‘The Daily Post’ 10-Minute Free-Write # 2

MAGNIFYING GLASS  - BOOK PREVIEWHmmm. “The Daily Post” suggests that we free-write for 10 minutes again this week – about anything. Okey-dokey (Is that the correct spelling?). I think maybe I’ll take advantage of this time to introduce you to the delightful heroine of my newest book – now in progress. Her name is Priscilla Covington, and she is a 71-year-old amateur detective. She stars in my story, Prissy On The Prowl.

Her best friend, Magdalene Mitchell, and she are widows who have recently started dating again, but Prissy (whether fortunately or unfortunately, we do not yet know) is going steady with the chief of police. Now, you can probably guess that he does not approve of her getting involved in crime, but, committed to being true to herself before she can be true to anyone else, Prissy just cannot comply with Chief Andrew’s wishes all the time.

Prissy’s best companion in her forays into crime-solving is her beloved Basset Hound, Jemimah. Now, Jemimah is a sweetheart, and absolutely loves Washington Cherry ice cream – by far her favorite treat. She would never stand in Prissy’s way when there’s any sleuthing to be done. In fact, as the story progresses, she seems to be headed for the job of leading her mistress right into the midst of the felon’s lair.

Now, even though I am nowhere near finished with this book, we do know that Prissy and Jemimah will most assuredly come out of the story alive. After all, how can there be a series if we lose the heroine in the first book, right? So I’ll just leave you with this little teaser about the new novel, and I’ll try to give you little updates as we go along.

In the meantime, why not treat yourself to some Washington Cherry ice cream and start getting into the mood for a good cozy mystery. Time has run out, so I must be done.

~

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22 “Interesting Things” You Can Do When You Retire

Thinking about retiring? Looking for something to fill your days? Here’s my list of “interesting things” you can do IF you retire:

Count Your Fingers: “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.”
FINGERS

Count Your Toes: “11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.”

FEET, CLKER.COM 2

21. Twiddle Your Thumbs: “Twiddle-dee, twiddle-dum, twiddle-dee …”
TWIDDLING THUMBS - PINK

22. Contemplate Your Navel: “Hmmmmmmmm …”

NAVEL AND CHEST


I guess you’ve figured out that there is some kind of deep-seated, hidden message in this article. And you’re right. Here it is: I believe men and women should not retire. The very word retire – although we frequently use it to refer to leaving our paying employment – has inherent within it the meaning of pulling back, retreating, and becoming more secluded. And the root of the word – “tire” – means “to grow weary, diminish in strength, lose interest or become bored.” I just don’t like that word “retire.”

Now, If you have an 8:00 to 5:00 drudgery kind of job that you have had to work at for decades just to pay your bills, and you have an opportunity to trade it in for activity that you can enjoy more, certainly, say good bye to drudgery and try something new. But DO NOT retire. Stay involved in life to the fullest. Keep renewing your energy and your interests all your life. Be daring; try new things; experiment with activities that will challenge you and perhaps bring to light gifts and talents that you never realized you had.

And, above all, do things that positively affect other people. Be a giver. Expend your time, your energy, your abilities – yourself – in making life better for someone else. When you do that, your own life will continue to grow and thrive. Instead of retreating, you will be going forward – and really living – all of your life.

 

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Image of feet, thanks to Clker.com
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Post-A-Day, 9/18/14 — Chestnuts and Plagiarism

Post-A-Day Challenge:  Write about anything for 10 minutes.

CHESTNUTSUnder the spreading chestnut tree, the village —– Oh, no. Wait. That’s already been written. Okay, let’s just talk about chestnut trees. Or rather, let’s talk about the nuts themselves. I’ve never seen a chestnut tree in real life, but I have seen chestnuts. They hold a special romanticism for me, primarily because I LOVE Christmas, and I’ve always connected roasted chestnuts with that wonderful holiday. But I’ve never been able to successfully roast chestnuts.

I bought some one year and was all excited about roasting them. Of course, not having a fireplace in my home, my only choice was to roast them in the oven. I found instructions for doing so, but somehow, my nuts didn’t look right when they came out of the oven. I’m not sure I did it right.

