Descent: Weekly Photo Challenge — This week, show us your interpretation of descent.
The old stairs had to go. Several treads were broken and several more were soft and showing signs of rot. On this day, the family got together with friends and new steps emerged. It’s all downhill from the deck above.
Trick or Trick – It’s Halloween, and you just ran out of candy.
We live off the beaten path. Trick-or-treaters don’t come this way. Our street has too few houses to make it worth the effort — and the road is dark. We don’t even bother to buy candy for the holiday anymore.
When local kids, our kids, want to do “Trick of Treat,” they go into town where there is light, sidewalks, and Halloween decorations.
In the name of saving electricity, there are no streetlights in this part of town. We aren’t really in town, except technically. City water pipes don’t come here. We have a fire house nearby in which some trucks live, but no firemen.
Not that we have full-time firefighters. We have a fire chief who doubles as the chief of our tiny police department. It’s a quiet town. As in most small towns, volunteers carry the load.
We haven’t had a serious fire in quite a while and hopefully, won’t. Now that we’ve had some rain, the danger of fire has dropped. Good.
Because Halloween is here — and we want all our little ghouls, ghosts, goblins, superheros and fairy princesses to be safe.
From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-legged beasties
And things that go bump in the night
Good Lord, deliver us!
– Traditional Scottish Prayer
I’ve never met a ghoul, and I have questions about long-legged beasties, but I can speak from personal experience about things that go bump in the night. Long ago in a house far away, we had our own ghosts, or at least “night bumpers.”
I cannot claim to have seen a ghost, but I lived in a house where we could hear them. It was 1965 when we bought our tidy little brick house. It had been built in 1932. Most of the house was on the ground floor — kitchen, dining room, living room, two bedrooms and the bath. The upper floor had an unfinished attic and a big bedroom. It was a small house. Solid, a short walking distance from the college where my husband worked and where I was finishing my B.A.
The ambiance of the house from the moment we walked into it was cozy. Friendly. It welcomed everyone, made them feel at home. The house had been built by a couple who had lived there for more than 30 years. They had raised children their children and eventually died in that house.
They were not murdered or anything sordid. They merely grew old and passed on in the house they loved. We loved it too.
The house was a bit neglected. Not falling down, but in need of paint and some modernization. Cosmetic fixes. Paint. Floors needed refinishing. The boiler needed updating.
For the first few months, we lived on the ground floor, but we planned to move to the big upstairs bedroom. It was spacious and had windows full of light. We decided to fix it up, give it a coat of paint and redo the floors before settling upstairs.
Shortly after we moved in, our ghosts began to walk. It was startling the first time we heard it. Loud. Clear. Heavy footsteps, like the soles of hard leather shoes or boots. Plus the sharper noise of heels. It turned out everyone — anyone — could hear it. The noise started every night around eight and continued off and on until midnight.
We called the walkers “The Old Man” and “The Old Woman.” They wore different shoes. Her shoes had that sharp sound — high heels on hardwood. His shoes were clunkier, maybe work boots. Both of them had died in the house, so they were prime candidates for ghosthood, especially since no one else had lived in the house until us.
Initially, we heard them upstairs and on the stairway. After we painted the stairs, the footsteps retreated to the upper floor. Once we began painting the bedroom, we heard them for a while longer, but only in the attic. Then, one day, our ghosts were gone. They never came back.
Were they watching to see if we cared for their home? Were we all hallucinating? Maybe the couple who had lived there were watching. Making sure we did right by their house.
I suppose we passed muster and they felt it was okay to leave.
Life is full of stuff that can’t be explained rationally and we didn’t try. But I’ll bet anyone who was in our house during the months our ghosts walked never doubted what they heard.
I’ve been trying to find a word that describes the process by which an application that used to be great goes downhill. It’s sort of like entropy. But also, sort of not.
Hi-tech venture capital development was my world for more than 30 years. I retired five years ago. Now I watch the process as a consumer. It’s definitely a new angle.
