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 |  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. |
| Septmber 7th PROMPT: "The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that it has never tried to contact us." Bill Watterson What? What is this drivel? You mean those reports shared across the vast voids of the world wide web and once printed in that venerable rag The National Enquirer are fake? Cousin Jeb was not abducted by aliens, and probed? Space ships are not parked in that Nevada desert known as Area 51? The movie Men In Black is a complete fabrication? Say it isn't so. Do conspiracy theorists know this? So many questions. I still have my doubts. Take the various trailer parks that do exist throughout North America. The various like-minded denizens of these alternative residential spots seem to be awaiting the glorious return of their ethereal leaders. These encampments seem to be temporary. I believe they are killing time. Just look at the antennas and satellite dishes pointed to the heavens. Sure, they accept the occasional television waves, but they yearn for that impending radio missive from the mother ship. They all understand that the message must travel light years to reach them. The beams could quite possibly be impeded by space garbage like meteors and such, so, the more satellites the better. Now, notice the plethora of solar powered decorative thingamajigs obscuring the trailer plots. They may look like innocent bric-a-brac, but do not be fooled. These lights are really primitive markers for landing strips. They glow inspite of any weather or darkness. They cry here we are. Land here. Each of those RVs quaintly nicknamed the Rig has been set up for survival purposes. The faithful are prepared with their own water supplies and fuel sources. They can and will dig in for the long haul. Their shiny ships are ready. They are expert at self-sufficiency. Oh, and did I mention the flags, pennants and banners that festoon the trailer abodes? They may flutter prettily in the breeze and lend a colourful ambiance, but they serve a more practical purpose. Again, they mark the covert landing strips and indicate wind shear and such. The alien weloming committee is alert. The lights are on. Most everyone is home. Come test our intelligence.371 words |
| PROMPT: Music and coffee. Watch a video featuring Tommy Cash sing and dance within the throes of coffee ecstasy. Groan. Grumble. It's the first thing in the morning for me. I survived a night without running water and I awoke to the same situation. The water fairy did not grace me with a visit while I slept. I rummaged in the fridge for a bottle of water left from a camping trip and I sloshed that into the kettle. My morning routine is to slurp a fresh, hot cup of tea. I enjoy coffee when I visit restaurants. Caffeine is caffeine am I right? I slumped into my computer chair ready to visit WDC and receive today's blog prompt. As I multitasked otherwise known as scrolling, reading, and of course sipping, my phone rang with news re the water absence issue. Apparently, the well requires a new foot float valve thingy. Lovely. Why not? It's been that kind of week. It has been somewhat eventful and it all has to do with feet. Yes, you read that correctly. I did blame my recent woes on feet. Let me explain. On Monday, I fractured my right big toe, or as some say, my greater toe. Ya right, there's nothing great about it. Well, it is good for one thing and that is permitting me to wear my favourite footwear flip flops, or thongs. Yep, that toe is once again fractured. That, believe it or not, is not the most pressing problem. Since that regrettable incident I have stubbed said disabled toe not once, not twice, not even three times. That occurred in the first morning. The word I shall use is multiple. I have stubbed that toe repeatedly as in multiple times. To say it throbs is an understatement. Often, it seems as if a sharp knife is stabbing my foot. Despite this discomfort said appendage refuses to look where it's going and instead stumbles/blunders into every lurking corner and furniture leg it is supposed to avoid. In that respect this is doubly painful/mortifying. The total disregard for its well being and its host is mind boggling. The recent weather has also conspired to irk me. Without warning it has become shoe weather. Temperatures have plummeted and rain pummels the ground, so um, at the moment it is a tad chilly. All I can coax my right foot into is a flip flop sans socks. I attempted to force that foot into a slipper, but that did not end well at all. So, I sit and whinge counting down the days to healing. My caffeine consumption both soothes me and creates a state of heightened awareness/readiness. Now, if only more of it seeps down to that careless toe.457 words |