Well, laugh-out-loud — you’d think someone with a college degree and experience teaching school, running a home, and writing for a living would be able to figure out how to roast chestnuts successfully. But I didn’t. I think it’s partly because I’m not sure if I’m supposed to take off part of the covering before I roast them. The instructions didn’t say anything about that, but mine certainly didn’t pop open a little the way they were supposed to, so I thought maybe I was supposed to remove a part of the outer shell first.

Anyway, as part of my 10-minute writing exercise, I’m confessing my failure as a chestnut roaster, and I’m also asking if anyone out there is an expert – or is even mildly successful at roasting chestnuts in an oven. And if you are either of the above, would you pass along your advice to me. It’s coming on towards Christmas —- well, wouldn’t you know it — I think I’ve plagiarized again. Didn’t a song by Joni Mitchell have that line in it somewhere?

Writing for 10 minutes and plagiarizing two people must be some kind of record. But, hey, let me know if you have advice about chestnuts before Christmas, would you please?

My timer is down to one minute and 19 seconds, so I’ll just add this: Thanks a lot and Merry Christmas!

~~~

 

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Daily Post Writing 101: 20-Minute Stream of Consciousness — ‘Birth of a Hero’

HANDS AT KEYBOARD  SHORT FOR BLOGI’m a big fan of writing exercises, but I haven’t actually put myself through any in quite a while, so when the Daily Post started off this new term of Writing 101 with a 20-minute exercise, I decided I should go for it. Here’s their instructions:

“To get started, let’s loosen up. Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think about what you’ll write. Just write. Keep typing (or scribbling, if you prefer to handwrite for this exercise) until your twenty minutes are up. It doesn’t matter if what you write is incomplete, or nonsense, or not worthy of the “Publish” button.”

And for your first twist? Publish this stream-of-consciousness post on your blog.

So – set the timer – punch the button: GO!

Matthew couldn’t breathe. Well – no – that wasn’t right. He could breathe, but he felt as though he were being pushed through a very narrow tunnel, and it was squeezing the breath right out of him.

Whooooosh! Ah — now — now he could breathe normally again. But what had just happened? He looked around him.

“Holy cow! Where am I?” Surrounded by buildings taller than anything he could have imagined, with traffic rushing past him just to his left, he felt a little dizzy and disoriented. He shook his head to try to clear it, and that’s when he noticed the girl standing about four feet way from him.

“Hi.” she said, almost bashfully.

“Uh … hi yourself. Uh … do I know you?”

She giggled. “Not yet. But you will.”

“What does that mean?” He looked around in all directions as if trying to locate something. “And what on earth is that racket?”

“What racket?”

“That incessant tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.”

She cocked her head to listen and a moment later, she grinned again. “Oh, that. I have learned to just close it out after all these weeks. It’s the sound of the keys on the keyboard.”

“What keyboard?”

“Melissa’s, silly. She’s the author.”

“What’s an author?”

“Oh, I forgot that you couldn’t know all that yet. It takes a while to figure things out once you get here, but I’ve been here so long that I’ve pretty well gotten acclimated to everything.”

Matthew tried clearing his head with a shake again. “Wait … what? … What are you talking about? What’s going on? Where am I anyway?”

The girl let out a huge sigh. “Okay. I’ll start from the beginning. Melissa Pendergast is an author, and she writes romance novels. She’s writing one now. I’m the heroine. My name’s Abigail, by the way,” she said, extending her hand to him.

He shook her hand but eyed her suspiciously. “And just what does that have to do with me?”

“Why you’re going to be the hero of the story.” She paused, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “And … the love of my life.”

“You’re crazy! I don’t even know you.”

Abigail sighed again. “Of course you don’t — yet. You just got here. Melissa has just now decided who you will be. Well, just a couple of days ago anyway. I heard her talking to her best friend, so I know what the plan is now. She decided to call you Matthew because her very first boyfriend – in sixth grade – was named Matthew, and she did it in honor of him.”

“Whoa — wait — start over, will you?”

Abigail began to get a little irritated. “I don’t need to start over. You just need to pay attention. Melissa is writing a love story and you are my lover. We are supposed to meet on the street right in front of that store over there on the corner. I’m supposed to get my heel caught in a grate at the edge of the curb, and you come to my rescue before a horde of people practically mow me down in their hurry to cross the street in the short time the light says ‘Walk.’

“So I’m in a book?”

“That’s right. And I understand it’s supposed to get a little steamy.” She smiled broadly now. “But I have to say that I’m not at all sorry. You’re quite a hunk, you know.”

“Well … thanks … but … I’m not sure I want to be in somebody’s book – even this Melissa’s.”

“Oh, don’t worry. She’s a great writer, and thousands of people love her books. We’ll be two of the most popular people in the world before too long. At least — I hope it’s before too long. She had a hard time sticking with this story. That’s why I’ve been around so long – waiting for you. She hit a block of some kind, but now everything seems like a go, and I can hardly wait.”

“So, when I felt like the breath was being squeezed out of me, that’s when I was being birthed into this story, so to speak?”

“That’s right. That’s exactly how it feels! But you’re okay now, aren’t you?”

Matthew looked himself over, took a nice deep breath, relieved that he could, and answered. “Yeah, I think I’m okay. But what do we do now?”

“Just relax for a few minutes. I think Melissa just finished the second chapter, and she’s about to have us meet. This is so exciting. I think I’m falling in love with you already.”

~

(As soon as I decided to write for this challenge, the first line popped into my mind, and I went from there. My understanding was that we were not supposed to edit these pieces to any extent, so I did type slower than usual to try to avoid as many mistakes as possible.)

