In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now approaching my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
Once upon a time, in a far away place, a little girl wished upon a star, "I wish I could fly." Unlike other fairy tales, Midge's wish did not come true. So, she thought. One morning, Midge woke up, thinking, "Ah, today is the day I shall fly." She flung off her blankets and jumped to her feet. Bounce! Bounce! Bounce! With each bounce, Midge hung in the air higher and longer. Nearly three-quarters to the ceiling, she turned somersaults and back flips, cartwheels and spins. She bounced and she bounced until her grandmother opened her door. "Very good, my dear," said Lola Sue smiling so proudly. "You're getting to be quite good with the triple flips. I do believe you take after your grandma." Lola Sue jumped onto the bed, and together they bounced. Bounce! Bounce! Bounce! Holding hands, they bounced even higher and higher. "I think it is time," Lola Sue said."Are you ready?" "Yes! Yes!" exclaimed Midge, altho
The map of the world hangs on the wall above my cluttered desk and my more-than-often-than-should vacant mind. Above the map hang a few cobwebs. I'm sure Molly the Cat would be fascinated with the cobwebs if she would look up. Fortunately, the desk is too cluttered for her to find a spot to park while I work. The map? Yes, the map. I like maps. Except for topo maps, I can read a map. Reading maps, even street maps, are fun. For me. When I think of Africa, I see the number seven in a serif font. Australia makes me think of a terrier. On this world map, Greenland is orange. As are Brazil, Saudi Arabia, India, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Korea. I see no key for colors so maybe it means nothing more than that's what the creator of the map wished to color those nations. You would think I'd gaze at that map a lot. Nope. I put it up to inspire me. But, it only reminds me that I haven't traveled more than I would've thought I would by now. If I think long a
I did a lot of this and that on the computer over the weekend, rather than going here and there. My last task was merging my two blogs, the now— Don't Be a Hippie —with the then— This and That. Here and There. Now, Sometimes Then. Some of you dear readers may remember my older blog, and I thank you for following me to Don't be a Hippie . My reason for combining the two? A sudden need for continuity. Let's face it, I stopped that other blog because I wanted a new blog title. If my first blog, Cu'Pie Baby Bird Says "Tweet, Tweet" was still up, I'd probably merge that one, too. If you're on Blogger and interested in merging two or more of your blogs, check out this tutorial (How to Merge Blogs in Blogger?) at Blogger Tips and Tricks . So, what's in my new archives? I hope you'll explore for yourselves. At your leisure and whim, of course. For now, here are a few of my favorite posts: Where Romance Is Superstitions of the Mama Yummy and
A cane is a very useful tool. It helps you steady yourself as you stand up. It offers you support as you make your way down your path. It's also something you can point with and you can use it to hit a car (or person) that comes too close for comfort. Yep, a cane is a useful tool. The Mama, however, will have nothing to do with one. She says (not these exact words, but this idea), "The more you use a cane, the more you won't be able to walk on your own." I suppose, in her mind, a cane is proof that you've given up to old age. Fortunately, when she works in her gardens, she turns her rake or broom upside down and uses it kind of like a cane. But, she's not really using a cane, you see, because she's just transporting the rake or broom. All in all, the Mama is very strong for a frail-looking woman in her 90s. (Don't let that fragility fool you. The woman is pretty much all muscle.) By using a cane, the Husband and I would have false confidence
I like to sew. It was only recently that I realized I did. My passion to create via the sewing machine comes in spurts and usually 10 years apart. It is probably just my lazy nature that kept me from becoming skilled at the craft. Unlike the Mama. She is a talented seamstress. A very precise one, too. Though not anymore. She still has a pedal Singer sewing machine, but it's too heavy for her to work, and the electric sewing machine confounds her. So she says. These days, she asks me if I'd mend something for her on the sewing machine. That makes me feel darn-tooting good. Fortunately for me, she has mellowed and doesn't care that my seams are still not perfectly straight and tend to be wiggle-waggle looking. One of these days, I'll tell you, dear readers, the story about the time the Mama got a C (or was it a C minus) for my homemaking project in seventh grade. Today, I want to mention the Giveaway Day event that Sew, Mama, Sew! is hosting at its blog. Qui
Sometimes, it feels like this when I'm working: Herding sheep (which are the words ) into a pen. The sheep, however, are not being nice about going into the pen. Sheep there. Sheep over there. And more sheep way, waaaaay over there. Then, of course, I must not forget the sheep that are hidden from view. Or, those sheep that have made their way to a meadow I had no idea existed. Where's Little Bo Peep when you need her? But, wait, she lost her sheep. I wonder though if sheep is the best animal to stand for the words . How about a horse? Gallop. Trot. Nostrils flaring, head tossing back, foot stamping. Such attitude. Neighhhhhhhhhh . Maybe the words are more like cattle or milking cows. Mooooooooooo . Definitely not cats. Be nice if the words were more like dogs. Woof-woof . Here I am. How ya doing? I'll hang out with you. Can I do anything? You need a nuzzle. Give it a rest. Let's go for a walk. Yeah.
Check out other A to Z Challenge participants by clicking here . The Daddy lived in Honolulu, Hawaii when World War II began. He was getting his hair cut the morning that Pearl Harbor was bombed on December 7, 1941. ( I write about that here .) In April, 1942, he signed up for the U.S. Army. It was a Sunday afternoon. The Daddy was hanging out with a friend in Ala Moana Park. "Compadre, let's join the army," his friend said, seein g the ar my recruiting truck parked nearby . "I'm going now." “You go yourself,” the Dadd y answered, thinking about how good the wages had become. He was making a dollar an hour . "I'm working tonight." “I’m going” his friend said. “Go ahead.” His friend ran t o the truck and jumped on. The Daddy watched as more men jumped onto the truck. Soon, another truck stopped and parked. More men ran and jumped onto that truck. Before he realized it, the Daddy ran and jumped on the second truck, too. S