Life

I Can’t Seem to Get the Sleeves Just Right

Posted on April 21, 2015 by queenbookworm

Writing 101 – Day Nine: Point of View Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene. Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

“Well, hell’s bells,” thought the old lady as she ripped a row of red yarn from the small sweater she was knitting. “I added the last ten rows to the wrong sleeve and now the sweater looks like it’s for a small deformed orangutan!”

The young man strolling by with his lady love looked at the old woman who was holding up and studying a ridiculously malformed red sweater. He dropped his head and his shoulders began to shake.

“What’s wrong, darling?,” asked his concerned amore.

“Look at what that stupid old woman knitted.” The tears were streaming down his face as he laughed. “It looks like a red sweater for a small deformed orangutan!”

The indignant young lady exclaimed, “Don’t be so cruel. Are you going to laugh at me when I’m old and can’t do everything perfectly anymore?”

She dropped his hand and walked away.

“What an asshole,” she thought as she walked over to the park bench and sat down next to the old woman.

“Can you help me with this, dear?” asked the confused old lady. “My daughter and her husband just adopted a baby orangutan and I can’t seem to get the sleeves just right.”

Categories: Humor, Life | Tags: knitting, organgutan, sweaters, writing 101, writing101 | Leave a comment

The Slut and the Misogynist – A Conversation

Posted on April 14, 2015 by queenbookworm

Writing 101: Daily Prompts & Twists. Today’s Prompt: Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

“You disgust me. You lie on his lap and rub your cheek against his chest and let him caress you just so you can get what you want.”

“What’s wrong with that? I like to be loved and stroked. I give him what he needs and he gives me what I want.”

“Well, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and threw me outside so I had to sleep on the patio last night. I looked in the window and saw you pawing all over him while he fed you from his plate and stroked your body.”

“I don’t know why you’ve got your whiskers in a twist. I love to be loved and petted. You’re just mean. You puked on his bathmat and he stepped in it and you used his shower as a litter box. I don’t know what kind of statement you were trying to make but you’re not going to get home cooked chicken and salmon morsels with that attitude. You need to learn to be sweet if you want love and affection.”

“Who said anything about love and affection? I want to be treated with respect. I want to be fed on time, have a clean litterbox and I want to have my ears scratched when it pleases me. I don’t want to lower myself to your standards, rubbing against his legs and purring. I think when they removed your claws, they removed your brain … you’re such a slut.”

“Why don’t you shut up? Go choke on a hairball and leave me alone.”

Categories: Family, Humor, Life | Tags: arrogant cats, hairballs, spoiled cats, writing 101 | 6 Comments

Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child

Posted on April 14, 2015 by queenbookworm

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.” Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?

There is absolutely nothing more infuriating than a 16-year old son. I have no idea what finally flipped me over the edge. I remember yelling, “That’s it, you’re dead!” and taking off after him through the dining room, across the living room, and finally backing him into a corner in the laundry room. He was laughing while I was furious.

I advanced slapping any portion of his unprotected anatomy I could reach. He was about six inches taller than I.

“You will not talk back to me.” (slap on his shoulder)

“You will not make fun of me.” (slap on his chest)

“You will not laugh at me.” (slap on his other shoulder)

“You will show me respect.” (slap on his hip)

“You will pay attention when I’m talking to you” (slap on his stomach)

“You will speak to me in a civil tone.” (push with both hands on his chest)

That last one got him. He grabbed my wrists and collapsed against the wall laughing. “A civil tone? A civil tone? You’ve been reading historical novels, haven’t you?”

What’s a mother to do? I began laughing so he apologized, we kissed and made up.

But that tirade twenty years ago did the trick. He phones me almost every day to ask, in a civil tone, what I’m doing and if I’m OK. And, we always find something to laugh about.

Someone raised him right.

Categories: Daily Prompt, Family, Humor, Life | Tags: sons, the mad hatter | 4 Comments

The Only Thing Missing Is …

Posted on April 12, 2015 by queenbookworm

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Afloat.”

The first day the pool is warm enough to enjoy. Wish you were here.

Categories: Life, Retirement | Tags: Daily Post, float, Pool, relax | 2 Comments

A Rare and Perfect Day of Honor and Reflection

Posted on April 11, 2015 by queenbookworm

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All It’s Cracked Up to Be.” Tell us about a time when everything actually turned out exactly as you’d hoped.

I was slightly anxious to be driving alone through a strange city,hauling my tiny camper, watching for road signs and listening to Siri’s annoying GPS voice directing me to the Chickamauga Battlefield. Anxious because the previous day I got stuck on the top of Lookout Mountain and was rescued by angels – but I’ve already told that story.

The morning was perfect; no clouds, in the low 70’s, sunny and bright. I drove through Chattanooga without mishap arriving safely at the Chickamauga Battlefield and Chattanooga National Military Park. I pulled into a perfect parking space for the camper (meaning I didn’t have to back out) and had wonderful ingress and egress to parking throughout my tour.

