Until next time . . . I love you
Pottery Fragments Discovered by Archaeologists from China and France (Who Got Along Really Well!)
A team of Chinese archaeologists working side by side with a team of French Archaeologists and only sometimes getting in each other’s way, have discovered pottery fragments in a cave in Maiden, China now thought to be 20,000 years older than the pottery fragments of the Chinese family who are currently living in the cave.
“The pottery was probably used to cook food and/or water in.” Dr. Wang Lung Wang has been interpreted as saying by French Archaeologist, Jacques Pierre Jacques who claims to speak Chinese.
“The pottery was used by hunter gatherers,” added Jacques Pierre Jacques, who holds a one-year Doctor of Archaeology Certificate from Yoplait Community College and who has been a leader in hunting and gathering pottery fragments of hunter gatherers for the last 37 years (except for the year he had to have his spleen removed).
In an unprecedented display of cooperation between French Archaeologists and Chinese Archaeologists, both teams agreed everyday during the excavation to order a large pepperoni pizza with olives and green peppers and split it so that both teams got exactly the same amount of slices.
The Oldest Known Rock Art in Britain Has Finally Been Discovered.
A team of French Archaeologists led by Renowned French Archaeologist, Jacques Pierre Jacques, (see above) has stumbled upon the oldest known rock art in Britain. After tripping over some pottery fragments in a cave in Shrapnailshire, England, Jacques Pierre Jacques (who has a terrible time seeing in the dark) stumbled upon a rendering of either a mosquito or a bison — he is unable to ascertain which one for certain until the French Archaeologists Team flashlight arrives.
Gold Coins of the Past
Thirty Seven old gold coins produced in Holland were discovered underneath some oily rags in the basement of 1515 Cherry Rose Lane, Ottoman, Canada by Renowned French Archaeologist, Jacques Pierre Jacques while he was residing at the home of his brother-in-law, Pierre Jacques Pierre, until some personal business of Jacques Pierre Jacques (which can all be explained) is cleared up.
Jacques Pierre Jacques estimates the coins to be worth somewhere in the neighborhood of $25,000 in today’s dollars (Canadian). The coins are thought to date back to the year 1732 because that is the year that is engraved on each of the coins; but Jacques Pierre Jacques insists on delivering the valuable coins, personally, to the lab for carbon dating.
Jacques Pierre Jacques has promised his brother-in-law that nothing untoward will happen to the gold coins on the way there and has even sworn as much on a stack of bibles that were produced shortly before the dawn of the middle ages.
Humorous Archaeology Happenings!
Last week in Ibuprofen, Germany, a team of French Archeologists lead by Jacques Pierre Jacques unearthed the grave of what they thought was going to be the remains of a viking pillager villager –but turned out, instead, to be the remains of Mrs.Gustav Heidelburg who was buried just last Wednesday.
A good laugh was had by all!
Until next time . . . I love you
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to the very first (and quite possibly the very last) Friday comics!
Until next time . . . I love you
Why hello Dear Reader and welcome to Monday morning here at the blog!
This might be a good time to warn you that my brain, Peanuts, has been thinking again — the act of which has produced the following ideas for some dubious WordPress blogs:
My Favorite Government Documents! .com
Bureaucrats estimate that government documents now out number stars in the universe by a ratio of three to one! And Peanuts thinks choosing my favorites among them (the most adorable) would make for a good blog.
What about Lard? .com
My brain, Peanuts has high hopes for this blog! It will encompass anything and everything about lard and lard-related products. Readers will be invited to experience the world through the eyes of lard which should prove to be an exhilarating — if not somewhat disgusting– experience!
Soups Most People Never Tasted .com
There must be literally hundreds maybe even thousands of them! My brain, Peanuts turns to mush just thinking about all the soup out there that most people have never tasted!
Your Friend, Cement! .com
Peanuts wants us to stop and think a minute about where we would all be without our dearest friend, cement . . . well, probably right in the exact same place we currently are . . . but still!
