Overcoming Bloglessness


The Perambulation Proclamation

Daily Prompt What’s your travel style? Are you itinerary and schedule driven, needing to have every step mapped out in advance or are you content to arrive without a plan and let happenstance be your guide? via The Happy Wanderer.


When it comes to transportation
I prefer perambulation.

Eschew the queue and the vexation
of terminal, depot and station.

Walk for health and recreation.
Walk to save on medication.

Walk in silent meditation
if that is your inclination.

Witness nature’s jubilation.
Stop and smell the vegetation.

And bring a libation.


Pet Neglector

Daily Prompt Do you have animals in your life? If yes, what do they mean to you?  via Menagerie.

Besides the two hens, I have a goldfish named Mr. Bean. I don’t talk about him much. He’s a quiet chap; blows bubbles and rustles his rocks once in a while, looking for food. He’ll be two years old this summer.   I got him because a little girl begged.

I think he’s getting too big for his bowl.  Is he lonely, all by himself? Would he like a friend and an aquarium? I should pay more attention to him. I only look at him once or twice a day. I put pretty pictures behind his bowl, for interest.


Mr. Bean had a near death experience recently. I went to feed him and noticed he was lying upside-down on the rocks. He wasn’t gold anymore; he was pale silver. He was so dead looking, I wondered if I should flush him, plant him or throw him out to the raven.  A tiny voice said,  No more fishbowl cleaning!

But no, I saw his gills move. He was fighting for his life.

It was my fault. I had clean water ready for him, but I didn’t complete the task. I let it go until morning. He couldn’t breathe in such dirty water. Shame on me. Pet neglector.

I took his bowl to the kitchen and plopped him into clean water.  I stirred him round and round the bowl with the fishnet. The clean water and motion revived him enough that he could swim sideways a little, but he was listing and going belly up. I kept stirring and encouraging him.  C’mon boy, swim! Pretty soon he was going round the bowl sideways on his own. I thought he might survive, perhaps with some brain damage.

Mr. Bean made a full recovery. He got his color back and he doesn’t swim sideways anymore. I’d miss him, if he’d died. There’s something feng shui about a goldfish, if it’s not dead.

My Book Tour


Daily Prompt via BYOB(ookworm).

I enjoyed seeing Marilyn Armstrong’s bookshelves, so I’ve stolen her good idea which you can see at the link below.  Thank you, Marilyn! Sorry, I don’t know how to do a prettier link.


I’ve just donated a big bag of books to the library; memoirs, mostly, my favorite genre lately.  I’d love to keep them all, but I try to resist the temptation to amass anything; even books. I buy used books online and when the shelves get too full, I surrender them.

Grandpa’s Bookcase

Dad’s dad built this bookcase long before I was born. When it lived in Grandpa’s bedroom I was a tot and the book that caught my eye was a copy of “Sad Sack”. I’d love to see that book again.  The only other title I recall from those days was “The Tontine”.
At some point Grandpa’s bookcase was moved to the garage and lived beside his 1954 Packard. In those days the bookcase held garden tools and dust, a bayonet and cans of varnish that left dark halos on the shelves.

Dad inherited the bookshelf with the house and it stayed in the garage until I inherited it.  I used it to store canned goods and pet supplies in the mudroom at the old house.   Now it’s a proper book shelf again.  Marilyn Armstrong’s book, “The 12-Foot Teepee”  is there with family bibles and Grandma’s hymnals, field guides, kids stuff and whatnot collections.     My favorite book on this shelf is Annie Laurie Gaylor’s “Women Without Superstition” a collection of writings by 51 women who fought church and state for women’s rights.  Wait, my other favorite is “Giants in the Earth”,  a story of Norwegian immigrants who settled in Dakota, near my grandparents homestead.


My Dad Made This Bookcase

Two Raven books are missing from this bookcase (don’t loan a  book you want to keep!) and two books were written by cousins.   The vintage blue book, “Shep of the Painted Hills”, is a sweet  man and dog tale I found at an estate sale. It takes place in my homeland: Portland and the Mt. Hood area.  I gave it to Dad, when he was in hospital.  He loved it.

This bookcase holds old C.D.s, photo albums, too tall books and the radio I got with cigarette coupons, ages ago when I was a smoker.  It’s hard to pick a favorite in this bookcase; I love the Bernd Heinrich books and “My Life as an Indian” and “The Knife” and the one my cousin wrote about her family.

I haven’t finished Mark Twain’s autobiography, yet.  I’ll get back to that one, someday.


The Stacks


This is Mr. Raven’s stack. He swaps paperbacks at the bookstore, bags at a time. Other stacks live on our nightstands and the desk, cookbooks in the kitchen, of course. Just the basics there. Mom’s Betty Crocker and Grandma’s, my step-mother’s “Joy of Cooking”, one Bonnie gave me and the one I bought, which is recipes from locals.


There are stacks of music books too and magazine racks and a newspaper basket.
There’s never nothing to read in this house.


This completes the tour.  Thank you for stopping by!

Wilma Gets Pampered


Wilma had lost her joie de vivre. She felt dumpy and blue and wouldn’t lay an egg or race Betty to the food.

Wilma needed a spa day.


I expected a kerfuffle when I lowered her into the tub, but she settled right in and nodded off in the warm water.  Betty was not nearly that calm for her bath, but Wilma is a heat seeker.           
After a good soak and a rinse I swaddled her in a towel. Then the blow-dry.
Wilma stood still, closed her eyes and dug the hot air.


It takes a long time to blow-dry a chicken.  Outside it was coolish and windy, so I let Wilma finish drying in the cat carrier in the warm laundry room.

Now, I don’t give a chicken a bath just so she can feel pretty. Wilma needed a butt soak. It was a mess. She’s dropped a few weird, soft shelled eggs. She may be egg bound or have an infection.

I went to the Ag store for a pouch of antibiotic powder that dissolves in drinking water. The burly Ag store man laughed when I told him I’d given my chicken a bath and blow-dry.

“Gee, I’m coming to your house!”, he says. I keep thinking how I might have replied. A sexy wink and sponge-bath offer didn’t cross my mind.

“Do you have a poopy-butt too?” That crossed my mind. I didn’t say it. I just laughed and got outta there.

This evening Wilma is feeling better. She ate some cornbread and she’s walking and talking more.  She was quiet, when she was ill. Poor baby.

I hope tomorrow she’ll be her bossy old self again.


Daily Prompt Write about anything you’d like, but make sure that all seven colors of the rainbow — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet — make an appearance in the post, either through word or image. via Roy G. Biv.

Red combs and wattles. Orange feathers. Yellow sign.  Green grass.  Blue sky.  Indigo and violet send regrets.

Lucky Ducks



Weekly Photo Challenge, Afloat.


Theresa used to have a rubber ducky bathroom. She had rubber ducky curtains, rubber ducky rugs and a rubber ducky wastebasket. She had fireman ducks and postal ducks, nurse ducks and devil ducks, Santa ducks and football ducks and plain old, naked yellow rubber duckies in baskets and on shelves. Friends brought her more and more duckies.

It was a plague of rubber ducks.

Theresa decided the bathroom needed a fresh, new look. She redistributed her wealth of ducks; sent them all to good homes.

That’s how I got a box of ducks in the mail.

By the way, Winnie The Pooh does not float.


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