Here’s how it goes. A group of smart computer jocks are hanging out in the garage one day. One of them has a brilliant idea. Another says, “Hey, you know? We could really do that. And sell it. I bet someone would give us money to build it.”
So they start asking around and eventually find some rich people willing to take a risk (or a tax write-off). Start-up money!
They find affordable quarters, hire a few more people — including me. Now we’re a team. We create a fantastic product, something so forward-thinking and unique, it’s as close to perfect as an application of that kind can be.
After which:
1) They run out of money and everyone regroups — or looks for a new job
2) Against all odds, they sell the product to a couple of big customers and are in business for real.
I’ve been with a lot of start-ups. Too many.
Most of them went under. A couple made enough to keep going but not enough to thrive. A few took off and went on do great things.
Assuming success came and assuming the company only has (so far) one product — what next? How to keep customers coming back and paying more for the same product?
The initial one or two new versions are free. These usually consist of bug fixes and tweaks to smooth out the interface. Eventually, though, there’s no avoiding it. You need your customers to buy a new version. And the only reason to create a new version is to generate income.
Software companies rely on upgrade income to keep alive, from Apple, to 
Microsoft, to the guys in the cold garage.
The eventual result of this are upgrades which add pointless bells and whistles — without improving the product. Ultimately, though, the upgrades become downgrades. The product’s functionality decreases. The application becomes bloated, overloaded with stuff no one needs or wants.
Look what happened to Microsoft Office. Word was a great text handler, but no longer is. Outlook has noticeably less functionality than it did 8 years ago and it’s harder to use.
You see it happening on WordPress as their “improved, easier blogging experience” isn’t easier and surely is no improvement. There are countless examples, all of which basically demonstrate how companies ruin their own products to create a revenue stream. And of course, also maintaining the image of a forward-moving organization.
Developers get caught between a rock and a hard place. They can’t charge customers for fixing bugs, or at least shouldn’t. And no one is going to pay them more for an unchanged application.
That’s how come Adobe and Microsoft are trying so hard to get us to “rent” our software rather than own it. It’s why Apple’s operating systems become obsolete before you’ve entirely unpacked your new computer. Everyone is caught in the same loop.
“Leasing” provides a revenue stream. On the positive side, at least companies can stop making destructive “upgrades” to good products (one would hope, anyhow).
Other than leasing, how do you keep money coming in after perfecting your application? You can create ever fancier bells and whistles, but you can’t make people want them.
From the consumer’s point of view, it turns everything into an ongoing expense instead of a final purchase. We find ourselves buying a product again and again — wondering how we got suckered in. Because the latest, greatest version isn’t great. Not even as good.
For some of us, it’s a serious economic issue. We don’t have money to lease everything. We won’t have it in the future. We are stuck. There’s no positive outcome for us.
Is this “software entropy”? Or … what is it? Is there a name for this?
Trio No. 3 – Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call).
It was a dark and stormy night when the power went out. I knew the first windstorm would knock down the line. Why can’t Mass Electric take care of business before it becomes an emergency.
I stood with my head leaning on the refrigerator. The big, metal box was silent. Not a hum or a vibration came from his hulking presence. No little happy tune this night. The only sounds I could hear were the howls of the first winter storm of the year.
There was nothing I could do but continue to stand there. Lurking, occasionally emitting a soft, gurgling moan. Poor refrigerator. There he stands, messy — covered with magnets, the messages and events of a household on his metal hull while he waits. As do we all for the power to return. Waiting and worrying. How long would this outage last? If I call the power company, they would lie to me or tell me they “were working one it” and they would “let me know” when it was fixed.
Don’t they think I’d notice when the power comes back on? Like when all the lights come back? Not to mention the computers, the heat, and the well pump?
I, with tears of sadness and frustration trailing down my cheeks, knowing all my food is in that fridge … and the electric company is holding it for ransom.
Was my silent fridge crying too? Only the shadow knows and he’s not talking.