On a scale of one to ten, how Chapped Are Your Lips? .com
Finally a way to tell just exactly how chapped those lips of yours really are. Send pictures and Peanuts and I will post the best and the worst! Chapped lips will be judged on a sliding scale of one to ten, ten being the worst and one being the best or maybe vice versa. Either way we are predicting success that smacks of success.
Sticks that were responsible for poking people’s eyes out! .com
Just between you and me and Peanuts and WordPress and everybody else in the world, this idea is a little iffy, taste-wise. Of course, there is the potential for eye patch advertisements and perhaps a lucrative manacle endorsement deal so the tastelessness might well be worth it.
Watching old parades from the 70’s on YouTube! .com
Peanuts asks: Who doesn’t like watching parades that took place 40 years ago?
Peanuts answers: No one! That’s who!
Sure we’ve all stubbed our toe, but what body parts haven‘t we stubbed. Are you stumped? Good! That means you’ll go check out the forum!
Baby Talk Book Reviews! .com
Peanuts wuvs dis idea!
Wah and Pease vewy bo-wing!
Until next time . . . I love you
This weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge is to retell our favorite book in 33 words.
There once was a girl named Anne Shirley
Whose hair was carrot-red curly
Went to live at Green Gables
And then switched the tables
And made them all love her quite purely
Until next time . . . I love you
In this 1956 government issued Bulletin No. 10, the government suggests 1956 Mom go about killing the lonely hours of her day by freezing some strawberries!
To that end, the government has transformed the simple task of placing some strawberries in the freezer into a complicated, time-consuming ordeal that is guaranteed to take 1956 Mom all day long!
First, 1956 Mom needs to wash the strawberries, then gently lift them out of the water where they will be ready for contemplation (as pictured).
To kill as many lonely hours as possible, the government is suggesting 1956 Mom contemplate the berries for two hours minimum — the same length of time she was instructed to contemplate her navel in the previously issued government Bulletin No. 9 entitled 1956 Moms and Their Navels.
1956 Mom now needs to remove the hulls from the berries which is easier said than done. 1956 Mom knows that she doesn’t exactly know what a strawberry hull is — which means a trip to the local library where she can study the anatomy of a strawberry and sketch it into her Things I Once Froze diary for future strawberry freezing reference.
1956 Mom is happy to finally get to the high point of her day, the sprinkling of the sugar! Oh what fun she will have! But the fun doesn’t end there. She also gets to turn the strawberries over and over in the sugar for as long as her little arms will allow –giving nary a care to carpal tunnel syndrome — which, in 1956, hadn’t even been invented yet!
The next step is to pack the berries into a container. This step is self-explanatory. To find out more about things that are self-explanatory, 1956 Mom will have refer to previously issued government Bulletin No. 7 entitled The Government Explains Things That Are Self-Explanatory.
Next 1956 Mom is going to need to press the lid on the container firmly making sure it’s on watertight — which means 1956 Mom will have to go to the garage, locate Father’s fishing gear, then find the nearest body of water in which to throw the container. Then quickly fish it out, open the lid and check carefully for wet strawberries. Phew! What 1956 Mom won’t do to kill the lonely hours of her day!
Finally, 1956 Mom has made it to the very last step of her herculean strawberry freezing project. It was touch and go there for a couple of hours! But thanks to 1956 Mom’s perseverance, the only thing left to do now is label the containers with the name of the fruit (that’s easy . . . strawberries!) and the date she froze them. For this, 1956 Mom will carefully pen 1 9 5 6. Because if there’s one thing 1956 Mom knows, it’s her name!
Of course 1956 Mom might want to take a calligraphy class first to kill a few more hours of her lonely day — but that’s another government issued bulletin for another government issued day!
Until next time . . . I love you
I broke my glasses because my brain, Peanuts, placed them directly underneath where my foot was supposed to go.
