Thursday, March 31, 2011

I ask you Y?

Our Grandlittle isn't being cast as Baby Rapunzel?




Seriously.

Look at her with this ripply blonde post-braid hair...




PLUS, she knows the book, front to back by heart...



I suppose it would help if I took her to some actual casting agents...

But until she is discovered, I will simply just ask you Y?


This post, obviously, is linked to Alphabe-Thursday's letter "Y". To vist other less Grandchild-enhanced posts, just click here.

I'm hoping I can get her to bend into a "Z" shape for next week.

Sigh...

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Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Alphabe-Thursday's letter Y


Good morning class. Aren't you relieved to see my scary sister isn't here today. I think everyone did a lot better. Please keep it up because frankly when 'she' takes over my class I get a serious case of the willies.

Today we will be yelling about the letter:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by Wednesday evening, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please link your youthful post now. Class is dismissed.

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A shot of BFF love, with a humble chaser...

I feel a little used.

And a little hurt.

Our youngest Grandlittle told me on Monday I was her BFF.


She told me twice in the car.

And once when we got home.

She was soooo sweet sitting there with her Rapunzel book. "Gwamma, Can you read this to me? You are my BFF!"


I told her I loved her and read it to her...three times...


When it got to be close to the time for her to go home, I gave her a giant hug and told her I had a happy day with her. I told her that's what BFF's do...have happy days together.

She looked at me.

"Weee...llll," she said in her chirpy little voice, "You are my BFF, but Isaac is also my BFF."

"Who's Isaac?" I inquired sulkily.

"You know, that boy at soccer practice...he might be my BFF. Well...and... if Cinderalla came to visit me, she would be my BFF!"

"Hey? What about me? I thought I was your BFF!" I pouted.

"Gwamma, don't be silly. Of COURSE, you are my BFF...hmmm... but what if I meet an imaginary elf...maybe the imaginary elf would be my BFF."

I'm not going to lie here. Being replaced by an possible imaginary elf really hurt my feelings.

Sniff.

Sniff.

Darn.

I guess that's what happens when you have a BFF that's four years old.

So...

Maybe you'd like to be BFF's, instead!


Yeah, that would be all kinds of cool.

We can be BFF's for a long, long time...or at least until I meet an imaginary elf.

Sigh...

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Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Winners and Words



Hi! It was too hard to pick from the comments on your lemon posts SO I let Mr. Random Org do the picking. If the lemons last through our next few days of heat, I'll pick two more winners from the giveaway comments on Monday. I have to ship by Wednesday so they don't spoil on their way to you!

He told me the two winners are:

#2 - Kat said...
Artichokes! I'd be doing the happy dance too. And if you send me some lemons, I'll do a happy dance chorus! I would first fill a bowl with them, so the house would be filled with that heavenly scent. Then, on to lemonade. Perhaps a lemon pound cake. Cait's coming to visit, I know she could come up with something fantastic. Now I'm getting hungry. Kat

AND

#11 summersundays-jw said...
First of all, I'd make quacamole. Then I'd make up a big container of my favorite salad dressing and finish up with a big pitcher of lemonade. I love lemons. I'm so jealous of your garden -- we had snow last night. Jan

If you could e-mail me your mailing address to: jennymatlock at cox dot net I will get these in the mail tomorrow morning!

AND...

I wrote a little guest post on JDaniels Mom's blog. If you'd like to read it, just click here!

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Story-Time Tuesday - Writing Fiction

Jenny Matlock
If you missed where this story started just click here to read it or simply click on the Story-Time Tuesday link at the top of my blog to take you to previous chapters.

Writing Fiction - Chapter 29

Here's where Chapter 28 left you.

Jay looked at me then. Total, serious, full-on, eye contact looked at me.

“Listen Pearl. You want to know what my problem is? It might be easier to just show you.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on here. Jay pushed his chair back and pulled mine back as well. We waited at the coffee counter and when Griffin pushed our to-go cups across the counter, Jay made a motion to get his wallet.

Julia piped up then. “No, we insist. Really. And Mr. Jay? Thank you, sir.”

What was with the “Mr. Jay"? And another thank you?

Jay acknowledged their words with a sad, little salute and held the door open for me as we walked outside.

I still wasn’t sure what was happening. The only thing I knew for sure was the bell was going jingle merrily behind us.

And it did.


And now, Chapter 29 continues...

Jay started walking as soon as we left the coffee shop.

I started to follow him, but then my imagination took over and, after the deeply disturbing vision of a distressed Griffin telling a news reporter, “I can’t believe it. I thought I knew him. I can’t believe Jay stabbed that nice lady 17 times,” circulated through my mind for the third time, I knew I needed to regain some control of this situation.

I stopped on the sidewalk. Jay kept walking. I waited. He walked a few more steps. Finally he realized I wasn’t following and turned around.

“Are you coming, Pearl?”

“Ummm… Jay, I don’t even know where we’re going so how can I be coming anywhere?”

“Listen, Pearl, since we’ve met you keep asking me what my problem is…over and over…I can’t talk about it. Especially today. So if you want to know why I’m such a son of a … Oh, just forget it!”

“But, Jay? I don’t even know what you’re talking about…what do you want to show me?”

“Listen, Pearl, I have someplace to go…either you’re coming or you aren’t,” and he started walking away again.

In that moment I made my decision. Okay, yes, I was curious. Yes, I was puzzled. But I was also determined not to get stabbed 17 times. “Jay,” I shouted after him, “I’m coming with you, but I have to drive. I have a hair appointment later in the morning and I don’t want to be late.” Okay, it was technically a lie, but I think if I had to choose between knife wounds and a lie, I would totally do it again. Wouldn’t you?

Without even turning around, Jay just waved his right hand in the air as he approached his silver SUV. I’m not sure what it meant exactly, but I took it to mean “follow me”.

So I raced to my car, got in and followed him.

