Category Archives: Thnking

Death is not a tragedy for the surviving but a gift.

Back in March, I lost my sister to cancer. While she and I had not spoken in a years, a few months before her untimely death, we did make our peace. I even shared a few pictures of our trip to New Years Eve in Times Square. I later heard that it made her so happy that I included her in my travels. Her death was still a shock no matter how much I mentally prepared myself. Fast forward to June. My brother is diagnosed with cancer. He must have been keeping it from his family, I imagine it was a pretty easy thing because he lived in another state with his son being the closest relative. Not long after the diagnosis, he moved in with our mother and passed away just a few weeks ago. In all my life, I have always had the opportunity to either make my peace or say goodbye. This time, I didn’t. His son set up a service to be held tomorrow.

It is when we experience the death of a loved one that we find ourselves in frequent moments of reflection. If you are fortunate enough to sit and do so without becoming a slobbering, drooling mess, you can appreciate what those moments of clarity can provide for you. My Daddy has been gone for nearly 8 years and I still find myself in moments of reflection at my mind whispering one of his “Dougisms” into my ear.

BET ME!!! He was so fond of saying.

You see we always feel so wronged when someone close to us has come to their time. When they leave this world and move on to the next life, it is the survivors that feel left behind, saddened, forgotten. However we need to look outside the box. We need to seek it out as a gift. We can witness someone a horrible, painful death. Others will simply go quietly in their sleep. Still, others will be walking along and simply just fall away. It all seems so sad to us but think about it. In the days and weeks after someone has died, they enable you to remember. They have touched your life in some way that make you stop and think. In the midst of our busy lives, we pause and reflect. Maybe we even have a shadow of a smile on our face. By remembering some distant memory, we have been effected in a positive way by the imprint of the loved one’s memory. They were a part of our lives for a moment and we are so impressed with the way they touched us that we are able to never forget. It is in these moments that the gift of the dead shine in our hearts.

Death teaches us a lesson that time with friends and family is precious. That every moment we share with another human being is special and should be treasured. After all, tomorrow is never promised. Don’t let the absence of their presence slow you down. They will be waiting for you in the afterlife. I often like to think that my Daddy is sitting on a cloud somewhere sharing a drink with Pepper (a beloved family pet) and my Sister. That they have just welcomed my brother Tom to their fluffy table and that the four of them are watching us flounder around in this life trying to make sense of everything that seems to be real. Of course they are watching over us. They are forever burned in our memories not as the empty carcass of a body they carried in their final days but of some wonderful memory many years ago.

My father has on his jeans that are rolled up 2 inches thick, his slip on canvas shoes, and a white T-shirt and smells strongly of Right guard with his hair combed back. He has that amazing smile only he can have with his teeth in. Of course he has a Pepsi can and one of those thick glasses filled with ice, Jim Beam, and Pepsi. My Sister is up there with her shoulder length wavy hair, a pair of jeans, cute top, and makeup done to perfection. She has a glass filled to the brim with ice and a coke on the table. She loved her ice. Of course she has Mitzie with her. My brother is sitting in some sort of work garb. Looking like he just got off work at a garage or mill somewhere and of course he has a beer with him. My sweet Pepper is next to Dad, waiting for him to put his glass down so he can sneak a lap or two. His fur is shiny and clean, near white, with that funky little flip of hair that used to be between his eyes that drove me crazy.

They are all sitting there, once again enjoying each others company and looking down at us and our follies. Yes, the individual and collective memories of them brings a tear to my eye. However, were it not for each of them, my life would not be what it is now. They were a part of my life and that is the gift they leave me. The legacy they left for me personally.

We all deal with death and grief differently. Once the sadness stops, do your loved one a solid and remember the happy times. It is certain they would love for you to think of them fondly. I know I would.

What do YOU think?




Daily Prompt: Pungent (The Light Fixture [Fiction])

via Daily Prompt: Pungent

“George, I told you never to remove the cover for that light. You don’t know what is up there.” Jasmine nagged. She was always nagging him about something. Whether it was touching the kitchen door knob with greasy fingers or not wearing his shirt right, it was always the same: NAG! NAG! NAG! Ah, but his life would be dull without that hen always clucking about something int he background. Am I right?  Any-who, it was dark in the bedroom and while things that went on in the bedroom were best done in the dark, sometimes you still needed to see. Remember what Mamma always said. “You are going to ruin your eyes reading in the dark like that!” Enough was enough, the light bulb had to be changed.