Peanuts and I have been wearing glasses now for 20 years due to adult onset blurriness, and you’d think my brain, Peanuts, would have figured out a way to not step on them.
But no, every once in a while Peanuts has to test me to see if I’m still paying attention (and I never am).
I don’t get it because there’s nothing Peanuts and I hate doing more than having to get new glasses. What was Peanuts thinking?
So I got my husband, 37, to tape them back together for me, because he’s an engineer so he knows about things like that.
Except that I didn’t trust his taping judgment once he was done and added more tape myself.
So now I’m officially a nerd.
I’d take a picture to show you but I think it might be too early in the morning for that. Oh what the heck, let’s live dangerously shall we?
Me in my new nerdy glasses:
Well, wait a minute . . . let me see if I can take the picture from a better angle:
Oh that’s better. I like this of me in my nerdy glasses a little better because you can’t really see the tape all that much.
Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, the careless behavior of my brain, Peanuts.
So now Peanuts and I will have to stumble down to the glasses store and get those nasty drops put in. Then once we are legally blind, we will be guided out front to pick out frames from the two or three thousand styles displayed right in front of our eyes somewhere.
The conversation with the professional four-eyes care specialist will go something like this:
Me: How do these look on me?
Her: Oh those look good on you.
Me: Really? Well how about these?
Her: Oh!!! Those look good on you!
Me. Really? What about these?
Her: Oh those!!! Look good on you.
Me: How about these?
Her: Oh those, look!!! Good on you!!
Me: And these?
Her: Oh those look good!!! On you!!
Me: Oh but what about these?
Her: Oh those look good on!!! You!!!!!
Me: Oh, yeah, what about these?
Her: Oh those look good on you.
Of course, we all know how this story ends. Peanuts and I will finally decide on frames, then go back to pick them up three weeks later because their motto is ready in about an hour give or take three weeks.
Me: Are you sure these are my glasses because they look horrible and I can’t see a thing.
Her: OH!!! THOSE!!! LOOK!!! GOOD!!! ON!!! YOU!!!
Then Peanuts and I will go home and while I’m crying my eyes out, Peanuts will be eating a 1000 grams of sugar.
Until next time . . . I love you
We all love Edgar Allan Poe, it’s just that sometimes he tends to get a bit carried away! And please, please don’t get him started on Annabel Lee . . . too late! Now you’ve gone and done it!
It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea
Just for future reference, Edgar, saying many and many is the same thing as saying many – I know you’re into writing so I thought I’d pass that along.
That a maiden there lived whom you may know, by the name of Annabel Lee
No, I don’t know her, but I have heard of her.
And this maiden she lived with no other thought, than to love and be loved by me
Uh . . . OOOKAAY . . .
I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea
Really? Google says you were 27 and she was 14, but nevermind, keep going.
But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee
Shouldn’t it be: “My Annabel Lee and I”?
And this was the reason that long ago in this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee
So you’re telling me the wind was jealous of you and Annabel Lee? Oh something’s blowing alright, Edgar, but I’d have to say it probably involves smoke, a skirt and the direction of up — if you know what I mean.
So that her high-born kinsmen came and bore her away from me
Uh, I have a feeling those high-born kinsmen were her parents, and if they were smart, they didn’t let her play with you anymore.
To shut her up in a sepulchre, in the kingdom by the sea
Hold on a sec while I google that . . . Let’s see . . . it say s a small room or monument where a dead person is laid . . . WHAT? What’d I miss?
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, chilling and killing my Annabel Lee
Hold on! Whoa! OK, I don’t like the direction this is going in. I’m calling your psychiatrist.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
It’s too late to be all cheery now, just get in the car, Edgar.
Oh, the beautiful, Annabel Lee; and the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee and so all the night tide, I lay down by the tide . . .
Yeah sure, Edgar. You just keeeep telling yourself that. Watch your head . . . that’s right. What? Where are we going? We’re just going for a drive, Edgar . . . it’ll be fun!