My heart was pounding. I felt excited and worried and nervous. I could see a bit of his face reflected in his rearview mirror; he looked pale and subdued. I sipped at my scorching coffee, rummaged through my purse and found two more aspirin and lip gloss. I ducked down, so he wouldn’t be able to see me if he happened to glance back, and smeared on the lip gloss. Don’t be thinking anything about me spiffing myself up with lip gloss, my lips were just dry...from all the throwing up and stuff. I finger-combed my hair. I put a little spritz of cookie scented body spray on to make sure I didn’t smell like vomit. The strong cookie scent was almost my undoing, but I knew I’d lose Jay’s vehicle if I stopped to be sick, so I rolled down the window and took deep gulps of the fresh morning air.

I was so busy pulling myself together, that I almost rear-ended his SUV at a traffic light. Thank heavens for good brakes and quick reflexes! “Pay attention, Pearl,” I cautioned myself as I rolled up the window and focused on the task at hand.

I suddenly realized how familiar everything looked. It was just my luck that Jay wanted to drive to his destination by way of the cemetery… driving anywhere along this particular road made me feel anxious. We were so close to ‘Permanent Slumber Acres’, I thought I might get sick. As I began to roll my window down again, Jay’s brake lights blazed red right at the top of the next hill.

“Please, please, please be braking for a squirrel in the road,” I pleaded as the top of the gray SUV disappeared over the hill. It became apparent that no powerful figure in the universe had heard my prayer once I reached the crest and saw that Jay had just started to turn into the cemetery. The pounding in my head began again with a vengeance, beating like the metronome of his turn signal.

Darn! Darn, darn, darn! Jay was headed into the cemetery.

He pulled over a little bit to the right side of the gravel road to wait for me. I debated gunning my engine and speeding past the arched entrance. I doubted he was gullible enough to fall for, “Oh, you turned? I’m so sorry I didn’t see you. I drove on for something like 10 more miles.” Yeah, the man might be a jerk but I don’t think he was a stupid jerk.

I slowed down as much as I could and followed Jay into the cemetery. My heart was pounding and I felt like I might hyperventilate, but, before I could, Jay’s turn signal came on again and he turned right, into a small headstone strewn area of the graveyard I’d never even noticed before. He parked the car almost immediately and got out. It was weird, really. He just leaned on the door for a few seconds and stared at me while I pulled in behind him. Before I could get out, he started walking briskly up a small rise.

I felt almost dizzy with relief that we were nowhere near my husband’s … ummm… interment.

In our town there’d always been just one cemetery. It had expanded as the need for space grew. Over time, the trees and shrubs planted as memorials had grown to maturity and were now ablaze with autumn color. The grass was still green and a little scruffy. Most of the headstones were well maintained, but here and there a neglected one caught me eye.

I followed behind Jay, blanketed in the serenity and sadness of my surroundings; when he stopped, I stopped, too.

He was standing at a grave. Around it small American flags fluttered. The gold finials on the top of each caught the light in the late morning sun. I realized this was what he wanted to show me.

I walked the last few steps to stand beside him and realized his fists were clenched at his sides. I could see the muscles in his jaw working and then I noticed the name and the date on the dark gray polished stone.

I recalled headlines from our town paper and even a town memorial service that I had not attended.

Jay’s son was the only young man from our town who had been killed in recent war. There were several graves scattered around the cemetery from other wars, but this loss had felt very close to home for so many of us living here.

“Jay,” I said softly, putting my hand onto his shoulder. I could feel the tension in the man. It was almost frightening to feel so much anger and sorrow emanating from someone other than myself. It had been brutal since my husband had ‘deserted the land of the breathing’, but I couldn’t imagine how cruel it must be to lose a child.

For once, I could think of nothing to say. We just stood there for a long time, until I finally felt Jay relax a little bit. I felt the sun warming the back of my shoulders. A train whistle could be heard in the distance; it was mournful and beautiful.

Finally, Jay turned to face me. I lowered my hand from his shoulder. Darn! Darn, darn, darn! This man wasn’t going to try and kiss me or something, was he?

I’d heard of things like this before. People grieving a tragic loss seek comfort in …ummm… well …other people’s ‘company’, if you get my drift. But, I mean, I certainly never felt like that after ‘you know’…

I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I just stood looking back into those gold-flecked, brown eyes for a long moment. When he cleared his throat, I took a small step back.

“Pearl,” he said in a quiet, solemn voice, “Do you want to hear his story?”

Have you ever had about three emotions run through your mind at once? In that instant, I felt relief, and odd sense of disappointment and curiosity.

I decided to follow the curiosity path and sort the relief and disappointment out later.

“Jay, of course I want to hear his story.”

Jay dropped down to the grass. I wasn’t sure how to get down to the ground gracefully, so I just stood awkwardly. “It’s kind of a long story,” he continued, “You might want to sit down.”

Pretending I was still young and agile, I dropped down on the grass a short distance away. For now, I was just too inquisitive to worry about how I was going to get up later.

I put my hands in my lap and resisted the urge to pressure him to begin.

He remained silent a moment longer, so I closed my eyes and tipped my head back to enjoy the warm sun on my skin. Then he began talking. “I hope you don’t mind listening to this, Pearl.”

And I didn’t.

To be continued, Tuesday, April 5.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.


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Monday, March 28, 2011

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. (and in my post today there is a giveaway for two readers!)

"In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful." ~Abram L. Urban

We took these photos on Saturday, when Mr. Jenny was doing a happy dance that he could harvest his first crop of three artichokes...(I'm sad to say I didn't get a picture of him dancing...sigh...)


Our beautiful daughter stopped by and helped me harvest carrots and peas...


...and rejoice in berry blossoms...


...and we had the joy of picking grand bouquets of sweet peas, ranunculus and bachelor buttons...





As for the giveaway...


...because our lemon tree still has a crazy amount of lemons on it, I would like to send some out to two lucky winners.

If you'd like to win a USPS priority mail flat rate box filled with lemons, just tell me in a comment below what you'd make with them.

Winners will be picked on Tuesday morning and notified. As long as you get your address back to me right away, the lemons will be mailed out on Wednesday.

This giveaway is for US readers only. I'm sorry Int'l and Canada.

