The vampires of summer… Sue Vincent (A Reblog)

As our temperature decided to go all the way up to hot and muggy today, this reminded me of my long, painful history of burns and blisters. Ah, the joys of summer at the beach before they invented sunscreen!

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Image result for vampire sun cartoon

Spare a thought for the vampire in summer,
For, while everyone else seeks the sun,
He must hide in the darkness and shadow
And from errant sunbeams must run.

While the sunbathers tan to perfection.
Going golden and brown as a bun,
He must cover his skin with protection
And remain looking pale…underdone.

So, while others may cast off their clothing,
And bathe in the rays of the light,
He hides in a curtain-closed coffin
And twiddles his thumbs until night.

He’ll never don Speedos and frolic,
Or swim in the sea like an eel.
No wonder when he sees bikinis
His only thought is his next meal!

I must say that I’d never considered
The plight of the vampire before.
I assumed, as he lay in his coffin,
He’d probably just sleep and snore.

But with these new pills I’ve been given
My sympathies took a new turn…
‘Cause…

View original post 128 more words

Songs for the seasonally challenged III… – Reblog – Sue Vincent

Songs for the seasonally challenged III…

To the tune of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen:

Related image

God rest ye merry gentlemen…

There’ll be no rest for me!

I’ve got to cook and clean and wrap

And then put up the tree…

For Christmas cheer won’t make itself

That I can guarantee…

Oh, oh, we’ll bake the ‘comfort and joy’,

Wrap up a toy,

And that ruddy Christmas song will soon annoy…

*

“A woman’s work is never done”

And Christmas time is worst!

You never get a chance to breathe

For putting others first;

You cook and roast and decorate…

They eat until they burst!

Oh, all diets one Christmas will destroy,

Can you enjoy

Knowing e-e-lastic waistbands are a ploy..?

*

God rest ye merry gentlemen…

You ate the ruddy lot!

You stripped the turkey, ate the cheese,

And cleaned out every pot!

You drank the wine and fell asleep

After that second ‘shot’…

Oh, oh, tidying up is not a joy

Never a joy…

And sometimes I wish that I had been a boy.

HOME BAKING – #WRITEPHOTO – Marilyn Armstrong

Delicious in the Snow – #writephoto

It was the third blizzard in only two weeks. The children had gone back to the oven where at least it was warm. They were tired of snowmen. The snowmen were tired of being snow people. At least two of them were banging on the front door, knocking relentlessly with their frozen, mittened hands.

She couldn’t let them in. They would melt. No matter how hard she tried to explain it to them, they didn’t get it. They just wanted to warm up. It could be very difficult to argue with snow people.

Actually, everything was trying to get into the house, by door, window, chimney or duct. The squirrels were lined up on the deck. Eating birdseed, but they clearly wanted something more solid. Also, maybe a nice cozy bed near the fireplace.

The bears hadn’t been hibernating like usual. Maybe there had been too many warm weeks mixed with the bitter cold ones. They’d been up and around. Hitting the trash bins with a vengeance. She was pretty sure they wouldn’t mind being her personal bear rugs as long as they got some of her baked goodies.

Worst of all, everything that walked, flew or crept was eating her house. That was the biggest problem with having a house made of gingerbread. No matter how solidly you sealed it up, anything with a mouth could gnaw its way in.

She sighed. Back to the kitchen. She needed to bake a new piece of roof and a replacement front step.

A woman’s work was never done.

#writephoto regulars ~ Meet Marilyn Armstrong – SUE VINCENT’S DAILY ECHO (Reblog)

I always feel a bit odd writing about myself (again) since basically, that what I do every day. Thank you, Sue. You are one of the good ones who brings joy to everyone who knows you, personally or virtually!


#writephoto regulars ~ Meet Marilyn Armstrong

I asked the writephoto challenge regulars if they would like to come over and introduce themselves. Today we meet Marilyn Armstrong, who blogs at Serendipity.

Without those of you who write and read the pieces inspired by the weekly photos, the writephoto prompt would not exist. So, if you follow or take part in the weekly challenge, why come over and introduce yourself too?

Being a regular does not mean taking part every week… so why not drop me a line?


I know where I began and I know where I am, but how did I get here?

I think a lot has to do with — you guessed it — my mother. Born in 1910, she lived through World War I and II, then Korea and Vietnam and anything other war until she died in November 1982. She was politically active from a young age. She remembered how the government poured poison over excess food during the depression so starving people couldn’t eat it.