I entered the museum as the award winning film depicting the battles on Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge began. “The Campaign for Chattanooga: Death Knell of the Confederacy” is a haunting film of the men from rural farms and small towns who fought and died at the Battle of Chickamauga. Their dashed hopes and broken dreams as the Civil War raged is profoundly sad and thought provoking.

General Rosecrans commanded the Union Army of the Cumberland and General Bragg commanded the Confederate Army of Tennessee

I was given a map to the Chickamauga Battlefield that features a 7 mile self-guided auto tour, monuments, historical tablets, hiking trails and horse trails. As I drove from site to site I was struck by the number of people touring the battlefield; young people on motorcycles, retirees, the aged with walkers, and families with children. I was touched by the beauty of the site and the interest and respect shown by the visitors.

The battlegrounds and roads have been maintained in their original state even to the placement of the cannon and surviving structures. Only brush removal is allowed. As I enjoyed the perfect weather and the beautifully maintained historic park, I reflected on how time can erase the physical scars to the landscape but we must maintain the memory of the battles. It is easy to forget that the Revolutionary War forming the United States had been fought only 87 years before.

A short 152 years ago, over a two day period in September 1863, this beautiful park saw 16,000 Union and 18,000 Confederate casualties, making Chickamauga the second bloodiest battle of the war after Gettysburg. That’s 34,000 soldiers wounded or killed in two days. Keep in mind that these battles were fought face-to-face, hand-to-hand with soldiers seeing and sometimes recognizing the faces of their adversaries.

I am grateful for the hours I spent honoring all the Civil War heroes who fought in this corner of Tennessee. The day was everything I hoped for.

Categories: Daily Prompt, Life, Retirement, Travel | Tags: battlegrounds, Chattanooga National Military Park, Chickamauga, Civil War, Lookout Mountain, Missionary Ridge | 4 Comments

Deer Mommy,

Posted on April 10, 2015 by queenbookworm

Writing 101 – Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path.You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Walking my son home from the bus stop I noticed a grubby sheet of paper on the sidewalk; a piece of lined school paper folded in quarters.

“Deer Mommy,” it began in a childish hand. With all the misspellings of a youngster just learning to write it continued, “Don’t yell at Daddy. You scared me. Please. I love you, Sara “.

Oh. I know Sara from down the block.

I carefully re-folded the note, walked down to Sara’s house and slipped the note through the mail slot in her front door.

Categories: Family, Life | Tags: writing 101 | 5 Comments

Lord, Give Me Patience … And a Lock for My Toolbox

Posted on April 9, 2015 by queenbookworm

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “If I Had a Hammer.” If you could learn a trade — say carpentry, electrical work, roofing, landscaping, plumbing, flooring, drywall — you name it — what skill(s) would you love to have in your back pocket?

I have a hammer – and a screwdriver and a once full and complete toolbox. Over time my tools disappear as my husband “borrows” them and I later find a rusted pair of pliers out by the pool pump, or my phillip’s head screwdriver driven into a plank down on the dock. Let’s not talk about my power tools. I can seldom find the matching battery charger for the tool I want to use. I haven’t seen my beautiful Dremel in years. I found my vise grips serving as the hose bib.

So, the only thing I want in my back pocket is a lock for my toolbox and lots and lots of patience.

Maybe you thought I was kidding?

Categories: Daily Prompt, Family, Humor, Life | Tags: patience, toolbox, tools, writing 101, writing101 | 5 Comments

Don’t Worry … It Was Only a Little Tumble Down the Basement Stairs

Posted on April 8, 2015 by queenbookworm

I’m the one on the right!

When I grow up I want to be Marilyn. No silly, not Marilyn Monroe … my 88 year old cousin Marilyn.

I am staggered by her tragedies and heartache; the loss of three children and her husband of 60 years who she adored from the age of 14. How many women not only survive such losses but continue life with grace and love and beauty?

I admire her stamina and attitude, her zest for life, and her personality. She is smart, clever, funny, interested and interesting. Her angels, ghosts and demons are reserved for her solitary nights; crocheting, listening to her audio books, Michael Buble, or watching the Food Channel until she can sleep.

She has crocheted hundreds of small afghans for the terminally ill children at Give Kids the World. Did I mention she is legally blind? Macular degeneration stole her sight slowly so she was able to learn to use her peripheral vision to “see”. She puts on her makeup, takes senior transportation to have her hair and nails done, goes to the liquor store and grocery shops by herself if necessary. She is greeted with smiles and loving kindness everywhere. She acquires new friends wherever she travels making lady-like, smart-ass comments and telling slightly suggestive jokes. She’s a clown and a flirt who loves to make people laugh.

So, when we got the call that she was hospitalized with a broken pelvis we were in a panic. My sister and I have attempted to take care of her long distance since her husband died. Marilyn was visiting her daughter out of state when she decided to do the laundry in the basement and fell down the stairs. She was 83.

After a short hospital stay, she was transferred to a rehab center where she enjoyed herself tremendously. She joked round the clock with the nurses, the aides, the therapists and she enjoyed the social activities. She was determined not to become an old lady with a walker. When she was released from rehab, she stayed with her daughter for a short while before deciding that she wanted to go home to her own apartment. She arranged with Delta for wheelchair service and flew home by herself. She and her friends then went to work setting up everything she needed for her home recovery.

