. . . . .

One brave little flower

declaring to the world

I am here

I am strong

I am beautiful

I will lead my brothers and sisters

to the light

and like an assembled company

of childrens’ crayon suns

we will broadcast

our bright beacons

to cause all who see us

to smile

as their hearts are warmed

by our brilliant proclamations

We are here!

We are strong!

We are beautiful!

. . . . .

. . . . .

We call this a daisy bush (or bush daisy).

Its scientific nomenclature is Euryops pectinatus.

^{Image from stevivor.com}

. . . . .

My dreams have dreams.

I’m not talking about the

rapid-eye-movement, deep-sleeping dreams.

I mean my aspirations.

My hopes, anticipations, bucket-listish stuff.

Those things I ponder

when the miasmic chaos

of so-called ‘real life’

manages to slow down

enough for me to think,

to breathe, to wonder

what might possibly come next.

At this time in my life

many of my dreams

have already presented themselves.

Now my dreams have layers.

One would think they’d be simpler.

Maybe they are, taken individually.

But it seems all my dreams

have crowded themselves

into one chamber of my consciousness.

They are all getting to know each other.

I think they all want to go on an extended cruise together.

My dreams are trying to figure out

which other dreams they want to hang out with.

It will be good when they get it settled.

. . . . .

^{Image from marcellusdrillingcom}

. . . . .

I have mentioned this before.

But still,

who knew?

Following lots of blogs

leads to virtual avalanches

of notifications,

which hang out casually

in one’s email inbox

patiently awaiting disposition.

One must decide.

Read? Skip? Save? Share? Delete?

Truthfully,

for me anyway,

the deciding is fun!

I get to see lots and lots of content

that has been waiting

in the ethereal Green Room

of blog postages

to be consumed, appreciated, smiled at,

sometimes tugging at emotions,

sometimes making me nod my head in agreement,

sometimes making me shake my head in disbelief or disgust,

or simple humor,

or uproarious humor.

Good stuff all the way ’round.

Apparently I ‘follow’ over 100 blogs.

Not all of them are particularly active.

Some have become utterly silent.

But YOU, my dear blogging friends,

you keep on keeping on,

and I am enjoying every moment of your

keeping-on-ing-ness.

Bring it, y’all!

. . . . .

^{Photo from urbanamericana.com}

. . . . .

In 1973,

in a classroom that

had a typewriter

like the one pictured above

on every desk,

I learned to ‘touch type.’

I got quite good at it.

Up to 70 wpm at one point!

That skill served me well

through nearly 50 years of

active adult employment.

Still serves me well, I guess.

But –

My hands and fingers

have never quite fully adjusted

to the condensed and flattened nature

of the laptop keyboard.

At least the early keyboards

that came with desktop computers

were a bit larger and slightly tilted.

Now, my fingers are fighting with each other,

or so it seems,

and my wrists complain if I hold my hands

in the ‘typing’ position for long.

And, you know,

sometimes my typing ends up

kiijubf qkuj rua,,,

Jbiq

I mean,

Know what I mean?

. . . . .

^{Composite: Getty Images/Guardian Design Team}

. . . . .

Why is that dog barking?

I mean, I get it.

This is the way dogs communicate.

“Feed me!”

“Play with me!”

“I need to go outside / come inside!”

“Who are you?”

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t know you!”

“Go away right now or I will eat you!

…and so on…

Yes, I get it.

But, why is that dog barking?

The one in my neighbor’s back yard.

Why is THAT dog barking?

Constantly.

Non-stop.

For the last two hours.

At 3 o’clock in the ‘a’ of the darn ‘m’?

Why?

Seems like a simple question.

. . . . .

From a few months ago on Cal Gough’s Atlanta Booklover’s Blog:

Atlanta Booklover's Blog

Found at the Awesome Librarians’ Facebook page, July 12, 2022

Posted by Malika Rasdien to the English Literature and Linguistics’ Facebook page, April 8, 2022

Posted by Sarah Gordon, from the Dozen Best Books’ Facebook page, March 8, 2022

Posted by Aquam Rinné to the English Language and Linguistics’ Facebook page, March 8, 2022

Posted by Nancy Almand to the Literary Jokes & Puns Facebook page, March 7, 2022

Found at The Goodwill Librarian’s Facebook page, February 16, 2022

“Books are to read, but that is by no means the end of it.