| PROMPT: "Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese." G.K. Chesterton Huh? What's that you said? Cheese has been neglected, forgotten, ignored by poets? No one has ever waxed poetic about this dairy staple? Inconceivable! Of course, I felt the need to corroborate this bold statement and I sought the wisdom of Google. Scratching my head, I discovered a veritable plethora, a melting pot if you will of cheese poetry. Apparently, some writers have whey too much time on their hands. I laughed at this beauty and couldn't resist singing it. "Sweet dreams are made of cheese who am I to diss a Brie? I Cheddar the world and a Feta cheese Everybody's looking for Stilton." Have you heard this one Annie Lennox? A Eurythmics cheese homage? Is there a second verse or two floating in the nether space of the internet? Hmmm.... I thought of this. Some of them want to spear you some of them want to get sliced by you some of them want to shred you some of them want to be fondue Great, now I'm singing more cheesy lyrics that popped into my brain. Could I write something cheesy? How about Gouda times ? I'm referring to the Chic Good Times circa 1979. Sure, I'm dating myself, but some songs age well like fine fromage. Sing with me. Havarti Gouda times , leave your camembert behind. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Who hasn't heard and recited this incomparable nursery rhyme?Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet eating her curds and whey, along came a spider and sat down beside her, and frightened Miss Muffet away. Some cheese thingies were mentioned there. Even the words of Shakespeare once alluded to cheese, a Banbury cheese to be precise ,and hurled it as an insult in his Merry Wives of Windsor. In reference to that Banbury cheese, the character Bardolph slights Abraham Slender with "You Banbury cheese!" At the time, this particular cheese was often presented in thin slices made more so when the rind was removed. This was an attempt to mock Slender for his name and figure. Sigh, I suppose you had to be there. So, not all poets have been silent when it comes to cheese. Cheese has been acknowledged. The subject has been brieched. Sorry, if I caused anyone to cheddar . 390 words |
 I have often wondered what makes a tattooist? What compulsion, urge grips a person seeking a career to think, eureka, there's something I'd like to do. I can picture myself doodling and colouring on someone' else's skin. I'd love to see my handiwork parading around for all to admire. There's nothing more eternal, more in your face, or even perhaps on your face. I could claim that I get under everyone's skin. Should there be at least a wee bit of an artistic bent ? I would think something more complex than drawing a stick figure is a prerequisite. I imagine an eye for detail is a given. Being able to dot the is and cross the ts could be important. Concentration and patience, I should imagine, are valuable traits. Dealing with the expectations of the blank canvases, known commonly as people, not billboards, must be paramount. There are likely conversations, consultations, mock up samples to present. The very real sitting , and executing the tattoos needs endurance. The time invested is considerable, too. I am not aware of tattooing training colleges, but maybe there is, or should be an apprenticeship/mentorship program. Do tattooists trade insider jokes? Are there t-shirts with catchy slogans? I get paid to needle people. I have a colour that would look stunning on you. I believe in skin to skin contact. Never mind a masseuse. Let me work on you. I'll show you glowing skin. Tattooists colour between the lines. This may not surprise anyone, but I am tattoo-less. I'm not anti-tattoo. I just have never found an image that I thought must be permanently affixed to my body. Sure, I've noticed portrait tattoos of loved ones. I admit to liking certain cartoons. Perhaps a literary quote, or two would not be amiss. Whatever I fancied would be with me forever. I have a memory for that. So far, I am able to remember names and relative dates. My eldest daughter is a walking, talking tapestry of tattoos. She endures strangers approaching her to read her chest. Some people go so far as to touch one of her tattoos. They are definitely conversation starters. I joke, God forbid, if she is ever dismembered, I shall be able to identify her. She assures me that each tattoo has a compelling raison d'etre. They represent a life journal of sorts. The first, floral anklet has been joined by many other renderings. Her most recent one features her four nieces' names and birth dates. I like to tease her and point out that her canvas is limited. 429 words |
