%%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. |
| PROMPT March 6th What product would you stockpile if you found out it would never be sold again? (If the product you choose is perishable, imagine, for the purposes of this question, that the product would remain useable/edible forever.) What I'm really being asked is what can't I live without? What would I miss? Hmmm, will I end up living in a foreign country totally separated from my favourite whatever? I know of someone who has chosen to live in Brazil and her go-to-product is peanut butter, Oh, she's tried making it herself, but she craves a certain brand readily available back home. She's learned to pack it in luggage during return visits and guests smuggle it in to her. For this past Christmas, I attempted to be a little more creative in my gift giving. I bestowed upon my not so little son a novelty gift. I wrapped an empty cookie tin with a recipe card tucked inside. On that card, I hand-lettered a contract, or a gift card of sorts. I promised to bake the cookies of his choice each month for the next year. He understood I meant this to be one batch per month times twelve. So far, I have honoured my commitment with two batches, double chocolate chip and peanut butter chocolate chip. I have ten more months remaining in this cookie commitment and I see that chocolate chips are a requirement, a clear favourite. Okay, heaven forbid that chocolate chips become an endangered baking supplement! That's inconceivable! That's it then, I would stockpile chocolate chips. I have a cookie connoisseur to satisfy. |
| PROMPT March 5th Write about a recent success. Yours or someone else’s - your choice! This is where I brag about my youngest granddaughter, Alexandra, aka Cutie Patootie aka Lovebug. Recently, as in February, she became a one-year old. For months, she has scooted around either by executing this unique rollover thing with her legs, or time-tested crawling. I'd almost forgotten how quickly a mini human moves. The beating her poor knees take! Initially, any attempts to mobilize on shaky legs caused her to squawk and revert to her tried and true method of portage. Standing she could and did tolerate. I'd wince every time she bounced on her legs and performed deep knee bends. Ouch! All she needed was a mirror and a bar and a Russian taskmaster. I suppose all that strength training has paid off. Alexandra has discovered and embraced walking, perambulating, strolling, whatever I wish to call it. My girl has her physical independence. Her legs are hers to command. I love the big grin on her face when she toddles around. Now when she approaches a window she is ready to peer out. She saves that extra step/stage of rising to her feet. Those feet have been waiting in the wings to show her their support. Sigh, I cannot admire those soft, unblemished feet as unused any more. Congratulations Alexandra! To quote Dr. Seuss, "Oh the places you'll go." |
| PROMPT March 4th Use the following words as inspiration for your entry: inquiry, curiosity, investigation, suspicion, and clandestine. (You need not use the words in your entry, but if you do, please highlight them in bold or a different color.) Jake sauntered into the kitchen. He'd heard banging, clattering, and now whispering. Something seemed to be happening almost under his nose. He felt sure it was clandestine and in his house he conducted all the investigations. In order not to raise any suspicion re his sudden appearance, Jake took his time circling the room. He lingered here and there. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. He marched right up to the stove and inhaled deeply. Aha! He knew it! Cookies were in the oven. He couldn't help but slobber as he groaned. A hand approached with an inquiry. "Oh, hi Jake. Who's a good boy? Did you smell the cookies? Nothing gets past you, eh boy?" |
| PROMPT March 3rd If you could be paid for doing anything you wanted full time, what would you do? When you were a child, what did you dream of doing when you grew up? Then, take some time to research “unconventional” jobs (ie. hot air balloonist, deep sea invertebrate researcher, professional table tennis master, etc) and share one that you think you would be good at or would be fun to try. Ah, dreams! At one time, specifically a lifetime ago, I considered the medical field. Imagine moi as a doctor. I could help people at their most vulnerable. Is there anything more noble than healing the ill? Oh, well, there is teaching. I could see myself as an educator. I've always enjoyed learning and I admit to being a nerd at heart. I don't attempt to hide that I love research, reading, writing, projects, and