tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41458256477519457602024-03-19T05:08:54.093-05:00Write From the HeartI live in St. Louis, MO, but my heart and soul hang out at the beach. I am a multi-genre, award winning writer, and speaker. I am a seasoned pre-k teacher, on line writing instructor, wife, mother, Nana to twelve. Hopefully, something I say will make you smile, further your writing career, or inspire you to write from the heart, too.
billin7@yahoo.com. Twitter,
@WriterLindaO. Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.comBlogger1845125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-83365880608185783902023-06-01T15:10:00.004-05:002023-06-01T15:12:48.083-05:00Got my eyes set on you!<span style="font-size: large;">Our house sits on a main road. The homes behind us are at a lower level than our elevated house and the other ones on our street. Therefore, neighbors cannot see into our back windows. Still, I do not make it a habit of going nude with drapes or blinds open.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;">I got out of the shower and realized I had forgotten my bra. I covered my chest with my arms, and reasoned, "No one can see in anyway. Just go grab your bra from your lingerie drawer and go back to the bathtroom to finish dressing."</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Then my little voice of reason began yapping. "Relax! Neighbors cannot see you. They'd have to be on a ladder gazing in the window, or hanging out in the thirty foot tall tree behind us." </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">No sooner a thought, and I glimpsed a neon yellow vested communication technician working on the cable lines, hanging like a monkey gawking in at me! (Only me!)</span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Charlie is 4, and he saved his own little soul when he got "caught."</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">He was building with blocks, and when he knocked them over accidentally, he got frustrated and shouted, "JEEEsus!" He looked up at me looking at him and he said softly, "Jesus, I love you!"</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Moral of my stories: you never know when someone is watching.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">My mom used to use fear tactics: "No matter where you are, who you are with, or what you are doing, someone is always watching, and I WILL hear about it." </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I was a good kid, but always on the look out for mom's friends, our neighbors, or someone who could rat me out. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-50120279597857625852023-05-24T09:40:00.001-05:002023-05-24T09:42:25.666-05:00Support the local arts<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">St. Louis, Missouri is noted for producing literary, visual and performing artists. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">THREE local writers were recently published in a new release, <b>Chicken Soup for the Soul, Well THAT Was Funny.</b> My fellow writers and I will be signing books on June 3rd at Barnes and Noble in St. Peters, near St. Charles. Please stop by and say hello. We will be there from 11:00 -2:00. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGAjiMJoGLSWqyrGCretvYDSees4CZFZiP_jyh60DHyAvHWwvLpIul1JrrjiTaAcuQRI-GzV2J2DZVPYJmWW7LZf3_5AoqqQN5JmraTxARKEXYA4S08s4N9MvkbtpbldL6CJ0cLy1fAeysjDP8EC0C-df_biLhlwtz6_oFFId1_XSwbvs1tSaQXvC/s940/CS%20Book%20Signing.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGAjiMJoGLSWqyrGCretvYDSees4CZFZiP_jyh60DHyAvHWwvLpIul1JrrjiTaAcuQRI-GzV2J2DZVPYJmWW7LZf3_5AoqqQN5JmraTxARKEXYA4S08s4N9MvkbtpbldL6CJ0cLy1fAeysjDP8EC0C-df_biLhlwtz6_oFFId1_XSwbvs1tSaQXvC/s320/CS%20Book%20Signing.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> Everybody needs a laugh. This book should do it for you!<br /> Why is my face as large as the frog's?! Ribbit.</span></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-18196810772164191952023-05-19T08:01:00.005-05:002023-05-19T08:01:38.777-05:00As the school year draws to an end<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I had a bad reaction to medication from a simple procedure and was in excruciating pain for a week. But all is fine now. That explains my long absence.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mother's Day brought my son and his children and my daughter to our house. I recieved so many sweet and thoughtful gifts, but this towel spoke volumes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoBDxuu7hraEsBe9ioHodUS99Vo5TCtBHi5eEO3VYMOQTvJVIOx9Yg_nLdCvrgINLYB2jnbhS5oforb9HJPg5_tU9wIam4PiIo-mo6WZr_I_mkYrFvZ3jGcF4O3IVLkqeLV7lRgTXB0ytFd5FtORFFq8IbHi5dUWhH_vybyS5Ak2vaP4_xvCZHaYw/s960/345213240_226641980083827_2960704910194999699_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoBDxuu7hraEsBe9ioHodUS99Vo5TCtBHi5eEO3VYMOQTvJVIOx9Yg_nLdCvrgINLYB2jnbhS5oforb9HJPg5_tU9wIam4PiIo-mo6WZr_I_mkYrFvZ3jGcF4O3IVLkqeLV7lRgTXB0ytFd5FtORFFq8IbHi5dUWhH_vybyS5Ak2vaP4_xvCZHaYw/s320/345213240_226641980083827_2960704910194999699_n.