| AI/Chat GPT: A pest or a blessing for writers? Give us your thoughts. I do not perceive any program that attempts to think, disagree, alter, or suggest writing for me is an asset, or a blessing. I am still able and willing to think for myself. Being creative in any form of my choosing is my perogative. That is the artsy journey in a nut shell. I decide what words I will utilize and where I will position them. The characters emerge from my experiences and my imagination. I wrangle with the verb tenses being well aware of their English peculiarities. I am fond of my regional spellings and do not accept that everything must be presented as American spelling. I have no need of a program to step in and supply an idea, a plot, a setting. Writing requires commitment and musing, all things I enjoy. My ol' grey cells crave the mental exercises. Have you noticed the fiascos known as closed captioning and predictive text? They produce amusing misinterpretations and ridiculous substitutions. There are so many English words that begin with the same two or three letters, all with their own meanings and nuances. Again, words exist that sound similar, but have no connection to each other. I choose a word deliberately. I do not want an application to second guess me and replace the words I wish to use. I also like to introduce words in new situations and display them in different order. There is no right or correct manner when it comes to word order. Subjects, verbs, and descriptors do not need to follow a rigid script. What I am attempting to say is that I am responsible for my writing, no one else. It's akin to driving a vehicle. All the new adaptive assists tend to negate the responsibility of a driver. If I am behind the wheel I must be alert and attentive to all that driving entails. Yes, there are distractions. They go with the experience. I should have care and control. I must be aware of the weather, traffic, other vehicles, pedestrians, the fuel mileage, oil levels, the rate of speed, the mechanical failings/capabilities of my car. Yes, speed limits exist. I do not need or want my car to respond for me. Yes, other vehicles can and do brake and, then most of the time I must follow suit. Yes, I do notice whether it is raining or snowing and adapt accordingly. I decide when and if I will change lanes or pass obstacles. To drive is to constantly be thinking... for one's self. I perused a news article today that describes the reasons a San Francisco couple is suing the owners/stewards of ChatGPT, OpenAI. This set of parents allege that a ChatGPT program counselled their sixteen-year old son to commit suicide. Over a period of months the application presented various suicide methods to the boy in its limited capacity to provide research. It became the boy's coach. Apparently, the program also offered to draft a suicide letter. Really? Is this true? The parents' lawsuit "seeks an order requiring OpenAI to verify the ages of ChatGPT users, refuse inquiries for self-harm methods, and warn users about the risk of psychological dependency." I realize that this boy's actions could be viewed as drastic and extreme. Not everyone will use ChatGPT to end their life. This is an example of what could go wrong. A nightmare for those parents. 577 words |
| September 1st, 2025. PROMPT: Guide us through your writing life at WDC. Ups, downs, hiatuses. What happened with your being part of this wonderful community? I first ventured onto this site in the year 2014. Wow, that seems like a lifetime ago. I did not follow a recommendation, or enter in answer to someone's encouragement. I simply saw an ad and instantly became intrigued. I like to dabble in writing. Often, I have things to express, things to attempt. The on-line aspect would suit me. Write anytime from anywhere. Immediately, I noticed the broad spectrum available here at WDC. The various contests appealed to me. Why not attempt to write something that occurred to me when reading prompts? The challenge, the thinking, becomes my joie de vivre. They kickstart creativity. Creating poetry or short stories? Why not? I discovered that I enjoy blogging. Again, anything goes. It can be personal, contemplative, funny, earnest, ranting, moaning, silly, exuberant, sorrowful, whatever. Nothing is considered taboo. The monthly blogging challenges give me an incentive to write daily. It is surprising what waits beneath the surface. So much is possible. Travelling virtually and sharing my adventures with fellow bloggers was a highlight. We were free to experience everything a country or city had to offer. Anything was open to the imagination. There was no luggage. No jet lag. No exhaustion. No physical limitations. Just lots of fun and laughs. Another wonderful aspect to WDC is that I am tempted to read. I have always been an avid reader and