From the biggest pumpkin patch, to the most gloriously orange pumpkins, to a house made of pumpkins, to the finest carved jack o’lanterns. It’s that time of year again. Orange, orange everywhere. The world is pumpkin colored, pumpkin flavored. Try the muffins or a have some pumpkin coffee.
We all want cool toys. The latest (hugest) iPhone. The hot sports car. We want all of it. Now, please. For this, the credit card was invented. I believe after the world ends and only cockroaches remain, Visa will still be sending threatening letters to cardholders. The price tag is part of my ambivalence even though I was wild to get my paws on a computer so incredibly hot that it would virtually sear my fingertips. Most of the mixed emotions are because setting up a new computer is a total immersion experience into tasks simultaneously critical and intensely boring.
It arrived yesterday. Packed in a beautifully designed box so nice it feels wrong to throw it away. So I haven’t. Yet. It’s on my dining table. Every time I go into the room, I am amazed at how gorgeous it is. That’s just the box.
I was caught short when it arrived. Dell had told me to expect it on or near November 4th. Although I know Dell typically delivers early, this was very early, beating their “expected delivery date” by two weeks. Not that I’m complaining. Just explaining I wasn’t ready to immerse myself in the experience known as “setting up a new computer.” It’s immersive because once you begin, you can’t stop until you are done.
Perhaps if you use your computer just a little, swapping to a new computers is a plug-and-play event. Not me. According to my last backup from a couple of days ago, I have 40,000 photographs and 3,000 documents. A lot of stuff. And that’s just data.
Applications needing installation included Photoshop. Lightroom. OpenOffice. Audible. Kindle. Chrome. All the other stuff I’m forgetting. I can’t skip any of it. Setup isn’t only installing. You can’t plunk an application onto the hard drive and you’re done. You have to configure it too. And let’s not forget configuring the computer itself. I have specific preferences for how my computers works. I want it to shut off when I close the lid. Not sleep or hibernate. Turn completely off. I want the power optimized for performance — no dimmed monitors. I want updates to self-install when the computer is not in use and then, only important updates.
I want everything to open with a single mouse click. I need on-screen text bigger than standard. I want the mouse marker thick enough to spot easily amidst text.
I also wanted to make my keyboard glow like a rainbow and the alien head glow green — because on this computer, I can.
It was late morning when the carton arrived with DELL splashed across it. My stomach gave a flutter.
Unready though I was, a shiver of excitement with an undercurrent of fear goaded me to action. It unpacked easily. I plugged it in. Turned it on. It went through its self-setup. This is Windows 7 Professional — I’ve never used it before. I’m not clear what the difference is from plain vanilla Windows 7. I’m counting on the computer to know what it needs and where to put it.
It asks me to give my new baby a name. I call him “Alien.” What else?
Seven hours later, it’s all done but the fine-tuning. I’ve transferred my data from the new external hard drive, programmed my rainbow keyboard (totally cool).
I’ve never had a computer that felt this good under my hands. Beautifully designed and solid. I am surprised how much I miss the larger screen of my 15.6 inch XPS. Alien is 14 inches. Not tiny, but not large. A good portable size and the monitor is remarkably crisp, clear, and non-reflective. I have a 23″ monitor in the other room, so I can always plunk my butt in my office chair and use the big high def monitor. Maybe I will, maybe not.
I have yet to install the printer and I need to make a variety of small adjustments to the computer and various applications. Mostly, it’s done. Including today, it has taken about 10 hours.
Was it worth it?
I love the way Alien feels. I love the keyboard, the graphics. I don’t understand why the hard drive is only 5400 RPS. My XPS is 7200, but that option wasn’t offered on any of the Alienware machines. Why not? So everything is supersonic — except HD read/write. Yes, I can tell the difference. The speakers on this computer are okay, but the ones on the XPS were great. A lot better. If I want better sound, I’ll have to use headphones or a clip-on speaker.