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I have had such fun this year preparing Alex and Charlie for kindergarten. I was fortunate to find this dry erase white board at the curb down the street. I sure put it to good use. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As the four year old Pre-K class concludes, the boys can actually see how much they have learned. They recognize numerals 1-20 and letters/sounds, number words 1-10, color words, and basic shapes, days of the week, months of year and how to get along with others unless it's brothers. They do well at the playground, have good social skills, are friendly and outgoing. They have grown so much!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">LOOK AT THESE BOYS WAY UP HERE!</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizC42xVgznZEztpH4Q-E_-jFcfnkcJ615KlS6Vi3iBM2THaM2uB7GF9Wy0uNyX-Oca4l9Mmtx8T67omOoVy93yYPyeBzdrFW3118TRPwXo9oDRzLyQ4D6_nZSRPoH2XWIKal-5YxiP0VsrA0NFUg0d5ijzgfIq5q3KhKomF_x3ceQfx1xHv1NhThK/s960/345638895_967597951092320_3453535591016398936_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizC42xVgznZEztpH4Q-E_-jFcfnkcJ615KlS6Vi3iBM2THaM2uB7GF9Wy0uNyX-Oca4l9Mmtx8T67omOoVy93yYPyeBzdrFW3118TRPwXo9oDRzLyQ4D6_nZSRPoH2XWIKal-5YxiP0VsrA0NFUg0d5ijzgfIq5q3KhKomF_x3ceQfx1xHv1NhThK/s320/345638895_967597951092320_3453535591016398936_n.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>Now that they know all letters/phonics sounds, I introduced phonetic spelling, (spell it as they hear it, also called inventive spelling) and so, they 'ordered" McDonald's. can you read it? No silent e's, therefore Coke looks like it does.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIgGbtko3GoKYTfqBujCUBkSfK-BwTW545xJTKXoTUDcK91xcpf6BLXw4H09ggVRxtTgdetMGqRP05KvoQzO6hkI4dEOf19BRs3XdZ53Wbaw6XNvceX7CiWf_8-wbXq-Mpe1W_gtke_qF4u6wdbwjGoxwExMs_kvoLvCrqZL9VrkoSwQHYl3_Jjvo/s960/345459068_1727337341053886_6852002856138367796_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="960" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIgGbtko3GoKYTfqBujCUBkSfK-BwTW545xJTKXoTUDcK91xcpf6BLXw4H09ggVRxtTgdetMGqRP05KvoQzO6hkI4dEOf19BRs3XdZ53Wbaw6XNvceX7CiWf_8-wbXq-Mpe1W_gtke_qF4u6wdbwjGoxwExMs_kvoLvCrqZL9VrkoSwQHYl3_Jjvo/s320/345459068_1727337341053886_6852002856138367796_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>I taught them the last letter sounds/blends CH, TH, SH, and OO. <p></p><p>MY THEY'VE LEARNED A LOT THIS YEAR!<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1bwu-m4KedA3g5w5blDT6sjyMs09wdm94WhqAefNBX3NKwxR-QwG_xB-sMfq8MNeqQVCxvQDbMOAlOuLKb8Q5Lt1k3mDNpaUVNV81sI3p0k9n8l9mfJUVnCKuFYY_UJbCbVQyzTrHl8m4cwQ0qqJpFC-tglUuvi40LlgIVcx8nSRoR8TLcXeqVDY/s960/345041565_625549982817068_6354931970512175751_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="960" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1bwu-m4KedA3g5w5blDT6sjyMs09wdm94WhqAefNBX3NKwxR-QwG_xB-sMfq8MNeqQVCxvQDbMOAlOuLKb8Q5Lt1k3mDNpaUVNV81sI3p0k9n8l9mfJUVnCKuFYY_UJbCbVQyzTrHl8m4cwQ0qqJpFC-tglUuvi40LlgIVcx8nSRoR8TLcXeqVDY/s320/345041565_625549982817068_6354931970512175751_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Older brother Liam was a nervous wreck on Field Day. "I can't run very well. I have never been good at kick ball." He helped bring his team to victory, FIRST PLACE WIN!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86D6cG5z7Yi8IsMXeyUlpPai_PyXww-eREhqZwQz4yRnFR3gXy9c97B_WY_p2zc9Y3LrmMLo5e4t0fexI_7bP9VnP7cZ3RyhwVIfFPZ6w8X7fzRA0O5J857WEja6to5OfK7u2t7Qc3KnNpWJ9lT4rRi8H_jFfkFlMeG5lN3TDJ9Y1_cJZJ_i5Yrln/s960/344832798_1672743453169443_4678136400896293852_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86D6cG5z7Yi8IsMXeyUlpPai_PyXww-eREhqZwQz4yRnFR3gXy9c97B_WY_p2zc9Y3LrmMLo5e4t0fexI_7bP9VnP7cZ3RyhwVIfFPZ6w8X7fzRA0O5J857WEja6to5OfK7u2t7Qc3KnNpWJ9lT4rRi8H_jFfkFlMeG5lN3TDJ9Y1_cJZJ_i5Yrln/s320/344832798_1672743453169443_4678136400896293852_n.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>See the pride on his face? My wish for all of my great grandsons is a feeling of success, and an I-can-try (and then do it) attitude. Fun summer ahead! Stay tuned.<br /> <p></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-594353059406946622023-05-03T11:02:00.005-05:002023-05-03T11:02:59.526-05:00Things that made me go "Hmm"<p><span style="font-size: large;"> A memory popped up on Facebook this morning, and it made me laugh. Charlie is on his way to being five-years-old. When he was barley three, I asked about his boo-boo. He has always been talkative.<br />"I'm alright, Nana. See, look. I am alive. I 'm not dead."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday I walked into a big box store and passed the pharmacy. A pharmacy tech spoke loudly on the phone to a customer. "Yes sir that IS actually part of the directions, squat and let it hang like a limp noodle." No idea what he was being treated for, and didn't want to know.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">One time we were on a cruise and an obese woman passed by wearing a shirt emblazoned with I BEAT ANOREXIA.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Some things just make you smile, wince. shake your head...