"I have never had so many good ideas day after day as when I worked in the garden." ~John Erskine

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Sunday, March 27, 2011

Sundays with Steve - Crossing the Plains

These Sunday's segments are written by my husband, Mr. Jenny. Here's what he has to say about his posts:

Since I’ve started writing “Sundays with Steve”, I’ve been thinking about vignettes of my life growing up in North Idaho. I realize the town where I grew up and the life I lived with my family is really a classic, all-American story. Perhaps you will recognize some of your childhood in these writings. And perhaps you will recognize the town you grew up in along with some of the characters you knew. Mrs. Steve has encouraged me to write these attempts of “creative writing” as opposed to the more factual journalistic style I was trained in and practiced in my early career many years ago. So my apologies if I stumble a bit here and there trying to blend the two styles together.


This is a continuation of Crossing the Plains, a fascinating tale of a covered wagon trip from Missouri to the Washington Territory in the post-Civil War period when the U.S. population poured to the West. It was written by a distant great great aunt, Barbara Jane Matlock McRae in 1939, when she was 81. This story will occupy this space for the next several weeks, as it is a fascinating peek into what we often consider the pioneer days.

Part 9


After leaving Walla Walla on our last lap of our journey, we campted a fiew miles for the night. We couldnet travel very fast though we had good stought mule teams. The next day we traveled on to ward our destination. We got near what was called central ferry that crossed the Snake River and campted again. There was a little old fashioned ferry there. A man was running it that was new at the buisness. He almost swamped the boat with all of us all on board it had not been for the assistance of my father. We would have broke loose and we would have drowned.

It took us too days from central ferry to the Palouse River. We traveled along through that rattle snake flat country, and we dident see a single person or any thing but bunch grass and cattle and horses feeding on it, just as fat as could be. The bunch grass was waist high in those days, and waved in the wind like a wheat field.

There was not a single settler through there, just a trail through the grass wtih an ocational sound of a whistle or a curlew that sounded very lonesom. There are no curlews left any more. We managed without any direction to strike the right trail to cross Union Flat and on to Rebble Flat. Of course we dident know the names of those flats but learned them afterwards. Now there is a fine highway on the same old trail that my father and familiy traveled in 1875 with mule teams. Finely after we left Rebble Flat we came in sight of the rocky cliffs of the Palouse River. We followed a canion down a couple of Indian trails until we came to the Palouse River. We were terably surpised. We expected to see a much larger stream. We stoped and debated wheather to cross the river and climb a steap hill on the other side but we finely decided to cross the river on the old rickty bridge that was there and follow the trail down the crooked stream, which was low at this time of year so we could forge it. We went about six miles and came to my uncles place. They were very much surpised to see us. They had heard from us four months before that we were starting across theplains, but as mail traveled slow in those days, they had heard no farther from us. We staid about a week at my uncles then we went back up the river where we furst came to that old bridge.

My mother decided it was just the place she wanted. There was a large log house. A man had taken a homestead and built the house. He lived there for a time and got tired of it, and threw it up and left it. My father took it, and filed a homestead onnit. This man that built the log house and lived there had put in a large garden with all kinds of vegetables and a large potato patch. It was a nice place. It had a little spring branch runing down the canion in front of the house with green trees and the Palouse River below the house.


I remeber the day we moved in to the house. It was August the 25th, 1875. We moved in the log house with our camping outfit. The sun shown bright and clear with the shadows on top of teh high cliffts back of the house, with the green trees on the cliffs and along the river as it wound its crooked way through the hase down under the high cliffs of red and brown and black rocks, it made a picture for an artist.

It has been 70 years since that day. The picture is still clear in my memory. Just above the house was a cold spring of water. My father built us a cellar house over this spring. It was alwaise a cool place to keep our milk and butter and the water was ice cold for drinking. In the log house there happend to be a big cook stove and a home made large dineing table that had been left there. There was a large fire place, and my daddy made us some home-made bed stands out of some scrap lumber that was their. He made us some stools to sit on, and with the too ole hicory chairs we brought across the plains, we got along very well. The first too years we were their, for lights we used pitch pine splinters stuck in the fire and slush lamps and tallow candles. My mother molded the candles in an old fashion candle mold. Our father and mother had to make too trips a year down to Walla Walla to get supplies for the family. All the rest of the settlers did the same. We bought in large quantities, enough for six months. Walla Walla was the nearest place we could get supplies.

Their wasent much work to do in that country at that time, onley herding sheep or riding on the range after cattle and horses.

We were pretty lonesom. The first winter their we got home sick. There wasent many young people their at that time. There was a good many dances around the sparcely settled country. That was all the place we had to go to. We generally went on horse back or in a four horse wagon with plenty of hay in it for the mules to eat during the night. As we danced all night we dident think anything of going ten or twelve miles to a dance, and we would dance till daylight. There seemed to be plenty of violins in the country and a good many old fashioned players. One old fellow I remember would play for nearly all the dances and would play all night long and never seemed to tire. For several years after we went their, dances was all the amusement we had.

As the country began to settle up, more young people came in. I remember the third year, one time in the spring my oldest brother John started to work on his homesetead. He had a long cabin, and I went out to cook for him while he was at work. One fore noon a young man came by and told us of a dance at Pine City it was, 18 or 20 miles from the homestead. Of course we wanted to go, we dident have any horses but large work mules. Down in the valley three or four miles away were a bunch of stray horses, we could tell some of them had been road by sadle marks on them. So my brother took one of the work mules and a laso rope and caught up too of the Indian ponys. We saddled them by putting blinds on them till we could get in the saddle. Women and girls road side saddles in those days, we had a good one we had brought across the plains with us. I was a good rider in those days. We road those too wild poneys that 18 miles to the dance, and danced all night. And believe me, our poneys were some what tamer the next morning on our return. We had a finetime!

The year 1876 that will be remembered by all was the year of the General Custer masicer by the Indians in the Big Horn bacin in Montana, and in our country, the year Chief Josph was making war on setlers just to the south of us.


My father rented a farm on Union Flat that belonged to an old bachlor. He had about 200 acres plowed and ready for seeing. It was about 13 miles from our homestead on the Palouse River. My father and mother and the three big boys went over their to work the place. I was left at home with the five small chldren to take care of, and to care for our garden and milk 12 cows and make butter. I and the oldest boy Robert did it. He was about 12 years old and I was 18 years old. In June 1877 while the crop was growing on the rented place, the three boys got a job for a spell with some sheep men. My father and mother had to make a trip to Walla Walla as our suplies were runing low, so were we alone at home.