The house should be mentioned here. It was built around the turn of the 20th century and was suitably registered in the city’s record of historical places. They sure didn’t make houses like this anymore. The only sucky thing was that I had to file an application to paint a damn wall. I own this house, why should I ask permission to do something as simple as change the color of the wall? The world may never know. Now, the changing of a light bulb was something on the ‘have at it’ list and this was exactly what I was going to do. Nagged or not, I am going to do this!

The fixture was an oblong, oval thing that was quite the stinker to get off the ceiling. It was held in place by several screws and was almost a two man job. One was needed to hold it in place while the other was removing the screws. However, if you held you lip right, you could do it yourself. I knew that Jasmine was not going to help me so I did the thing myself. I nearly dropped it. As it was made of glass, it would likely have not survived the fall. However, with luck on my side, I was able to get the thing down unscathed. As I laid the dusty cover on the bed, Jasmine snorted at me something about having to was the bed clothes now that that filthy thing had touched it. NAG! NAG! NAG! Upon successfully putting the light cover on the bed I looked up. It was almost like looking back in time. The part of the ceiling which was protected by the fixture had withstood the test of time and must have been the same antique yellowish color that the house was originally painted in. There was a hole where the light had come down out of the ceiling and was hanging there, as if held in time. It didn’t even swing with the new air surrounding it. It could have swayed ever so slightly as some of the hot air escaped from the ceiling into our bedroom below it. It had a pungent smell that those of us with attics can only know. While I had only stuck my face up into the attic to see if there were any treasures up there, I found only that wonderful pungent attic smell.

After marveling at the time machine that I had found, I noted that the light fixture inside the cover was just as much as an antique as the rest of the house itself and this two-prong light that I was holding was not going to work. I had to purchase a standard light bulb. With the rest of the house pushed in on the wave of the future, a standard light bulb was not something that I had laying around. “Off to the store wench!” I said in my Scottish voice as I poked Jasmine in the ribs. She giggled and hugged me in only the way my Jasmine can do. She grabbed her keys and off to the store we went. Now, a trip to the store was always for more than what is intended. Those marketing freaks to a helluva job when it comes to enticing you to buy something more than what you went there for in the first place. So, it was going to be a while before we got back. I knew leaving the cover off would stir up some dust but figured it would be alright. I was gonna wrap this project up the minute we got back anyway.

Upon our return, I unlocked the front door. When I opened it a rather LARGE wasp floated out as the door swung into the house. Now, wasps are not small in their own sense but this thing was almost the size of a tennis ball. With concern, I told Jasmine to stay on the porch as I went in to investigate. Another thing that was out of the ordinary was that the dogs were going bezerk. They were put in their cage in the master bathroom just off our bedroom before we left. As per our custom. Thinking about that wasp, I grabbed the broom out of the foyer closet and cautiously made my way to the bedroom. What I seen when I pushed open the door could only be described in a dream…no…a nightmare.

From the light fixture were several of those same wasps hanging on the light bulb as if it were their nest. There were several others meandering around the room in a sleepy, flying gait, which only wasps do when it is this time of year. There were other things falling, no nearly pouring out of the hole in the ceiling. Leeches, bugs and…..turtles? Yes. I am sure of it. They looked like those sea turtles that were all laid back and hippie like in that movie with the blue fish. Funny, in this moment, that movie name escapes me. Weird how we forget things when faced with…things.

These things were all over the room. Upon taking inventory of what I was looking at, all the sound in the world came back to me. However, I could not figure out why. NAG! NAG! NAG! The primal scream which emanated from the hallway behind me snapped me back into reality. Jasmine! I turned to look and found her with inordinate fear written across her face. As if to make it more real, she had her hands up to her cheeks as if they were meant o put that scream in quotation marks. She was screaming “THE DOGS GEORGE! WHAT ABOUT THE DOGS!!??” Immediately I turned and made a vee line for the bathroom. Two of them were barking at the smallest one. She was covered in those leech things. I tried to open the cage and then heard a whisper in my head.

