An Unfortunate Alliteration

Manic Monday, no offense to the Bangles, or should I say to Prince, is a rather unfortunate alliteration.

Because my Mondays are never frenetically busy.

Moaning Monday is more like it ‘cuz I’ve done some moaning on many a Monday Moanin’, when my peaceful slumber is abruptly disturbed by the nag, nag, nagging of an alarm clock yelling GET TO WORK!

And I don’t want to.

Nope, it’s never a manic Monday for me.

My week doesn’t even begin to get revved up until Tuesday Afternoon.



Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful…

… Hate me because I can write.

Except, I won’t know it’s because I can write.

I’ll think it’s because I can’t write.

I’m lame.

I’m a blogging fraud.

But then I’ll read a post that’s really lame.

And I’ll scratch my head at all of its “likes.”

Pity likes?

I’ll scratch my head again.

Maybe it’s not about perfectly crafted, perfectly clever phrases. Maybe it’s about heart. Maybe it’s about getting off one’s high horse and walking with the people.

Maybe it’s about being creme brulee when people “like” jello.

And as Julia Roberts’ character said in My Best Friend’s Wedding, “Creme brulee can NEVER be jello.”

Smooth, rich, satiny creme brulee can never be gelatinous flavored sugar water.

So don’t even try. Don’t even compromise.

‘Cuz creme brello is gross.

And speaking of blogging, you post something brilliant, sit back, smile and wait for the like star to light up.




You post something lame. You sit back and question whether you should have posted it.

You’re about to trash it.

And then the star lights up.

It starts flashing with like after like.

And there are comments.

So you don’t trash it.

You just scratch your head at the unpredictability of blogging.





Bride of Christ

He says I have to swallow my pride. Rise above it, actually.

He says I have to cut others the same slack I cut myself.

He says I have to crawl up out of my head and pay attention to the people in front of me.


The air really is clearer and sweeter. Once I get up there.

I can’t tow a rope that’s slack; Leaves my arms free to embrace.

I’ll always have my thoughts, but my people will grow up, grow old, grow sick…

His quirky love is saving me.

And I love Him.

This post was inspired by granonine.



I Lied

I said I loved to fish, fished all the time, because I wanted to hang out with him.  So he rowed us out to a beautiful, sunny spot in the middle of Lake Lansing and I cast my line. Unsuccessfully.

I chatted nonchalantly as I attempted to discreetly remove the hook from my armpit. Hoping he wouldn’t turn around and see that I was a rookie.

Just as the hook finally broke loose, so did the sky.

He immediately rowed for shore, but not fast enough. Lightening struck nearby and we were in an aluminum boat.

I jumped into the water, grabbed the rope tied to the front of the boat, swam and towed.

He called me a hero. I was probably an idiot.

Storms in Michigan, they come at you fast.

Just Call Me Bob

I introduce myself, ask how long they will be staying with us and how they like the cake. We exchange witty banter. There’s a laugh track.

Just then the Darrells come in with a load of firewood.

Stephanie returns from an exhausting afternoon at the mall – lots of Christmas gifts to buy and fashion citations to issue.

It’s getting late so I arrange turn-down service and then go to bed myself.

The last thing I remember is waking up next to Suzanne Pleshette.

In response to: You walk into your home to find a couple you don’t know sitting in your living room, eating a slice of cake. Tell us what happens next.





Just Between You and Me

I was born in the morning, but I wasn’t born this morning.

So when I read today’s prompt – A Pulitzer-winning reporter is writing an in-depth piece — about you. What are the three questions you really hope she doesn’t ask you? – I immediately thought of Connie Chung.

And I’m not falling for it. I’m not giving any stinkin’ Pulitzer-winning reporter any ammo. I’m not even going to whisper it.