more. Ah, shaping/nurturing the agile minds of children...Quite the responsibility! Double sigh inserted here. I have never been an athlete of any ilk or skill. Perhaps, I missed my calling as a professional trampolinist, or an aerialist soaring through the air in a big top? Sure... Maybe I could've been a clown. My pratfalls would be authentic. Clumsiness would never be feigned. If I'm inevitably going to trip and fall anyway, why not get paid for it and receive some compensation? Earning the laughter of fans could be wonderful! All I'd need is an over-active imagination. I could conceive of a persona and a costume. Unfortunately, Mad magazine already has a Kaptain Klutz. Wait a minute, inspiration has come squawking... Perhaps I could be a pro people-watcher. I love to do this anywhere and everywhere. Now, I'm not suggesting I'd be a spy, more a snooper, a curious bystander. Hmmm... |
| PROMPT March 2nd Write about the practice of making lists. Does list-making stifle creativity, or enhance it? When working on a big project, does making a list help organize your thinking, or cause you to feel more overwhelmed? Are you a habitual list maker, and if so, what do you list? Lists a necessary evil or a blessing? Hmmm...perspective is everything. Sometimes, I create a compilation of facts, anecdotes, snippets of conversation, and a rough outline before I attempt to write a story, but is it a list per se? I prefer to view it as a story enhancer. In the construction stage, my thoughts are all a jumble and clamouring for centre stage. Heaven forbid that a worthy idea slip through the cracks. Oh, there's always a mental list updating itself in my brain and for some perverse reason it insists upon a recap while I struggle to sleep. In the corporate world these would be addendums. Sigh, the sub-paragraphs are relentless. Now as for actual lists scratched out on a pre-labelled pad inscribed with the admonishing header, 'Things To Do', yes, I confess I've availed myself of their services. Trying to be an efficient domestic engineer and all that that entails, I dutifully conduct inventory of the pantry. If I discover a staple to be absent, I make a note of it. The trouble with this is that the list does not accompany me when I venture out to shop. I require an autonomous list, one capable of realizing I've forgotten it, and one willing to chase me down to deliver it to me. Ah, wait, what I really need is an assistant. I usually create plans on paper, an itinerary, for trips away from home. The act of scribbling down necessities helps to jog my memory when I'm running around stuffing a suitcase. Having an inkling of just what I may be doing or where I might be roaming, colours my choices of apparel. Then again, I live in Canada, and the weather is moody, so, packing a jacket is habit. Alas, this form of listing is not foolproof either. My youngest sister and her two daughters are the undisputed queens of lists. In their respective garages sit stacks of plastic blue storage bins. Each bin wears a list, or a tag that reveals its contents. Inside their homes, is a master list of the storage lists. They approach shopping as a military mission. Their lists are organized according to raid coordinates, er, I mean stores. I suspect, they even map the locations of their desired objects by aisle numbers. I've spied price comparisons on their lists, alternate sources, and references to each other's lists. They never dare to leave home without a handful of lists. My sibling even writes a master list of her smaller lists. I suppose this is her back-up, her fail safe. When my nieces were younger, their mother posted a weekly list on the fridge that presented seven days of meals. Yep, she is a super planner! I called it their menu. While sitting quite comfortably on a beach in Cuba a few years ago, my two daughters, my daughter-in-law, and moi penned a very important list. To some this list might seem to be an informal bequeathment, my last will and testament. It's scrawled upon the inside cover of the journal I scribbled in at the time. We hashed out who inherits what of my humble jewellery. Apparently, I am not expected to take it with me to my grave. I do hope they enjoy their future treasure hunt. I will be leaving boxfuls of journals behind. |