“They’re poison.” I paused for a moment. Where did that come from? Why was I not being touched by the things falling out of the ceiling? I knew I could not touch this dog. I was sad that it was lifeless and unmoving. However, these animals were like our family and saving 2 of 3 was what I had to do. I opened the cage and while one snapped at my fingers, I was able to snatch the other one out of the cage. The one whom I was unable to catch shot out of the cage and into the bedroom. A moment later, I heard Jasmine squee in delight as she made it to our Jasmine. I knew I had to get out of there. I still considered the third dog and grabbed a towel. It wrapped around my arm as I yanked it off the towel rack on the wall beside the shower. Again, I heard that voice in my head…whisperingly…”Nooo….They’re poison.” In that instant, a leech which had found itself on that towel landed on my arm. It sizzled and burned like acid! I scream and stumbled back. Falling into the tub, I grabbed the shower curtain and again, leaches landed on me with their sizzling, burning,. slimy skin. I swiped at them and got them off me. It was instinct. I faintly remember the dog still barking in my arms and she took off like a bolt when I fell into the tub. I remember hearing Jasmine outside call for her. It was likely that Jasmine was outside and seen that the one I had in my arms had made it outside. My turn to flee had arrived.

As strange as it may sound, the idea came to me that it was the house speaking to me. Why was it taking up for me but unleashing this horror into my home? And why turtles?  No time for that now, I had to leave. I got out of the tub, nearly falling 2 or 3 more times before gaining my footing and went for the bathroom door. The room had become covered. It was a living, breathing, MOVING room. I guess this house wanted the bedroom to be in the dark. Bugs give me the willies but in my adrenaline-induced state, I didn’t think about that. However, the brief pause at the bathroom door was likely to be my demise. The more I thought about my fear of the creepy crawlies, the more fear replaced the adrenaline. At this realization, the turtles began to speak to me in that creepy children’s voice…”Come on George! Let’s Play!” (Yea, I now know why I never liked children. Creepy little things.”

It was as if my feet were glued to the floor. I was paralyzed. Unable to move and feeling my throat closing in, I couldn’t even scream. All I could do was watch with horror as the things moving and churning in the bedroom where I spent many wonderful nights with the love of my life seemed to consume first my shoes, then my legs. They were making their way up my lower extremities with that sizzling, acidic touch. The brighter the pain and fear became, the more I swirled into blackness. In a fear induced high, I passed out fully believing I was drunk and was going to bed…for the last time. Funny how things work out when you have your last thoughts. My brain’s last transmission? Well, as the things in the room covered me and left only an impression of their body under their business, you can say it was:

“I was consumed with fear.”

Outside, in the front yard of our back-country home, miles from any neighbors, you could hear Jasmine in that nagging voice….”George? Georrrge?  GEORGE!”  Unbeknownst to her, George was unavailable at the moment. Suddenly, she could smell the pungent odor of the attic. Then, she noted turtles flapping their way out the front door. “Hi Jasmine! Let’s Play!”

What do YOU think?


Whatever happened to Miss Ingold?

Back in my lat teens and early 20’s I was a breakfast manager at a local fast food restaurant named Hardee’s. The hours were perfect: 3am-1pm. For me, it was an easy job and presented challenges as well. One such challenge was some of the people that worked the same shift I did. One was the hostess, she is a topic for another story. The other was this big ole German lady named Ingold.

Ingold was not by any means your normal person. To begin with, she had to warm up to you. It was not easy to gain her confidence in your abilities as either a manager or a co-worker. Also, she hated everyone. However, she was good at her job. Ingold only worked breakfast. When it was time to transition, she was out the door. She was a good worker but you had to get her on your side to work for you. You see, Ingold liked to be prompt and start things on time. While the manager was technically not supposed to start or arrive to open the doors until at least 3:45 am, if you showed up at any point after 3:00 am, you were certain to have a bad day. Showing up late made Ingold grouchy and boy…you never wanted that woman to be grouchy. (Grumpy doesn’t even come close to what this woman could be if she was…grouchy. Even Oscar the Grouch was mild compared to when this woman was on a roll. Ah, but I digress.) I liked to show up early just for her because I knew if she started her day off right, I would not have to worry about the kitchen because Miss Ingold handled things. Besides, at 4:01 am, the time the schedule says we are supposed to clock in, she would get in her car and go home. THAT, my friends, is a bad day. Without her, it was difficult at best.