We had herd rumers of Indians going on the war path. All such news had to be caried through the country on horse back, and we onley got mail too or three times a year in those days. I was left at home with those five children with no near neighbors, the town of Colfax at that time had begun to build up some but was no place to go to in an Indian uprising, as it is surounded by rocky cliffs. All the Indians would have to do would be to suround it and roll rocks down in the narrow streets of the town.

One morning while I was busy around the house, an excited man dashed up to the door with no saddle, his horse all covered with sweat and yealed at me to hitch up our team, we had a pair of small pony horses and a wagon, and get to Colfax at once as the Indians were coming. I wasent very much excited. I called all the children together and I toled them that it wasent safe for us, we had to go to Colfax, but that they had no fort their and if the Indians came they would suround the town and would kill every body. We had heard by some carier that their were several cases of malignent dipthera there in Colfax, and I was afraid to take the children up their. I thought we would be just as well at home, that we could hide some food out, and take some beding and clothes out and hide it in the brush and cliffs. If the Indians came in the night we could make a break and get into the brush and if they burned our house we could do for a fiew days on what we had hiden. We thought we could live in the small caves in the rocks, we never thought of the rattle snakes that live in the rocks too. We spent one whole day hiding things out. The same man that had given us the warning that the Indians were coming had warned all the rest of the fiew settlers, and of course they got excited, and made for Colfax. Ocationally someone would go by driving his team as fast as he could with his family and would call to us that we beter get ready and go too. I would tell them I was not going. They would call back and tell me I was crazy. I will never forget how brave my little brothers and sister was, especialy the six year old twins had plans, if the Indians came, what they would do.

That first night I was a little shaky and afraid to go to bed. I put the children all to bed, with a promise that I would sit up and watch. I and the dogs would keep watch for the Indians and that as soon as I would hear a disturbance among the dogs, that I would call them and they would get up and all of us would get out the back door and git into the thick brush. It might have been done, but now when I think of it, what a time I would have had, trying to get those five sleepy children out of the house with the front yard full of blood thirsty Indians on the war path.

I sat up all night in the front door with out any lights. The big dogs were by all the time, and no Indians came that night. In that country in those days we could hear a sound so far that I imagined several times as I sat their on watch, that I could hear the hoof beat of horses. Everything was peaceful around that day, and that second night we all took chances and went to bed, though I got up several times. About noon of the next day our father and mother drove in home from Walla Walla. We were sure a pleased bunch of youngsters to see them. They brought the news to us that a troup of soldiers and been sent up to the Camas Prarie country above Lewiston where the Indians had been killing white setlers and burning their homes. A little girl and her mother and two other women had been surounded in a house by about twenty buck Indians, they abused the women till they all died, then cut the little girls tonge out and burned everything.

TO BE CONTINUED ON SUNDAY, April 3

(c) 2010 Stephen J. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Stephen J. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Stephen J. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Saturday Centus - I'm not a chicken...

Jenny Matlock
Welcome to week forty-seven of Saturday Centus.

How are you today? Feeling complacent? Feeling like I'm going to throw another easy prompt your way?

Well...

Technically...

I could...

BUT then you would get all bored and say, "Wow, that SC thing is getting really boring because she never challenges us!"

So...

Since I would never, ever want our friendship to part ways out of boredom, let's try something different this week.

How about poetry.

The rhyming kind.

Like Dr. Seuss...on the loose...with a moose...in a caboose.

Hey. I saw that eyeroll.

C'mon. It'll be fun.

I will give you an easy prompt for inspiration, OK?

The prompt this week is...

I'm not a chicken...

What do you mean that's a hard prompt? That is a totally easy prompt. I could have used the word 'orange' which has no words that rhyme with it whatsoever. I gave you the word chicken which of course rhymes with ... ummm... ummm... OK, I know a lot of rhyming words...I just can't tell you because that would be cheating.

You can use this prompt and UP TO 100 additional words to write a poem in rhyme. Just keep your poetry PG and try to visit as many of the other links as you can!

Please display link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog.

Please e-mail me directly with ???'s or ask your question in a comment and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.

Feel free to link up anytime between now and next Saturday!

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Friday, March 25, 2011

Darn...and I thought I had a great idea...

So...

You know how some people tell you the same story over and over again and it gets kind of boring and you really, really wish you could take a quick nap but you don't want to hurt their feelings?

So you sit there sneakily pinching your leg to stay awake so the person doesn't know that you're bored out of your skull because...

Your Momma told you to always be polite and you're not quite sure how to politely say, "Please stop talking. You have told me this story a million times before and you're putting me to sleep?"

I mean...

Not that anything like this happens with anyone I personally know (or might be married to, ahem...)

But...

I came up with this genius idea to accomplish both things at once...politeness and napping...

But...

Sadly...

Once I googled this I found that someone else thought of the idea first.


Darn. Since I hate to be a copycat I guess I can't make my appointment at the tattoo parlor for this weekend after all.

And I was soooo looking forward to catching up on my sleep.

Sigh...

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Thursday, March 24, 2011

So...this letter X walks into a bar...

and...

Oh. Wait. Before I start this post I better give you a groan warning. Yeah. It's kinda/sorta groan worthy.

I had a big plan for the letter X. I really did. I was going to stand on a ladder and make Mo lay in the grass in the shape of an X so I could take her picture...

BUT...

She was sick yesterday and I couldn't make her get off the couch long enough to help her old Grandma out...

So...

Wednesday night I realized I had nothing for the letter X and I couldn't think of anything different to do...

I decided I would post a joke about the letter X. You're not going to believe this but when I googled "jokes about the letter X" there weren't any hits. Seriously!

In a slight panic, I told Mr. Jenny he had to help me write a joke about the letter X and he said, "Ummm.... you know you can't tell jokes very well, right?" And I, uncharacteristically defensive, said, "Well you should talk!"

For the rest of the night I kept repeating, "...this letter X walks into a bar..." but we couldn't come up with the rest of the joke.