</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-49550327433551096582023-04-26T09:26:00.004-05:002023-04-26T09:29:36.225-05:00A cage for our cutie<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am thrilled with my latest purchase. Lately I have been discouraged with the outrageous prices at the Goodwill Stores in our town. I know all about inflation, but who wants to pay $12 for a used, donated blouse because of its brand name? The rest of the blouses/shirts on the rack were about $5.00.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Used books used to cost a dollar, now they are up to $3.00. It makes me want to express my opinion. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">At the register, the clerk asked if I wished to donate my change. I replied, "Not since the prices have increased so much." </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I know it wasn't her fault, but I needed to be heard. And I was. Got a chorus of </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Uh huhs!" and "That's right!" from others in line. However...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVbvPEfLZnZ14ZguWeUyZAzdnb9J0XWsSBfJ20qKEaVla4sKPkvAXiO6PD4m9ZWILMzrcg6y35FJDBKJ4iF_X8dTcKX5fRFzOAhCLZECVwXtPFj8XZhVPp-GTrQ7A4nYhloECEgIrHrRaIfEO5PtfOxBgEeR5AC4WV5Krjvu9AS4hkpD5p-xz3n1-/s943/342381533_1294504941411910_1211683549062114373_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVbvPEfLZnZ14ZguWeUyZAzdnb9J0XWsSBfJ20qKEaVla4sKPkvAXiO6PD4m9ZWILMzrcg6y35FJDBKJ4iF_X8dTcKX5fRFzOAhCLZECVwXtPFj8XZhVPp-GTrQ7A4nYhloECEgIrHrRaIfEO5PtfOxBgEeR5AC4WV5Krjvu9AS4hkpD5p-xz3n1-/s320/342381533_1294504941411910_1211683549062114373_n.jpg" width="286" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> I did hit the jackpot with this purchase. I saw a small, flat carrying case on a shelf. Unzipped it and knew if I released the folded up cage inside, I would never get it back in. There was an original sales tag on the unused, NEW item for our sweet, Sassy Boy, who loves-loves-loves his "dad." When Bill goes to the back yard or sits on the patio, this sweet kitty sits at the back door and cries to come out. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">He was one happy cat when we took him outside. He resisted his removal with all of his fifteen pounds when it was time to go inside. I think it is going to be a great summer for all of us. He will be next to his "buddy" and be able to view the backyard birds and bunnies. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I paid $5.99 for this collapsible Ruff and Rufus cage. Bill researched it on line. Retail price $50.00.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> I'd say that was a bit of good will for Goodwill to sell it at such a discount.</span></p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-43560359432683637302023-04-17T18:39:00.000-05:002023-04-17T18:39:01.678-05:00Beloved television teachers<p><span style="font-size: large;"> I have been cleaning out closets and discovered these treasured books from the time of my childhood. I am certain they came from yard sales. I bought them because they were so near and dear to my heart. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Romper Room was an early childhood television series in the U.S. from 1953-1994. Miss Lois (there were several teachers over the years) who used a magic mirror to "see" her viewers. She called the names of children she "saw" watching her show. She insisted they be good "Do Bees." </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOLJ7lOXd9gvdXLro-ExyIHW4ugnKB9_NHvH1EQFC2PkXrQ22k3K4ax5gLuOtOsaVQKRE41TzeTSaviftkhgGVdkcuOSK4OULHFy2JR1CD4gL6xRUBKmjwui1enqbA6VdpsXK7gO35MoTZw-GIOlAJgPRM5BOcecAzOn-f9yb1oD0qY8KUw6mp2Mi/s960/337737632_129784483323548_1710854446850543876_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="960" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOLJ7lOXd9gvdXLro-ExyIHW4ugnKB9_NHvH1EQFC2PkXrQ22k3K4ax5gLuOtOsaVQKRE41TzeTSaviftkhgGVdkcuOSK4OULHFy2JR1CD4gL6xRUBKmjwui1enqbA6VdpsXK7gO35MoTZw-GIOlAJgPRM5BOcecAzOn-f9yb1oD0qY8KUw6mp2Mi/s320/337737632_129784483323548_1710854446850543876_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Before Sesame Street, which was released in 1969, (when I was pregnant in Alaska and I had nothing elese to view) there was Romper Room which my kids and grandkids watched. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Then Barney the big purple dinosaur made his debut. My granddaughter, Ashley, the boys' mom, loved Barney so much Papa Bill took her to the mall and bought her a stuffed Barney. When giant Barney was scheduled to make an appearance at the mall, the crowd was unbelievable; they had traffic cops at all entrances. The line to see Barney wound around the first floor of the mall three times. I took Ashley to get a bite to eat, and happened to see Barney stick his head out a door to take a peek. I grabbed her up and beat a path over. When he exited with his handler, he greeted Ashley first! We headed home and did not have to wait in a three hour line. Leave it to Nana Linda.