Other workers knew that too. Because I worked hard to get Miss Ingold on my side, she eventually warmed up to me. I think there were a few mornings that I totally earned her respect. “Why? How?” You ask? Like this:

Ingold worked six days a week. The days I was blessed to have her on my shift, I knew I was going to have a good day. She kept that kitchen running and things were hardly ever late. I would giggle at her when there was a special request from a customer during the busy part of the morning because she would yell through the window at me “What the hell do they think this is Burger King? This is not have it your way!” Begrudgingly, she would make the special request anyway. If she was particularly chipper, she would offer to make your breakfast for you on your break and hook a sister up!

Anywhoo, back to the how and why. There were a few times I had overslept. Upon waking, the only thing I would think would be:

“Shit! Ingold is gonna be pissed!”

I would jump straight up, throw on my pants, button 4 of the 7 buttons on my shirt, grab my shoes, brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and other “get ready” stuff and run to the car just so I could make it on time. One particular morning I got lots of laughter from her (which was rare) because I showed up at 3:05 am and had all my stuff randomly in my arms and was dropping and picking up things all the way from my car to the door. I was apologetic every step of the way. One sock on, one sock off, she actually told me not to worry that she was in a good mood because of me. This thoroughly confused me because in Ingold time, I was late. I think the that she seen that I was stressing out over her being grouchy more than I was at my appearance at Good God It’s Early in the morning. To be honest, I think that was the first time I did that. After that day, I think I had Miss Ingold on my side and we got along famously. Even when she was grouchy.

She was old then and this was in the mid 1990’s. I moved on and life went on but I thought of her often. I really liked that old Broad. I wonder what has become of her?

What do YOU think?


I Learned My True Color Today

Went fishing this morning with the love of my life. This is why Friday’s are my favorite day of the week. It is my only day off and I get to spend the mornings with my Cal. Today, we decided to drag the entire pond behind the house. It took about 2 hours. I am certain it would have been longer but I have become impatient and I think the storms from the past couple of days have knocked most of the bugs out of the air and washed them off the banks. This feeds the fish and they are not interested in our lures. While it makes for a boring time of fishing, we get to talk and carry on. What is important to me is that we get to spend time together…alone…without the children. Any time we can take to be child-free is precious when you do not trust random people to watch your children and the nearest trustworthy relative is a 4 hour drive away. Yea, I know we have a teenager but our children are like all north ends of a magnet. They cannot get along and do so much better separated.

Ah but I digressed.

My intent is not about children but about fishing. My constant readers and fans know well that I am in an interracial marriage so I can carry on about the “color” jokes sometimes. (Remember how “colored popscicles” got me in trouble and ended up having my supervisor use it to laugh at one of my co-workers? Yea. Like that.) Let me give you some background about how I came to the conclusion “I learned my true color today.”  When you see people do crazy stuff on television, most of the time, it is white people doing X-games stuff or just plain craziness. Outrageous, extraordinary, kill-yourself, stupidity is not something that black folks tend to do. While they do have their own silliness, it is nothing like jumping off the side of a rock cliff in a squirrel suit and hoping you don’t catch a bad wind gust only to become bugsplat on a rock face. Black folk silliness is never anything like that. Also, when you see someone run off scared, they are “white as a ghost.” After this morning, I have found that I am both white as can be as well as black. (Ya, that is honorary, I am an HONORARY black person because I married a Miles and I am still here after 20 years. 🙂 ) It takes a certain kind of person to live with a Miles and have the intestinal fortitude to survive it and stick around. This is why I am confident in my marriage because no one can handle my beloved Cal like me! This man was made just for me! (Yea, I digressed. It is TRUE!)