Oh my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, in the sepulchre there by the sea, in her tomb by the sounding sea . . .
Hey I know . . . why don’t I see if I can find a happy song on the radio . . . until we get there . . . not that we’re going to the Institute . . . no-no, we’re just going wherever the jealous wind blows us. . . it’ll be fun!
Until next time . . . I love you
Here is this weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge:
” We want a real account of a period in your life that can be clearly identified by (wait for it) the number three.”
When I was 17, I got a job working at The Iceburg Drive-in, a family-owned hamburger stand. Everything was rather make shift and, in the hot weather, we had a lot of trouble keeping flies from coming in.
There was a window in the front where people would walk up and place their orders.
To complete a transaction without flies getting inside, you had to push the screen open from the inside, take the person’s money and then quickly reach outside and curl your hand up and around the outside wood base of the screen to pull it back down again –a task we performed all day long.
Now I know it’s unbelievable but one of our regular customers was a guy who looked exactly like Steve McQueen. Naturally whenever we would see him coming, we girls would practically shove each other out of the way to get to be the one who took his order.
The first two times I was too slow and someone else beat me to the punch. But the third time Steve McQueen showed up I was ready, and positioned myself at the window with pad and pencil at the ready.
I carefully wrote down deluxe hamburger, side of fries and large Coke in my best handwriting, just in case he might have been impressed with that kind of thing, you know.
Then I opened the screen, took his money, made change and handed it back to him, imagining all the while there was a one in a million chance he might even be the actual real Steve McQueen!
But when I reached out to curl my hand around the base of the screen to close it, I accidentally, somehow — and god only knows how — managed to stick my finger up Steve McQueen’s nose!
It all happened so fast. We were both utterly stunned.
After that, whenever Steve McQueen showed up, and the girls would jockey for positon at the front window, I would quickly maneuver myself to the back room.
Until next time . . . I love you
Welcome! Isn’t this a fine June morning Dear Readers? I’m leaving for the mall in just a few minutes to meet a very good friend where we will shop for items that we will eventually donate to the thrift store and later inadvertently buy back again. I’m sorry to have to say I didn’t have time to cook up a new, fresh essay for you, but I have taken a leftover essay and stuck it in the oven at 350 degrees.
This, Dear Reader, is the view from my Morning Room.
Ok, I don’t really have a Morning Room, as such, it’s actually just a fancy way of saying a chair by the window in the bedroom.
But I like to refer to it as my Morning Room whenever I am giving instructions to my Butler.
Ok, I don’t really have a Butler, as such, it’s just a fancy way of referring to my little dog who looks like a really bad toupee that a Butler might wear.
So this morning, Dear Reader, whist sitting in my Morning Room admiring the view, I soon found myself ringing for the Butler with the Butler Bell. Which is to say, I called at the very tip-top of my very best lung,
“Here Chancey! Here Chancy!”
. . . because what I refer to as my Butler’s Bell isn’t really a Butler’s Bell, as such, but just a fancy way of saying ‘calling the dog’.
To which my Butler responded by running over and jumping onto my lap — or at least his toupee did.
Twas shortly after that, I instructed my Lady-in-Waiting to bring my breakfast to the Morning Room for my Butler and I — that we might dine whilst partaking of the View of the Estate from the Window of the Morning Room,
Ok, it isn’t really an Estate, as such, it’s just a fancy way of saying ‘tree’. But a pretty one it is. I would even go so far as to say that my Butler’s Toupee and I think it very grand indeed!
But alas, all good things must come to an end.
It seems my Lady-in-Waiting refused to serve us our breakfast due to the fact that she isn’t really a Lady-in-Waiting, as such, but just a fancy way in which I sometimes refer to myself.
And I never make breakfast.
Until next time . . . I love you
Every morning, I pour myself a cup of coffee and head over to my computer where I spend the next several hours writing. This means the only physical activity I get all morning is if I happen to yawn enthusiastically, sneeze vivaciously or gargle with chutzpah, –(sometimes gargling coffee helps me think).