After a good nights sleep we finally came up with a joke to share with you for Alphabe-Thursdays's letter X.

Ahem...

A letter X walks into a seedy bar.

The only empty bar stool is next to a bleary-eyed, slightly crumpled treasure map nursing a beer. The X enquires, "Is this stool taken?"

The map turns to the X and says, "You can sit there if you mark my spot while I go to the john."



Get it?!?

GET IT?!?!?

The X is gonna mark the spot on the treasure map.

Ummm...

You got it, right?

And it was cute, right?

OK.

Go ahead. Go ahead and groan if you must.

But please do it softly so you don't hurt Mr. Jenny's feelings.

Sigh...

For other less groan-worthy links to the letter X, just click here.

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Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Alphabe-Thursday's Letter X


Good morning class.

Oh excuse me. My mean sister is here with an important message for some of you.


BBBEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!

I interrupt this post to ask you an important question.

Did you visit 10 other links last week? C'mon, people. Don't make me all cranky over this. If you link, visit at least 10 other blogs that are linked. If you didn't link I'm cool with you not visiting 10 other blogs that linked. I want you to pinkie swear that you will do this, and if you didn't do it last week you will go visit some of the last links to the letter "W".

BBBEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!

Wow. She's scary, right? I'd listen to her if I was you.

And now, with no further lectures, welcome to Alphabe-Thursday. Today we will be talking about the x-asperating letter:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by Wednesday evening, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

X marks the spot for your link this week. Class is dismissed.

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What does 'biki...' spell?

Last week our Grands were off on spring break. I am still trying to recover.

On Friday I took the younger two to get pedicures.

Hey, don't give me that look. I'm not turning them into pampered princesses like Tom Cruise's daughter. I thought they would think it was fun AND I am not capable of painting zebra stripes on toenails...although now I think about it I probably could have accomplished it with a black sharpie.

However...

They had a ball. I had a ball. The middle one had a big grin on her face the whole time and ended up with hot pink fingernails and black and white zebra toenails. The little one worried a lot about a boo-boo on one of her toes but eventually ended up happy with ice blue nails layered with glitter. I was happy with just plain pink...on my toes only, thank you very much.


Just as we were finishing up a customer walked in and asked for a brow wax and followed the tech into a back room in the salon.

I've had a brow wax before. Yeah. It wasn't fun, but when the customer walked back up to the front only a few minutes later with a smile on her face I decided to give it a go.

I went back to the 'waxing' room and climbed up onto the table and laid down. Four big, blue eyes watched intently from inches beside me. I realized the error of my ways the minute they both started asking questions... "What are you doing now?" "Why are you putting wax on there?" "Why are you putting that white paper on there?"

There questions swirled around the room and the technician patiently answered by saying, "I'm going to wax your Grandma's eyebrows and in a second she's going to say OUCCCCHHH!"


And I did.

She did a few more strips and the little girls watched totally mesmerized.

As we were walking out, the middle Grand asked me, "Why did you do that?"

I explained that sometimes the hair on our eyebrows gets out of control a little bit and sometimes waxing is a quick way to take care of it.

She thought about it.

She said, "What else can they wax?"

I said, "Oh, some people get their legs waxed. I think some people get their arms waxed. Upper lips."

She thought about it.

"Grandma," she said, "What do you get waxed that starts with the letters b-i-k-i? I can't remember the rest of the letters. It was on the sign. Do you know what that word is? What is a biki wax?"

I was silent.

Thinking fast.

"What was the word again, Riley?" I asked her.

She repeated, "B-i-k-i and some more letters, but I can't remember what they were."

I was silent.

I was saying a prayer of gratitude that she hadn't learned the word bikini yet on a first grade spelling test.

I was hoping she wouldn't remember the last two letters. I was hoping she wouldn't ask any more questions.

I distracted her by reminding her that we had to draw some pictures when we got home to send to some people that needed cheering up.

She didn't bring it up again.

However, when she showed me her first picture it was of me laying on the table getting my eyebrows waxed.

"Riley, why did you draw this?" I asked her.

"Because it funny every time you said 'ouch'! Grandma!"

I was silent.

I was too busy saying prayers of gratefulness that she didn't know what a bikini wax is so she couldn't draw a picture of that particular 'ouch'!

Sigh...

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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Story-Time Tuesday - Writing Fiction

Jenny Matlock
If you missed where this story started just click here to read it or simply click on the Story-Time Tuesday link at the top of my blog to take you to previous chapters.

Writing Fiction - Chapter 28

Here's where Chapter 27 left you...

Jay had been looking down at the table while he said these shocking words and now he looked up at me. He had a look on his face I can’t really describe. It was a combination of defeat, anger and pain. For a moment I regretted my nosy nudge.

“Jay, I think I’m going to need some more caffeine before we continue this story. Do you want something?”

He did.

This moment felt too serious for a frivolous coffee drink.

As I waited for Julia to add Half and Half to my cup of plain coffee, I realized my headache was diminishing even further, but, just to be sure I was at the top of my nudging game, I asked Julia if she had any aspirin. She reached under the counter and handed me a little paper package along with a clear plastic cup of water. I quickly swallowed them, paid, and took both coffees back to the table and Jay.

He took his cup of dark brew from me and started looking bleakly into the steaming depths.

The bell jingled merrily over the door as a customer came in. Neither of us looked up. We just sat, intent on our drinks and unsure how to continue the conversation
.

And now, Chapter 28 continues...

It isn’t often when I ‘nudge’ that the response surprises me. Sometimes it seems like all the sorrows I’ve channeled thus far in life have fit into one of three categories: terminal illness, cruel kids or spouses, or depression from causes other than those first two.

I had never yet nudged the response of a child dying. I was in over my heart here and I knew it.

“Jay, listen, have you tried anti-depressants?” He shrugged his shoulders.

“There are some great grief support groups out there.” He shrugged again.

“Maybe you need a change and…” Darn! Darn, darn, darn! I had turned into all the people that had made me so angry after my husband had departed for ‘celestial destinations unknown’. Thank heavens I had restrained myself from telling him about belly dancing lessons or rushing out of the coffee shop to prepare a scalloped potatoes and ham casserole for him.