About halfway around the pond, there are 2 options. You can cross the rock cropping near the end of the pond, or you can go up to the road and cross over the bridge. Being that my fishing license had expired and I was using artificial bait, I did not want to be seen by the game warden or reported by a passerby for walking the bridge holding my fishing pole. I thought it would be best to try to cross the rock cropping. Not long before I had reached the cropping, Cal had lovingly warned me to watch for snakes. I was already doing so, with it being snake season and, we were walking in ankle high grass. I thought I could make it because the rocks were big and I called myself being able to see around them. He was far enough behind me where, even if he said anything, he would not be able to help and there was running water near me that was creating enough background noise that I wouldn’t have heard nothing more than his voice making noise. About halfway down to the inlet where the water was coming into the pond, I looked down and seen the middle of a snake snuggled down in between the rocks about a foot in front of me. Immediately, I did an about face and ran back up the side of the embankment. What took me almost five minutes carefully choosing secure rocks to step on, I confidently say I was out of there and back up on the grass in about  fifteen (15) seconds.

I looked over at Cal and all he did was give me a thumbs up.

Confused, I turned and took the bridge anyway. I safely made it back to the pond’s edge and resumed fishing AFTER my heart stopped racing and trying to jump out of my nose. I can say that the part of the snake I noticed was only about 6 inches long but that sucker was nearly 2-3 inches wide and I could CLEARLY see the scales on that flucker. I was NOT going to hang around to see how long it truly was and I am thankful it was not moving nor that I was able to see either end of it. It can happily stay right were it is in the rock outcropping and continue to bask in the warmth of the rocks from the day before. When Calvin (smartly) came across the bridge and started fishing near my location, he told me what he was thinking as he watched me attempt to walk across the rocks.

“I kept saying to myself…no no no no….don’t go down there in snakeville! No! But the next thing I knew, you got the hell up out of there! What were YOU thinking!”

(Of course I wanted to say ‘HEY! That is MY line!’ but no, I let him have that.)

Now, where do the colors come into play?  I was white for trying to cross the rock outcropping. Only a dumb azz white girl like me would try to do something like that in the middle of the summer when it is blazing hot. Yes, it is in the dead middle of snake season and I should know better. I have nature smarts and I have seen my share of snakes and other critters on previous fishing trips. Duh!  I was black for zipping up the embankment as fast as I did. In my family, it is the black in you that gets you the heck outta dodge whenever something starts to go wrong. A snake? Well, have you ever seen a black american snake charmer? Yeah, me neither.

So yes, I was reminded of my true colors today.  I am definitely white. But on the inside, I am black. However, I can assure you I was “white as a ghost” there for a minute after seeing that snake.

Open Wide

What do YOU think?

SOCS: Information



One of the first things that came to mind was my youngest when I seen the word “information.” Often, said child will provide too much information about the goings on in the bathroom or other stuff that people simply do not share with one another and he is so nonchalant about it. To be honest, it is his personality to just be like that. I think I am the only one he is like that with and I assume it is way of showing that he trusts me beyond what words can….describe.

This leads me on to telling people…TALK AND LISTEN TO YOUR CHILDREN!  No two children are alike and they all have their silly little ways to let you know something. Most kids will come right out and tell you what they are feeling or what is going on. Others will “show” you. However, it is often the child that is so subtle that is the one who is ignored or feels they are not important enough or are labelled as “quiet.” No. Wrong. They are just expressing themselves in a way that is unlike the majority of children. The quiet ones are always there, observant, and may even have something important to say but they want their one on one time and actually prefer a true conversation with their parent. Many of these children will simply wait for mom or dad to become “unbusy.” If they never do, then they (inwardly) feel that they parent is too busy for them and believe that they are not important enough to have their parent sit down and actually talk to them.

Believe it or not parents, your children, even at just-beginning-to-speak age are dying to have  a conversation with you! If they come to you and demand your attention, drop whatever it is you are doing and TALK TO THEM! This teaches them invaluable social skills! I ask my family every day about their day. Even if I was with my kiddos all day, I still have them recap their day. I love to hear their little voices speak to me. Its like music! (I even ask my Cal about his day…everyday!) What they have to say is important to me and I am genuinely interested.

Ok, there is my rant for SOCS.

What do YOU think?

When Inspiration Hits

I have been reflecting on the times I become inspired to write.  We were riding around the beach and I found another alien face. (The Ghost in the Machine.) I remembered when I found the first one. I looked at it. Stopped. Looked at it again. Stared at it even. All of a sudden, I felt the need to take a picture of it. Surprisingly,  I never know the inspiration hit me until after I atake a picture of the thing. Its almost as if inspiration needs a visual confirmation that it’s presence is valid.

As always, I have someone with me who looks at me bewildered when I have that momentary sideways stare at something. It always happens at strange times. Also, as soon as the picture is snapped, I feel compelled to explain myself.

“I have to write about that.”

What do YOU think?


This world was designed to be a host for a habitat of pure consumers. Not only do they forage the forests, beaches, mountains, and deserts for sustenance; they feed off each other. Like leeches from the black riverbed, they find the weak or a target and suck them dry. It doesn’t matter if it is a life giving tree or a vulture (devourer of death.) They all take and consume.

Humans do it without remorse. In an effort to control that inate desire, these people are medicated and set to roam free umong us. The sheeple.  The unkowing. I am not saying we all are juat waiting to be picked off. Reality? There are few who fit that demographic. The rest of us are just biding our time until we can wear the leech skin. 

What happens while we are wearing the sheeple coat is we become unaware. So comfortable in the warmth that we fail. We become blinded and everything that matters turns to mercury and silently slips through our fingers. It’s killing us slowly.  There ia no realization until the damage has been done. While you can try to fix it, the scars remain and it makes you more deadly.

It makes you the one in the crowd with the white mask and pencil thin moustache. It makea you dangerous. We did an experiment in science 102 in college. I dont remember the topic but it involved controlled burning of trees and the survival of the fittest. Same concept here people. What that experiment failed to show us was that while the sheeple survive, they are damaged and hurt by those around them. The pain subsides but the scars never heal.

I don’t have any skewed view or digression for you today. Just a seeious observation.

What do YOU think?

The horror. The sacrifices.

We all know Micaa is not a drinker. A couple long island iced teas out of the gallon vodka jug and she is done. (Uh huh. I know wbat I did there.) She also likes to cook whe she is drinking. Hrmm. Maybe that is dangerous. Well, I havent burnt the house down (yet.) I gusless that means I have my Daddy’s genes. I always remember that Daddy had to have his whiskey.  Now I am not that bad off but I can tell you this; when I got older I was afraid to get in thw car with that man if he DIDN’T have a drink or two in him. He was notorious for scaring the bejesus out of my mother. He just ended not being able to drive correctly sober.  I know. This goes against the grain of the law and everything that is morally correct. Sad but true.

Ah, but I digress. Dinner. I like to cook and listen to music when I am partaking of the “tea.” Today, I was cooking spaghetti for me and the kiddos and some seasoned pork neck bones for Cal. Of course this is all last minute and I have to defrost everything. The neck bones were already out on the counter when I got off work so they were technically halfway there. The hamburger, that was another thing. I make an ill fated attempt at defrosting the hamburger. It must have been juicy when we divided it up and put it in the freezer because the end of the tube that I pulled out of the freezer had frozen beef blood caked on it. Thinking ahead, I did not want to have zapped beef blood pooled around my defrosted hamburger and attempted to take the wrapper off. While doing so, the warmth from my fingers started to flake off the frozen plasma. This was turning into a bloody mess (no pun intended.) It got on the wall, the electric skillet, the counter, floor, and my shirt. UGH. MY FAVORITE SHIRT!! I got over it quickly. I was doing laundry too. It will be washed out post haste.

On to the neck bones. They were still frozen together but nothing a pry from a steak knife wont take care of. I put them into the pot I was going to boil them in. Because they were still frozen together, they stood about 6 inches or so above the top of the pot. I filled the pot halfway with water in an attempt to make the prying a bit easier. This is where it became fun. As pieces begrudgingly came off or as I turned the slab this way, or that, the water became bloody from the raw meat. It splashed….into the sink, on the counter, down the front of the cabinets, on the floor, and my shirt. UGH! MY FAVORITE SHIRT!!! AGAIN!

I later found out that it even got on the laundry room door. How? I have no idea! I just remember I kept thinking “Someone is going to think I either work in a slaughter house or I am making sacrifices to some unknown God for unknown reasons. OR….that I was a bit tipsy and had no idea what I was doing. While the latter is CERTAINLY not true, It was horrible because I had to clean that mess up and I don’t do bodily fluids well. I don’t care if it is a pig or a cow or a kid. Bodily fluids = ick.

So I shared my horror of the day with you. Have you ever done anything that should have been a horror movie in the abstract? Tell me!

What do YOU think?

Gas prices are fluid. Hourly.

We had to stop for gas on the way to the grocery store.  We noted one of our frequented gas stations has gas for $1.97. Pssssshhhhh. I’ll take that. Vrrrmmmmm! Up to the gas pump we go. Paid for gas and went on to do our monthly shopping (No sillies, we don’t grocery shop only once a month. We do the main shopping once a month and randomly pick up little stuff. Ah, but I digress.) We took our time; weaving in and out of the shoobs in our grocery store then made our way to the check out. Yes. I said shoobs. We live in the biggest resort city on the eastern seaboard. Shoobs arrive with the warm weather. Big. Fun. Really.

I say the entire outing ran about two hours. We had to pass the same gas station on the way home. Guess what? Gas was now $1.99. (O.o)

Ever since I was a kid, I always noticed gas prices would change first thimg in the morning. This change was late afternoon. How do these stores know when to change the prices. I mean, is there somen pricing God who calls the stores. “Thou shalt change the price of gas” comes the booming voice over the phone. Orrr…there is some magical telegraph machine in the back that comes to life and taps out the new gas price in morse code? Is this why the random mid day change? Orrrr…There is some underground messaging tube connecting all stores where they send carrier moles with the prices on. Ok, maybe that is a bit far fetched in this electronic age. Realistically,  how do they know when they run out of the $2.08 gas and now have to sell $1.99 gas? I thought it was all in the same three tanks under the store.

Is there some blind, bearded, old guy in overalls down there?  (In some movie you should remember, he says “OH THANK GAWD! ” when he realizes his life as a raft paddling oil hop are now over…yup…there’s another..digressed.) I mean does he tap on the ceiling? BANG BANG..”Price change blitches!” Thn the overly snarky happy register person changes the price. Yea. I’ll go with that. Are there other conspiracies I missed?

What do YOU think?

They are watching

The other day, yhe cable company came and did some work on the lines up the street. We all know I wanted to go scream at them and tell them they better not interrupt my internet without telling me first. Lucky for them, I was off that day. This means the sight of the bucket truck with “isp” on the side didn’t give me anxiety attacks. Besides, I was having a great day and was not going to let a silly field tech ruin my day. So ling as my stuff worked when I had to navigate that heckacious hallway traffic and go to work, they can do what they need to do.

This morning, Cal and I went for a morning constitutional
As we rounded the end of the road, we noted the high schoolers were boarding the school bus. Attempting not to “embarass” the grumpy smurf, we walked the other way. Early in the morning, I admire the sky and like to watch the birds flutter from here to therem its just a beautiful thing. As we turned to go the other way, I turned and looked at the cables that the isp was working on just the day before.

(O.o) There is a……FACE….on the cables.


1. “What is THAT?!” I said.
2. **Micaa pulls out phone.**
3. “Come on. What are doing?” Says Cal. “I have to take a picture of that. It has a FACE!”

So I am standing there, taking a picture. Phone all in the air and the bus goes by. I just know I was being stared at. Cal turned to the bus and shrugged his shoulders. I imagine there were about seven teenagers asling the Smurf “What is yo momma doin this time girl?!” I can also envision the Smurf, with her face in her hands, shaking her head from emberassment. She will tell me later that I should have waited. I know. I know. Ah, but I digress. Back to the face. That FACE.

It is watching us. Never mind the city cameras. This confounded thing looks like an ALIEN! Even better, it looks lkke the good robot fro that Will Smith movie ‘irobot’ went and got high and infected the cable lines. OMG!! They have made the CABLES self aware! Its bad enough that the computers and machinescan now watch us (did you know they make an alarm system with a latch key feature to tell you when your kid leaves the house or someone else goes in the perimiter when you are not there? What? Honestly I didn’t think peeps left their minors home alone anymore. Oops. Another digression…) But yea! Now they have to go and make the cabling self aware! I will never look at my beloved phone charger the same way again

Why don’t they just force us to wear iris cameras and mark every move we make. That is where its going. At least until Blaine and Patricia come along and begin to destroy the paths to the Beam. (In case you didn’t know, that was a terrible, inaccurate reference to the 11.5 books by Stephen King so lovingly referred to as “The Gunslinger Series.” If you have a complete few weeks of your life to totally become…you should check it out.

What do YOU think?

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