Can’t remember the name of the British author whose ghost stories were an influence on a partner. I would like to read them, if I could remember…
When we were all iced in, so to speak, and I had no television to monitor the sit-chee-ashun, I listened to WWL AM radio, for news. Periodically, they would have live reports from officers of various law enforcement branches reporting on the streets, conditions, etc. And then, around mid-afternoon, a real gem of an officer–a woman–called in to give a report. Instead of just giving a report of just the facts, ma’am, she stated, “and this cold weather, clearly brought on by global warming, will remain with us until tomorrow.” I won’t mention her ethnicity, but regardless of that, it was clear she had drunk the liberal Kool-Aid all the way down to the dregs. The DJ listening didn’t seem to bat an eye at her statement and went to commercial break. About fifteen minutes later, when he had been taking calls from the public, he announced, please, I can’t put you on the air if you only want to comment on Officer————‘s statement about global warming. So, if that’s all you want to discuss, please don’t call in; I’m trying to get reports from our listeners regarding their own condition. I can just imagine what that bunch wanted to say. It was so danged cold outside I could hardly breathe. New Orleans has gotten freezes like this in January from time to time since I was a little girl, especially the January after Daddy died and poor Mom was left to cope with the floor furnace going out. Bless her heart, the repairman coming at 3AM in the morning with hands bleeding from the cold and Mom made him a pot of hot coffee and he sat at the kitchen table drinking it. I slept through all of this under an electric blanket with my brother, and when I heard what had happened in the night, I was most disappointed I was not awake to meet him. Global warming.
Kennedy’s mouth gleaming like a light bulb.
Here we have Trey, on the right, in a side-swept, frontal pompadour do. The halls of the Capitol rise behind him, along with his hair.
Trey Gowdy will leave Congress at the end of his term. Going to miss Trey. Just this morning I was planning to post a Trey Gowdy Do of the Month shot to showcase his ever changing hairstyles. I watched part of the Democrats rebuttal of President Trump’s State of the Union address, which I thought was magnificent and the behavior of the Democrats present a disgrace. Booing and groaning–and–HISSING when Trump introduced the two sets of parents whose young daughters had been brutally murdered by MS-13 members; the Black Caucus remaining seated and stony face when Trump truthfully said black unemployment figures were now at a record-making historical low. Not applauding mention of Veterans, standing for the National Anthem and the flag, especially after introducing a little boy who personally was responsible for placing American flags on the graves at Arlington. Trump’s best line of the night was in reference to DACA and Americans when he said, “Americans are dreamers, too.” Nancy Pelosi looked like a gun moll, her face was so hard. They were a disgrace because most of the things they chose not to applaud nor stand for were American national standards that every politician should support.
Well, the Democrats chose Joseph Kennedy, III to make the rebuttal. 37-years old and the only thing that stood out about him was the amount of vaseline or something he had rubbed on his lips and chin because the television lights kept catching it making him look as though he were drooling or had just eaten buttered corn on the cob. Seriously. I’ll have to find a picture of this and share. And then Bernie Sanders came onscreen saying with complete outrage, I can’t believe a sitting president gave a State of the Union address and made NO MENTION OF–climate change!!! Rock on, Bernie Old Boy. CNN said, “he never mentioned Russia! All he spoke about was carnage!” Excuse me? He was divisive. There he was asking for everyone to work together because we were all Americans. Ah, blind hatred. Sincerely yours, Still a Trump Deplorable.
…no questions were asked. No pressure, don’t want to spoil the happiness of the past few weeks. Just be happy.
Just a lot of questions and thoughts running through my mind, and they are the kind of questions that my thoughts answer, if that makes sense. And maybe I should be asking them but a mind is a terrible thing to which you apply brakes. Philosophical rumination where somehow, as though the question had a twin, a thought appears to answer it. Such as, and let me emphasize, these are pop into my head from out of nowhere questions, if a man is divorced does that mean he is no longer a father? Does it mean that he won’t care for his children any less than he did before, not always be there for them, even if they are older. It would depend on the man I suppose but knowing the man in question my thoughts immediately answer, irrevocably, no, to all aspects. Perhaps, if it’s possible, he might even be a super father who becomes even more of a super father. Who wouldn’t stand behind that in full support? My thought answers that question, and I don’t think I need to identify who that full supporter would be.
Well, it’s a late post. Crazy, busy, day, annoying morning from a nosy person persistently interfering in something I was handling that was so completely confidential to the point I had to report that person as an alert. And they were counseled. Because not only do they possess nosiness, they also can’t keep their mouth shut. You know when you keep telling someone, I’m handling this, I’m on it, and they keep ruffling and rifling…and won’t get the hell away.
When you tell the truth in a non-spectacular way, on household subjects like sewing, as you did recently, you give a perfect picture of how things really area. Think you can keep it up without the ruffles, furbelows and over compensation as you did this past weekend. In other words, an accurate picture without editorializing one way or the other? If you are so inclined.
Okay, if you want to read the short story, please see the other site. It formatted a little off, but it’s readable. If you like it, give me a sign.
and I may be smiling, but heavens do I have a case of the Monday crud. Cranky, out of sorts, tired, and it was such a nice weekend! Want to be walking Irish lanes with you.
But it is a beautiful morning, getting to look like February and chilly, but it’s not where I want to be walking. Glad to see you look so happy as you did Saturday. And I loved what you were wearing. Great colors and I’ve always thought navy blue, dark blue were your best colors, even over green.
This morning my buddy Gilbert gave me a Mardi Gras pin in the shape of a crown with Mardi Gras-colored stones, and an official Mardi Gras second line handkerchief. He also gave me a periodical about Louisiana culture that he thought would be a natural fit for me. Gilbert blogs about antiques and he is a most refined and kind person. He and his significant other live in Old Metairie also.
I’m considering putting a short story I wrote on the other site just so you can read it. It’s still in the rough. And I warn you, it’s a bit dark. It’s funny how my fiction always takes a dark turn, although all of what takes place in it isn’t entirely my black mind because part of it was based on something awful that really happened to something quite innocent in Natchez over a hundred years ago. I have to think this over before I do it.
I feel the same way as I did one Saturday and I was in Dorignac’s shopping. I wanted to bite the head off of everyone I came in contact with, but didn’t. When I unloaded and unpacked my groceries, I stretched across my bed with the intention to just get a second breath and the next thing I knew it was three hours later. I’m becoming like an old pooch, just sleeping, waking up at night several times to wander the house in search of another resting spot.
The Grammys. Ah, an award show. I didn’t watch it, but I did see clips of it. I know she thought was being funny when Hillary Clinton appeared reading an excerpt from that tabloid book about Trump,”Fire and Fury,” and it was funny–for this reason. There she was on the Grammys reading from a trash book smirking all the while Trump is in the White House preparing the State of the Union address. Gosh, that’s got to rankle!