoming a weight problem. What do you make of these opinion polls? Are they really worth anything, or are they just something for people to talk about? Just who are these people being polled? Do they volunteer to answer questions, or rate things? How are they selected? Do they fully comprehend English, or the language of the poll? Do they really stop to think, and consider before making a selection? Are they hurried and harassed? How many voters are considered enough to form a consensus? I dislike phone call polls. No, I do not want to reveal who I may, or may not be voting into political office. I consider this a waste of resources and manpower. They rate with unwanted phone sales. If I wanted a sweet deal on bulk light bulbs, I'd search for a sale when I was ready. No, I'm not interested in booking a holiday at this moment. Your random, irritating call will not change my mind. Yes, I am aware that such a thing as a credit card exists, but I was not sitting around wishing I had another one, and thinking my life was lacking without this one. I am not impressed with opinion polls. They contain nothing necessary. What, or why do I care about the opinions of others? These polls' subjects seem to star in gossip magazines, and shady newspapers. I'm certain not everyone in the entire world was consulted and asked if they believed Elizabeth Taylor to be the most beautiful woman. I for one never took part in this survey. |
| The Wildcard Round! This week's winner, as selected by the Virtual Dice, will receive 5000 GPs! What are your favorite ways of avoiding the things in life you consider to be distractions? Well, I probably would consider my hubby, my life-partner, to be my biggest, most noticeable distraction. When he and I are in close proximity, it's rather difficult to ignore him. He moves. He speaks. He wants me to accompany him on trips. He shares amusing anecdotes with me. He wishes to be fed. He tempts me with ice cream, or some other sweet treat. Lucky for me he is a long-haul trucker. Usually, he's away from home base for at least a week at a time. Occasionally, his absences last two or three weeks. I have become familiar with being alone. I am free to plot, plan, and post my blog responses. I can surf the world-wide web to my heart's content. I write where and when I wish. Often, I read. Meals become what I crave. The television remote control is handled by my own hand, and I choose what I view. Yah, when he's in residence, and feeling the urge to binge-watch so many programs ala Netflix, I find it distracting. He seems to choose either chick flicks, or action movies. Either way, the volume is guaranteed to be noticeable. He likes his surround sound. Writing to the backdrop of weeping violins, or booming ammunition, screeching car crashes, thundering avalanches, and the like is beyond distracting. He also has the habit of watching a movie, again, and not remembering having ever seen it before in his life. Bah, who am I kidding? I miss the big galoot. Some distractions grow on you... |
| War Chest Wednesday! From a previous challenger... Tell us about an experience where you felt like you were scammed. What did you think about it? Did you try to fight with the person or company? No, I have never been scammed. I imagine it would be an unforgettable experience though. Years ago, a female friend of my Mother's lost most of her inheritance. She had invested the sizeable amount of money with a man claiming to be an investment broker. He disappeared with the money of several people. Yes, she was devastated, but she was not left destitute. Before this happened, she owned her own home, and it was left untouched. She still could rely upon her pension, too. Basically, she lost funds that she had never used yet. She missed the opportunity to experience a life with more wiggle room, and less penny-pinching. This crime was reported to the police. Fast forward to a period years in the future. The culprit was apprehended, and an insurance company offered the victims a pay out. Yes, it amounted to far less than had been taken ,but it was a welcome gesture nonetheless. People were older and needed the money. |
| Talk Tuesday! What would your reaction be to finding out you have family you were never told about before? My mother was raised by her mother and stepfather, never meeting any of her paternal relatives. Fast forward several years and I began to delve into my genealogy. I liked playing sleuth, and the one obvious clue was that my maternal grandmother had an unusual surname. Following that clue, I discovered more tidbits, and more information lined up. I found an online marriage certificate which pointed to her first husband's name. As I posted my findings, I shared my results in an accessible online family tree. One woman in particular accessed that tree and it dovetailed with hers. She contacted me, and we started an e-mail correspondence. I've yet to meet her mainly because we reside an entire country apart. I have, however, met a few of her siblings who live in the same province as I do. These people are my Mom's paternal first cousins. Before she died, my Mom met two of those cousins. I was thrilled with the idea of new relatives, the more the merrier. My hubby was more skeptical. His exact words were, "What do you need more family for?" Um, perhaps for a kinship, and support? I grew up only knowing my step-grandfather's relatives. Technically, we're not blood relations. Their particular quirks and inherited illnesses are not mine. For instance, cancer has played havoc amongst my new family, and it helps to explain my Mother's own cancer. If anything, I have new roots, and new allies. They were not a complete surprise though because I anticipated results. A campsite neighbour experienced the shock of a lifetime this past Spring. He received a phone call out of the blue from his cousin who had submitted her DNA to a genealogy site. She'd been matched to a woman with an almost 100% accuracy guarantee, and at first she believed the two of