And yet, all this extra added exercise doesn’t seem to be making much difference to Mr. Bathroom Scales — whose numbers I find are slowing creeping up faster than a Tiger Woods’ round of golf.
Which means I should probably exercise more. But while exercise is all well and good, frankly, I think it would be far easier to keep weight off by changing the laws of physics.
Why not simply build a time machine, go back in time and talk the person who invented the bathroom scales out of it? Or better yet, maybe I ought to travel back in time and have a little confab with Sir Isaac Newton– what with him being so keen on discovering gravity and all.
I imagine the conversation would go something like this:
Hey Isaac, you don’t know me, I’m a blogger from the future who’s starting to put on weight from sitting at my computer all morning.
What are you doing in my hamlet and; more precisely, what are you doing in my house?
I’ve come to talk you out of inventing gravity.
But I’m working on the Binomial Theorem whilst developing Infinitesimal Calculus. What is this thing “gravity” you speak of?
YES! I’m assuming that means you haven’t already discovered it then, phew! Well, please don’t because it makes the rest of us in the future weigh too much and— hey wait a minute! Where’d you get that apple?
This apple? It fell on my head whilst I was outside just now and– . . . Holy Black Plague! I just figured out why!
Please tell me you’re thinking something along the lines of a coincidence?
No, no twasn’t a coincidence! Me thinks it twas due to an heretofore undiscovered force I shall now christen gravy.
You mean gravity?
Ooh that’s better! I shall now christen gravity.
Hmmm . . . well obviously this little thought experiment of mine has shown me that building a time machine may not be the answer to weight loss, because the only thing it has succeeded in doing is making me hungry for Fig Newtons.
I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this post short, Dear Reader, so that I can rustle up some Fig Newtons.
I plan to chew them vigorously while watching television briskly in an attempt to make negate excess calories.
If I am unable to do so, however, the person who invented the calorie is going to be receiving a little visit from moi.
Until next time . . . I love you, Fig Newtons and Sir Isaac in that order.
This weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge is to write a story in exactly 33 words using the sentence “It wasn’t the first time.” as a prompt.
It wasn’t the first time. After Björn Björngenjorgen slipped on a cooked eel and hit his head resulting in intermittent amnesia, there wasn’t a day that went by where poor Björn didn’t say, “I wasn’t Björn yesterday . . . was I?”
Until next time . . . I love you
Dear Readers, here are some more tips from the pages of this 1956 Betty Crocker Cookbook (see earlier tips here) that I got at — guess where? That’s right! The thrift store!
Anyway, I noticed when compiling these tips that the “tip section” is prefaced by this cheerful poem written to inspire 1956 Mom to keep working like a dog no matter what!
If you’re tired from overwork,
Household chores you’re bound to shirk
Read these pointers tried and true
And discover what to do
–1956 Edition of Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book
As you can see, comfortable clothing for 1956 Mom consisted of a pencil skirt, and apron tied tight enough to cut off circulation to the kidneys and shoes that one’s heel didn’t fit into.
Which was a big improvement over the comfortable clothes Betty Crocker suggested for 1955 Mom which was a sturdy pair cactus needle pedal pushers, a cardigan sweater woven entirely of straw and wooden clogs.
Oh that Betty! She knew 1956 Mom needed to conserve her energy so that she could keep working from the crack of dawn to the stroke of midnight and what better way than to alternate sitting and standing!
If you look closely at the big roller that 1956 mom is operating, it looks as though she may have inadvertently flattened her right arm! 1956 Mom is still smiling though because she got to be sitting down while she was doing it!
Frankly, when giving this tip, Betty Crocker seemed to be slacking off a bit by leaving off both the illustration and the punctuation –but hey, maybe she was trying to get 1956 Mom to use her own imagination for once.
