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Handsome, young man in a handsome, grey suit,

No tie, open collar, hands in pockets…business casual.

Elevator takes us to the same floor, him and me.

“Are you one of our guests?” I query.

“I am here to meet with ________  __________.”  (I think that is our CEO)

“Ah,”  says I.  “It’s a good day for a meeting.”

“Why do you say that?” he asks, finally looking at me, no smile.

“It’s Thursday…”

Blank look…

I grin, door opens, we move to our respective corners…

And it was a good day, all in all.


Julie took the blue for her Bloody Mary pickles!

Max, for a watercolor painting!       

Ryan for her poem about the color pink!

The Gonzales trifecta hit the Denver County Fair without mercy!

They all take first place in my heart!



Once, years ago, when broke, but determined to build my library, I started buying up $1 “classics” and bargain books. $1.00 was the limit.  One such book was by Philip Roth, which I THOUGHT was entitled THE BEAST.   I thought, aha!  Some gothic, psychological tome by a master of the absurd.

When I got home, and pulled it out to read, I realized the correct title was THE BREAST!       uhhh?

HILARIOUS!   This man who loves women’s breasts one day bursts, his bones disintegrate, his legs, arms, head submerge, and he BECOMES an actual breast… he is taken to a research hospital to live his life in a hammock HAAAA…   he was a college professor, so he thinks he can grade papers, if someone will read them to him (his eyes are lost somewhere in the flesh)… he is highly offended when  people cannot take him seriously, and spend their time laughing. He makes frequent appeals to “Dear Readers,” for compassion and understanding, sigh.   It was a surprising, great read I’ve never forgotten.

So, this morning, on news of his death, I lift of my cup of coffee to Philip Roth, Author Extraordinaire…life well shared, stories well told…when we miss him, we can read his books, and imagine he’s sitting in a chair across the room waiting for the laughs….



The Great British Baking Show has captured my attention.

I am oft unsure just what they’re making.  What IS a spotted dick?

Four types of sponge, self saucing cake, and I must not fail to mention

Pork pies, fruit pies, crispy, tasty biscuits, all making a hopeful sick,

what if  Mary Berry, or Mr. Hollywood miss a baker’s favorite trick.




Paula has the job of keeping Ted fed.

She always makes a healthy meal before Ted goes to bed.

Sometimes she cooks up pasta in a luscious tomato sauce;

Sometimes a juicy tofu pie, egg washed to a high gloss.

Ted tells us all how wonderfully she masters every meal.

So we all try to visit once a year an excellent meal to steal.


written whilst watching the Great British Baking Contest…  I do think they are picking on Norman, whose goodies quite good to me.


TED’S BIRTHDAY LIMERICK, for what it’s worth


There once was a tall man named Ted.
Who constantly rolled out of bed.
God bless his wife, Paula,
she tried to stop every fall – ahh
but she could not keep Ted’s head in bed.
Note: it’s not about the content, but more about the rhyme…


Tick, tick, tick, tick …

I do not like the looks of a tick.

The looks of a tick make me quite sick.

I do not like how a tick can stick,

Stick, stick, stick, stick until you flick it off your arm.

I do not like that a tick can bite,

Bite, bite, bite, bite until  your sticky blood runs warm.

I do not like a tick bite itch

Itch, itch, itch, itch until you pitch a royal fit.

A royal fit because a tick bite made you itch.

I do not like ticks, not even one.

I do not like ticks.  They are not fun.

I do not like the looks of a tick.

I do not like how a tick can stick.

I do not like the bite of a tick.

I do not like that ticks make me sick.

I do not like ticks, it is true.

I do not like them, how about you?






I freely admit I totally dislike every single tick. They drive you to distraction; some can make you sick.

You do not always notice them, until they’ve burrowed in. You scream and slap and scrape and scratch, wearing your skin quite thin.

Brush your hair?  You’ll find them there.


Hike across rocks; find ticks in your socks.

Ticks will show up any place, behind your ear… right on your face.

They hitch rides on your winter jacket, hiding in the closed front placket.

Those moving freckles on your arm?  Brush them off before they do you harm.

Ticks will drive you crazy, that is really quite certain. Just stand in the middle of the room. Avoid touching any curtain.

Carry a book of matches wherever you may go to burn them off,  blow them up, stop their blood flow.

Ticks, ticks, ticks, ticks…the bane of pine tree forests.  Spray your oil, rub your skin, make sure you get your rest.

You will need it if you live with ticks.



note: need to work on the meter






I stopped for a quick taco

One wicked, frigid night.

I sat in my car to eat it,

Heater on,  snug and tight.

I stared off into space,

Not thinking ’bout very much

Until my eyes focused

On a sight that made me clutch.

There was a man

Across the parking lot,

Kneeling on the ice,

Hammering at a single spot.

He wore only a hoodie,

No gloves, no hat, no coat.

It really made such little sense;

Where was his winter coat?

I sat there watching while I ate,

My muscles getting tense.

And as I sat there wondering,

I began to take offense.

This man, this freezing person,

Had been sent to chip the ice

Off a front parking spot, with a hammer –

a Hammer!… to chip the ice!

He was unaware I was watching.

He just did what he’d been told.

I figured his manager was a dick,

To send him coatless into the cold.

I did not say a word to him.

He never looked toward my car.

I started it up, and drove away,

just down the street,  not  far.

I went into King Soopers,

Bought Ice Melt and  winter gloves,

Then drove back to the fast food place

Everyone knows and loves.

I pulled up very near him,

Hauled out the bag of Melt,

Then handed him the gloves,

Unsure just how he felt.

He took them, and he turned his back

As he pulled them on his hands.

I saw his shoulders shake before he turned again,

Opening the bag, tearing off the bands.

I wish I’d had a heavy coat

To keep him warm and well.

I wish I’d stormed back in the shop

to give his manager hell.

Instead I headed off to home

With just a small, quick wave.

He waved back, then back to work.

It’s a good memory to save.


In this day of loud resistance, screaming protests, major demonstrations, it is easy to think you have to do something big to make a difference.  Sometimes, though,  one person can do the most for another by just being aware they are there.

Life can be hard…look for ways to soften it, eh?