Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our prompt is FLIMSY. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Once again I’m about 20 words over. Sorry.
Moving swiftly along the sidewalk, Jerome reached the door and knocked. It swung open as if made of flimsy particle board and not the heavy oak once used to build the Viking ships that had traded with the island.
“Halo?”
He pushed the door open wider and stopped, stunned to see the level of destruction inside what he would’ve expected to be a strangely decorated but somewhat tidy abode.
Nothing was burned, but there were scorch marks everywhere. Anything made of glass was no longer recognizable, smashed into hundreds of pieces, but those shards were fused together in multicolored lumps.
What could possibly have wreaked such destruction? His level of anxiety rose as he looked around the main room where the sorceress would’ve greeted her customers. He inhaled, the aroma of sulfur strong as if the Gates of Hell had opened inside the place and shut again.
“Bronagh?” he called, eying the mess before him, but there was no answer.
He shut the door behind him and stepped toward the doorway of one of the two rooms off the main one. Looking around what would’ve been the kitchen, he noted the same level of destruction, the plates, bowls, cups, and saucers all smashed.
Bending down, he picked up a spoon, the metal twisted and distorted in a way he’d never seen. The pots on what had to have been the stove suggested she’d been making a meal, but given the rancid odor coming from the floor, it would’ve been a few days ago.
“Bronagh? It’s Jerome Morrison. You knew my mother. She brought me here once, I’m sure of it.”
Silence. His gut tightened. Moving out of the kitchen, he went into the third room in the house, expecting to find a simple bedroom with perhaps a bath. Like the other rooms, the destruction in here was total, every stick of furniture blasted into bits the size of matchsticks. The far wall was gone, revealing what must’ve been Bronagh’s work area.
In the center of the room lay an octagonal iron box, the only item not destroyed. It had two side pieces attached to it, but their purpose was lost on him. The entire thing appeared to be no more than six inches long. He bent to pick it up, yanking his hand away. The box was colder than anything he’d ever touched, and his fingertips showed signs of frostbite.
The mark on his chest throbbed.
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Good morning! The neighbor’s cat has found an unusual place to take a nap this morning. The birds aren’t thrilled, and you can hear them chittering in the background, but she doesn’t care. Cats sleep wherever they like.
Well, after a less than spectacular start to spring with an April snowstorm, it seems as if it’s allowing summer to move in early. At the start of the week, we had temperatures in the 90 degree range with our first official heat warning, followed by thunderstorm watches, that were little more than rain showers. The temperatures are cooler this weekkend, but we’ll be back in the high seventies and eighties by mid-week. We’ve got one more week of spring and then, come June 20, it’ll be summer. Days are longer and warmer, we see the sun more often and while it still rains, it’s good for the flowers and the grass.
While it took spring a long time to arrive, when it did, it did so with a vengeance. My perennials aren’t usually this lush at this time of the year. The problem with that is that early growth means they’ll probably all be done by August. A couple of years ago, I made the decision not to plant annuals in the ground but to leave them in pots and place them around the perrenials. These pictures were taken two weeks ago. As you can see, the ferns, hostas, and other greenery are quite healthy. I sincerely hope they last the summer.
My health hasn’t been the best lately since the arthritis has flared up, but I’m not going to let it ruin my summer. My granddaughter, Georgia, helped with clearing away the bulk of the weeds while I planted my pots.
And speaking of doing the best I can, I’m getting ready to go on a short vacation later this month. It’s a bus tour down east. We’ll stop in New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and take a five-hour ferry over to Les Iles de la Madeleine, an archipelago in the province of Quebec, and spend our last night in Quebec City, one of my favorite destinations.
I will eat fresh seafood to my heart’s content. While I’ve been to the Maritimes before, including Newfoundland with a side trip to the French islands of St Pierre and Miquelon, this will be the first time visiting the archipelago. The weather won’t be warm, with the temperature hovering just below 60F, but it’s expected to be sunny. here’s what I plan to see. Here’s a taste of what I hope to see for you to enjoy.
Finally, I’m trying a new cover for Tequila Sunrise, the first book in my Cocktails for You series. For some reason, I can’t seem to hit on a marketing strategy for these books, and the new cover is an attempt to generate interest. I lowered the price of the ebook, it’s in KU so it’s availbale that way, too. I added a subtitle, Tequila Sunrise: A playful second chance at love beachfront romance (Cocktails For You) and redid the blurb.
Kelly Winters, a recreational spaces designer, gets her big break when she’s chosen to represent her firm on Conway Enterprise’s latest resort construction. The problem is the job’s in Mexico, and she’s terrified of flying.
While her plane is delayed, she discovers that Liam Conway, a man she met ten years ago and left without an explanation, will be her seatmate. Can things get any worse, especially when she falls asleep and drools all over him?
But Liam is willing to forget the past and leaves her with a blazing kiss at the airport and a promise to keep in touch.
The last thing she expects is to have him come to her rescue in a Mexican restaurant when she makes the wrong food choice and her throat and mouth are on fire.
Her imagination soars with visions of sun, fun, and sex with her savior, the sexiest man alive, but it all comes to a crashing halt when she realizes Liam is also her new boss.
A little tequila leads to more than dancing, but will their second chance office romance sizzle or fizzle when the job is done? Here’s hoping this will improve sales.
Each book in the series is based onthe name of a particular cocktail, some better known than others. I started the series during COVID wanting to work on something light that would make people laugh. Anyone who’s read the books has enjoyed them. I just need to figure out how to attarct a larger audience.
Well, that’s all I have to share with you this week. Hopefully, the weather won’t be as unsettled and we can all enjoy our last week of spring and look forward to the summer months.
June 5 question – In this constantly evolving industry, what kind of offering/service do you think the IWSG should consider offering to members?
To be honest, I’m not sure how to answer this question. I suppose I use the IWSG simply as a means of reaching other authors struggling to make a name for themselves. I usually visit only once a month to post a comment on the month’s question, check out other authors’ posts, and comment on the comments I get on mine.
With that said, before I recommend ideas, I’ll make a point of visiting the site more often and reading what’s available. Today I read about opening lines and paragraphs, something I found informative. Thank you for being here and giving me a voice.
Welcome to June and this week’s Tuesday Tales where a small group of authors share excerpts from their works in progress with you. Our word prompt this week is GUT and I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Apologies since I’m a few words over. Enjoy!
Turning off the taps, Jerome toweled dry, the strange sensation persisting, as if he didn’t belong in his own skin. He shook his head. This line of thought was absurd. No doubt, it was the result of not getting enough sleep. It couldn’t have anything to do with Na Fir Chlis last night.
He’d been to the stones several times when the aurora had danced across the sky and fed them. Was that the problem? He didn’t recall ever absorbing as many rays as he had last night. Frowning, he tied the towel around his waist. Would Marina feel off kilter today, too? She’d absorbed a great deal of energy last night. In his mind’s eye, he saw her glittering before him, her body a mass of minute star fragments pulsing with energy. Everything had seemed perfect until … The kiss … if only he could’ve held on to his self-control a few minutes longer. Had he ruined the fragile relationship they’d forged?
Don’t apologize.
Her words echoed inside his head once more, just as they had followed him down the hallway until he’d returned to his room.
Stepping over to the basin, he stood in front of the mirror to shave and gasped. In the center of his chest, covering his heart and the site of the pain he’d experienced earlier was a pentagram. Drawn in black ink, within its center stood a slight, circular red mark, roughly the size of a one-pound coin, that seemed to get lighter as he stared at it, until it disappeared, leaving only the surrounding image of the five-pointed star in its wake.
He massaged his temples, his gut tightening as he tried to make sense of what he saw. He’d never wanted a tattoo, but had he decided to get one, this most certainly was not the one he would’ve chosen. Looking at it more closely, he realized that the ink wasn’t fresh as if the tattoo were old and had always been there, which made even less sense. Was he seeing things? Was he losing his mind? Perhaps he was still dreaming?
Knowing it was a futile act but needing to try, he grabbed the loofah he used in the shower, covered it with soap, and scrubbed at the design on his chest. As he’d suspected, nothing happened. If this strange mark was permanent, who had put it there and how had they done so?