So there we sat. In the background I could hear Julia chattering away to the latest round of customers…seriously, how many kinds of coffee drinks were there in the world?

I wondered if it would be rude to abandon our non-conversation to get a muffin. Now that my headache had backed off even more I had a craving for carbohydrates.

I tried again. “So, Jay, listen…I’m sorry I was just tossing those inane solutions out to you, I mean, obviously you’re having a tough time and I don’t really know you and so maybe I was kinda/sorta butting into your business, but you just really seem like you’re pretty miserable and…”

Jay looked up at me and attempted to give me another ghastly smile. “So,” he said in a slightly sarcastic voice, “I bet you can really swim underwater a long time, can’t you?”

Huh? This guy was forever confusing me, so I decided to proceed as if he was merely an annoying person instead of an extremely broken one. I did. “Huh?” I enquired.

“You know, stay underwater for a long time? I swear you talk in the longest run-on sentences I’ve ever heard. I hope you’re not a writer. I guess if you are, your editor must hate you.”

I opened my mouth to retort back and then I realized what Jay was doing, “Oh no, you don’t buddy. This isn’t about me. This is definitely about you.”

Jay leaned back in his chair. “Well maybe it should be about you…maybe we should discuss why you are wearing orange shoes and you look so hung over that…”

“Hung over?” I interrupted him. “Since when is it a crime to drink a few beers with a friend and…”

“A few? A few?” His face had actually become more animated as he continued his torment. For some reason he reminded me of how a brother would act.

I’d never had a brother. I’d never had a dog. Gee. I had really lived a pretty miserable life, obviously. My mother, God rest her soul, had told me…

Accck! I was falling for Jay’s plan to distract me. “Focus, Pearl, focus,” I told myself.

“So did you come here to see me?” Jay’s voice interrupted.

“Come here to see you? Why would I do that? In fact I came here specifically NOT to see you. I came to get some coffee because my neighbor made some for me after we spent last night…ummm… Never mind. Why would I come to see you?”

I think I might have made too big of a deal out of the question. In hindsight I think maybe Jay was just teasing me a little bit. See what parents did to me by not letting me have a brother? If I would have had a brother I would have know if Jay was or wasn’t teasing.

Jay just tapped both index fingers against his coffee cup and took his sweet time answering. “I just thought maybe you’d read the paper today. When I saw you come up to the table I wondered if you were going to start attacking me about Spot again, and then when you didn’t… Well, then I just figured you were going to smother me with pity.”

Huh? Oh man, oh man, oh man. I was so confused. I don’t even think it was the remnants of the beer that was making it so hard to follow this convoluted train of random thought.

I so wish my husband was here to witness this moment. I wish I could call up to heaven and tell him about this. Our entire married life he had told me, “Pearl, I swear you are the most random person in the world. Where do you think of these things?” And now I could show him, “Look! See! There is someone even more random than I am.”

The newspaper? Pity? What in the world were we even talking about?

I was just getting ready to ask him about the newspaper when the bell jingled violently and suddenly the room was filled with the energy and noise of very happy Griffin! “Hey Ju-Ju Bean!” he shouted. It took me a second to figure out he meant Julia. In a boisterous voice he continued, “Let the coffee making games begin…I am not even late to make a latte today!”
Julia laughed and asked him if he hadn’t already had a little too much caffeine to which Griffin replied, “My darling Ju-Ju Jelly Jar! I have not imbibed at all. I am the proud recipient of a perfect score on my…”

Griffin must have just noticed Jay and I hunched over our window table, because he was suddenly quiet.

I didn’t even hear him approach our table. He must have been wearing gardening clogs, too, but I didn’t look at his feet because I was mesmerized by the look on his face as he stopped beside Jay’s chair. The exuberance of a few moments ago was now replaced by a look that seemed oddly like sadness.

“Jay, sorry man, I didn’t see you sitting there.” Griffin didn’t even spare at glance at me. “Look, man, I am so sorry. I read the paper this morning and…I don’t even know what to say.”

Griffin reached across the sunlit space of the table and extended his hand to Jay. Jay shook it.

“Thank you Griff. Yeah, it’s been a morning all right.”

“Listen, Jay. I just want to say…thank you. Thank you so much man, for your sacrifice. Just…well…thank you. Can I get you a coffee and muffin…on the house?” As they ended the handshake, Griffin finally noticed me. He looked puzzled, “You look familiar. Have you been in here before?”

“We talked the other day about my blog and your classes in Social Media Marketing.”

Griffin looked confused for a moment longer until I saw the lightbulb go off in his head. “Penny? Ummm… no, no don’t tell me!… Pearl? Pearl! Yeah. I never forget a name…or a coffee drink… you liked the …wait! Wait! Don’t tell me…. Ummm…. white chocolate caramel latte? Do you want one? Any friend of Jay’s…” Griffin paused then for a moment and looked confused, “It’s weird, ya know? For some reason I thought you didn’t know who Jay was and now here you are being a good friend on the anniversary of…”

In a quiet voice, Jay interrupted, “You know what Griff? I’d really like a coffee. To go. And make one up for Pearl, too, OK?”

Jay looked at me then. Total, serious, full-on, eye contact looked at me.

“Listen Pearl. You want to know what my problem is? It might be easier to just show you.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on here. Jay pushed his chair back and pulled mine back as well. We waited at the coffee counter and when Griffin pushed our to-go cups across the counter, Jay made a motion to get his wallet.

Julia piped up then. “No, we insist. Really. And Mr. Jay? Thank you, sir.”

What was with the “Mr. Jay"? And another thank you?

Jay acknowledged their words with a sad, little salute and held the door open for me as we walked outside.

I still wasn’t sure what was happening. The only thing I knew for sure was the bell was going jingle merrily behind us.

And it did.

To be continued, Tuesday, March 29.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.


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Monday, March 21, 2011

OK, so...ummm...this post might not be PG...

...but it's kinda/sorta funny.

Please don't read it out loud to your kids.

And please don't read it yourself if certain three and seven letter words offend you.

So...

Ahem...