them to be cousins. She was sharing this news with my friend and asking him, and his sister to submit their DNA for testing, too. He and his sibling thought why not, and so they did. When they received their test results, they were flagged as being a much closer relative to this other woman. They were told that she was most likely a sibling to them, and not a cousin. They were stunned. No one had ever raised this possibility, and as my neighbour told me, all the key players, his parents, aunts, and uncles were all dead. After further genetic testing, it was verified that he had another biological sister. The real stunner though was that she and he shared the same birth month and birth year. His "new" sister was his age! He contacted her and discovered that they grew up in nearby areas of Toronto also. She had been raised by her single mother, and only had known one female cousin. He and his "first" sister have met their surprise sibling. He now has so many questions that will never be answered. Did his father know about this other child? Did his father support her financially? Did his father visit her when she was younger? Had other family members known about her? |
| Motivational Monday! Author William Faulkner , born on this day in 1897, once said "Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself." I often try to give people similar advice when they start comparing their work to some of their friends here at WDC...how important is it to you to be aware of what your contemporaries are up to or how they've fared recently when crafting your own items? I believe and hope that I strive to improve my writing. I want to attempt new things, and not just write the same old same old. I don't think I've ever thought to compare myself to others. I'm aware of the vast, talented writing here at WDC. I read it. Sometimes, I even stop to critique it. No, it's not important to me. I prefer to write blissfully unaware of what others are doing. I suppose I do not wish to be affected, or copy other writing. I don't want to rewrite, or rehash other ideas. I wish success for my fellow writers. |
| The Sunday News! Ok, I know this is a satirical news piece, but I really don't feel like looking at the news anymore today because it just sucks, so my pain has become your pain and my healing will be in the form of your entries about this photograph from The Onion: Theresa May Puts On Headphones To Hear English Translation Of Trump’s Address Let's all imagine she's actually listening to music, or a podcast, or a movie on an iPad, or (if you wanna be a daredevil) you can give us your own version of whatever speech she's listening to. Ah, Theresa May, the Prime Minister of England. How she must wince and bite her tongue when accosted by all things Donald Trump. She probably has learned to tune him out. His buzzwords trigger antipathy. Too often, he drones, Twitter and tweets, false news, terrorists, immigrants, illegal aliens, wall, and blah, blah, blah. Undeniably, she enjoys diplomatic immunity that protects her private opinions such as believing Trump to be a tweeting twat. How she must struggle with the impulse to roll her eyes. Succeeding in politics requires a careful cultivation of a cool, calm, and collected façade. Theresa displays the British stiff upper lip demeanour. The Donald may well find her inscrutable. He would more likely understand the British sports fans, rowdy supporters of cricket, rugby, and football. I choose to believe that Ms. May is a closet hockey fan. She gravitates to the pulse-quickening, blood-pounding excitement. The attraction to Ice Gladiators is irresistible. She admires their lack of détente and stifling diplomacy. When the gloves come off and the sticks are thrown, differences are settled with a brawl. Her headphones are tuned to a live broadcast of a hockey game. No one knows she is listening to a play-by-play. The commentator creates a pounding wave of anticipation. His voice reaches a high-pitched crescendo as he follows the precipitous path of a puck on the ice. He describes the spectators, some on their feet chanting, and others holding their breath afraid to blink. The frenzied words pick up speed to match the stick-handling of the puck. The goalie readjusts his face mask as he tenses, and focuses on the path of the black projectile. He leaps and stretches as the puck hurtles at him like a heat-seeking missile locked on its target. Theresa hears the expectation and the excitement. The wave rises only to crash and break. Thwack! The rocket/puck hits the net's post and ricochets away. There is no goal, and the crowd roars, a mix of disappointment and vindication. She moans silently with them. Theresa knows the heartbreak of being a Toronto Maple Leaf fan. The motto of a hockey player sustains her, keep your stick on the ice. |
| Creation Saturday! The world is on the verge of ending! What is the impending disaster, and what's your superhero plan to save all of humanity? Nope. I cannot do it. I can't think of a doomsday scenario. Haven't all the frightening ideas already been represented in action movies? There have been earth quakes, floods, tornados, hurricanes, tsunamis, sink holes, terrorist attacks, bombings, radiation poisoning, a lethal bacteria, and more. Okay, I've been thinking...Hmm, what could possibly be disastrous today? What if all cell phones, and phones of any kind suddenly stopped broadcasting? How would everyone communicate without instant messenger, Facebook, texts, Twitter, or voice mails? Oh, lordy, what could they do besides wring their hands in despair, and wail? I suppose I could lead seminars in flag waving. At one time, it served as a means to send messages. It's never too late to start a semaphore sensation. Perhaps in some areas, especially rural ones, people could revert to smoke signals. Smoke does seem to attract attention. Carrier pigeons are trained to carry letters. Maybe there will be a resurgence in telegrams. People could just deliver their messages in person with a face-to-face meeting. Remember conversation one-on-one? And of course, we could write and mail good ol' fashioned letters composed with pen and paper. Yep, as I already said, I've got nothing... |
| Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1903, Italo Marchiony was granted a patent for the ice cream cone *IceCreamV*. State your preference and why: cone, sundae, or plain in a dish for your ice cream? And if you were only allowed one flavor or ice cream concoction for the rest of your life, what would it be? (I say "concoction" because I don't know if you can consider a lot of the Ben & Jerry's mixtures "flavors". *Laugh*) Okay, first I'll admit that I do not regularly treat myself to ice cream. In fact, there isn't any in my freezer. If and when I do choose to eat it, it's most often in the summer. At that time, I purchase it from the camp store where I keep a seasonal trailer. I make my selection based upon what is available. I seem to like most flavours. Sometimes, I prefer my ice cream to be in a cone. I suppose this reminds me of my high school days when my friends and I hiked to a nearby Dairy Queen daily. Of course, that was soft serve, and it was vanilla. Usually, I bought a baby cone. Ice cream in a cone is simple and convenient. Nowadays, should I visit a Dairy Queen, I may be tempted by a PBP (peanut buster parfait), which is essentially a specialty sundae, or a blizzard, or a cone. Yes, I like variety. The PBP has a mix of peanuts, chocolate syrup, and vanilla ice cream. To enjoy it, I am forced to use a spoon. Maybe that's why a cone is often preferable, no spoon. A cone does not create leftover garbage. Once it's finished, there's no clean up. Almost two years ago, I ate an ice cream sundae served in a plastic pail. You know, the type of colourful pail a child carries to the seaside. It came complete with a plastic shovel. Yes, it was gigantic with a plethora of Mickey Mouse-shaped sprinkles 'cause I discovered it at a Disneyworld waterpark. That impulse created fun, and a temporary cold-induced headache. Do I even have a favourite ice cream flavour? If this question could be directed to my hubby, he'd immediately answer black cherry. Rarely, does he order anything else. If that particular flavour is unavailable, he'll accept chocolate. As I already stated, I like variety, but if for some strange reason, I had to live forever with just one flavour I'd choose butterscotch ripple. |
| The Wildcard Round! This week's winner, chosen by the all-knowing Virtual Dice, will receive 5 tickets to the Pirate Ship in the "WDC Anniversary Festival-Open now!" ! The other day (Sept. 19th) was International Talk Like A Pirate Day (furthering the notion that there really is a day for everything). Imagine the features of a stereotypical pirate- the eye patch, the pegleg, the hook, the accent (if that's what it is), maybe a beard if you're a woman, etc- and now imagine this: you're given the choice of living with any one of these pirate impediments (your choice), or walking the plank. What do you pick, and why? Ack! You couldn't have chosen Chocolate Chip Cookie Day? Not that I've ever identified with a cookie, or even remotely presume to understand them, but I know I like to eat them. What do I know about pirates? Well, yes, I have viewed 'The Pirates of the Caribbean' movies. Oh wait.... I have also seen different versions of 'Peter Pan', and that dastardly villain, Captain Hook. That nefarious fellow sported a beard, a hook, and an accent. I would not wish to wear his ridiculous big hat with that annoying feather in it. Actually, I do not like hats, so I'm kinda glad that's not an option today. I suppose speaking "piratese" may present its own special problems. I'm not really in the habit of spouting epitaphs/curses, so I cannot fathom when exactly I'd need to use "argh", "shiver me timbers", "blow me down", or some such words. Saying "matey" might cause some to assume I'm Australian, not a pirate. Would I ever need to shout, "ahoy"? Hmmm, I'm now stumped, and at a loss for more pirate words. If I chose to live with this particular impediment, I'd have to be a pirate of few words. I'm not a fan of facial hair, especially if I'd be the one it sprouted upon. Must a pirate wear a beard? What if it was itchy? What if I liked to sip soup? I believe a beard would be a serious safety concern. How could I possibly swash and buckle with all that hair that could potentially trip me up, or get caught in a scabbard? Does the eye patch really camouflage a perfectly good eye? Is it just for affect? Would I be blind? Oh heaven forbid I brandish a hook for a hand. I might take out someone's eye with that thing! How could I conceivably groom my beard, or change my eye patch? How does a pirate with a claw/hook pull up his or her britches, or prevent snagging their tights? This wouldn't be my writing sword hand, would it? If all I had to do was walk a plank, I believe I could manage that. Granted, I'd probably be a little tipsy. My balance isn't the most reliable at the best of times. Ah, would I then plunge/jump/fall into an ocean? It must be rather exhausting to dog paddle with a hook, and/or a peg leg? A water-logged beard may not float optimally. Okay, okay, sigh... I'm resigned to the peg leg thingy. Regrettably, limping is something I know only too well. I imagine a peg leg is somewhat like crutches, or a cane, or a cast boot, all implements of torture I have been forced to try. Regaling the other pirates with my tales of derring do and exaggerations of epic saber battles sounds far better than my lame explanations. I fell down the stairs is not exciting. I tripped over my own two feet is worse. I might like having bragging rights to explain my peg leg. Maybe a fake wooden limb would provide me with an advantage for sea travel? In rough seas, I could guarantee keeping my sea legs under me by nailing the peg to the deck. Huh, no chance of ever being washed overboard.... |
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Happy June! May was so fun!