Nothing is perfect. Not the car of your dreams or my new computer, but it’s close. It is definitely what the doctor ordered for what I most need. It handles even the heaviest graphics without a hiccup.
Just to give you an example, while it was importing and sorting 36,000 photographs into Lightroom, the computer also installed 64 Microsoft updates. I turned down its offer to reboot after installing the updates because it was still finishing sorting all my photographs into a continuous timeline, something I’ve wanted to do but never had the strength of character to attempt.
Wow. Really. Wow.
Fork in the river
Chestnut Street in Upton
Follow the footsteps of those who have gone before
Watch your step … that first one is a bit abrupt!
Scary bridge over troubled waters
A subtle (maybe not so subtle?) comment on guns in the world and a great comic. If you haven’t yet met the Evil Squirrel’s Nest, please allow me to introduce you!
In Retrospect – Yesterday you invented a new astrological sign. Today, write your own horoscope — for the past month (in other words, as if you’d written it October 1st).
As if yesterday were not bad enough, now you want me to write about this soon-to-be-over month as if it hadn’t happened yet — but like someone had the prescience to know what would happen. And write about it like a silly newspaper astrologer.
Well, the jokes on you because I used to be one of those silly newspaper astrologers. I quickly learned no matter what twaddle I wrote, someone always thought I’d nailed their life. A soothsayer can, it would seem, do no wrong. And really, this assignment is just a version of “What did you do on your vacation” turned backwards. Or sideways. Or something.
Hocus … … … POCUS! and WHOOSH. A puff of mist rises from the crystal ball. My eyes are wide, like saucers — small saucers like those that come with demi-tasse cups.
Mist in the morning, Peachum, Vermont
“Madame Zthulu,” I cry, “what does this mean?”
“You will travel far and wide,” she croaks ominously. “But slowly, very slowly. You will see everything as you pass it. Your number is … ” And here she pauses and rummages in her sack to pull out a pack of cards with big numbers on them. I’m pretty sure I can see numbers on both side of the cards.
“Hey, aren’t those flash cards for learning multiplication tables … ?” I start to question her, but she cuts me off.
“HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT MADAME ZTHULU,” she thunders. I crumble in the face of her wrath. Or is that wreath? She’s got a really nice wreath on the wall of the tent and I get up to look at it. I just love handicrafts.
“SIT!” she says, and points. “What was I saying?”
I sit. “You were going to tell me my number,” I say, humbly and quietly.
“WHAT?” She shouts. “Speak up. Don’t mumble child.” Child? She must be blind, not merely deaf.
“YOU WERE GOING TO TELL ME MY NUMBER,” I repeat.
“Right you are,” she says and pulls a cards from the pack. “Your number is 28. You will travel either 28 miles — no that can’t be right — or maybe by route 28,” and she looks at me, apparently hoping for confirmation but I shake my head. Sounds like the wrong road, but I’m probably the wrong person to ask.
“Then,” she says, certainty returning to her tone, “You will travel at 28 miles per hour and do this for many hours, many days. But the scenery will be just gorgeous, really. You’re gonna love it.”
And she puts out her hand, palm up. International soothsayer-speak for “pay me,” and I do.
As I exit her tent, I realize it’s gotten terribly foggy . I’m completely lost. Again.
Once upon a time, Americans had national fit of self-righteousness and decided alcohol was the root of all evil. To rectify the perceived problem, the nation rose up on its collective hind legs and passed the 18th Amendment to the Constitution. This amendment established a legal prohibition of recreational alcoholic beverages in the United States.
The separate (but closely related) Volstead Act specified how authorities would actually enforce Prohibition, including the definition of “intoxicating liquor” — for anyone who needed an explanation.
Prohibition headline
The folks who needed an explanation were not your average Jill or Joe. Jill and Joe knew how to get drunk just fine, but apparently lawmakers, politicians and gangsters-to-be needed clarification. The gangsters needed to know what they had to do to cash in on this opportunity and the others, how to persecute people in the name of the law. Many beverages were excluded for medical and religious purposes. It was okay to get drunk as long it was accompanied by an appropriate degree of religious fervor. Or you could get a doctor’s note.