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Prior to these wonderful early learning shows there was Ding Dong School. The nursery school of my childhood debuted as a morning show in 1952 on NBC. Early childhood educator, Dr. Frances Horwich, was known as beloved Miss Frances. I waited each day for her to ring the bell and start Ding Dong school. These books are <br />L to R from 1953, 1954, 1935, and 1940. So many little hands must have turned these pages. </span><div><p></p></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I am certain Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans had an influence on me, too, but not like Miss Frances who reminded me of my grandma. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I beleieve that in my forty year career as an early childhood educator, I was influenced by these nursery programs. </span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Do you remember them?</span></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-19603382881045453722023-04-11T21:01:00.007-05:002023-04-11T21:06:42.455-05:00It wasn't Peter Cotton Tail<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">While waiting for the Easter Bunny, we had a visit from a turkey. This guy wandered up the block, stopped in our driveway and looked at me, then moseyed on past four more houses. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his reflection in the neighbor's glass storm door and preened for a while. He let me get very close before turkey trotting on up the block. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNX2DFDxFmuSZVHu1cn8hGtOCKCw-0VtnI0MWqFm5djLegvF4GMRPOeqcQxLg8ODS09UujCpukN6uf9PyNqPiLADm03STxdJ6hjnu1WhOpTNQBPPImEx8IOECqXDVVUZfKvz9tWVh0mGFGmg20FTvL8sudGlMuQMen9UxeeA3S483CM9IdwRFAfLUc/s602/340411565_539143835083606_192945185890750860_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="420" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNX2DFDxFmuSZVHu1cn8hGtOCKCw-0VtnI0MWqFm5djLegvF4GMRPOeqcQxLg8ODS09UujCpukN6uf9PyNqPiLADm03STxdJ6hjnu1WhOpTNQBPPImEx8IOECqXDVVUZfKvz9tWVh0mGFGmg20FTvL8sudGlMuQMen9UxeeA3S483CM9IdwRFAfLUc/s320/340411565_539143835083606_192945185890750860_n.jpg" width="223" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I just love this photo taken by my daughter when the boys visited at her house. </span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsl7DdadCOCj26k0vnx69VxnJjpQYjq11z62Hx_2rtShSDMTo6eBfP8-4irSvmqEsIvgx-dv-ArPwOyngtPFLWeD20U6j464Q6fF6IaAI8TmYIL_N2jj35N7-vr-d5DGqcJPA75JuS49wo2-cvFBCk-jF5Yhw60lw6SP0NNa-heGb-4z2ZHo9Ban8y/s930/340463659_599941091806434_466641543550835157_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="930" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsl7DdadCOCj26k0vnx69VxnJjpQYjq11z62Hx_2rtShSDMTo6eBfP8-4irSvmqEsIvgx-dv-ArPwOyngtPFLWeD20U6j464Q6fF6IaAI8TmYIL_N2jj35N7-vr-d5DGqcJPA75JuS49wo2-cvFBCk-jF5Yhw60lw6SP0NNa-heGb-4z2ZHo9Ban8y/s320/340463659_599941091806434_466641543550835157_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /> I received an acceptance from Guideposts, Angels on Earth for one of my stories to be released in August. I am delighted to break into this publication. Hopefully many more.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Spring has arrived and I have sat on the patio and read five books in two weeks. My leisure activity.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">For those of you who may have known prolific writer, Georgia Hubley, sadly she passed away last week. </span></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-90193113333155470292023-04-07T07:26:00.004-05:002023-04-07T10:53:17.973-05:00Writers can play, too<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Charlie was delighted with the wind-up chickie. As it hopped all over his ABC paper, he soon discovered that as much as he tried to get it to go to a particular letter, it often veered. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7nCAt9z-kW65aWiuL0cUH4mkbDnVtR4juN-BsZWFJk3gl4uED9iUKj2EG91fOHBRWuBCE9EZwz22PIQ5nE1i3kvQ3AS_Bvu10OchjXyaxoHcI6_E7kjTUyBUeV9dXHnamadxjuTnyXyMGCRPqn016of8vWeutZeERZVwoQBEkkzZmaotDtzirhmn/s2048/Charlie%20chick%20abcs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="996" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7nCAt9z-kW65aWiuL0cUH4mkbDnVtR4juN-BsZWFJk3gl4uED9iUKj2EG91fOHBRWuBCE9EZwz22PIQ5nE1i3kvQ3AS_Bvu10OchjXyaxoHcI6_E7kjTUyBUeV9dXHnamadxjuTnyXyMGCRPqn016of8vWeutZeERZVwoQBEkkzZmaotDtzirhmn/w190-h320/Charlie%20chick%20abcs.jpg" width="190" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Writing is sometimes that way. You intend to go in one direction and your story goes off in another. And what do you do? Well, you probably go with it, and in doing so, you discover something else.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Alex is mechanically inclined, enjoys building and balancing blocks and desinging things. I made a game I call The Jelly Bean Drop. I used a box, three doll rods, and six ketchup cups I got from Wendy's when we ate there a couple weeks ago. Added a bunny, glued the cups to the sticks top and bottom and in various positions. Sort of like Foos Ball standing on end, he had to maneuver the cups of jelly beans to drop to the next level, and eventually fill the jelly bean tray on the bottom. This is the face of excitement at being successful. Many times he was not. He did not give up. He tried again and again. Hard work!<br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQYmPSV54bPnKUXFECGHry_kHp2yzHjXsHbgIDy_4v2-sI4ijxFIzV1iisSL5K4Nyoc3JISEtpInl0SdszrWxkT7LUL1_0Fn2m6pxrsG-LQUkIQoTYvu2ZNBxsmrNtWydRFz_EUPQeDaHM4VVJSXk4q3iTB3oE19ZlAk8Cqfo7OGTBnshBqh5pUhy/s960/Alex%20Easter%20game.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQYmPSV54bPnKUXFECGHry_kHp2yzHjXsHbgIDy_4v2-sI4ijxFIzV1iisSL5K4Nyoc3JISEtpInl0SdszrWxkT7LUL1_0Fn2m6pxrsG-LQUkIQoTYvu2ZNBxsmrNtWydRFz_EUPQeDaHM4VVJSXk4q3iTB3oE19ZlAk8Cqfo7OGTBnshBqh5pUhy/w184-h320/Alex%20Easter%20game.jpg" width="184" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Writers attempt new genres, themes, feel overwhelmed when things don't go as planned. The secret to success is to keep trying. </span><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">I found a Jell-O jelly bean mold tray at Goodwill for 50 cents. But anything would do. Being able to improvise, think out of the box, and try something new can be its own reward. Take a short essay, condense it to as few words as possible and you will have a poem. As you tinker with it, you will discover new ways to rephrase with fewer words. Like finding a hidden colored egg!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Charlie's hands are not as well developed as Alex's because he is a year younger. He thinks he is just feeding the bunny (paper bunny cut-out taped to a plastic bottle). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Printing and coloring require small hand and finger muscles. He is getting there, but being a lefty is an added frustration for him. He is unaware that he is strengthening those little hands as he drops jelly beans into the bunny's "mouth".<br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZTYkjei7lXDK0HbNrCstePCRbK4t1QkXUJgTx1hRM3x9wdP0YXgERgp74YDxvhJMKlSaVkfdnHKm8MGKKqr9oqhVwZd7BsoRkl1sElkTSyjv7U9ucHpF8CeV5Lmu1mLDhwKsONZe2vPybe_YITe0d1XP0zXnRtXUmKf6MfAKPc436zHCZ471a2K7/s960/Charlie%20feeding%20jelly%20beans.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZTYkjei7lXDK0HbNrCstePCRbK4t1QkXUJgTx1hRM3x9wdP0YXgERgp74YDxvhJMKlSaVkfdnHKm8MGKKqr9oqhVwZd7BsoRkl1sElkTSyjv7U9ucHpF8CeV5Lmu1mLDhwKsONZe2vPybe_YITe0d1XP0zXnRtXUmKf6MfAKPc436zHCZ471a2K7/w174-h320/Charlie%20feeding%20jelly%20beans.jpg" width="174" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><span style="color: #2b00fe;"> Writers must develop their skills, too. Learning the fundamentals is the groundwork for improvement. Every little thing you write, tweak, or try, helps strengthen your writing. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Wishing you a happy spring, happy Easter, happy day! </span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Happy writing. </span></p></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-34923559972934536422023-04-04T09:51:00.002-05:002023-04-04T09:56:13.707-05:00Maybe and maybe not<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The neighbors' fruit-bearing pear tree is almost as pretty as our red bud tree blossoming out nicely.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZo6223Hh7W8bdbiNe4QJgY-G0nGPodh94MFy-5IAbRcwESf5gZUzorbM7T83VxQYj9ieZUaFGB2IuawkueE5A39J9VxHWNoZ9vItw-HsBAp-CNf1KJxysBShplrczJipv9iZsir57rzJQNMR4uVrYxnYALBV6D0ji4ziJUriXN3Gb3X0pU0Gzkdt/s587/336671089_1264739134130929_1106789707362350335_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="235" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZo6223Hh7W8bdbiNe4QJgY-G0nGPodh94MFy-5IAbRcwESf5gZUzorbM7T83VxQYj9ieZUaFGB2IuawkueE5A39J9VxHWNoZ9vItw-HsBAp-CNf1KJxysBShplrczJipv9iZsir57rzJQNMR4uVrYxnYALBV6D0ji4ziJUriXN3Gb3X0pU0Gzkdt/s320/336671089_1264739134130929_1106789707362350335_n.jpg" width="128" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjsNidgbOhbBZpi9ogBmDHfXHgrseDRxFDs6RXkYwyRp4UyN6rHJy1c_qyWqyqzGqSws2tcDbElGvtEuLX39j-cLGMz5Ir4Eb85KwccuMMAIkAHWt3yZUgiyzrxp81dxm97FCkGgwPJ5vHRtQdoaO1ofUsTCGt5PUvlTjS3GiQqdEvw7xen1N1MKa/s600/336168809_759325832550797_4387099946585610094_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjsNidgbOhbBZpi9ogBmDHfXHgrseDRxFDs6RXkYwyRp4UyN6rHJy1c_qyWqyqzGqSws2tcDbElGvtEuLX39j-cLGMz5Ir4Eb85KwccuMMAIkAHWt3yZUgiyzrxp81dxm97FCkGgwPJ5vHRtQdoaO1ofUsTCGt5PUvlTjS3GiQqdEvw7xen1N1MKa/s320/336168809_759325832550797_4387099946585610094_n.jpg" width="156" /></a></span></div></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />This evening our area is under a severe storm and tornado risk. Then again, it could miss us completely. I hope damaging winds don't strip our beautiful babies of their blooms.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Because it is supposed to be 86 degrees today, we may pay the price with predicted, yet unpredictable storms. Stay safe folks. Climate change is evident. <br /> </span></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-62398488753065874842023-03-27T07:46:00.007-05:002023-03-27T15:56:08.805-05:00A dog in a VW bus<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am missing the beach, especially since many friends have been posting their spring break photos. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>We drove about 20 miles from home to Creve Coeur Lake/Park. What a treat. Even though the sunshine disappeared behind the heavy cloud cover, it was warm enough for shirt sleeves or a light wrap. </span><span>Oh the sights we saw. I am a people watcher. Are you? Can you tell what these guys are doing?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UAJpB_nL4PosU4cg_aMt3bU-5Cq8g-JwL2lIUwbgenEysiUQqFXzW8Qv1oJtywOn_MXLEW1PSmJHlaj3qSzan6Udy5t8XMNpI-MLA4N7mIifJgW4uxp0Kjq5_54eaZwLz_DXROnRTOJH_HgmXAWWwtQhXQSIlolh4cFEAmiczbiGxven1yK6Mc9Z/s960/336179103_538679001740333_9108102383193648384_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="960" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UAJpB_nL4PosU4cg_aMt3bU-5Cq8g-JwL2lIUwbgenEysiUQqFXzW8Qv1oJtywOn_MXLEW1PSmJHlaj3qSzan6Udy5t8XMNpI-MLA4N7mIifJgW4uxp0Kjq5_54eaZwLz_DXROnRTOJH_HgmXAWWwtQhXQSIlolh4cFEAmiczbiGxven1yK6Mc9Z/s320/336179103_538679001740333_9108102383193648384_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">Upon entering the parking lot, we noticed a group of men of all ages gathered in a circle. As we drove closer, we heard the lovely bagpipe music they were playing. I had to pull over, watch, and listen. It was quite a moving experience. We drove on and parked lakeside at the trail which was crowded with hikers and dog walkers. Folks were busy rowing canoes and there were two competition rowing teams across the lake. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Being close to water, with the wind lapping waves to shore made me feel happy. When it was time to leave, we saw a sight that made me chuckle. <br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYmBZhU8UsseWwc_Cig3ZeoK5-wqXvA2tMWvAt7GKK3fT4IFUUHjc4UAWANjpBle8JXug_U5W_tlPp4GNY1CkgIf981kVDeAFWnUwpRINCT2_Mu29jaUAm03DE5_5hfH2DdNTN_HAlGl7mne5MuTz6DPGOuBQo_xvgeflSyz8Dkq7AReY0Q6AxasY/s960/336195074_247807127668436_3550710905463659057_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="804" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYmBZhU8UsseWwc_Cig3ZeoK5-wqXvA2tMWvAt7GKK3fT4IFUUHjc4UAWANjpBle8JXug_U5W_tlPp4GNY1CkgIf981kVDeAFWnUwpRINCT2_Mu29jaUAm03DE5_5hfH2DdNTN_HAlGl7mne5MuTz6DPGOuBQo_xvgeflSyz8Dkq7AReY0Q6AxasY/s320/336195074_247807127668436_3550710905463659057_n.jpg" width="268" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A young lady drove a baby blue Volkswagen and toted her fur baby in this blue VolksWAGON bus stroller along the trails.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's the littlest things in my life that make me smile and feel happy.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> </span><p></p></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-20245534504457670152023-03-21T08:37:00.004-05:002023-03-21T08:37:22.382-05:00Bedrooom bedlam<p> Bill and I are retirees on different sleep schedules. He takes a two hour afternooon snooze in his mechanical recliner about 2:00 p.m. He blames it on the fuzzy blanket I bought him. </p><p>I fall asleep on the couch late evening for couple of hours and wake up to watch the late shows. I head to bed about midnight and we both sleep until the cat goes crazy knocking things off the dresser to let us know he wants to be fed... between 4:30 and 5:00 a.m.</p><p>Last night was a doozy in the bedroom. Bill woke up at 1:00 as I was watching an old sitcom and asked why the TV was so loud. I could barely hear it. I said it wasn't. He asked why I was screaming. I was merely talking loud enough so he could hear me.</p><p>He then started yelling, "Where is it?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>I fell asleep in my hearing aids. No wonder everything seems so loud. I found one and now I've lost one."</p><p>He grumbled into the bathroom, rummaged through the bedding, wandered into the livingroom to check his snooze chair. Came back and said, "It was in the neck of my T shirt."</p><p>I flipped off the TV, and if I could have muted him as he rehashed the incident...</p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-63878449135113797072023-03-14T09:21:00.002-05:002023-03-14T09:33:48.273-05:00Change is coming<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Alex and Charlie have so much energy. We try to spend a part of our day outdoors. They enjoy going to the indoor pool on Fridays. Big brother Liam, on school break, joined us. They are all growing so fast. Five months, and then it's off to school they go. I will miss them so much. I think I am starting the grieving process now. I love planning their preK days twice a week. What on earth will I do with all this time on my hands?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWafI14OukspqbBc6KvIsTHSF_00slKjBgDJeS6YhPXai6fRR9_dKPSRXP0NHq15xRBpmlRt27zwVQMjZXfttc8vCQahPMEIAO0bzFaK04yPfZgXI08ph3RZQF-xZRVIxg1Iqjpzix1nXWwC_yqT2EJP8AE1eDcS-11yrZnpcOf-p1MvWroYS1Ls8c/s960/335679409_1225480101695287_4442862735676101976_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="817" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWafI14OukspqbBc6KvIsTHSF_00slKjBgDJeS6YhPXai6fRR9_dKPSRXP0NHq15xRBpmlRt27zwVQMjZXfttc8vCQahPMEIAO0bzFaK04yPfZgXI08ph3RZQF-xZRVIxg1Iqjpzix1nXWwC_yqT2EJP8AE1eDcS-11yrZnpcOf-p1MvWroYS1Ls8c/s320/335679409_1225480101695287_4442862735676101976_n.jpg" width="272" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Spring is just around the corner. March is going to be a bit cooler, but signs of spring are everywhere. The red bud tree in our front yard has tiny pinkish-purple blossoms knitted to all the branches. This tree is going to look magnificient in a couple of weeks. Grass is greening, and splotches of yellow daffodils dot the hillsides along highways in our town. Tulip trees in all their glory are coloring neighborhoods. Everywhere I look I find signs of spring.