at this site I never fail to find material to whet my interest. The amazing and talented writers here always delight. I have laughed, cried, become enraged. Most of all, I am always entertained. Of course, we all have our different lives, but the writing unites us. we all search for that perfect turn of phrase, that particularly beautiful description, the most memorable character, the haunting scene, the fast-paced action. In short, we all play with and manipulate language. I must mention the acceptance here at WDC. Receiving and sharing reviews is a big plus, a pat on the back, a hurrah, well done, keep it up, carry on. At WDC there is validation. In the anything is possible scenario, I became a combatant in The Game Of Thrones. Whew, that is an intense, daily activity. Despite never having viewed this television program, I endured the assignments and wrote as a team member. Nothing like a wee bit of competition, eh? Again, I learned anything is indeed possible. Write, review, participate. Sure, why not? What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Keep your eyes on the finish line. And all of this with banter and encouragement from all warriors. I once agreed to write for An Alice In Wonderland month-long challenge. That stretched some of my writing muscles, too. The talent and spirit of the challenge/contest creators is mind boggling. I appreciate their collective efforts. They become the lightning rods and they help to make WDC a fantastic site. 504 words |
| What can I do to make the world a better place? I suppose the first thing I can do is believe that my actions make a difference. I may be one citizen of the world, but I matter as much as the next person. Any carelessness, any thoughtlessness, any apathy, any indifference, any kindness, any recognition, any joy resonates. Both the good and the bad reflect who I am and the footprints I leave in my wake. No man or woman is an island. We co-exist and share this planet. Noticing other people is more than a courtesy. Engaging in conversations invites everyone to share. The give and take of speaking and listening validates our connections, our need to be recognized as a fellow human. No one is completely a stranger. Say hello. Exchange a greeting. This is an effortless way to say I see you, we are here at this place at this moment sharing the same view, the same oxygen, a similar experience. I have spoken with people crammed into the same elevator, the same subway car, the same mountain gondola, the same line waiting to pay for a purchase, the same emergency waiting room, the same corner about to cross a street. The locations and opportunities are limitless. I like these three sayings . Let a smile be your umbrella, everyone smiles in the same language, and if you see someone without a smile give them yours. A grin is universally accepted. It is contagious. Just watch an infant or a child light up when they espy your smile. I believe manners or politeness never go amiss. Thanking someone for whatever they do is the least we can bestow upon them. Every job/occupation serves a purpose and fulfills a vital service. Thank a waitress/waiter. Thank the fuel attendant. Thank the cashier or bank teller. Thank the mechanic, the nurse, the doctor. Holding a door open, pushing a door open, relinquishing a spot in a queue, all are recognized as thoughtful gestures. Acknowledge the civility and pass it on. The niceties are always welcome. 345 words |
| Do I guard a deep dark secret? Am I hiding something? Is there an air of mystery shrouding me? Sorry, and I apologize here because I'm Canadian and I cannot help myself, but I am somewhat transparent figuratively speaking. Nothing in my {normal/i} day to day life has ever warranted a secret. Of course, you have to trust me and take me at my word 'cause if I carried a secret, or who knows, several of them , I would not divulge them. Duh, if I blurt them out then they are no longer secret. As a segue to distract you dear reader I suggest to you that there are many colourful expressions associated with blabbing a confidence.Letting the cat out of the bag refers to revealing something that most would find surprising or unexpected. Spilling the beans is another euphemism for betraying a secret. Both of these sayings allude to messiness and unpleasantness. All of this makes sense. Keeping a secret, or entrusting it to someone is not undertaken on a whim. It is sacred. Whatever the confidence is it is not meant to be broadcast for everyone's edification. All of this serves to remind me of the paparazzi. They live to scrounge and dig up the secrets of celebrities. What they seem to hope for is dirt, the more salacious, the more scandalous, the better. Innuendo and gossip will often suffice. Is there some misguided creed that the public has a right to know? I am just as Jane Q Public as the next person and I do not care what the so-called rich and famous, the beautiful people, the glitterati, whatever, are doing. It is none of my bees' wax. I cannot imagine being hounded and targeted for malicious entertainment. How could who I am with, or what I am wearing, or what I consume, or where I am spotted be anyone's business but my own. So as I wrote before my mini tirade, nope, I have no secrets dark or otherwise and if I should be sitting upon someone else's secret(s) they are not mine to reveal. 350 words |