That left a lot of room — a barn door-sized hole — through which an entire generation strolled. Many people began drinking during Prohibition who had never imbibed before. Whereas previously, alcoholism had no social cachet, during prohibition it became fashionable. As with most things, making it more difficult, expensive, and illegal made it more desirable and sexy.
Regular folks, society leaders, and criminals all basked in the glow of joyous illegality. A whole criminal class was born as a result of prohibition. If that isn’t clear proof that legislating morality doesn’t work, I don’t know what is. It didn’t work then and it won’t work now. Whether the issue is booze, drugs, abortion, prayer, same-sex marriage, or term limits … law and morality don’t mix.
Passing a law limiting how many times you can elect a candidate rather than letting you vote for any candidate you want isn’t going to improve the quality of legislators. You’ll just wind up voting for a bunch of clowns and opportunists who don’t give a rat’s ass about government while dedicated potential candidates won’t bother to run because there’s no future in it. Making drugs illegal, especially marijuana, has created an entire drug culture — exactly the way making booze illegal created an entire criminal class based on rum running.
There are no fewer gay people because we make their lives difficult, any more than segregation made the world safe for stupid white people.
Illegal abortions kill not only fetuses, but their mothers too. You may not approve of abortion, but do you approve of forcing women to risk their lives to not have babies they don’t want? How is that better or more moral?
This kind of knee-jerk “lets solve social issues by making bad laws” causes a lot of pain and suffering. As often as not, you end up legislating your way into a vast sea of exciting new problems you didn’t have before.
Throughout history, laws designed to force everyone to do what someone else deems “right” have failed. Monumentally and spectacularly failed. You’d think citizens and lawmakers alike would notice this recurring theme, but remarkably, we seem unable to connect the dots.
If you never drank before, bet this picture could change your mind.
We haven’t learned anything at all, probably because no one is aware history is repeating itself. Many of our citizens apparently don’t know any history, so how could they?
The 18th Amendment was ratified on January 16, 1919 and took effect a year later, on January 17, 1920. Immediately, the demand for liquor increased. Producers, suppliers and transporters were turned into criminals, but drinkers were not prosecuted. What could go wrong with that? The entire justice system — courts, cops and prisons — was buried under a landslide of booze-related busts. Organized crime went from being a minor group to a major social force. Progress?
Having achieved results way beyond the wildest dreams of the amendment’s creators, prohibition was repealed in 1933 via the Twenty-first Amendment, the only time in American history an amendment was repealed.
Every time I hear someone on Facebook declare how we need a constitutional amendment to solve a political or social problem, I contemplate how successfully we got rid of alcohol in 1920. No one has had a drink since.
The next time someone tells you history is meaningless, tell them without history, they are meaningless. They won’t understand what you mean, but a bit more confusion can’t hurt them. Saying it might make you feel better.
I have a lot of pictures of feet. Is that because I was born in March (Pisces)? Or because it’s the one part of us we can take pictures of because they are farthest away from our eyes?
Custom Zodiac – You’re tasked with creating a brand new astrological sign for the people born around your birthday — based solely on yourself. What would your new sign be, and how would you describe those who share it?
Every astrological sign needs a planet for influence. For this purpose, I am choosing Io, the innermost of the four Galilean moons of Jupiter. It’s the fourth-largest moon, has the highest density, and is the driest object in the Solar System — perfect to represent me since I have the driest skin in the Solar System.
It was named after the mythological character Io, a priestess of Hera who became one of Zeus’s lovers. However, the Roman pantheon doesn’t work for me. I prefer be characterized by a god who represents qualities to which I relate and which I hope are the best of me. The Romans were too bloody, physical, non-intellectual, and generally churlish for my taste.
