99 Problems

Did I accidentally set my clock back this weekend?  Way, way back?  Because while I’m out walking this morning, he suddenly appears,  materializing from a side street and now a few steps ahead of me.  Long feathered hair-teased into a voluminous gravity defying gray nest.  Tight faded jeans, cropped leather jacket and white high tops.  My smirk is as obvious as a pair of leopard spandex pants at a bridal show. Hey buddy, didn’t anyone tell you?  The 80’s are over! 

I slow my pace a bit so that I can maintain a comfortable distance behind him, and the more I observe him, the more I am actually starting to admire him.  He moves with carefree intention, and that magnificently maned head of his is held high.  If there are 99 problems staring him in the face, his demeanor says otherwise.

Still, for a split second I panic. What if the 1980’s really are happening all over again? 

They aren’t.  At least not for me.  But for this guy-comfortably distanced ahead of me, and confidently attired in the past-rewinding time 30 years just might make him superman.  And that gives dress for success a whole new meaning.

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I want to thank the mysterious fellow this morning who inspired this post, and I’d also like to add that my coffee sure would taste good in this mug…

Surprise! It’s our 900th post, and we want to celebrate with you. We know you’re busy. We know you’ve got to-do lists longer than War and Peace, but we hope you’ll play the surprise prompt game with us today.

Listen to Hugo talk about his 99 Problems and link up a response. Let the song or the idea of 99 problems inspire you.

As an added incentive to play along, a random linker will receive a Write on Edge coffee mug, the perfect way to perk up your mornings or keep you company while you’re working into the night.

On Deaf Ears

Amber colored agates.  Seashells.  A salt water washed stone.  Lined up on the kitchen sill, they sit indifferently, while she talks about her day.  That she expects nothing more from them is gratifying.

 

 

On to the Trifextra challenge.  This weekend, we want you to give us a thirty-three response using the word stone as one of your thirty-three words.  You can use any definition of the word that you'd like.

It Must Be Fried-day?

I’m taking an unofficial poll today, dear readers  How do you like your eggs cooked?

Over easy?

Hard boiled?

Poached?

Fried?

Soft boiled?

Sunny side up?

Or scrabbled?

 

I know, I know.  Bad yoke, er, I mean joke!

Have a great weekend!

Golden Anniversary

With singular grace that belies her age, she wraps around her weathered body, a grass skirt. After five decades, the emerald strands of raffia have faded to pale green. Still, the ties have not brittled, and her fingers, without too much difficulty, manage to knot them together.  The coconut top though, is another matter, and she is thankful to be donning it without the audience of a mirror.  She laughs at the thought of what her late husband would say to her-if he could only see.  It takes some doing, but at length, she is able to maneuver the shellacked brown half shells into their proper places.

Now that she is aptly attired, she directs an admiring gaze towards her potted palm. Visually measuring it’s height against the 10 foot ceilings of the parlor, she marvels that the tree must be nearly 8 feet tall, and again she is thankful for this house and it’s soaring rooms.  All those years ago. She is remembering her Honolulu honeymoon. Hawaii.  A land of exotic beauty unlike any she had ever seen.  Among the souvenirs she’d desired to have as mementoes of her visit-the hula ensemble, a carved wooden tiki, and a moderately expensive bottle of plumeria perfume-she’d also chosen the palm.  Barely bigger, at the time, than the coconut from which it grew, it was a piece of the Islands she could take home with her.  A fitting exchange for the piece of her heart she was leaving behind.

50 years ago.

Fifty years of longing for a place she was destined never to see again.

Her Victrola begins to serenade her with the first sweet strains of Aloha Oe, and she surrenders.   Assuming a position in front of her beloved palm, she is lost in old memories of paradise.  No longer does she feel the need to juggle past and present.  Closing her eyes, still as blue as the Pacific Ocean, she starts to sway.

 

This week we’re honoring the genius of Dr. Suess, who was born on March 2, 1904.  Our two Seussical offerings are an image and a line from one of his books. Happy writing!

“I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees for the trees have no tongues.”

Dr. Seuss, from The Lorax

 

JUGGLE (transitive verb)
1a : to practice deceit or trickery on : beguile
  b : to manipulate or rearrange especially in order to achieve a desired end
2a : to toss in the manner of a juggler
  b : to hold or balance precariously
3: to handle or deal with usually several things (as obligations) at one time so as to satisfy often competing requirements <juggle the responsibilities of family life and full-time job — Jane S. Gould>

I’ve Got Your Number

Last week, after a two week interruption in our routine, Paula and I finally resumed our Friday rounds to St. Vincent de Paul and Goodwill.  (The clerk at Goodwill even demanded to know where we’d been!)  Both stores were absolutely bursting at the seams with other bargain hunters.  I’m guessing the ninety-nine cent clothing sale at St. Vincent’s, and the 50% off all donated items at Goodwill may have had something to do with it.  Browsing was, to say the least, a little challenging-and while I didn’t find anything I wanted at Goodwill, I did find this at St. Vinnies-

It’s an early 1960’s Rolodex.  I paid 75 cents for it.  Not bad, considering that I did some checking online and found the exact same Rolodex for 30 dollars.  I’m not sure why, but I’ve always wanted a vintage Rolodex-I guess I like the idea of flipping through the little cards in search of a phone number, while cradling the handset to an old black telephone under my chin.  It just seems so charmingly old fashioned.  Or maybe I envision myself as the head of my own detective agency, hunting down missing husbands.

There were a few names and addresses still written on some of the cards-and Paula, who’s lived in Ellensburg most of her life even knew who some of the people were.  We both got a kick out of the notation next to the name on the card above. 

She married early Oct ‘97. 

That might be a useful bit of information-should I choose to become a private eye.

In the meantime, a couple weeks ago I uncovered another remnant (no pun intended!) of the early 1960’s-this stunning avocado green Hawaiian barkcloth, which I plan to pair with the vintage tiki inspired button that I found last summer in a second hand store a few miles away. 

Stay tuned…

Amnesia

I know this.

The dog sleeps at the bottom of the stairs.

Has, every night, for years.

Still, my tip toed descents in search of late night sustenance always end the same.

Yelp!

 

This is my first submission for a Trifecta writing challenge. For the weekend challenge we're asking for exactly thirty-three words written in first person narrative.

 

 

And The Winner Is…

Dolores?  Dolores?

That mannequin of mine.  I hate it when she ignores me.

Dolores!  I’m talking to you!  Guess what?  Today’s the day one of my lovely readers wins my contest.  Would you like to help me?  I just saw a couple of cute sailors carrying sea bags full of entries.  Did you see them too?  I thought it would be fun to put all of the names into my dad’s old sailor hat, and have you choose the winner!

No?  You’re brooding again? 

Well can I at least take a picture of you modeling my dad’s hat?

Oh, Dolores.

I asked my husband to do the honors.  Pick the name, that is, though I bet he’d have gladly modeled my dad’s hat, too. And he may have even smiled.  But I didn’t want to push my luck.

So now, I’d like to announce the winner!!

Congratulations to someone familiar to a lot of us-Renae from Simple Sequins!  I’ll be in touch, my friend!

Thanks, everyone, for entering-and good job on correctly guessing what I found odd about that jar.  (Even Dolores should smile over that!)

Have a great weekend, my darlings!