~~~

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Friday Fictioneers – 9/12/14 – Narcissus

I’m going to try to jump back into Friday Fictioneers today with a poem. If you’d like to join in and write your own 100-word story/poem based on the picture below, hop over and check out the details. Today’s picture is courtesy of Janet Webb.

ff

NARCISSUS

It’s true you quicken heartbeats when you enter rooms.
And every girl around competes for you.
The wilting sighs escape when you are passing by,
And “gorgeous” comes to mind describing you.

Your smile – it’s dazzle ‘lectrifies fair maiden hearts,
Your voice – it has a timbre all its own.
And when you stay away, we girls all miss you so;
That you return to find our love has grown.

But all our smiles and sighs have no effect on you.
And year by year you manage to stay free.
Well, I, for one, know why you never choose a love:
You’re lost in love with what your mirror sees.

~

 

~~~

Special Award To Cee Neuner

CAMERA CLIP ART - PINK w. text
This post is specifically to give a special (no-rules-attached) award to blogging photographer Cee Neuner for her creative-fun photo  of a roll of toilet paper.
Now admittedly, I am presenting this award with “tongue in cheek,” but Cee is an extremely talented photographer, and if you have not visited her site, you should. Her work is fantastic, and I think she deserves recognition. Besides, the funny side of me just could not resist making special note of work that goes into realms most photographers leave untested.
You’ll find the photo, along with others, at the link connected to her name above.

And as stated in parentheses, there are absolutely no rules attached with this award. I do not believe in awards with rules, because the person receiving that honor has already earned it fully.

~

 

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Friday Fictioneers – 8/22/14 — ‘Love Grows On You’

Friday Fictioneers prompt this week is this photo by Roger Bultot. (Sorry, there was no link for him.). My story is below the picture.

TRUCK - ROGER BULTOT

LOVE GROWS ON YOU

Virginia Creeper wasn’t beautiful and was generally considered a nuisance wherever she grew. But she had a kind heart, and when she heard sobbing out by the alley, she crawled over to investigate. She found Barney, the discarded garbage truck, soaking the ground with his tears.

Barney?”

I-I-I’ve been thrown away! Dumped here; no one wants me now. Dead motor. And everybody says I-I-I stink!” His sobs were heartbreaking.

Virginia gathered her strength. Stretching, squirming, she pulled herself to the unhappy truck. She reached up, grabbed his bumper, and curled around it, stretching higher and wider until she had completely embraced Barney in a comforting hug.

Don’t cry, Barney. I love you, and I’ll stick with you forever.”

~~~

Join the fun over at Rochelle’s Place. Write your own 100-word story based on the picture prompt.

 

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Will I Know Him When I See Him?

It’s been a heavy-thinking day. This piece is just a little whimsy I engaged in to clear my head — although I have experienced something similar, as have others. Maybe you have too. Let me know.

TALL MAN SILL
Will I Know Him When I See Him?

Some enchanted evening, you may see a stranger; you may see a stranger, across a crowded room … and … you’ll know even then that somewhere you’ll see him again and again.” It does happen: you notice a person across a room. You’ve never actually met him. You may not know anything about him, or you may know who he is only in an objective sense. There’s absolutely no logical reason to believe that he will become an important part of your life, or that one day there will be a strong relationship between the two of you. But regardless of the lack of logic, you do know, somehow, that your destiny is tied up with his.

He leaves. You leave. Months go by, and you don’t set eyes on him; you don’t hear his name mentioned; you don’t even think about him except in the most fleeting way. Then suddenly, one day you hear someone talking about him, and everything in you comes to attention. You think, I want to know what they’re saying, because he’s special to me. He’s going to have a special place in my life. So you listen carefully. It isn’t anything particularly important … just words that included his name … but you made a mental note because you know he’s important in your life.

More months go by, and suddenly you see him walk into a store. You feel like you need to go up to him and say something, because, after all, he’s an important person in your life … but you don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. If you say anything, he will look at you as if you’re crazy. So you let it pass, but you feel as if you’ve missed something good. You go home a little sadder because you didn’t connect … even though you know you are connected.

A few weeks go by. There he is again, walking down the same grocery store aisle as you. This time, the need to say something is more than you can rein in. You still haven’t met. He’ll still think you’re crazy. But you speak. Something inane, but certainly non-threatening. And sure enough, he looks at you, and you can see the question in his eyes: “Who are you?”

And your immediate reaction is to answer, I’m the person who’s going to have a really important place in your life! Your destiny is tied in with mine! But, of course, you can’t say that. So you walk on down the aisle as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Weeks pass. Now you’ve had an opportunity to talk to him briefly in the natural order of doing your job. It’s been fleeting, but at least there’s a connection. You don’t know why you want that connection. Most of the things about him are definitely unlike anything you have thought you might want in life. In fact, you aren’t looking for a new relationship at all right now. But it was important that you connected.

A couple more weeks pass. You hear from him. Again it’s related to your professions, but a door has opened a very tiny little crack. So you walk through it. Maybe he’ll still think you’re crazy, but you might as well take a chance. Chances like this don’t come often.

More weeks pass. You come to the conclusion that he has closed the door again and intends to keep you out. Oh, well. It’s probably better that way. You don’t really find him attractive, and you know you wouldn’t want a serious relationship with him. It’s just that there’s something … something … there is something special that’s supposed to happen between the two of you.

More weeks pass, and now you have managed to talk some sense into yourself and decided to let go of this screwy idea that there is something special between you and this stranger. You move on. You focus your attention on your work, your friendships – real friendships – and the possibility of other new relationships —- if you can ever get to the point where you are sure you really want a new relationship.