My patron deity will be Ganeesha, the Hindu Lord of letters and learning. He is a patron for writers and others who are seekers and creators. In Sanskrit, the word buddhi is a feminine noun meaning intelligence, wisdom, or intellect and is closely associated with Ganeesha and the many tales of his cleverness, his passion for writing, his love of intelligence.
Thus from hence forth, those lucky souls born between March 10 and March 17 (note that some minor adjustments may be required using a proper ephemeris) will share many of these characteristics:
Intellectual curiosity, a passion for words, both spoken and written. Often accompanied by some degree of musical talent and for the graphic arts. These gifts can manifest in a variety of ways, both passive and active.
Other, less charming qualities may include shortness of temper, intolerance with ignorance, a snappish dislike of poorly spoken and written language. Inclined to be excessively controlling of both self and others. Not a warm and fuzzy personality, this individual lives primarily in his or her head, which will virtually always win when heart and mind come into conflict.
Despite this, given to periodic flights of bizarre fantasy which may be acted on without regard for consequences. Shows a marked lack of caution in emotional involvements as well as a willingness to try pretty much anything at least twice.
Terrified of insects, but a lover of animals and nature. Not a bad egg, but often a prickly one.
What is your favorite time of day?
Ironically, though I hate having to get out of my warm, comfortable bed, morning is my favorite time of day. I love morning light, morning coffee.
The quiet in the house. Morning is when I write best, think best. It is when I get most business taken care of. Sipping coffee, writing a post, making phone calls and appointments. Then Garry is up and the dogs start to charge around and morning is done.
What’s your favorite charitable cause and why?
The Durrell Wildlife Park is a zoological park on the Isle of Jersey. Established in 1958 on the island of Jersey in the English Channel by naturalist and author Gerald Durrell, it is now operated by the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust.
I read — and loved — Gerald Durrell’s books and I remember when he was fighting to get his park established. He was one of the first to see that breeding endangered species was going to be the only way to preserve many animals whose habitats were disappearing. He is, for the literature majors in the crowd, the younger brother of author Lawrence Durrell, or as Gerald always called him, “Larry.”
Address: La Profonde Rue, Jersey
Area: 25 acres
Opened: March 26, 1959
Phone: +44 1534 860000
Their motto is “Extinction is not inevitable.” At Durrell Wildlife Park you’ll can meet — face to face — some of the rarest animals on earth. Be amazed by their beauty, wonder at their majesty and uncover their stories of fight for survival. The park is also a vacation park, an educational resource. I have never been there (I wish!), but I have contributed money when I could and followed its progress from when it was founded through today. It has come a long way and maybe, someday, I will be able to visit.
They have a wonderful website with video, information, stories, stuff for kids. Please check it out!
How do you like to spend a rainy day?
Reading, writing, hanging out with the dogs. Kind of like I spend most days, actually.
When writing by hand do you prefer to use a pencil or pen?
I hate writing by hand. I’ve been touch-typing since I was 10 years old and my handwriting, once elegant and readable, has become illegible. I can still sign my name, but when I have to actually hand write anything, I have to print it if I want anyone but me to be able to read it.
Even then, it’s just 50-50. And I make typos even by hand, which is hideously embarrassing when one is signing a book for someone. Maybe I should use crayons? I like those rolling tip marker-writing thingies. I used to have some of them, but I think Garry stole them. He has a thing for pens.
What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
We finally got Bonnie’s teeth done and they were not nearly as bad as we had been led to believe (another story, to be written separately).
Our little girl has her smile back. It turns out, our dogs are fine. What we really needed was a better veterinarian.
Next week? THE WELL!
It’s gotten to naked tree time. The piece of autumn between the gorgeous foliage and winter. It’s still warm enough to go coatless most days and although there are cold snaps, even a hint of snow, it’s not really winter. Not seriously. Yet.
And I have a lot of pictures of autumn. It is so beautiful, I try to take a lot of pictures during those brief but glorious few weeks.