The way they are bound, the paper they are printed on, the smell of them (especially if they are either very new or very old), the way the words are fitted to the page, the look of them in the bookcase—sometimes lined up straight as West Point cadets, sometimes leaning against each other for support or lying…

View original post 297 more words

^{Image from researchoutreach.org}

. . . . .

Currently I am reading a book (murder mystery) in which the primary character (recurring protagonist), in a sidebar to the main story, is trying to come up with his own personal list of the 100 “Best Songs of the Rock Era.” Okay, the character is Lucas Davenport in John Sandford’s ‘Broken Prey.’

Davenport is asking all (or most) of his friends and co-workers to weigh in with their opinions on what songs should be on his list.

This is highly interesting sidebar to me. I love music, and I have often pondered what songs and artists would be on a list I might create along these lines.

Ultimately, the author includes a list of 100 songs at the end of the book. Good list, but I would probably remove about 20 of the songs on the list. >> shrug <<

Anytime I have even begun to devise this kind of list I always – ALWAYS – run into difficulties.

For me, any limitation less than perhaps two or three thousand tracks would be virtually impossible to compile.

Among other things, I would need to restrict the style/genre pretty severely to constrain the mob of contenders, because I enjoy nearly every style of music.

So, I would end up with multiple lists representing probably fifteen or twenty different styles. Or more.

But then, I would want my list to be eclectic. I guess I would mix ’em up to make them more diverse and random.

That’s how my Sp- ‘Music Streaming Vendor’ playlists turn out.

Anyhow, we were listening to a playlist the other day (like most days, actually) while we were playing cards. My son and I kept looking at each other and saying in unison, “I LOVE this song!”

On every song.

Not kidding.

Every. Song.

There are songs I like more than others; and artists I enjoy more than others. But the idea of populating a limited collection of the ‘top songs’ makes my brain seize up.

Bottom Line: I reckon my ‘favorite’ song is the one that is playing right now… no… now… wait…

now

special note: right now the song is ‘Jackie Blue’ by The Ozark Mountain Daredevils.

My favorite!

OK, now it is ‘Crazy On You’ by Heart.

My favorite!

. . . . .

From Alex B. at 3D Warehouse

. . . . .

It seems like we are stepping through the same door

every day when we go from one day to the next.

So, why would a ‘New Years’ door be different from any other passage from day to day?

Sunrise, Sunset

Lather, rinse, repeat

Same thing every day, right?

But the doors we are stepping through

from one day to the next

are different every time.

They are new.

We have never stepped through

today’s door before.

Ever.

No one has.

The sunrises and sunsets are different.

Watching them never gets old.

We are not quite the same people

we were yesterday

or will be tomorrow.

Each day

we add a new 24 hours

of life and experience and learning

to who we are becoming.

The door into the ‘new year’

may be spectacular, ornate, breathtaking,

or it may be among the simplest doors

through which you have ever stepped.

Either way, it is a new door.

Make the most of the newness.

. . . . .

Photos taken at a Kmart photobooth in Albuquerque, NM, 1972.

. . . . .

Once upon a time,

fifty years ago,

a girl saw a boy,

then the boy met the girl,

then the girl chased the boy,

then the boy chased the girl,

then they stopped chasing,

they stood facing each other,

holding each others’ hands,

hearing each others’ hearts beat,

then they looked into each others’ eyes,

lost themselves in the depths of true love,

and realized they both wanted

to spend the rest of their lives together.

And so they have;

and so they will.

. . . . .

The boy and girl were married on December 30, 1973.

Happy 49th anniversary, Boy and Girl!

Photo taken April 2022.

. . . . .

This is a photo of a gorgeously picturesque mountain east of Seattle, Washington (USA).

It is Mt. Rainier.

That is pronounced ray-NEER.

I thought about this today

when the rain continued where I live.

Words like relentless, ceaseless, merciless come to mind.

And yet, rain is much needed here,

and rain – in moderation – is delightful!

This year the rainy season is flexing its rainy muscles.

It is strutting its stuff; showing off; giving us what for.

This year, well, it is just RAINIER than usual.

[That is pronounced RAY-nee-ur]

Most years, we get some rain.

This year I am having post-traumatic memories of the years I lived in Portland, OR.

No offense meant to Portland or to the verifiable and real impacts of trauma.

It’s just…

Okay.

Fine.

Rain is good.

I will refrain from actually complaining about the rain.

However

>> comma <<

this year’s rainy season is statistically and undeniably

RAINIER

than usual.

Everything is getting exceedingly wet.

That is all.