Sunday, November 27, 2011

Why Ask Why

Someone ended up clicking through to my blog after Googling "sister in law saw me naked".

That is all.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

The Virginal Housecoat*

So I have a new favourite website.  It's called The N +7 Machine.  The premise is simple: you enter some text into the box, click "submit" and your prose is returned to you with the nouns replaced with subsequent entries in the dictionary.

For kicks, I used the last F55 I wrote, a few weeks back.  Consider it N +0:

Your angry words: a fuse that just won’t catch. I’m too damn tired to fight tonight. The bedtime story I’m reading our son is ripped from my hands and tossed aside. He’s the four year old, but you’re the one who’s being childish.

You storm off. I retrieve the book and read, like nothing happened.


Here are my fifty-five words for G-Man's Friday 55. Head on over and see what others had to say this week, and maybe give the F55 a shot yourself.

From there, it provides N +1 (one place down in the dictionary), N +2 (two places down in the dictionary), and so on, all the way up to N +15.  Here are a few of my favourites:

N +5:
Your angry workforces: a future that just won’t caterwaul. I’m too dance tired to figurehead tonight. The bedtime strainer I’m realtor our sonnet is ripped from my handcarts and tossed aspirate. He’s the four yelp old, but you’re the one who’s bell childish.

You straddle off. I retrieve the booklet and read, like noun happened.


Here are my fifty-five workforces for G-Mandarin's Friday 55. Header on over and see what others had to say this weigh-in, and maybe give the F55 a showcase yourself.

 N +10
Your angry workloads: a gad that just won’t catnap. I’m too danger tired to filler tonight. The bedtime stranglehold I’m rear our sorcerer is ripped from my handicrafts and tossed assassin. He’s the four yield old, but you’re the one who’s bellow childish.

You stranger off. I retrieve the bookshop and read, like novice happened.


Here are my fifty-five workloads for G-Mandrill's Friday 55. Headline on over and see what others had to say this weirdo, and maybe give the F55 a show-off yourself.

N +15

Your angry workshops: a gaggle that just won’t catwalk. I’m too darkness tired to film tonight. The bedtime strategy I’m reassurance our sortie is ripped from my handlings and tossed assent. He’s the four yogi old, but you’re the one who’s benchmark childish.

You strategist off. I retrieve the boomerang and read, like nude happened.


Here are my fifty-five workshops for G-Mango's Friday 55. Headquarters on over and see what others had to say this welt, and maybe give the F55 a shredder yourself.

Happy Thanksgiving, to all my American friends!  Have a piece of pie for me!  

*The Title of today's post is the N +6 version of the title of the original F55, The Violet Hour

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Losing My Religion

Once upon a time, a woman and her three daughters were driving home from a baby shower.  It was summer, and except for the fact that the woman's husband had taken a job far from home to make ends meet, life was pretty good.

But then everything changed, irrevocably.

The woman has spent the last three months in the hospital, still recovering from the multitude of injuries she received in that life-altering car accident.  Her seventeen-year-old daughter still needs her crutches to get around.  And there are two little girls who will never, ever be any older than ten and eleven.  Two little girls that are gone forever.

How do you go on from something like that?  I can't even imagine.

Their family has rallied around them; the community has too.  Last night, there was a fundraiser to help this struggling family carry on - despite the fact that we all might wish it were otherwise, in the real world, bills still need to be paid, even if your daughters are dead.

There were raffle tickets for sale and a band played cover songs all through the night.  It almost felt like a Stag 'n Doe, except for the pictures of the two little girls, propped up in front of the stage.

The woman was able to get herself sprung from the hospital for the night.  Her husband and various family members took turns pushing her in her wheel chair around the hall. 

Near the end of the night, the band broke into a rendition of "Losing My Religion".  It's not really a good song for dancing to, and the floor remained empty through the first minute or two of the song.  But then the woman was wheeled out onto the dance floor by her husband.  He took her by the hand and she pulled herself up out of her chair.  And as they clung to each other and swayed to the music, the band sang:

And that was just a dream
Try, cry, why try
That was just a dream
Just a dream
Just a dream, dream

I don't think I will ever forget it, not if I live to be one hundred. 

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Incomplete and Insecure

Yesterday was the first "Pizza Day" of the school year, and Will's first one ever.  I didn't pay it much mind - Will loves pizza, so I figured he'd enjoy the special treat.  Ha.  Goes to show what I know.

When I got home and pulled out his school folder, I found a note from his teacher inside.

Dear Mrs. A, 

Just wanted to let you know that Will was very upset at lunch today.  When I got back from my lunch he was crying/sobbing because he did not have his lunch bag.  The lunch monitor gave him his pizza and explained that it was his 'special' lunch - but he didn't want to eat it.  I gave him a cuddle and comforted him until he settled down and then I was able to get him to sit at a table with me and he ate his pizza after the other children had gone outside.  I reassured him that he would have his lunch bag back tomorrow.

Mrs. R.

I guess it's important to consider how the world looks through the eyes of a four-year-old.  As far as he is concerned, for the last two and a half months, his little Hot Wheels lunch bag has been the one thing that doesn't change, no matter what.  The occasional supply teacher, different activities, a new "Student of the Day" each morning -- kindergarten is a crazy place, full of new experiences every day.  Is it any wonder a little guy would latch on to the one constant thing in his days, and miss it when it wasn't there?

Poor little man.  Oh dear.