We phoned every day and she would say, “Don’t worry. It was only a little tumble down the basement stairs.” And, then she’d laugh, “What’s a broken pelvis among friends?”

Last week was her 88th birthday. My sister and I visited to arrange a gala celebration. She went to the Hard Rock Casino for a little gambling, we took her to her favorite restaurant where she wanted to sit at the bar to drink wine and eat a rib eye steak; we shopped and cooked and had a small dinner party for her with balloons and gifts, linguine with clam sauce and a birthday cheesecake. We enjoyed a two mile walk , sans walker, with her each morning and had trouble keeping up with her pace.

Leaving, we got plenty of hugs and kisses and thank yous for making her feel so special. She joked that she can’t wait to see what we are going to do for her 90th birthday to top this one.

Zip-lining? Any other suggestions?

Categories: Family, Health, Humor, Life, Uncategorized | Tags: broken pelvis, cousins, Give Kids the World, loneliness, macular degeneration, old age | Leave a comment

It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses Their Weenie

Posted on April 3, 2015 by queenbookworm

We’ve all seen the movie where a man builds a fire by rubbing two sticks together to create a life-saving blaze when he’s lost in a frozen wasteland. Think Buck, the sled dog, and John Thornton in the Call of the Wild. They’d both have been frozen popsicles if that blaze had been my responsibility.

My sister, the Princess, and I arrived at the Myakka River State Park in Sarasota, Florida mid-afternoon. By the time we got the Casita backed onto the site (don’t ask), unhooked and set up we were starving. So, we had cocktails and appetizers and discussed starting a campfire to cook hotdogs. Grilling hotdogs on an campfire is the epitome of “roughing it” according to the Princess and something she’s always wanted to try. She brought kosher hot dogs, buns from the bakery, charcoal and lighter fluid, long expandable forks and a Bic lighter. I was supposed to provide the expertise.

We must have erased from our memories our previous attempt to start a fire. The Princess and I were having cocktails (notice a common theme?) by the fire pit at my cottage. We gathered leaves, twigs and some pieces of wood and made a teepee of them in the pit. It smoldered and smoked. We didn’t have any charcoal lighter so we threw rum on the smoldering mess. Embers started floating through the air and the leaves around the fire pit caught fire.

A successful fire built by my husband, The Man.

I ran to get the hose from the side of the house but it was about 20 feet too short. I was running in such a panic that I landed on my hands and knees when the hose suddenly played out. I ignored my scraped and bleeding knees and palms, jumped up and ran to help my sister stomp out the burning leaves around the pit. I yelled at her to stop stomping because she was wearing my purple Crocs and I didn’t know if they would melt onto her feet. I visualized purple plastic webbing fusing her toes together. Actually, there was no danger of setting the woods on fire. The whole sodden mess was due to damp leaves and wood.

Back to the present and oblivious to our miserable history, we put charcoal in the campfire pit, sloshed it with lighter fluid and lit it. Then we waited for the coals to turn white hot while we had another cocktail. The Princess speared the hotdogs onto our new forks and after a few minutes of holding the forks over the hot coals she began complaining that her back hurt from bending over the campfire. I told her to just put the hotdogs on the grill and turn them occassionally. You guessed it. One fell into the coals and one flipped into the dirt. I told her to rinse them off.

When she returned to the fire, she said, “I don’t think that was such a good idea.” Huh? Turns out she rinsed them in the dishwater bucket that had Dawn soap in it.

I gathered up the surviving weenies. “You make us another vodka tonic and I’ll plug in the microwave.”

Categories: Camping, Family, Humor, Life, Travel, Uncategorized | Tags: campfires, camping, Casita, Crocs, fire pits, hot dogs, Myakka River State Park, weenies | 2 Comments

Motley Fools

Posted on April 1, 2015 by queenbookworm

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fool Me Once.” It’s April 1st! Pull a fast one — publish a post that gently pranks your readers.

I can’t pull off practical jokes very well. My sense of humor tends to be of the slapstick variety that does not lend itself to gentle April Fool’s Day pranks. I mean these pranks are supposed to be harmless not painful, right?

Historically, various cultures had days of foolishness around the start of April. The Romans had a festival named Hilaria on March 25, the Hindu calendar has Holi, and the Jewish calendar has Purim. It must have something to do with the joyous relief of winter turning to spring that lends itself to lighthearted celebrations.

In the Western world, April Fool’s Day may include sending someone on a “fools errand”, looking for things that don’t exist or playing pranks and trying to get people to believe ridiculous things. The image of a court jester or a motley fool popped into my mind.

A motley fool was a professional clown employed to entertain a king or nobleman in the Middle Ages. The fool would entertain with his ridiculous behavior. Motley is the multi-colored costume worn by the jester decorated with bells and baubles and Motley Fool is the name of my investment company. So, while thinking about motley fools, I checked my portfolio. No jest.

I’m not laughing.