| Prompt: Leap Year....thoughts? Yes, that once every four-years phenomenon has just returned with an extra day. Meh, it was nothing special for me.In my day to day, it represented another twenty four hours in a glorious line of them. I busied myself with my usual pursuits, reading, writing, nothing too strenuous. Haha, so, a person born on February 29th is a leapling. Hmmm, I've never thought of my father-in-law as a leapling. In the rarefied math of this particular birth date, he is now 22. His physical body however is very much 88. My old man's old man is an old man. Huh, this is the first time I've referred to my hubby as an old man. Where did that phrase come from? If my partner is old and he's my contemporary then I too am old. Okay I will admit we are 'older',but not too old. We accumulate our birthdays every year. I cannot fathom choosing an alternate date for celebrations . Bob, my husband's father, is much more than a survivor of a quadruple heart bypass, a hip replacement, and prostate cancer. He's a vital father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. If he were indeed 22, he'd still be a single man in Bath, England. Decisions including to marry and emigrate to Canada were in his future. Bob is a renaissance man. In his lifetime he's graduated from herding sheep to working as a mechanical engineer.He created home movies with Super 8 film before discovering video and VHS tapes. He has embraced the art of e-mails and surfing on the internet, but he refuses to use a cell phone, an e-reader, or a tablet. Bob would be considered well-travelled. He enjoys finding church organs wherever he is and tickling the ivories. He shares photography with his family and friends.He once built a sail boat in his basement.Here's to more years of exploring, Bob.♡♡♡ |
| Welcome to December 2018, bloggers! This kicks off our second UNofficial round with ☕️ Lilli and I co-hosting again this month. *Bigsmile* Your first prompt of the month is: It's December! Here in sunny SoCal, we don't get much snow, despite it being winter. Some are glad for that, some others, not so much. What are your thoughts on snow? *Snow2* What are my thoughts re snow? Oh, they are as complicated as the weather here in Northern Ontario, Canada. We definitely are familiar with snow. It made its first appearance about a month ago, and more of it has continued to accumulate. That's a word we hear far too often, "accumulation". This is fancy speak for piling up, as in snowbanks, snow drifts,. Sometimes, I bemoan snow in my Facebook posts, and I am reminded of this because of an app that re-shares memories. This is a FB post of mine from November 30th, 2012. : It's the last day o9f November, snow's on the ground. People are bundled, muffled, and bound. Today it is chilly, tomorrow might rain. Canadian weather is tough to explain. This old poem reflects today's wintery weather. November 3oth, 2018 is eerily the same. Apparently, I submitted two different snow posts to Facebook on November 28th, 2012. Huh, I really do ramble on about the snow. My cheeks are rosy, ( the ones near my nose), and my toes are tingling from the cold I suppose. I just finished shovelling, scooping, and piling. This white stuff creates work, and my arms aren't smiling. The snowflakes are falling, they're a beautiful sight. They are white, sparkling, and so very bright. Too bad the traffic turns it to slush. Now there's a wide path of grimy brown mush. Memories of my neighbours' faces float obscured by swirling snowflakes and mufflers. If we venture outside, only our eyes may meet. Scowls, or smiles remain hidden. Brief conversations ensue. I may hear, " it sure is cold", or "my house just sold." Maybe I'll hear, "I'm freezing", or I'm leaving." "I wish I was in Cuba", or "I wish I played the tuba." So, yes, I am all too familiar with snow. It will linger until at least April of next year. I am resigned to another season of pushing it around in a futile attempt to control where it amasses. |
| PROMPT November 30th What is one new fact you learned about a fellow blogger this month? I hesitate to concentrate on just one fellow blogger. I confess I have not read and/or followed every blogger participating this November. Yes, I attempted to read and comment on several posts, but as I stated not all of them. The writings that I did peruse were always thoughtful and thought-provoking. Brave to all the bloggers! I did learn that everyone's voice is valid. It amazes me that we all play with words, rearranging them into cohesive combinations, and still we manage to be creative, unique. Each one of us puts our own spin on a prompt. We share our efforts and trust that we shall receive positive feedback and encouragement. So, I suppose I've realized that there are many people who have made a commitment to not only write, but improve their efforts. They all sit down, buckle down, and write. I salute you all! |