I thought she was making it up, but it turned out to be true. She was an avowed atheist, though I think in reality, she was angry with God. She felt that if there was one, he had failed us.

She was a bona fide liberal. She hated racism and wasn’t thrilled with any government. She believed all politicians were corrupt, regardless of party. She hated religious dogma and neglected to tell me I was Jewish until I was in second grade. The subject came up in school. One day, I came home and asked my mother: ” What’s a Jew?”

She looked at my father and spoke the immortal words: “We have to do something about this.”

When the Vietnam War (which wasn’t a war, but a “police action”) was in progress, I was part of the college anti-war group. I pointed out to my mother that all that money we used for the war could be used to fix problems at home.

She looked at me and said: “There is always money for war, but there will never be money for domestic problems.”

I thought she was just being cynical.

I had a lot to learn.

My mother was so against doing things the usual way, I didn’t do things the usual way. The only thing I wanted to do was write, so I became a music major. I never took a writing course. I was sure it would ruin my style. Like, at 17, I really had a style?

Mom

I thought she was making it up, but it turned out to be true. She was an avowed atheist, though I think in reality, she was angry with God. She felt that if there was one, he had failed us.

She was a bona fide liberal. She hated racism and wasn’t thrilled with any government. She believed all politicians were corrupt, regardless of party. She hated religious dogma and neglected to tell me I was Jewish until I was in second grade. The subject came up in school. One day, I came home and asked my mother: ” What’s a Jew?”

She looked at my father and spoke the immortal words: “We have to do something about this.”

When the Vietnam War (which wasn’t a war, but a “police action”) was in progress, I was part of the college anti-war group. I pointed out to my mother that all that money we used for the war could be used to fix problems at home.

She looked at me and said: “There is always money for war, but there will never be money for domestic problems.”

I thought she was just being cynical.

I had a lot to learn.

My mother was so against doing things the usual way, I didn’t do things the usual way either. The only thing I wanted to do was write, so I became a music major. I never took a writing course. I was sure it would ruin my style. Like, at 17, I really had a style?

Marilyn and the kiddo

I did write for a living, but I wasn’t a lonely novelist in a house on a cliff. Instead, I wrote advertising, promotional material, book flaps, and news. The “who, what, when, where, and how” of news writing turned out to be a good set up for any subject. After that, 25 years of technical documents taught me to say it simply and skip the adjectives.

I feel like a bit of a sham since unlike most of the other people who have written for Sue, I only wrote one book. Hardly anyone bought it, though someone offered to make it into a movie — except he couldn’t find a backer. I never really expected it to happen, but it was cool that he offered.

For me, blogging is the most natural way to write. I’ve spent a lifetime writing professionally with a boss looking over my shoulder. News and features. Always, there was specific material that needed to be conveyed, a character count, and a boss.

Marilyn in the teepee

The only things I ever wrote for fun were personal letters. I used to write great letters home when I lived overseas. In fact, I’m pretty sure most of my romance with Garry took place via letter.

He wrote. I wrote. He wrote. I wrote. For almost 10 years, we never stopped writing. Once I came back to the U.S., neither of us wrote another letter.

But I remember thinking “I wish there was something I could do which was just like writing letters.” Along came blogging.

Voila!

Blogging is exactly like writing letters to everyone at the same time. It’s what I always wanted to do and I don’t have a boss at my back. The only thing I miss is having an editor to fix typos and warn me to rewrite awkward language. And a paycheck.


About the Author

Marilyn as writer (matching shirt)

Marilyn Armstrong is a writer, blogger, and photographer. She started writing as soon as she could form letters and has never heard a single good reason why she should stop.

Marilyn and her husband Garry — and various intrepid canines live in a setting of rare natural beauty and gigantic rocks in rural Massachusetts.

Marilyn blogs at Serendipity – Seeking Intelligent Life On Earth  where she offers “memories via anecdotes, observations, occasional fiction, and photographs.”


Find and follow Marilyn

Serendipity blog     Twitter    Facebook

Amazon     Goodreads     Google+


The Twelve Foot Teepee

Fighting the of demons of an abusive childhood and having given up on traditional paths to personal salvation, Maggie decides to find her own path … by building a teepee in her backyard. It’s a peculiar route, but her goal is simple: offload the cargo of her past and move into a future, sans luggage. Armed with a draw knife and a sense of humor, she peels poles and paints canvas until winter passes and she is free.


Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo