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Easter March 31, 2024
Tag Archives: Entertainment
A Great Idea
Make a Photo-Book
Here’s a great idea Choose favorite pictures, saved on your phone over the past year, and make a photo-book. There are many companies, some more popular than others, but the one I used can upload them to your phone. I can’t tell you how because my granddaughter-in-law made the magic happen.
I have to confess it took me hours and hours to do the rest, and than hours to use the sale voucher I purchased, but it was worth it.
I received the book today.
I don’t take many pictures, so I had to beg, borrow, and steal from other places. But, next year I’ll think about making a book as I take pictures throughout 2024.
It’s hard to believe there are only 65 days left in the year.
…just saying
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The Letter K
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A Victory Garden
Smithsonian Library Cultivating America’s Garden
Last week’s discussion explored the silliness of buying and discarding plastic, and how to STOP. Reader’s comments that they reuse glass jars instead, does make more sense and I’ve adopted the practice.
My friend, Pat, suggested buying laundry detergent sheets on line. She’s mentioned this before, and now I’m ready to listen. Those huge plastic containers are difficult to lift, store, and estimates say; take 450 years to decompose in a landfill. Carol, my Wordle consort, said fabric softener sheets are the way to go.
Clean People offers both laundry and softener sheets at reasonable prices on line.
But when Johanna quoted a daughter-in-law’s plea “TO SAVE THE PLANET,” I conjured numerous images in my head. Eleanor Roosevelt was among them, and although she crusaded for many causes her Victory Garden stands out for me.
“Victory gardens (originally called war gardens or liberty gardens) made their first appearance during World War I (1914–1918). President Woodrow Wilson called on Americans to plant vegetable gardens to ward off the possible threat of food shortages. Americans took up the challenge as a civic and patriotic duty.”
The idea wasn’t new, but Eleanor gave it momentum because people began one by one to plant a garden. And nosy neighbors, not wanting to be unpatriotic planted one too.
“In 1943, with World War II underway, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt had a victory garden planted on the front lawn of the White House—just one of the millions of victory gardens planted that year. Staged photographs in seed catalogs and instructional manuals often showed women and children tending victory gardens. The message: abundant yields were possible for any aspiring gardener. Today, the Smithsonian’s Victory Garden flourishes on the 12th Street side of the National Museum of American History. In the summer, the garden showcases heirloom varieties of flowers and vegetables that were available to gardeners during World War II.”
There are numerous Save the Planet organizations. All of them do good work, but none have resulted in a grass roots effort to get us to STOP USING PLASTIC. Perhaps. . .you and me can spread the word.
. . . just saying
P.S. Don’t look to me for a Victory Garden, in Florida our soil is sand, and if the deer don’t eat it, a rabbit or bug will.
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What Are You Reading?
Nothing Like a Good Book Have you read one lately? Hello Beautiful by Ann Napotitan, promises to be a good read, and I’m on the wait list for a copy. I like to hold a book in my hands, although … Continue reading
No Time To Write
Optokentic and Optomobility
It’s true . . . I really don’t have time to write.
Today, the one hundredth and twenty-fifth day of the year, is a typical example.
Having slept well, I woke chipper and chanting, thank you God. Then, prepared coffee and my favorite breakfast, an English muffin with cherry jelly. I gathered my phone; computer, clipboard and the right pen and pencil, and sat outside to enjoy the morning air and Wordle.
On the first attempt, I had 3 correct letters, none in the right place. One hour later, I had 3 letters in their right spot, but was still missing two correct letters. So, I asked my husband for help. However, we were interrupted when a pint of blueberries fell to the kitchen floor. Sweeping them up was like playing blueberry pool, and yes, I rinsed and put them in the box. None of them had been squashed.
I can’t remember what time it was but, a downpour occurred, and I scurried outside to retrieve my phone, computer, clipboard and right pen and pencil from being soaked.
I was frazzled and hadn’t brushed and flossed, yet.
Do you own a toothbrush recommended by your dentists with a timer? I live in fear of his eyebrows being raised on my next visit.
Another reason I don’t have time to write is doctor’s appointments.
For years I believed Vertigo and/or sinus infections were the cause of my incurable balance issues. Turns out, it’s not just vertigo that causes my wobble walk, but Optokentic and Optomobility.
What is that?
To put in layman talk . . .dancing eyes. I my case, it’s my right eye that flutters and sends a mixed message to my brain. Consequently, my legs don’t know which way to go.
The cure? Watching Youtube videos of strolling through a grocery store or Muir Woods, without moving my head.
I am optimistic there will be some relief.
The last reason I don’t have time to write?
I have an editor/publisher for Morningside Drive, the novel I have been working on for ten years!
. . . just saying
P.S. I hope things are going well at your house.
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De-cluttering
The Days of My Life Series
One night last week I could not sleep. Well, that is not totally true. I slept until 4:30 am and could not get back to sleep; probably because the handy-man was coming to install more shelving in the closets. So, I got out of bed at 5:30am.
Since I was up so early there was time to do the daily Wordle, before emptying the closets. I am hooked on the word game. Now I have something to look forward to in the morning. However, I debate whether to press play before my first cup of coffee, or wait until later in the day. Once it is done, the thrill is gone. . .though the satisfaction lingers. My friend, Pat, said she has gotten out of bed at 12:01am to play. Sounds like an addiction, that might be called wordling.
Please, tell me your thoughts and Wordle techniques.
