My five requirements to survive on a deserted island:
- Survival gear (including books)
- Wine
- Self-starting logs with plenty of firewood and a Bic
- Internet connection with my iPhone
- Hugh Jackman and a large quilt

My five requirements to survive on a deserted island:

sDaily Prompt – Longing for Gravity: You are on a mission to Mars. Because of the length of of the journey, you will never be able to return to Earth. What about our blue planet will you miss the most?
This is easy – I wouldn’t go. My astronaut aspirations only entail takeoff, a couple of orbits around the earth and re-entry, preferably in Hawaii. NASA can beg and plead, but I’m not going unless I can take my kids and grandkids with me. I have a five-month old granddaughter and I’m not sure NASA has conquered the technology of changing poopy diapers in weightless conditions.
Besides, I’d rather be a cowgirl.

Daily Prompt: Voice Work – Your blog is about to be recorded into an audiobook. If you could choose anyone — from your grandma to Samuel L. Jackson — to narrate your posts, who would it be?

The only voice I would consider to record my blogs would be James Earl Jones. He is the only person with the gravitas to narrate my blogs with a straight face.
Or, maybe Dolly Parton.

Daily Prompt: Roaring Laughter – What was the last thing that gave you a real, authentic, tearful, hearty belly laugh? Why was it so funny?
I am re-posting the blog I did about the last time I had a fall-on-the-ground, laughing till I hurt moment. Next week I will be camping with The Princess and expect to have many more such moments to report.
https://wanderwomanblog.com/2015/03/26/the-princess-and-the-pee/


Dusty is a 20-year old calico cat. She’s mean, obnoxious and her meowing sounds like the screams of an old lady in pain. I’m scared to death of her. She’s blind, can’t hear very well and is crippled with arthritis. She loves me. I can only feed her small amounts at a time or she vomits. When I hear those retching sounds I run to carry her outside but seldom make it in time. Then it’s my turn to retch.
Dusty and I have a morning ritual that I have come to enjoy. She wakes me with an old lady scream between 4:30 – 5:30 a.m. I stumble into the kitchen and prepare her plate of food that I set out on the lanai where her litter box is kept. This accomplishes three things – she eats, she poops and I can check the weather.
I then bumble around making coffee and cleaning up the kitchen until she comes back inside and limps down the hallway to stand next to my bed. I arrange her quilt on top of my bedding and gingerly (she is not de-clawed and I have the scars to prove it) pick her up by the scruff of her neck and place her on her very own hand-made quilt. Until a few months ago I have never allowed an animal in my bed. (Well … I mean … you know). She settles down for a little nap because she’s only had 14 hours of sleep.

I plump up my pillows, carefully crawl in bed next to Dusty with my coffee, my iPhone and my computer and we settle down for an hour or so of pleasant social media mindlessness. But, God forbid I move. There’s that old lady scream again — mine.
“Now you know and knowing is half the battle.”
I have quoted G.I. Joe to my children (ad nauseum), my grandchildren, my husband, my employees and anyone else who says, “I didn’t know that”. You didn’t know that I can be obnoxious? Well, now you know and knowing is half the battle.
DAILY POST: Life After Blogs ...Your life without a computer: what does it look like?
Without a computer I would have even more time for/to:

Family

Read

Pay bills

Chill in the pool

Visit our cottage in the northern woods

Quilt on my longarm machine

Explore

Cook

Sew

Travel

Eat

Kayak

Hike

Explore

Encourage my grandchildren to be silly


Participate in raising funds for breast cancer research

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “1984.” You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear. Describe what’s in the room.
No light. Darkness so complete that you can’t see even a glimmer of yourself. You can’t even find the walls to crouch in a corner. But, you can hear breathing in the room and it seems to be coming from every direction moving closer. You keep blinking hoping that you will see something, anything. And then something brushes against your arm.
Gotcha! Your sphincter muscles and bladder release and the lights go on.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fright Night.”What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?
I once stepped on a worm in my bare feet. It squished and I yelled and shivered and shook and jumped around on one foot afraid to look at the bottom of my foot or the sidewalk. I’ve gone back indoors rather than step on worms in my path after a rain brings them creeping, crawling, slithering out of the ground. I gagged when I was a kid and found out that people put a fishhook through their slimey little bodies and didn’t wrap them around the hook like in the cartoons. No, even as a child I wasn’t quite stupid enough to believe that the worms did the shimmy on the hook to attract the fish.
Can you imagine my horror when I discovered worm farms? Or, when I saw a picture of a ball of worms mating? Just typing that made my skin crawl. I almost gave up gardening when I dug a hole to plant a flower and saw a half of a worm wiggling on my spade.
So, what would it take to make me walk down a sidewalk covered with worms? Well, my children would have to be in mortal danger with the worm walk demanded as their ransom. I would have to be wearing a pair of Doc Marten boots with my eyes covered being led by the arms down the sidewalk. I’d probably also need an iPod playing at top volume to distract me and avoid any squishy noises. I would need to go through a decontamination chamber with someone removing and disposing of my boots before removing my blindfold.
And if my demands for the worm walk were not met?
Sorry, kids.
p.s. I couldn’t insert any images … I just couldn’t.