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My sweetest surprise today was a purple hyacinth about to fully bloom. I discovered it poking out of a pile of last fall's leaves which insulates the sedum through the winter. What a delightful fragrance!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I am most happy with the time change. I stay up until 11 pm when we spring forward one hour. In winter, I go down with the sun. I am in my glory these days.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> I bought a stack of books and intend to sit outdoors and read just as soon as the temperature rises.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So many people are suffering from horrific weather conditions. I cannot imagine five feet of snow. Talk about cabin fever! I suppose it won't be long and then we will be complaining about the heat. For today, though, I am anxiously awaiting warmer, sunnier days. And I am thankful for nature's surprises.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> <br /> </span></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-13386760447464108742023-03-05T07:42:00.003-06:002023-03-06T15:44:54.882-06:00What do you put in YOUR boots?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSsFtUiMFXEwGLEJkFAg-J16KvGDKLS6I5-vEy-k_q4y1X3OitK2ln4drkMPzz9Y5IvZvLdDG-zqUHoLHbGCwIvN39h1vq6WVp9OJpePqZfy6lIk20YoqpCHMlY4iWv_4Cmi7vZpXq_WmFrDdIlmFX9OBWEUr9ut9cSBshwLVDBy0GR4nMQ-z03mK/s843/charlie%20and%20ashley%2020233.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="842" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSsFtUiMFXEwGLEJkFAg-J16KvGDKLS6I5-vEy-k_q4y1X3OitK2ln4drkMPzz9Y5IvZvLdDG-zqUHoLHbGCwIvN39h1vq6WVp9OJpePqZfy6lIk20YoqpCHMlY4iWv_4Cmi7vZpXq_WmFrDdIlmFX9OBWEUr9ut9cSBshwLVDBy0GR4nMQ-z03mK/s320/charlie%20and%20ashley%2020233.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>My great-grandson Charlie (age 4) woke at the crack of dawn this morning. </p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom: "Hey Charlie. Wanna watch a movie?"</span></p><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Charlie: "Yes! Let’s watch Cat N Boots!"</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Mom: "You mean Puss in Boots, Bud." </div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Charlie: "MOM. That is inappropriate! It is CAT n Boots."</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Mom: …. <span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od" style="display: inline-flex; font-family: inherit; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="😦" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t6b/1.5/16/1f626.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span> … "what is inappropriate about that?"</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1"></a></span>Charlie: *rolls eyes* "A PUSS is what you put your keys and candy and phone and stuffs in when we go to the car. Why would anyone put that stuff in their boots?" </div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Me: "Dude, you are thinking of a PURSE."</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Charlie: *rolls eyes harder* "That’s what I just said, puss!"</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ashley cloned herself when she had Charlie. These are the kinds of observations and comments she made all the time when she was his age. He looks and acts just like her at age four. I babysat her daily, and she was in my prek classes for three years, so I have firsthand knowledge. People used to ask if she was a child actor. Nope. Just always acting up.</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
She saw a teen kid skateboarding and said, "That is the guy who cooks my Ravioli!" She meant Chef Boy-ar-dee (a recognizable brand name in the U.S.)</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were leaving a big box store when she tugged my hand and begged me to stop and look at the posted images of missing and exploited children. "Nana, I know their mommy! The Old Lady who lived in a shoe had so many children she didn't know what to do. I need to tell her we found them."</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her comment paid off in a chunk of change in the 1990s. We were watching TV when the announcer broke into regular programming to update viewers on presidential election results. He said,