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
I broke a wine glass last night. It was one of my favorites, a perfect match to the one on the left, and I loved it. Woe is me! It was also half-full of white wine and ice. It didn’t simply break at the stem. No, the glass shattered into at least twenty pieces, some large, others mere shards. It doesn’t help that the family room where the television is located is in the basement. Beneath the flooring is a good, old-fashioned cement floor.
Why did I break the glass? It certainly wasn’t because I wanted to or that I was angry. It wasn’t because I’d had too much to drink or wasn’t paying attention. It was simply an accident, one of many I’ve had in the last couple of years as my arthritis gets worse.
Could I have prevented this? I don’t know, but since both of my parents had it, it’s doubtful. Have I waited too long to seek medical attention? Maybe, not because it costs me anything, but because, with COVID 19 and my mother’s failing health, I wanted to avoid exposure to others and the long waits to see the doctor. Now that the virus is more or less under control and my mother is gone, I had no excuse.
With an appointment, I waited an hour, and by noon, I’d had a number of X-rays, blood tests, urine tests, and an EKG. Pretty efficient I’d say. The blood work is in, and there’s nothing of great concern. Now, I wait for the other results.
So, what happened last night? I reached for the bowl of the glass with my hot little hand, but my thumb, the digit that supposedly sets me apart from the other animals on this planet, refused to do its job and securely clasp the glass. What good is an opposable thumb if the damn thing doesn’t work?
According to the Museum of Natural History, opposable thumbs are a charactetistic shared by all primates, but the human hand is unique. The human opposable thumb is longer, compared to finger length, than any other primate thumb. This long thumb and its ability to easily touch the other fingers allow humans to firmly grasp and manipulate objects of many different shapes. Right!
Sadly, mine no longer works properly. In the picture on the right, my hand is open as wide as it gets. If I join the tip of my thumb to the tip of my index finger, I get a lovely D, not the O that indicates a healthy thumb. Note the way my wrist is also swollen. It’s also loaded with arthritis, as are every major joint in my body. Believe me. This is not something I hoped for since there’s no cure. Does it hurt? All the time, but some days are worse than others. Luckily, I’ve adapted the way I use the computer to meet this disability, so its impact on my writing is minimal, but the rest of my lifestyle is about to undergo major changes. Am I happy about it? No, since each minor accident, like last night’s glass, reminds me that sooner or later, I could end up unable to travel or do many of the things I enjoy.
In the meantime, what can I do, beyond accepting my situation? I can adapt and compromise, the other qualities sentient beings have that sets them apart from the animals. I now carry a cane when I leave the house, both for balance and security. I limit the distance I walk, having gone from a minimum of 10,000 steps a day only three years go to something more manageable that doesn’t leave me in agony. Some days, I’ll come close to those 10,000 steps; on others, I’ll be lucky to manage 2,500. I’ve given up trying to do my own housework, except laundry, and pay someone to come in every two weeks. With just the two of us here, the house doesn’t get all that dirty. I’ve exchanged my fluffy slippers for sturdy indoor shoes that keep my feet, knees, and legs resonably straight and invested in new slip-on Sketchers. My old sandals have been replaced, and I’ve waived bye-bye to all of my heels. I also make a point of getting up from my desk and moving around every time my Smart watch tells me to do so. If I don’t, I stiffen up and that’s far from pleasant.
My granddaughter came over last weekend and helped me get my flowerbeds ready. While she weeded, I sat and took care of my many planters–easier to put a flower pot among the perrenials than plant in the ground. In July, my bathroom is being renovated to include a walk-in therapeutic tub, comfort level toilet, and a new basin and cabinets. If I want to stay in my home, in time I may need to considerer a stair-glide, but I can still see the scene from Gremlins when the old lady flew out the window, so that makes me a touch nervous. In a few weeks, I’ll have a handicap sticker for the car, too.
There are other things to consider. I’m extremely careful when using the stove, limiting myself to my smallest, lightest pots. The cast-iron pans were given away years ago. I replaced my bone china with lightweight dishwasher safe dishes, and this morning I ordered unbreakable wine glasses. Everything I buy from front-closure bras to underwear needs to be purchased with an “how difficult will it be to put this on?” attitude. No more wrestling with pantyhose. If I can’t go bare-legged, I’ll wear slacks.
I may be getting old and crippled, but I’m damn stubborn, too, and far from ready to give up traveling and having fun. Will I be going bungy-jumping? No, but a Caribbean cruise next summer sounds lovely.
As the song says, the heat is on. It’s actually been warm enough to plant my flower baskets and clean my gardens. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the blog where a small group of authors share weekly posts from the works in progress with you. I’ve been working on Listen to the Stones for months now, and the story is slowly coming to a close. Today’s excerpt is from a letter Marina’s uncle left her with his lawyer. It doesn’t provide her with all the answers, but it’s a start. To understand the present and the future, one needs to know the past. Enjoy!
Marina, engrossed in her great-uncle’s letter, settled herself more comfortably against the pillows and read on.
Our ancestor, a man not without healing powers of his own, abilities he kept well hidden, recognized that Callum MacLeod wasn’t long for this world. He offered to keep him alive and help him escape so that he could die with dignity at home. In exchange, he asked for sanctuary and a piece of land he could call his own.
The MacLeod agreed and escaped what would’ve been a painful, indignant death. As his reward, Callum officially and legally granted Rupert Fraser the lands we know as the Fraser estate today, but with one condition. He and his descendants would assume the guardianship of the sacred stones on the edge of the property since Callum, having no sons of his own did not trust his daughters’ husbands.
His boon caused quite a stir, but Fraser kept his promise, and the MacLeod lived to a ripe old age. After his death, the daughters tried to overturn the land grant but failed. Without the power from the stones, what was left of the MacLeod clan gradually disappeared. The stones took back what they’d given them. Don’t allow it to happen to you. When you arrive, you’ll be weak, but the gods will know what you need and see to it that you get it. No matter what happens after that, you must feed with the stones regularly and protect them until the date arrives to free them.
When I became laird, I assumed that responsibility without realizing the cost of doing so. I was in pain, having lost a part of myself when my brother died and still reeling from the agony of losing Alice all those years ago. I failed in my duty to the stones. In my own way, I sought to keep them safe by keeping them secret, but it is no longer enough. The stones are in danger, and if anything damages them, the spirits encased in them will be destroyed, too, never given a chance to be reborn and live again. Your future and the future of the island itself will be destroyed. The time has come for the spirits to be released, and you are the one who has the power to do so. If you fail…
“Damn it, Raven. The ink is smudged. How am I supposed to know what to do?”
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Welcome back to Tuesday Tales, the place where a small group of authors share their works in progress with you. Each scene is based on a word prompt. Today’s word is LEG. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.
Marina locked her suite door once more, but instead of stepping away from it, she leaned her back against it before slowly letting her legs buckle and sliding to the floor.
What had just happened?
There had been something wondrous and magical about the Aurora Borealis, something unique and invigorating. She’d sensed an energy, so much stronger than what she’d felt at Stonehenge or at the Avebury Circle, but this had been more than a simple static electrical charge. She’d recognized love and joy, power and purpose in the delicate force that had somehow drenched her as the beams touched her. Glittering? It wouldn’t surprise her. Every inch of her body had tingled. She’d been alive in a way she’d never felt before, especially when Jerome had held her, and she’d felt his heartbeat attuned to hers. It had been as if they were the only two people in the world, created specifically for that moment in time.
If ever she’d doubted the wisdom of coming here, those few minutes bathed in the energy from the lights convinced her that she was right where she needed to be, here at Fraser Hall. The threats were mere nuisances. They didn’t matter. There were forces at play who would protect her and keep her safe. She might not understand any of this, but she was 100 percent sure of it.
And Jerome? That was another matter. His kiss had transported her back into the arms of the lover in her dreams, convincing her that somehow the archeologist was the man she loved, the man she’d dreamed of, the man she was destined to be with–the man who’d tried to buy her inheritance from Angus. Damn! Why was everything so confusing?
And yet the kiss had been everything that she remembered, everything that she craved, and everything she suddenly recalled, only better, more vibrant, and real … so real.
The sensation of her fingers running through his hair, the taut muscles on his shoulders, the slight beard as smooth as silk against her skin. It was exactly as it should be, and yet hadn’t his hair been longer? His arms around her were strong and solid, but had they been more muscular? Still, when his body hardened, she’d been ready to give in to him until the scream had pierced her consciousness and forced her to pull away.
She could still hear the cry of anguish and fury echoing inside her head.
No! Not him! Me! You must choose me!
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is GLUE. If you’ve been following these posts from Listen to the Stones, the story has moved on. I’ve been working on it, and I’ve finished several chapters since the last snippet I gave you. These images were said to have been taken in Montpelier, New Hampshire and showed up on my feed over the weekend from Northern Lights Alert. They suited this scene perfectly. Enjoy!
“Oh my God!” Marina cried, her eyes glued to the sky. “It’s … it’s magnificent. I knew it would be amazing, but I never suspected … Look at that. It’s a rose, and that’s a bird. There’s a cat on the left. And look at what’s happening there.”
She pointed to a spot just above where the stones were located. The lights grew in size and brightness until they formed the shape of a phoenix, the mythical bird reborn from its own ashes. The phoenix enlarged, each aspect of his body clearer and better defined, the individual feathers so magnificent that it felt as if you could reach up and touch them.
Suddenly, it exploded into a myriad of colors and abstract shapes, raining down on them and the surrounding landscape. He could’ve sworn one of the shapes in the distance resembled the stone he’d always considered his muse.
Marina trembled, and he took the opportunity to pull her into his arms.
“Are you cold? I can get my coat—”
“I’m fine.” She made no effort to move away from him and nestled into him the way the kitten snuggled into her. “I’m just excited.” She giggled softly, almost as if embarrassed by her response to the show. “I’ve never seen anything this beautiful, wonderful, or amazing. I mean I’ve seen pictures and videos of the Aurora Borealis, but they didn’t prepare me for the incredible power and majesty. Can you feel it? It’s as if they’re pouring energy into me, into us. I felt something similar but much milder at Stonehenge. When can you take me to see the stones?”
His heart screamed now, but his common sense warned him that might not be wise. Better to wait for daylight in case there were other nasty surprises out there waiting for her.
He turned Marina toward him before he answered, wanting to see her face, stunned when he did. She glowed as if she’d been dipped in glitter.
“You’re … you’re sparkling.”
“Really?” She grinned. “The lights must be reflecting off my skin since you’re a little shiny, too. When can you take me to see the stones?” she repeated. “I forgot to mention it earlier, but Ewen said there shouldn’t be a problem converting that empty croft for you if you still want it. I understand that it’s closer to the stones than the Hall.”
That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Today is Mother’s Day in Canada. It’s an annual holiday where our spouses and offspring are supposed to celebrate all the blood, sweat, and tears that go into being a mother. In the pictrue on the left, that’s me and my mother taken 66 years ago. How I hated what I referred to as my Elmer Fudd hat, but now, I realize it was better than the green feathered thing she wore. Maybe this is where my lifelong hatred of hats comes from. Mom loved them. Of course back then, women had to have their heads covered in church and we attended regularly. But now, I don’t have to wear a hat, I attend church most Sundays on my computer, something that started during the pandemic and continues although I do make a personal appearance for the big days. But not today.
This Mother’s day is different for me because I no longer have a mother to celebrate. She died in February. So, instead of visiting her and bringing her flowers or a plant, I’ll be dropping by the cemetery to say a quick hello. I’ll bring new flowers to decorate the faceplate on the niche in the columbarium, spend a few minutes staring at the name, maybe even shed a tear or two, and then I’ll tell her I love her, but she won’t respond with an “I love you too, Sue.” There won’t be any hugs or kisses, just a simple walking away and getting back in the car.
Then, I’ll spend the day recalling the good memories I have of her. She had the darkest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. They sparkled with humor at times, but when she was angry they were so stormy they were almost black. As the years crept closer to the end and her mind wandered, I could tell by looking at her eyes whether or not she was with me or in her fantasy world.
She was 96 when her body started to fail her and her grasp on reality got more tenuous and while our last vists together weren’t the greatest, she always knew me, and when our time together came to an end, I would say, “Love you, Mom.” and she would answer, “Love you too, Sue.” Those are the words I’ll miss today.
Happy Mother’s Day to all who celebrate. This was one of Mom’s favorite songs since it had a version of her name in it.
