My Writings. My Thoughts.
“I couldn’t go with you to check the noise. I was paralyzed with fear.”
“You didn’t HAVE to be.”
“By definition, yes, yes I did.”
Pajama shelf bra: Bib for dropped late night popcorn.
I need to paint the front door, but it’s mosquito season and I don’t want the inside of the house to be the box in a bug spray commercial. I also don’t want Doug building another ‘clean room‘ before we’ve repaired the staple damage from the last one. Hmmm.
I need to find a place for a dozen PTSA people to meet on a weeknight in July. Restaurants are noisy, but food does make meetings more fun. I wish I could think of someplace interesting.
I want to find a functional, but aesthetically yuck old chandelier. I don’t want an electrical fire hazard, but I also don’t want to feel guilty about painting and re-doing the bead work. I should ask my friends who find treasures at yard sales and thrift stores to keep an eye out for old light fixtures.
I ordered something online and it never arrived. The vendor is willing to replace the missing order IF I provide a work address. My address isn’t the reason the package disappeared. I haven’t had any other packages disappear. Why do I have to have the package delivered to someone else and get it from them? Does the vendor think I live in an underground bunker or have gangs of print order thieves wandering my neighborhood? It disappeared at the Post Office. Shouldn’t they make it more difficult for the Post Office instead of me?
I wish I could get one of the cars being sold at the local University’s auction this week. I don’t care which one. I’ll even drive a campus security car. I just need out of the house. Especially if I’m going to have to drive somewhere to pick up online purchases.
“What is this movie supposed to be about?”
“I’m not sure, but it won a bunch of awards. It must be art-y.”
My mother and her sister were two of the children taken by Georgia Tann. They were taken from Lenoir City Tennessee in 1945. My mom Audrey Ann Hatley was sent to NYC. Her sister Linda was sent to Ca. My mother was passed off as German Hebrew to Mr and Mrs William Jacobs of NYC. They were provided with a fictitious birth certificate and false documents. My mother was one of the lucky ones. She returned to Nashville Tn after she became 21 and was able to find some of her family who had by that time moved to Cincinnatti Ohio. The family was told that the children had died. I am looking for any surviving relatives for Geneology purposes. You have 12 blood relatives that you are not aware of. Please contact me at the email provided. Thank you Jo Olsen.
Everyone should have seen it coming. The complaints were getting louder and the glares were lasting longer. Still, when it finally happened, there was a collective gasp. The pause in breathing fueled the black hole in the room. The black hole was created by the quiet stillness of horror at the realization that she had given up hope. She stopped holding on and let go…
of the pile of orphaned socks.
“I think it’s time for you to wake up now, daddy.”
<- streeetch out so that you are double parked in dad's space AND the middle of the bed. ->
It was fine and dandy to have a nest of tangled power cords on and under my desk when my workspace was in the kitchen. When I moved my space to the basement, the mess of cables became a distraction. So, I began my quest to clean up my mess by counting the number of items with charging cords. With that number in mind, I sought out a small wheeled cart. Upon finding the right cart, I put a single electronic in each drawer. The bottom drawer became the storage for the power strip with all of the charging cables plugged into it. An easily accessible drawer near the top became the spot for my MomAgenda and a file folder of current paperwork. Voila. Mom’s junk is now organized and one single cord peeks out the back of the cart to plug into the wall outlet. Eventually, I will cable tie each power cord to its drawer to prevent unplugged cables from slithering out of the cart.
I labeled the drawer contents in this photo, but the genius of this project is both its simplicity AND that it should be personalized for your needs. If you need a cart for all of the family phones, you might prefer to use something like this. If you have several RC vehicles to charge, you might use something like this. Maybe you need to see the items and want something sturdier than plastic, like this. Regardless of the item you choose for your power station, the end result is going to be less tech spaghetti. Nobody wants spaghetti you can’t eat.
Like an ancient rag doll, my skin is sewn with nerve stitches, to the muscle shell that contains the skeletal cage for gooey organ gears and every so often, a twinge announces the popping of a stitch or three.