Overcoming Bloglessness



Weekly Photo Challenge
This week, let’s play with light! Show us what refraction means to you.

Rainbows, of course. We get some beauties here; singles and doubles, high ones and low ones.



Rainbows are too easy. I really had to search for another form of refraction. I found some refracted toes.


And this one is more reflection than refraction, but I like it, so I’m throwing it in.




Eternal Life

Daily Prompt Finite Creatures.
At what age did you realize you were not immortal? How did you react to that discovery?

There was no epic Moment of Discovery; I’ve always known I’d die someday. It’s part of childhood indoctrination. They start telling you you’re going to die as soon as you can perform recitations.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take

It wasn’t hard to accept that my body would die. What was difficult, at first, was accepting oblivion, rather than an eternal afterlife. Even after rejecting the biblical narrative, I clung to the idea that somehow my consciousness would survive my physical death, float up through the cosmos and be part of an omniscient collective consciousness. My ego balked at the notion that when I die, I cease to exist. It took time and thought to accept that after death, there’s nothingness, just like before I was born.

Oh, how sad for you! say the believers. They think I must feel hopeless. Joyless. Purposeless. They think I fear death.

But the opposite is true. Facing oblivion is a relief, having spent more than half my life fretting about Judgment Day. I found no comfort in unbelievable Christian dogma. Faith, to me, is the same as pretending.

And, while I really like the collective consciousness idea, I have no reason to believe it’s anything more than another comforting story to soothe the savage ego.

I’ve accepted my mortality. I’ll savor this short life and be here, now. After that, I reckon I’m going to be stardust.

I reckon you are too.


What the?

While doing some domestic dusting on the last day of windows wide open,  I recognized neighbor boy voices outside. The little guys.

One boy said, “What the?”

The other boy said, “I know, right?”

That was all they said. I admired their telepathic powers; their oneness.  I wondered what they’d seen that was worthy of a “What the?”

Dusting the windowsill, I saw the pair: crew cut boys on shining bikes, their little legs just a-goin’ and a-goin’.  They flew down the gravel road without another word.

Looking about for some kind of “What the?” I saw nothing.   No wildlife in the hayfields,  no vehicles, no strangers, nothing dead on the road, birdless blue sky.


Just two boys on bikes, saying what the big kids say.

Daily PromptCounting Voices.



Dictionary, Shmictionary.

Mom, you’re such a dildo!

That was a jaw-dropping moment. She must’ve heard kids saying dildo at school, but she was only seven. She didn’t know what it meant. She thought she was saying something like do-do or weirdo or maybe even dill-hole, which would have been shocking too, but not as memorable as dildo.

That reminds me of those socks I bought my son when he was about eight. Safe Sox. They had a secret little pocket where, I thought, he could keep his lunch money.
What a surprise when he discovered the condom inside the secret sock pocket on Christmas morning.
Safe Sox.
Now I get it.



This is a sign of a religious fanatic.


He’s probably a nice man; just a little crazy for god and signs and crosses. His ranch is decorated with signs and crosses and he’s provided signs and banners to any yard or barn or business that will post one. Magnets too, for Christian cars. The valley is littered with God’s Ten.

Mr. Klevmoen hopes these signs will save somebody from hell’s eternal flames. He hopes god will look down and smile when he sees the god park. He wants everyone to see how much he loves god.

It’s Free Speech. But it’s ugly. Religious and non-religious people have complained, but Klevmoen is not in violation of any sign ordinances. In fact, these billboards aren’t even considered signs, by the county’s definition, because they’re not selling something. That’s right. Religious exemption. Because god loves cheesy graphics.

What if Secular Park was right across the street? The words of Ingersoll, Stanton, Paine and the forefathers, writ large. Better graphics; more pleasing to the eye. Landscaping.

I can see no reason, absolutely none, why women have clung to the doom of the gods. I cannot understand why they have not rebelled.

Voltairine de Cleyre 1896

I’d like to see that. Of course, it’d be vandalized right away.

Blown to smithereens, probably.



Ready, Set, Done.


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