Months pass. You hear his name, and, even though you’ve convinced yourself that all of it was a figment of your imagination, your mind centers in on the words being spoken about him, and your heart tells you – once again – that your destiny is connected with his . . .

~~~

 

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I Guess I’m Just a Book Club Dropout

MOBY DICK
People often ask me what I like to read, but almost no one asks me what I do not like to read. I wonder why? Well … of course, I know why. They just aren’t interested in what I don’t like to read, and I don’t blame them. I’m not interested either.

However, today I got to thinking about several authors whose works I do not like. Actually, the list is very, very, very long, but I didn’t have much time to post today, so I’ve narrowed it down to the ones that came to mind quickly. Now, my total lack of appreciation of these authors’ efforts does not mean that they do not have a talent for writing. It just means — simply — that I don’t appreciate their talent.

I do not like works by Nicholas Sparks, and I won’t go to the strenuous mental effort it takes to read Herman Melville or Victor Hugo. (At least, now that I’m out of school and don’t have to.) Stephen King and J. R. R. Tolkien are on my hit list, along with C. S. Lewis. And I absolutely despise works by Hemingway and Dr. Seuss.

When all is said and done, I doubt that there’s a book club anywhere in the world that wants me for a member.  

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‘Man With A Gun’ — Writing Challenge — Week 1

GUN - BLUEAt some point in my past, I read that Raymond Carver once offered advice to writers about what to do if their stories seemed to lag or hit a boring place. His suggestion was to have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand.

That idea intrigued me – much more than I expected – and, as a result, I decided to set myself a challenge — as follows: I am committing to write one story for every Saturday in August, in which – at some point in time – whether fitting or not – a man or woman does walk through a door with a gun.

During this exercise, I am going to do very little editing of my stories. Rather I will simply begin writing with whatever idea comes to mind and continue until the gunman appears on the scene. After that point, whatever happens ….

I’m hoping my readers will enjoy this experiment with me, but I also thought that some of you out there would like to participate and do your own “man-with-a-gun” stories.

If you do, please post the links to your stories in the “Comments” section of my story for that week. I’m posting a story today. If you write a story any day this week before next Saturday, please post your link in the “Comments” of my story that is dated today. If you want to wait and post only on Saturdays, I will try to have mine up each of the next four Saturdays by 12:01 a.m. – U.S. Central Daylight Savings time. That way, hopefully, many of my readers in other countries will be able to post at the start of their day if they choose.

I’m not setting any word limit, but if we try to keep them to 1500 words or less, I think we will have an easier time visiting each other’s blogs and reading everyone’s stories – that is if anyone else takes part. I hope you do.

Feel free to start this exercise at any time, or to write only one or two stories if you don’t have time for five. Frankly, I have no idea if I will meet the challenge or not, but I’m at least taking the plunge. And please remember that my blog does not post “R” or “X” rated material.

My first story is below:

TONY’S PROPOSAL

ENGAGEMENT RING CLIP ARTTony couldn’t wait to get to work and tell his colleagues about the lottery ticket. He had never won anything in his life, but yesterday his bad luck had turned to good. Granted, he had won a small game – the prize was just $300.00 dollars – but to Tony, who always seemed to be on the losing end of everything he took part in, this win had him sailing along ten feet above the ground.

As he opened the door of the book store, he saw that Marie, the secretary/accountant was already at work. “Hey, Marie,” he called from the door and then skidded up to her desk, “guess what happened to me last night.”

“Hmmm,” she answered, only half paying attention as she pulled up the program she needed on her computer. “Let’s see … . Oh, I know … you won the lottery.”

She swung around and glanced at Tony when she said it, and noticed that he looked somewhat crestfallen. “That’s a lousy thing to guess,” he complained.

“Why?”

“Because that’s exactly what I did, and I was just sure you’d all be astounded.”

By that time the other two employees had arrived and were standing beside Marie’s desk. “You mean you really did win the lottery?” Randall asked.

“Well, not the biggy, but —” he grinned at each one of them individually. “But I did win $300.00.”

“Hey, congratulations,” Peter said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Way to go. Does that mean you’re treating us all to lunch?”

Tony hung his head for a second and then looked up at them sheepishly. “Well, to tell you the truth, I have it earmarked for something else already.”

“I know!” said Marie, her eyes alight. “You’re going to buy Sarah an engagement ring.”

Tony looked at her in astonishment. “For heaven’s sake, Marie, what are you – a mind reader?”

Marie shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t blame me if I’m just super smart.” Then she grinned conspiratorially. “Want me to help pick it out?”

Tony lifted his head in what he wanted to pass for a look of sophistication, but which really made him look more like a schoolboy with a pout. “ I already have it picked out, thank you. It’s a little more than the $300.00, but I have a small amount in a savings account.”