Well, at least Betty managed to assign “head work” for 1956 Mom while 1956 Mom keeps her hands busy dusting, sweeping and washing! For instance, 1956 Mom can be planning family recreation or planning the garden or planning how she will run away from home and never ever come back.
As you can see in this tip, Betty Crocker is pointing out to 1956 Mom that with a little planning and organizing, she can train her family to help with different jobs.
Young children can clear the table or, perhaps, get a job in the textile mill down the street for 12 hours a day; while the older ones can cook or, perhaps, plow the fields and chop wood til the sun goes down because Betty Crocker knows that chances are the Child Protective Services of 1956 will more than likely never know.
That Betty has a heart as big as all get out! Just when 1956 Mom cannot wash one more dish or vacuum one more floor or think up one more plan for her family’s recreation, Betty Crocker has suggested that 1956 Mom actually sit down and close her eyes and just relax her muscles!
That’s right 1956 Mom. Betty Crocker says it’s OK to let your arms, hands and head fall limp. There now. Don’t you feel better now 1956 Mom? . . . .1956 Mom? . . . 1956 Mom answer Betty! . . .
Hmm . . . apparently 1956 Mom is too tired to revive just yet — but rest assured Betty Crocker will keep trying . . . for there are so many more household chores still to be done!
And for crying out loud, she hasn’t even started the cooking yet!
Until next time . . . I love you just as much as Betty Crocker does
This weekend’s Trifecta Writing Challenge is to write a poem in 33 words:
on an elevator
alone
with just yourself
life delayed
on an elevator
alone
with just yourself
plus 14 people — but they’re so quiet it’s like being
on an elevator
alone,
with just yourself
Yesterday, I was having a dialog about typos with fellow blogger Harper Faulkner who has a great blog, All Write (and who is on my blog roll of course!) And I was reminded of the career I used to have as the World’s Worst Secretary.
When I graduated from high school back in the year 19mumble, I was all set to go away to a four-year college in the fall. Well, for reasons I can’t exactly remember (I didn’t pay much attention back then), that plan fell through at the last minute.
Suffice it to say, my safety wasn’t Harvard. It was the local community college that, as luck would have it, had established itself the same year I graduated. Being a new college, it offered two courses: Secretarial training and nurses training.
I chose secretarial training because having just seen the movie, Mash, I imagined the job of a nurse to be just like a Mash unit where people lined up around the block waiting to get in while blood squirted out of their every artery, vein and orifice.
Besides, I already knew how to type having taken typing class my sophomore year in high school — where I practiced typing everyday for an entire school year. (And this was back when kids went to school five days all in a row, each and every week.)
You’d think I would have become a pretty decent typist . . . you’d think.
The first day of high school typing class, I actually got my fingers caught between the manual typewriter keys. I was hopeless at typing. Heck, I could draw better than I could type and, as you know, my drawing skills suck like a collapsed straw.
Anyway, since I now found myself painted into a backwater community college corner, I chose to study the art of the secretary — despite my uncoordinated typing skills. My mind was made up. I would get myself a one-year secretarial certificate or I would get every finger permanently stuck in a manual typewriter trying!
My college typing teacher would hand my assignments back with comments like:
Linda, five full minutes of typing and you only managed 27 words AND with 3 errors? See me after class.
or
Linda, there is no 7 in the word brown. See me after class.
I eventually found out, through trial and error, that I was a much better typist using just one finger.
So what saved my secretarial career was the fact that I was a whiz at shorthand. I could take shorthand like nobody’s business. Only trouble was they were using shorthand in nobody’s business — thanks to some slick, new technology called a dictaphone.
Still, relying on my impressive shorthand skills, and the fact that potential bosses were always overly impressed by my ability to repeat back to them what they had just said (Oh I could take a letter alright, I just couldn’t give it back), I managed to worm my way into a job as the World’s Worst Professional Secretary!
Which just goes to show you what a person can do if they will just put their mind to it.
Until next time . . . I love you