| PROMPT November 29th On this last Wildcard Thursday of the month, make me a list of prompts to add to the Challenge War Chest for future rounds of the 30DBC. What has been your favorite day of the week, and why? So, now it's my turn to be a prompt prompter> Hmmm, I suppose I can think of a few writing ideas.... Open your dictionary to a random word. Read the definition. Write a story that uses that word. Pretend you are a dog for a day. Write about that day from the perspective of the dog. Where is your favourite place to escape when you need to be alone? Describe that place using your senses. Write a story about something that scares you. How do you react? How do you feel? What if your mirror started to speak to you? What would it say to you? If I would've known then what I know now, I would've never.... Finish this story.Write a story about a time you were caught doing something embarrassing. Spend some time watching people around you. Choose one person, a stranger, and write a story about their day. Use descriptive words to recreate a visit to a street fair, carnival, or other special event. Honestly, I do not have a favourite blogging day of the week. As vaudevillians say, "I like all the days that end in 'y'." Seriously, the prompts and topics from all the days appeal to me. I respond to the challenge. Sometimes, I'm coerced into researching something unfamiliar and that's a good thing.. I'm amazed continuously by the varied replies these prompts spawn. I appreciate that each blogger creates their own unique spin. |
| PROMPT November 28th Write about an experience that changed your opinion on something. Many years ago, a lifetime really, I learned that not all volunteers are created equal. Not all people help out because of the goodness of their hearts. Bullies exist everywhere and they spew their atrocious behaviour indiscriminately. Picture an early Saturday morning in June with balmy weather. I was the volunteer coach of a 7 to 8-year olds' T-Ball team, girls to be specific. We had fun attempting to play a modified version of baseball. The game rules were similar and the participants still ran the bases and fielded balls. We wore team t-shirts donated by sponsors. Sure, it felt great, empowering, to win a game, but we knew that wasn't always possible. If we managed to win a game that was considered great, but if we lost we dealt with it. It wasn't the end of the world. We were a rag tag group of females. Not all of us were athletes. We experienced our own team and private triumphs. We cheered each other, and we liked to laugh. On this fateful morning, we encountered a father / coach. To describe him as intense would be understating it. He hollered at the girls on "his" team and belittled them. As the game was played, we were losing. As I stated, that was nothing new, or terrible. Time passed and seven innings were behind us. I noticed the players , coaches, and family members of the next scheduled game starting to arrive and lean on the fence. I glanced at my watch and realized our time for the diamond had expired. I approached my fellow coach and pointed this out. I gathered "my" girls to form a handshake line and we said our good-byes. This man exploded. He screamed in my face. He threw a bat. He waved his arms. All of this occurred in full view of all the girls.. He demanded that I stay and play two more innings. He called me several profanities and a whoosie. I calmly re-explained that our time was up and he had his win, so why would we stick around. We'd had our fun and now it was time to relinquish the field to other teams. He continued to vent as I walked away from him. I was neither impressed, or intimidated. I chatted with a few of "my" parents as I packed up equipment. Apparently, I was supposed to remain and permit him to attack me. Who knew? He followed me to the parking lot and continued his assault. I ignored him and climbed into my vehicle. The greatest shock was yet to happen. His very pregnant wife jumped up onto the running board of my truck as I reversed. I braked and waited. She was every bit a raving bully as her husband. She pounded on the window and screamed at me. Sadly, their daughters were front row witnesses to this. It seemed like an eternity, but she finally stepped off and away.She had to strike the fender as I drove away. I'm not going to lie and claim that I let this wash off me. The experience left me trembling. I relived it for a few days. After some contemplation, I phoned the league president to ask for advice. He'd already been contacted by parental eye witnesses and he'd requested that the other coach resign. I learned that some volunteers have an ulterior agenda. I also reinforced my acceptance that I am not competitive. |
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