On Friday, Mr. Jenny decided he needed to run up to Las Vegas on Sunday for a few quick, casual business meetings. He asked me if I would go shopping with him on Saturday to get some new jeans and a shirt.

Luckily for my husband, I've been watching a few 'What Not to Wear' reruns lately AND ironically Clinton Kelly did a wardrobe makeover on a guy on one of them.


Boy oh boy! Saturday morning I was excited.

I waited until we were were at the clothing store to spring the good news on Mr. Jenny. I told him, "This is really your lucky day. I was watching 'What not to Wear' this past week and Clinton re-did a guys wardrobe who also had a little ummm.... tummy.... so we can give the tips a try. Hooray!"


Mr. Jenny looked a little scared and I swear I heard him start to hyperventilate.

I reassured him. "Don't be afraid, sweetie! This is gonna be fun!"

I hunted. I gathered. I bullied Mr. Jenny into trying on clothes he would never wear and we were both surprised. Clinton's tips actually worked.

On the show Clinton had said to wear shirts that hit just a few inches below your ... ummm... tummy ...that were not too tight and not too loose...and how men should wear a little 'pop' of color under their shirts close to their face as further distraction from the ummm... tummy... and how you should always wear a t-shirt under shirts to minimize lumpiness from your ... ummm... tummy...I'm not sure if I made up some of these 'rules' or remembered them clearly, but either way it seemed to work out...

So...

We were both really happy with the whole shirt part of the experiment, however, partway through the try-on process, Mr. Jenny said, "You know, I don't really like how wide these jeans are in the thigh. Can you see if you can find a slightly narrower pair."

So I left the dressing room and went up to the early-20's clerk to ask for help.

"I'm trying to find some jeans for my husband that are a little snugger in the thigh," I said.

She tapped her long, black lacquered nail against her weird orange lipstick and asked me, "Snugger? Ummm...hmmm...well...like...so...ummm...do you want to show off his ass or his package?"

Huh?

I said, "Huh? Excuse me?"

So she enquired again. "I said...ummm...like...do you want to show off his ass or his package?"

I hesitated and then finally answered, "Ummm...neither...I think. I'm really just looking for some jeans that aren't quite so baggy."

"So...what's this for? What does he want the jeans for?"

I said he wanted them for a casual business meeting.

She tapped her finger. She thought. "Where's the meeting at?" she then enquired.

Huh? Why in the world would that matter?

I asked her, "Huh? Why does that matter?"

"Well, girl, you know how men are...are they're gonna be...like...ummm...any ladies around?"

Okay. It dawned on me that this particular clerk might have gotten brain damage from that weird orange hazmat lipstick AND I realized my husband was probably getting annoyed standing in the dressing room in his underwear waiting for me.

I made an executive decision. I said, "Yeah, so...I think I want them to show off his ass...okay?"

She tapped her black fingernail again. "Ya know, I don't think I can help ya with that," and walked away.

What? WHAT?

Shaking my head, I went back to the dressing room and told my husband, "It's those jeans or no jeans...just try them back on, OK?"

He did.

I looked carefully at his ass. I looked carefully at his package. I'm not sure that the jeans really showed off either, which is just fine with me. We're old. We're fat. We're tired. We don't need to be showing off no asses or packages to the world...you know?

But wait...

There's a little bit more to this very strange story.

On the way home I told Mr. Jenny I was going to run into Target and get some socks to go with his outfit.

He told me, "First of all, men don't wear 'outfits'. Second of all, I have socks."

I told him that Clinton called 'outfits' outfits and that he definitely needed new socks!

Mr. Jenny rudely told me that Clinton was obviously crazy. (Please don't tell Clinton this. I don't want to hurt his feelings.)

I then enquired quite sweetly what athletes wear...like the clothes that baseball and football players wear that match. "Aren't those outfits?"

Mr. Jenny got a little bit red in the face, "They wear sports gear. It's not called sports 'outfits'. Okay, look, here's a Target. You can run in and get some socks if it will make you feel better. I'm just going to wait in the car."

If I was a suspicious person I would have thought he was just trying to shut me up for a few minutes, you know? But he probably wasn't.

He waited in the car and I ran in! And when I got to the sock section I got really excited becausethe socks I found matched his outfit perfectly.

After we got home, I got the new clothes all ironed and ready for his trip, I laid out the shirts and socks to show him.

He was not impressed.

"Where are the 'real' socks?" he asked.

I told him, 'These are the real socks! Look how perfectly they match!"



"Really? Really? You bought me polka dotted socks?" He didn't seem very appreciative of my efforts.

Seriously. Look at the picture, though. See how the black and blue go together?

Mr. Jenny looked pretty annoyed. He did the whole straight line thing with his mouth and squinched up his eyes and everything. Talk about ungrateful.

"Yeah, but here's the thing," I told him, "Clinton says socks that accent your outfit really show off your ass AND make your package look bigger!"

Okay. That was just a lie. Clinton didn't say anything about socks, asses or packages on the show I watched.

But...

With that food for thought, I just walked away leaving my husband staring after me like a deer in the headlights.

A look possibly similar to the one you have on your face right now after having wasted a minute or so reading this post.

I'm sorry.

I thought it was funny.

I thought it would make you smile.

And it did.

Right?

Right????

Okay...ummm... never mind then...

Sigh...

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Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sundays with Steve - Crossing the Plains

These Sunday's segments are written by my husband, Mr. Jenny. Here's what he has to say about his posts:

Since I’ve started writing “Sundays with Steve”, I’ve been thinking about vignettes of my life growing up in North Idaho. I realize the town where I grew up and the life I lived with my family is really a classic, all-American story. Perhaps you will recognize some of your childhood in these writings. And perhaps you will recognize the town you grew up in along with some of the characters you knew. Mrs. Steve has encouraged me to write these attempts of “creative writing” as opposed to the more factual journalistic style I was trained in and practiced in my early career many years ago. So my apologies if I stumble a bit here and there trying to blend the two styles together.


This is a continuation of Crossing the Plains, a fascinating tale of a covered wagon trip from Missouri to the Washington Territory in the post-Civil War period when the U.S. population poured to the West. It was written by a distant great great aunt, Barbara Jane Matlock McRae in 1939, when she was 81. This story will occupy this space for the next several weeks, as it is a fascinating peek into what we often consider the pioneer days.

