“Bambi! Look! It’s the paparazzi again! I TOLD you that we should have gone somewhere else to eat!”
Today is good, today I got up with the moon still smiling down, as it prepared to hand the sky over to the sun. The characters were exactly as I’d left them, frozen in place for almost twenty-four hours. The relief on their faces was evident while they stretched muscles and loosened stiff joints. Yes, I allow them to stretch before we resume.
“Much better than yesterday,” Danne Stromgren, the main actor, declares. “You must have knocked out all of that dirt Mister Sandman stuffed between your ears.”
My finger traces an earlobe before I can stop it, checking for sand, just in case. I smile at the star of the show, he’s prone to fits of man-diva. I can’t blame him on this one, however. This time the griping is justified. Yesterday was a scrambled dog’s breakfast. Here’s a brief replay of what happened.
Time warp to yesterday . . .
Computer on, coffee on the immediate left, within easy grasp, oxygenating greenery to the right, fingers at the ready . . . now type!
abcdebbacon! . . . Hungry! No . . . try again. abc! . . . Hey, is that a cobweb on the corner of the kitchen ceiling?
Sip coffee, ouch! Hot! Sniff oxygenating plant, better! Brain is giving me a dial tone only. Try some research . . . that’s it, type in ‘wild west, turn of the century’ . . . no, stop fingers!
Ooh, soo ugly, yet fascinating! Wingspan of up to six feet? Hmmm . . . take a lot of batter to coat those. Grab some cereal would ya and get back to work! No, Cheerios won’t cut it, left over chicken in fridge. Yum, now I’m good. Whoa! The clock is running down. Kids will be up soon.
Dannne . . . whoops, Danne said, “You . . .” Aggh!! “You . . .” YMCA! It’s fun to stay at the YMCA! Just go with it for a moment, that’s right, tap those fingers on the kitchen table you call a writer’s nook.
“Dad, what’s for breakfast? I’m hungry!”
(sigh) Return oxygenating plant to windowsill . . . drink up cold coffee . . . close down portal to the nineteenth century Klondike . . . no saving required.
“Here you go.”
“Ewww! What’s that?”
“My white flag.”
Okay, so part of the good-ole fitness program is to walk/run down the stagecoach trails that pass for roads in my neck of the woods (literally). Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE where I hang my Daniel Boone hat and wouldn’t trade the daisies for streetlamps, not even for a Klondike bar.
Over the sixteen years I’ve lived out here, I’ve crossed paths with deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, a fisher, and even once had a too-close encounter with a bear. It was a good thing that not all of the stuffing between my ears has been blown away, by those nasty nor’easter’s we get up here in the attic of North America. There was enough sense tumbling about in there, to stave off the temptation to high tail it. The nearest bruin-proof structure was over a mile, that’s approximately 1.60934 kilometers for us metric folks.
Anywho, that’s quite enough claptrap about (or aboot) that, if you wish to subscribe to the stereotypical Canuck (Canadian) accent. None of these adventures with our furry and feathered co-habitants of this big, blue marble, can compare with the trippy experience, of the bovine kind, that sent me spiraling down a worm hole, questioning my sanity. I’ve always believed that it was at least held intact by the same string used to package meat, but it’s become apparently evident that my perception was just a tad bit off. Here is proof that it’s being hung by a thread soaked overnight, in the corrosive beverage that supposedly eats roofing nails.
Okay, alright, I’ll shut my bone box. Sorry, just slinging a bit of Victorian slang your way. Now, I’m just nutters about those picture books, and especially them pop-up storybooks. Actually, kinda creeped out by them, ’cause, you can’t surprise them . . . just you try sneaking up on Rikki-Tikki-Tavi at three am. I’ll just let these photos and captions spill the beans about what went down on that horse trail named Cooper Ridge Road.
“Hey, hooman! Yup, I’m talkin’ to you, ya bipedal walking stick.”
“Wanna come stand by this tree?”
Me: “Uh, nope.”
