Beyond

 

And safely lured back out to sea.¬† ūüôā

Here¬† (There’s a much longer version on Facebook, via LADbible.)

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It’s rather deflating..

The only (pleasant) thing that came to mind after reading today’s word prompt, “Carousel” is the song by the Hollies, which is the kind of¬†cute I¬†really like¬†(like the Cowsills’ flower girl song),¬†and is harmonized so well.

Indeed, there was something unpleasant that came to mind as well. It was the belief that one of these days, a carousel horse would finally come to life under me, and I’d ride off the machine, and in that event, my folks could not possibly say no to a horse.

Well, just like when I believed, I reeeeeeeally believed I could fly and jumped off the bureau in my room a la Peter Pan — except for not flying and, rather, jamming my kneecaps into my ears upon landing: a¬†matter of lies, lies, and damned lies!¬† Wooden horses do not Pinocchio themselves into real horses, not.even.one., and human beings cannot physically fly, not.even.once.

Nch.

Oddly enough, though, I will always believe St. Peter walked on water for a bit, at the Lord’s urging. What a mind-boggling moment that must’ve been (only a little¬†like what comes when you get right up on water skis and have to tell yourself it really is happening), at least until he sank like a bag of stones in fear!¬† Don’t we all.

Nch.

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Touri (we have become)

 

This is young Ernesto. He is from Wahttahtown.

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We shared a brief but meaningful..

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turkey breast sandwich.

 

This is Ernesto’s hotel when he’s in town:

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..

This is not Ernesto..

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..he was hitchhiking in my driveway. I introduced him to Ernesto, who was about to teach him how to fly, when Bubba crashed the tete-a-tete.  We will simply have to go back soon.

..

This is not Bubba..

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..nor is this (a fellow who turned 13 on Friday — this is an *old* photo)..

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however.. Bubba¬†IS in this one. Guess which one he is…

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Nope.

No.

Not that one, nope.

Oh dear, no –that’s Ernesto’s grandma!

Uh…. no.

Give up?

ūüėČ


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Halved Popsicle Days

We’ll skip the verb part of “soil” and head straight for the noun.

In so doing, what’s the first¬†graphic that jumps to mind for the word “soil”?

Yeah, me, too. ūüôā It’s so different from “dirt,” somehow!

Wherever we are in all this world, “soil” brings visions of handfuls of soft, dark aerated earth —¬†something¬†nutrient enough and¬†warm enough and aromatic enough to even grow angels in, were¬†soil not earth of the earth.

It wouldn’t do a New Englander any good to ask Santa for a bag of soil. It doesn’t look good against our blanketings of white at that time of year, but to ask¬†the Easter Bunny, well.. yes.¬† All the Bunny Nation likes soil. I could get lucky, there.

As if roots weren’t cool-beans¬†enough, we get to shake the soil off of them and plant something magical, again. But first, oh, just to touch it, and sift it between fingers before patting it back down around new plantings. What a great planet.

I’m in my second childhood, aren’t I? Aren’t you? Did it ever end?

ūüôā


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Runs-with-obstacles

My uncle used to drink Moxie soda. Which tasted like melted horehound drops. Which taste like blackstrap molasses, I’m guessing. Which probably tastes like Ovaltine, which,¬†if I recall puddles¬†correctly, tastes like a mud puddle –on steroids. Not to put too fine a point on it, of course.

I suppose you’ll never believe, now, that I’m not fussy. I’m not, honestly — I just don’t like all the above, and lima beans (any beans). Which taste like that gritty floor my face landed on in the garage next door when Debbie and her friends organized a spooky Halloween *house,*¬†replete with a bowl of intestines (spaghetti) that you stuck your hand into through a¬†felt curtain. “An idiot getting rowdy in a nearly pitch-black area” pretty much describes my entire female coming of age.

People with moxie (chutzpah, zest) make me want to slap one of us. Like Cher slapped my bud Nick Cage in Moonstruck. I could never slap myself that hard, but someone else? Maybe. As long as I had a clear running path with obstacles to throw in his/her way.¬† When DH and I were attending Lamaze class, the nurse instructor said, “Your partner in labor is not herself, guys — she may just slap you.”¬†DH remarked sotto voce, “If she slaps me, I’m slapping her right back.” Now, I wish I had slapped him — a brawl would’ve been more fun than labor.

Aren’t you glad, today, that you are you and not me?¬† I thought so. ūüôā¬† Carpe Saturday!


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Lookin’ for adventure..

Yesterday, an alert sounded throughout the hospital PA system while they were readying DH for the transport to the rehab. The nurses¬†looked out the window and said that it was probably due to that storm cloud right there. It was, indeed. Severe t-storm and flooding watch. Well, of course. This drive to the rehab with meself bringing up the rear, is over all highway and a year-long bridge, now even more interesting in having been narrowed by concrete walls while they build the new lanes.¬† (I’m sorry — you knew I was Irish, right?)

I stopped home first, because I’d had like 15 coffees and the bridge crawl loomed… So, I got some of the deluge quite personally as I ran from car to house ramp. Changed my shirt, grabbed an umbrella, ran back out, got soaked (not even deluges come straight down),¬†tried to close the umbrella, couldn’t, got soaked more. You know those days. You have to have the a/c on for the defroster while you’re wet, so that you can see something even though your windshield wipers can’t keep up with deluges — even before the fog on the bridge will render it utterly moot. Yes. I hope no one ever plants a hidden mic in my car. (Indeed, that has become one of my bigger hopes.) Who didn’t I call on Up There, after the apology for one person in a weather event¬†bothering the Alpha and Omega, a la¬†“Jesus, take the wheel!!” and finishing up with an unanswered, “Are You listening??¬† Are You listening?? They’re waiting for me!!”¬† “I CAN’T SEE!¬† I CAN’T SEE!”

Told the toll-taker, “Oh, fine, thanks. You?” Got lost twice, but found my way, after going as slowly as everyone without an SUV was, though I did not put on my 4-way flashers, as many had. As I finally stepped from the car, utilizing my last nerve (and having become a¬†Relaxicle), the sun came out, the clouds went away, and I entered the building. Hair plastered to my head, eyes like Gollum, I spooked the hell out of the lady at the desk. “I AM FINALLY HERE!” She said, “Uh.. yes!” Turns out that she wasn’t one of them who was waiting for me.

Then, there was THE most magnificent double rainbow to say that He was indeed¬†listening. If you saw it, too, you’re welcome.

:-p¬† Oy. Some days. It’s all blind faith.

The baby is doing better, even last night. I don’t have a word on his mom, yet, but DH had an ok night. Catheter remains a couple more days, and maybe Coumadin.¬† I’m going over there shortly.

Have an excellent Sunday, people, and try to remember those crazy-good rainbows. A perfect half-circle of a sweet covenant only God could bring forth (and expect His beloved to fill in the rest with faith, even if it sounds like frantic screaming).


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