Winter will come all too soon. Until it does, it’s autumn on Serendipity!
I got married in 1965, between my sophomore and junior year of college. Our first home was an apartment near the university, one of two identical brick structures. We lived in 2-Q, located at the far end of the second floor hallway. It was a corner apartment. Nice because we had cross ventilation and good light.
I didn’t drive yet. Not a problem. The bus stopped in front of the building. The university was an easy 5-minute walk. When I wanted to go into town, I hopped a bus. No parking problems.
One sunny day, I felt like going shopping, so I did. Ate lunch at A&S, bought a few things, then took the bus home. Emerging with my packages, I took the elevator to the second floor. Balancing bags and boxes, I walked down the long carpeted hallway to apartment 2Q.
I tried to put my key in the lock, and it didn’t fit. Odd. Hmm. That was when I noticed the nameplate:
My name was not Kincaid. I didn’t know anyone named Kincaid. But it was Apartment 2 Q — except it wasn’t mine. Or maybe it was, but what was with the nameplate? Hmm.
Feeling a bit dazed, I made a u-turn and walked back to the elevator. Pressed the button and rode back down to the lobby. I stood there for a few minutes, breathing slowly and deeply. Then got back into the elevator and rode up to the second floor. Maybe I should I have taken the stairs.
Ding! Still clutching my packages, I slowly advanced down the hall. The pattern in the paint on the wall paint seemed cleaner and brighter, but since I was feeling a bit light-headed, I figured that was why. When I got to the end of the hall and stood in front of my door, that pesky nameplate still said “Kincaid.”
There was no question in my mind what had happened. I’d expected it all along. It was bound to happen someday.
I had slipped through an invisible wormhole. I was in a parallel universe, another dimension. Everything was identical in this dimension to the world I knew except that in this place — I didn’t exist. Where I had been, someone named Kincaid was living. Maybe Kincaid was my husband. Perhaps I did exist and Jeffrey had gone missing.
I stood there. Breathing. Staring at the nameplate. Pacing a little down the hall and coming back. Until finally, I looked out the window. And realized I was in the wrong building.
I have forever since harbored a sense of disappointment. However weird, I wanted the magic to be real. I wanted an adventure in The Twilight Zone.
You step into an acquaintance’s house for the first time, and discover that everything — from the furniture, to the books, to the art on the wall — is identical to your home. What happens next?
Books & Bonsai
How you see life depends on how you look at things
Official Site of Speaker, Historian and Author Sean Munger
https://teepee12.com/
I use the best, I use the rest
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Random musings on life, society, and politics.
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Martha Ann Kennedy's Blog, Copyright 2013-2020, all rights reserved to the author/artist
Words that Play with Time
Fun, unusual and forgotten designations on our calendar.
Teaching the art of composition for photography.
Random Ramblings and Reviews from Trent P. McDonald
To See More Clearly
wandering discourse, pedantic rant, self-indulgent drivel, languorous polemic, grammarian's bête noire, poesy encroachment approaching bombast, unintended subtext in otherwise intentional context, unorthodox unorthodoxy, self-inflected rodomontade, …
Because sometimes life just makes you stop and think
Posts about old Hollywood, current concerns
EMBERS FROM SOMEONE DOGGEDLY TRYING TO MAKE SENSE OF IT ALL...
Musings, Photography, Writing, and More
NO LONGER ENCUMBERED BY ANY SENSE OF FAIR PLAY, EX-JOURNALISTS RETURN TO ACTIVE DUTY TO FIGHT THE TRUMPIAN MENACE!
Welcome to the Anglo Swiss World
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The Fun Side Of Science
Your second chance to be creative. .
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!
People, Places, Nature, LIFE!
explorations on the journey of living
by Taswegian1957 & Human59
Happiness. It's relative.
age is just a (biggish) number
Echoes of Life, Love and Laughter
A fine WordPress.com site on ramdom thoughts & lessons learned.
Mainly through the lens of a Nikon