Good morning. Got my exercise this morning as you can see and now, after I recover, I’ll get to work doing more laundry and writing the final chapters of Listen to the Stones.
This week was a busy one for me. Tuesday, I spent the day at a track meet. I wore a hat but still managed to get sunburned ears. My grandkids all did very well in their events and will be moving up to the next level of competition. Wednesday, I had breakfast out with my sister–love the Mexican omelets at Stacks. Thursday morning, I got the final visit for a quote for my bathroom reno and then went to do groceries. We would be rich if we didn’t have to eat! In the afternoon, I audited an online course on how to write better blurbs. I’ll decide which book blurb to work on to test it out. Which brings me to today.
There are lots of things to blog about, but I enjoy picking out things that come across my feed and today’s choice is a bunch of random questions which I’ve commented on. If you have answers, feel free to share!
Why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard when he lives in the jungle without a razor? Excellent point. He’s an Englishmen. They are usually quite capable of growing beards. Look at Robinson Crusoe.
Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are flat? I do this, but don’t ask me why. Changing the batteries works much better.
Why do banks charge a fee on ‘insufficient funds’ when they know there is not enough? Isn’t this a lot like trying to get blood from a stone?
Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets? To be able to hear instructions on when and where to immolate themselves. Why else?
Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but check when you say the paint is wet? Four billion is just a number, but you could be lying about the paint. It might’ve dried.
Whose idea was it to put an ‘S’ in the word ‘lisp’? Onomatopoeia of course!
What is the speed of darkness? According to Muhammad Ali, “I’m so fast that last night I turned off the light switch in my hotel room and was in bed before the room was dark.”
Why is it that people say they ‘slept like a baby’ when babies wake up every two hours? Not all babies wake up that often. Once they sleep through the night, it’s bliss.
If the temperature is zero outside today and it’s going to be twice as cold tomorrow, how cold will it be? Probably below zero, but that’s a math question, and I suck at math.
Do married people live longer than single ones or does it only seem longer? Depends on whether or not the marriage is a happy one.
How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage? Women weren’t in charge of that department.
Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money in binoculars to look at things on the ground? I don’t look at the ground, I look at the skyline in the distance, but I’m weird that way.
Did you ever stop and wonder… I do but that’s usually when I forget why I came into the kitchen.
Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, ‘I think I’ll squeeze these pink dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out?’ I don’t know, but I’d rather meet that guy than the one who looked inside the oyster and said, ‘hey, that looks good to eat.‘
Who was the first person to say, ‘See that chicken there… I’m gonna eat the next thing that comes outta it’s bum.’ For the sake of argument, I’ll assume he saw another animal eat it and figured that if it’s good enough for him, it can’t be that bad. What I’d like to know is who decided that coffee beans that pass through some monkey’s gut are better than those that don’t.
Why do toasters always have a setting so high that could burn the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat? Hubby loves burned toast. The smell makes me think I’m having a seizure. I like my bread barely toasted at all.
Why is there a light in the fridge and not in the freezer? One of life’s mysteries, but I can find the tub of ice cream in the dark.
Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but don’t point to their bum when they ask where the bathroom is? Sign language! And as for looking for the bathroom, haven’t you seen those doing the pee-pee dance?
Why does your Gynaecologist leave the room when you get undressed if they are going to look up there anyway? Needs to keep his or her eyes on the prize. LOL
Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours? They’re both dogs! Better trainer! Goofy can talk, too.
If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests? The obvious answer is testicals.
If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, then what is baby oil made from? 98 % mineral oil and 2 % fragrance and meant to be used on babies to keep their skin soft, but old people use it too–and for a variety of things. They needed the fancier name since no one would pay more for the 2% fragrance, since you can buy mineral oil.
If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons? Some of them think it does.
Why do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Baa Baa Black Sheep have the same tune? Easier to remember and hum when the baby won’t got to sleep at 3:00 a.m.
Stop singing and read on…
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog’s face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window? I don’t like it if the dog blows in my face–bad breath. At least the air outside the window is cool and fresh.
Does pushing the elevator button more than once make it arrive faster? Of course. Isn’t that why we all do it?
Copied and pasted from someone who also copied and pasted
Living the Dream 