Randall spoke up then. “So, when are you going to give it to her?

“I think I’ll take her to dinner this Saturday and ask her to marry me while we’re at the restaurant.”

“Sounds good. Where are you going?”

“I’ll book a reservation at The Coral Reef – a table by the window so we can watch the sun set over the beach. I want all the romance I can get going for me because I’m not positive Sarah has marriage in her plans. She likes her independence.”

“Well, that’s the perfect place.” said Marie, just as the bell rang over the front door. “Oops, time to get to work.”

But this customer wasn’t a regular. He had a large scarf tied triangularly over his nose and mouth, and he carried a gun.

All four of the employees froze, and without being told to do so, lifted their hands in the air.

“That’s it. Nice and easy, and nobody gets hurt,” said the gunman. He looked at Marie. “Now, girlie, you just walk over to that cash register – nice and slow – and take out all the money and put it in this here bag,” he said, as he tossed an old cloth drawstring bag onto the counter beside the register. Then lay your purse down right beside the bag. And the rest of you,” he added, pointing the gun more robustly toward the three men, “start taking out your wallets; empty your pockets, and put it all in the bag.”

Tony sucked in his breath. He had cashed in the lottery ticket and had the $300.00 in his wallet. He couldn’t let this man steal the money for Sarah’s ring. “Now, wait just a minute!” he said, dropping his hands to his sides. The gunman jumped forward and pushed the gun to within two feet of Tony’s nose.

“No funny business. Empty all those pockets!”

“I will not! I have something important to do with my money, and you can’t have it.”

The gunman stepped even closer. “Look, Buddy, don’t be a fool. Empty those pockets before I get tired of waiting.”

“You have no right to my money or anyone else’s!” Tony said, throwing his left arm toward the man on an angle – just enough to throw the gunman off balance and cause an involuntary reaction in his hand. His hold on the gun was broken for only a couple seconds, but it was enough for Tony to grab the gun and turn it on the thief. His friends dropped their hands, and Tony asked Marie to call the police.

The robber’s eyes were huge with fear, and before anyone could even guess what he was going to do, he had turned and made for the door. Tony shot into the air, hoping to frighten him into stopping. It worked, but only momentarily. The man didn’t look back. His intuition told him that if Tony had been going to shoot him, he would have done it the first time he pulled the trigger, so the man snatched the door open and hurled himself through it, falling onto the sidewalk and rolling several feet. But he jumped up and started running before the others could collect their wits enough to try to stop him.

“Whew!” Randall said, and he knew he spoke for all of them, as they wiped sweat from their brows and upper lips and tried to get their stomachs to relax and their hands to stop shaking. Marie went back to her desk and slumped into the chair. Fifteen minutes later, the police arrived and took their statements – as well as the gun.

When the police had left, and the store was quiet once more, Marie looked at Tony. “You are the most romantic man I’ve ever known,” she said.

He looked dumbfounded. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Why, you risked your life to keep from giving up the money to buy an engagement ring for the woman you love. You really are a gallant knight.”

Tony grinned. “Maybe I’ll be sure and tell Sarah the whole story before I propose. She surely couldn’t turn down a man who was willing to risk his life to give her an engagement ring.” He sighed. “And just think: I may owe my success with this proposal to that guy with the gun. I’m kind of glad I didn’t kill him.”

~ ~ ~

A Mouse Is A Mouse — Or Is It?

I originally posted this poem about 2 years ago, but I got into a conversation last night which brought me face to face with the fact that I have never yet solved this dilemma. The experience reminded me of the poem, so I thought I’d drag it out of the archives and back into the light today.
MOUSE 3

Is it mouses, or is it mice?
I’ve asked this question more than twice.
As I sit before my monitor,
I’m quite sure I am just not sure.

When two computers I must use,
All the appendages come in two’s.
I shuffle keyboards, arrange them nice, 
But then I must hook up the … mice?

My only other choice is “mouses.”COMPUTER MOUSE WITH COLOR EDITED
My sensitive nature that arouses.
For an English teacher I’ll always be,
And “mouses” chafes and nettles me.

Surely “mice” should be allowed,
But then I start to laugh out loud.
Confound that name! How did it start?COMPUTER MOUSE WITH COLOR 3
Bill English and Doug Engelbart!      

It’s all their fault; they must admit.
And foolish names are such a hit.
And dictionaries help not at all;
They make it an individual’s call.

So back again to where I was,
More frustrated now because
As I struggled to name the counterfeit,
Its namesake from my sandwich bit.

~~~

21 Items the Well-Prepared Woman Has With Her at All Times


WOMAN'S FACE1. Chocolate

2. Peanut Butter & Crackers

 3. Small package of Kleenex

 4. Individually-wrapped anti-bacterial wipes

 5. Extra chocolate

 6. Bottle of water

 7. A delightful book

 8. Dental floss

 9.  Two Pens

10. Notepaper

11. Extra chocolate

12. Two Band-aids

13. A nail file

14. Two Safety pins

15. Two paper clips

16. Extra chocolate

17. Compact with mirror

18. Comb

19. $5.00 in immediately spendable currency

20. A big smile

21. Extra chocolate

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