“Psyche! You can’t, ’cause yur not one of us. See, we got this here tree blocked, just try and lean against it. Dare ya’!”
Me: “Why would I even wan–”
“You smell kinda funny. What is that stink?”
Me: “Uh, soap and deodorant.”
“Kin’ ya do this?”
Me: “Hmmm . . . nope. I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous.”
“Shorty tongue! Shorty tongue . . . hooman is a shorty tongue! Mooohaha!”
“Melvin doesn’t like ya.”
Me: “Oh, okay.”
“Wanna hear what happened to Bob? Awfully good tale, true story.”
Me: “Sure, why not? Can you tell it in a picture?”
Me: “Nope! I call bullsh**! Not willing to suspend my disbelief on that one!
So, that my friends, is why I no longer haul myself down Cooper Ridge Road.
Because it’s Saturday, and I don’t want anyone doing homework on a weekend, I’m going to end your suffering. So, put down those Latin study books, and just scroll down. The great unknown is about to become less mysterious.
Thank you for playing this barmy (silly) word quiz, but I don’t think Jim would be grateful for being called a glutton (edacious). The good news is, unless your date is extremely sensitive, you probably won’t get flak for complimenting her/his armpits (oxters), but it may still be enough to quash a budding romance.
Now, drumroll please, take a deep breath and prepare to be schooled in the bizarre:
This joker is being punished because he spends hours working his naturally wooly and crispy hair with a straight iron.
To some, it may sound profane, even painful, but playing/listening to the Bagpipes is a traditional and emotional experience for many.
If you have daughters of dating age, you can use this word before tossing her boyfriend out the door. I mean, how dare he fail to eat the small quantity of leftover meatloaf on his plate!
Try saying this word five times fast, and you will probably develop a fear of failure!
Now go back to bed! It’s too early to be up. Have a great weekend!
Happy Saturday! Well, for many of you this is a break from the daily grind. Unfortunately, I’ve got a long day at work ahead of me, sixteen hours, to be exact (blah!).
Despite the arduous day ahead, I wanted to keep up my commitment to maintaining a more regular blog.
I hope you find a daily chuckle below!
“I swear on it, Edna! The last time I went by this house, they had Tom, well it looked like it could have been Tom, in some large metal tub thing! He was naked, very tanned, and they were giving him a bath with some type of squeezy thing! The most disturbing thing was that I couldn’t see his head! Think about it. We haven’t seen him for months, for months! Why won’t any of you listen to me?”
“Oh, Margaret, you poor bird brain. You have such a wild imagination! Everyone knows that those things only eat food that comes from a box or a can. Please stop this, right now!”
“Promise me that if you see one of those nasty, big-eared, hoppy things, you’ll put me back in your purse! I mean, what kind of creature twitches it’s nose like that?”
“Okay, ha, ha. Joke’s over. Did you get all the photos you wanted? Did ya have to invite your friends over to point and laugh at me while you eat, what are those things called again? Oh, right, I think I can remember, ‘horse nerves’ or something that sounded like that. You know you’re getting on mine, right? Fun’s over! Take this giant wig off me, right now!”
“Okay, Daddy. You remember the song, right? He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad . . . let’s find out, right now, if you’re as good at this as the jolly old fat guy.”
Hello again! It’s been awhile since my last post, as I’ve been busy with work and then travelling for the holidays. It’s been a bit of a whirlwhind tour with two extended families to visit, as both are over an hour drive away.
I hope your Christmas was a merry one and that you were able to take some time to celebrate (if you do) in your own way.
Thank you for visiting my blog and being supportive in 2019! I wish you all the best for 2020!
My post today is a Where’s Waldo? puzzle, but with a cat named Charlie.
Can you find Charlie in the photo below?
This WordPress.com site is Pacific War era information
Suspense, Passion...Fiction That Flutters The Heart
Art | Culture | Photography | Poetry
original fiction, rhyme and photography
Poetry, Positivity, and Connecting!
Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.
Enjoy life from it's depth.
Grateful for the present moment
Guitarist / Songwriter / Blogger