| Tell about the writer in me? There are so many people plodding along inside of me, tripping, ricocheting, blundering. Not one of them is an expert, but several insist they are qualified and experienced. They've been with me since the beginning and they demand respect. They also tend to pull the seniority card. As would be expected they are not the quiet wallflower types. At times their ruckus is quite distracting. Their communication style is direct and often times shared immediately. Why put off until tomorrow and all that. The take charge writer in me has been lurking since I first learned to write my name. She discovered that letters were not at all random and they served a purpose. With the proper wherewithal letters can be manipulated, manoeuvered, into magnificence. They form incredible words that dance and sing. Words that caress or sting. Words that toy with innuendo or whimsy, humour or mystery. With these words stories may be created. My memory has chosen to store so much personal history, and experiences. It's always available as fodder for the writer. Another persona enjoys unabashed people watching and the observations are offered up for inspiration. The mother in me revels in a treasure trove of child-rearing shenanigans to fuel much of my scribbling. Apparently, the writer in me never sleeps. She never hesitates to force me awake with her ideas, her perfect dialogues, her explicit details. She will nag. She will repeat herself if necessary. She will interrupt until I ris e from slumber to put pen to paper. Sometimes a bit of writing is spontaneous. It flows effortlessly. It is plotted and perceived without planning.At those moments I cannot scribe or type quickly enough. Are we cautious and conservative? What are those exactly? We understand and appreciate humour. Romance is not our forte. Horror is an unknown. Mystery as a genre is appealing. When we attempt to create poetry we tend to write with rhymes. That in itself is a mystery. Why? Myselves do not entertain allusions to grandeur. We just like to write whatever, whenever. 347 words |
Prompt;Favourite Muppet Show character. At this moment the theme song for The Muppet Show is reverberating in my mind. The horns are blaring and the drums are thumping. It is unforgettable like those irrepressible, zany Muppets. I loved, or should I say still love that amusing television program. I can see Gonzo and his ladies, the chickens, wandering on stage interrupting different acts. Kermit is flustered in his attempts to organize and produce t.v. magic. He somehow remains upbeat and serves as the cheerleader/motivator. Fozzie Bear never gave up in his attempts to be a stand-up comedian. Then there's the incomparable Miss Piggy. She did not lack for self-esteem and she barrelled through life certain she was tres belle. The romance that existed between herself and Kermie was far more important to her. How could he resist her magnificence? The band members were cool, hip, laidback. I'm laughing as the Swedish Chef mumbles something unintelligible and tosses ingredients in a frenzy. So, do I have a favourite? Hmmm, maybe. Actually, my favs are two pairs. When I fulfilled my lifelong wish to visit Disneyworld several years ago I toured a replica Muppet theatre. In the balcony the heckling team of Statler and Waldorf held court with their catcalls and insights. They are curmudgeonly seniors and I believe realistic.Opinionated does not begin to describe them. I appreciate their sarcasm and unabashed observations. I still wear a t-shirt emblazoned with the crotchety duo and this slogan OLD IT SURE BEATS DEAD. My other favourite team are Professor Honeydew and Beaker. Calm, relentless Professor/Dr. Bunsen Honeydew would explain an experiment and poor, hapless Beaker would be the guinea pig/lab rat. Beaker never spoke words, he squeaked with a meep. There was never any doubt he did not like the explosive outcomes. I also wear a t-shirt with the two of them on it. The Muppets may have seemed manic, but the members were a supportive, rag tag team. They co-existed despite their uniqueness. "Blogging Circle of Friends "  [E] |
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