Let me go back to the shelving, which cost more ($500.) than the labor, but was well worth the expense. Now I have every single cleaning product in one place. I know where my winter coats are and an extra shelf in the primary bedroom for storage. The garage attic, although pathetically small, is empty. I still have stuff to get rid of, like six boxes of photo albums. Nobody is dying anytime soon, but I don’t want my clutter to be someone else’s headache.
. . . just saying
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An April Fools Joke
Flash Fiction
An April Fools Joke
Today, crisp cool air mingles with a blazing sun as I leave my minuscule apartment on Lexington Ave. The weather has been dreary. This morning is glorious.
Around noon, I stop for lunch at a typical outdoor New York café; the tables are round and small; the metal chairs look uncomfortable, but are not when I sit.
A waiter fills my water glass, and announces he will be my server. The menu choices are unexpectedly appealing; fennel quiche, gazpacho soup, and more.
I take time ordering.
The man on my left, glances my way. His thick blond hair is sun streaked and he looks familiar, a little like my friend, Sam.
Groomed brows frame his eyes. Carefully pressed gray slacks, and a wrinkle-free dress shirt complete his polished look.
I sit back to wait for my meal and people watch; New Yorker’s enjoying the sun, walking and talking loud. A biker babe dressed in leather, pushes a doggie stroller. The dog wears goggles and rests his paws on the bar celebrity style. I laugh aloud.
My order comes, and the man who looks like Sam stares in my direction, again. His eyes searching, and as the tables fill up, the man gives a knowing nod my way, and conceals a smile.
He faces me, but, I can’t tell if he is looking at me, or not.
Behind me a couple seat themselves, and I refrain from turning around. They create a stir dragging empty chairs across the concrete and arranging shopping bags, and I realize the man who looks like Sam is studying them.
When the waiter takes my empty plate, I order a Cappuccino and the ‘Chocolate – Chocolate’ cake, and listen to the couple’s banter, intrigued.
The woman protests, “I didn’t make you come here, you said it was your favorite restaurant.”
The man responds, “Eve, you’re the one who claimed the food was something else.”
“You loved the zucchini mushroom quiche, and what about the gazpacho soup? You raved!”
“No, you never listen; I said the quiche was good if you like quiche. And the soup ‘the best’ Gestapo!” His words are slow and deliberate. He gets up. “I’m going to the men’s room.”
His voice sounds like Victor’s, and I look.
Sam rushes to fill his empty seat, firing off questions, “What’s going on? You said you would be at here 12 o’clock, alone.”
Coyly, Eve removes her Hollywood style sunglasses, checks her diamond wristwatch, leans forward, and whispers, “Oh, my, it is past noon, isn’t it.” Playing with her neckline she continues. “Victor’s golf was cancelled. When he learned I was coming to the city, he said he was coming.” She shakes her head and says misty eyed. “He’s my husband. I couldn’t persuade him otherwise. We’ll do it next time.”
Sam laughs, “You think me a fool, Eve; there are other restaurants in town! Why lunch here? There won’t be a next time.”
“Next time . . . answer your cell, damn it!” She shouts after him.
The husband returns. A tan complements his brown eyes, perfect Roman nose, and romantic lips. Approaching the table, his aloof expression becomes surprise, as our eyes meet.
He is my Victor, and my heart pounds.
Sitting across from his wife, he tucks in a cloth napkin. “Who was that? You seem upset. Is everything alright?”
Eve clears her throat, forces a smile, and explains, “Someone who goes to my gym. It’s nothing. I’m tired, and sorry. Sorry we had words.” She reaches across the table to take her husband’s hand, “Can we forget it?”
Eve appears confident and why not? I’m the other woman.
I play with the raspberry sauce on and mush the the ‘Chocolate-Chocolate’ cake.
I stop at the couple’s table when leaving and smile, “Victor, What a surprise to see you and your wife.”
As I walk away, Eve asks, “Who’s is that? You seem upset. Is everything alright?”
. . . . just saying
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An Eye Opener
The Days of My Life Series
Yesterday was an eye opener. Not just because it was the 83rd day of the year and there are only 282 days left, but. . . because I fell.
Thankfully, I wasn’t seriously hurt and able to get up. However, I’m now calculating the days until I fall and can’t get up.
I’ll be 75 this year. In five years or 1,825 days I’ll be 80. This isn’t new math. You get the picture.
The other issue is that every day something else occurs, like. . . someone backs into my car in a store parking lot, or my Facebook account is hacked. . . again. One day my social security 1099 form was accidentally shredded and I drove 30 miles to the closest office and waited in line outside for a very, very long time to get a duplicate. It’s as though I playing Monopoly and keep landing on Chance.
I would rather be writing, than on hold attempting to reorder the toothbrush charger I’ve missed placed. It’s hidden somewhere in my house. I just can’t remember where, and none of the 20 other chargers or adapters I find, fit.
But not to be side tracked, how did I fall?
Well, it was 6:30 am and I was sleeping peacefully, when my Tandem insulin pump alerted me wake up and drink juice. I knew where the kitchen was in the dark. So, I walked with my eyes closed, attempting not to wake myself. Except there was a crash, and I found myself laying across an opened dishwasher. It was an eye opener and I cursed like a banshee.
Why was the dishwasher open with the bottom rack pulled out at the crack of dawn?
Well, I’d rather not talk about it, and another something that pulled me away from a day of writing.
Anyway, I’m thankful; I could get up, didn’t have a fork stuck in my nose and had not been woken by a Russian bomb dropped on my house.
. . . just saying
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The View
The Days of My Life Series She wore unhappy clothes and her hair hugged her face beneath a hood. Even the dog she walked seemed forlorn. I watched her through the front window of our breakfast nook, daily. Frequently, she … Continue reading
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