Part 8


In this valley we saw our first frendly Indians. After passing through this fertil country we came to Idaho and Boise City and campted their for a month. The teams were faged and tired. We thought we should get them in a pasture which we did, and my father and older brothers worked in harvest for a man by the name of Gray. My mother helped Mrs. Gray to cook for the harvesters. I kept camp and the children. Mr. Gray’s farm was just at the edge of Boise City. At that time, Mr. Gray had a large farm. Our camp on Mr. Gray’s farm was under some large trees in a nice green meadow, just our family and one other that had left Council Bluff with us. After the harvest was over, we started on for Walla Walla Washington. We folled the old Oregon trail out of the Boise Valley up through Weiser, Idaho. In those days in Boise Valley the farmers raised wonderful vegetables and were so generaous with them.

We traveled on through Grand Round Valley, Oregon and pased through Union Town and LaGrand, Oregon and on over the Blue Mountains to Walla Walla, Washington. My parents thought that we must be getting near our destination. We campted out three or four miles before we got to Walla Walla in Alane on the farm of Mr. Laster. I have passed the place where we campted many times since.

We stopped in Walla Walla and laid in a supply of food and clothing at Dusenberrys and Schabachers stores. Walla Walla at that time was not very large, just dust and cobble stones in the streets. It was a rough town in those days where miners and gamblers gathered to spend the winter in farrow games and gambling, fighting, shooting and killing and drinking. It had been a worse town a fiew years previous. They had a viglanders commite and a good many desparate characters had been taken out and hanged. I was shown a big pine tree several years later that I was tole that several men had been hung from its branches. We found out some way that we were onley a little over hunred miles from what was called the Palouse country in Washington or the Palouse river where my uncle lived. He had come out west five years before we came. He came in 1865. He sold his team some where in Iowa and crossed to Salt Lake on the UP rail road, and then he bought an other team at Salt Lake and came the rest of the way by wagons as there were no rail roads to come any farther than Salt Lake or Ogden. Walla Walla was called Fort Walla Walla then. There was an army fort there and soldiers stationed in case of uprising of the indians, of which there were thousands of them roaming the country. The fiew settlers could go to the fort for protection in case of an up rising.
We got our supplies and among them father bought several large wate melons, the first we had seen all summer. And we started on the last lap of our journey. The roads were bad dusty and full of chuck holes. The farmers had been hauling wheat to Walla Walla for shipment down the Columbia river to Umatilla where they unloaded it and hauled it below the rapids and then loaded it on boats bound for Portland, to be shiped by sea going veseles for markets of the world. A fiew years later than our journey writing, old Dr. Baker as he was known, built a narrow gage rail road from Walla Walla to Walula so farmers could ship their grain that far by rail which proved very sucessful in those days. That country was nothing but a wilderness, it was just a wagon trail to haul freight and grain. Men would take a load of grain down to Umatilla and bring back a load of freight for Walla Walla. My husband hauled freight from Umatilla to Walla Walla with a six horse team for years, that was before I ever met him. At the time of our journey the government was building the Cascade Locks down on the Columbia river which when finished filled a long felt need.

It is so different now with the beatiful high ways, one can hardly believe it is the same place. I just made a trip from Portland to Spokane by way of Walla Walla. As I road along at a fast fifty miles an hour, I thought how diferent it is now from 1875.

TO BE CONTINUED ON SUNDAY, March 27

(c) 2010 Stephen J. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Stephen J. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Stephen J. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Saturday Centus - The curtain parted...

Jenny Matlock
Welcome to week forty-six of Saturday Centus.

No surprises again. I'm just lulling you into complacency...

The prompt this week is...

The curtain parted...

You can use this prompt and UP TO 100 additional words to write a story of your choosing in any style of writing you prefer. Just keep your story PG and try to visit as many of the other links as you can!

Please display link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog.

Please e-mail me directly with ???'s or ask your question in a comment and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.

Feel free to link up anytime between now and next Saturday!

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Friday, March 18, 2011

When you're weary...


I have linked this post to Natasha's Sunday Song meme.

...feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down


When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you

I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down


Sail on silver now,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way

See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind


The world seems hard right now. This song has been on my mind for so many people living in fear and pain and suffering and worry and heartache...

Never forget...

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.

PS. Thank you Simon and Garfunkel. I only changed one word in this perfect song.

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Wednesday, March 16, 2011

W is for Winsome

Three winsome Grandlittles,
Sitting on a wall...


the little one said,
"I hope that I don't fall.."


The middle one said,
"It's St. Patricks Day!"


The biggest one said,
"Who cares? Let's just play!"


The Grandmother said,
"Don't you move an inch,
'cuz if you're not wearing green,
I will give you all a pinch!"

The three little girls said,
"Hip-hip-hooray!
Here is our green...
and we're off now to play!"


This wonderfully winsome rhyme is linked to Alphabe-Thursday's letter "W".

To read other entries, just click here!

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Alphabe-Thursday's letter W


Good morning class. Before we begin this weeks Meme, there are two announcements I would like to make.

Our friend, Jen, at Hamster Central is living the crisis in Japan as I write this. So many of us have visited her through the year we've been doing this meme. Please take a moment to visit her most current link and offer your supportive words to her and her family. In such a time of devastation, it is nice to know that other's care. Please click here to read Jen's W link for this week. Thank you, friends.

And so many of you also participated in sending cards to Betty's son, Reid, during his hospitalization. Betty was a long-time participating in AT as well and stopped to care for her son. For those of you that sent a card, I wanted you to know, they matter. Reid was touched and comforted by the outpouring of support. Thank you for doing this. Reid is holding his own and I know that tangible support combined with prayers and create miracles. Long posts I will share with you all on another day. If you missed the post about Reid and are able to add a prayer or a card to your daily routine, I'd like to share it again with you. Just click here.

And now, with no further ado, welcome to Alphabe-Thursday. Today we will be talking about the wonderful letter:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by Wednesday evening, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and try to visit the 5 students before and after your post at minimum. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please wander over to the linky to share your post now. Class is dismissed.

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