"More on cadidates at 10:00 p.m."</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ashley looked at me agahast and said, "I did not know they could call the president a moron on national T.V."</div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I submitted that quip to a well known periodical. Weeks later, I opened my mail to discover a complimentary copy with a $100.00 check enclosed. On page 83, a cartoon image of one of our former presidents (GWB) wearing a dunce cap. Ashley's comment printed underneath. </div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Parent's magazine has also published my kids' and grandkids' quips. There's a market for the darndest things kids say. </div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">If yours, like my kids, grandkids and great-grandkids, also have the gift of gab, submit their quips. They just might pay off, too. </div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-53018837928057315372023-02-27T06:49:00.009-06:002023-02-28T18:09:24.041-06:00A backwards glance<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Signs of spring are popping out all over. We've had a mild winter in the central Midwest. I am not complaining. I am thrilled and concerned with nature's confusion. What will summer bring?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWu2pKc6h3ONcvNGzYalYK46tDLLQeYxDQglhVgYIrbNjH0LKwGOX99vqGeRpofEH1BRLkAgSmtnYFPp_gSaUzv8u6LxIIgnfHgu2EDzPU_i_q6RbgNyqjOd-siDxWNVGmQQBsmjPJcPjbBC5yNuLgJ4t5NUQt0dMuer_GjkuLL7cYpZY5pAp38Pxr/s1733/daffodils%20227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1733" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWu2pKc6h3ONcvNGzYalYK46tDLLQeYxDQglhVgYIrbNjH0LKwGOX99vqGeRpofEH1BRLkAgSmtnYFPp_gSaUzv8u6LxIIgnfHgu2EDzPU_i_q6RbgNyqjOd-siDxWNVGmQQBsmjPJcPjbBC5yNuLgJ4t5NUQt0dMuer_GjkuLL7cYpZY5pAp38Pxr/w179-h320/daffodils%20227.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">These daffodils erupted a month ago in late January. The first two weeks of February they began to bud. I feared the occasional frigid nighttime temperature would be their demise, but these little toughies survived. Last week they began to bloom... in February! I filled the water bowl for small animals and birds and stood back and admired this premature gift from Mother Nature.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Reminds me of a floral surprise when I was in fifth grade.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnUhp-mRpc34GQI_G9glznTFWwOqqSorDWfYatluan5FO74VjDe_WtAIS3IjoMn4PL0emjOl2LqYR-HuYh8WQ0XBd2GhhmHqBfIlEIuovOrPLsOpbekRGCJtCdU8eNl_js7KQ04L9awfxZ9pCJuRwIHOIzgM7nrGogXJdFCZj7ZFEtLOnZcn9mh4c/s1453/331880454_508902107867473_1572848350946401562_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1453" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGnUhp-mRpc34GQI_G9glznTFWwOqqSorDWfYatluan5FO74VjDe_WtAIS3IjoMn4PL0emjOl2LqYR-HuYh8WQ0XBd2GhhmHqBfIlEIuovOrPLsOpbekRGCJtCdU8eNl_js7KQ04L9awfxZ9pCJuRwIHOIzgM7nrGogXJdFCZj7ZFEtLOnZcn9mh4c/s320/331880454_508902107867473_1572848350946401562_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"> At dismissal, as school children walked home en masse, a gardener at the apartment building across the street stood in the midst of what looked like a multi-colored crazy quilt of tulips. He snipped bouquets of them and presented one to each student. It was the highlight of that sunny spring day. The older gentleman asked us if we knew about Holland where tulips grew and people wore wooden shoes. I couldn't imagine.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">What a surprise to come to school the next day and realize Miss Kuntz was presenting a geography lesson on Holland. She even brought in wooden shoes. A coincidence or a teachable moment? Either way it made a life-long impact.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Our wrought iron patio chairs are uncomfortable without the cushions. The seat cushions are now in place. Hubby and I sat out on this mild weekend and watched birds flit from tree to feeder. Those bright red cardinals are busy boys. They share the perch with the brown females, royal blue jays, purple finches, sparrows, robins, mourning doves, and the gackles who try to nudge their way in, too. Bird seeds are scattered in a huge arc under the feeder near the shed, providing nourishment for the squirrels and chipmunks.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The promise of spring means I will soon be reading outdoors, observing nature, and listening to a symphony of birds. Soothing activities for my soul.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Speaking of concerts, Bill and I were flipping through the channels last evening and found a 1960s Pop, Rock, and Soul concert with original artists performing today on the Public Broadcast Station. Oh what a delight to listen to the soundtrack of our youth, sing along with familiar tunes, and sift through the memories in our minds. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"I'm Henry the eighth I am..." Ah, for an hour or so we were lost in time commenting about how old the artists now look. Unlike us, of course. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-77212250190704176232023-02-17T06:52:00.006-06:002023-02-17T07:19:09.219-06:00Taking turns at work and play<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have no idea what this toy is called. Do you? I just know it was the best dollar I ever spent at the thrift shop. After sanitizing it and letting it dry, I put it on the table to let Charlie and Alex fight over it. I mean discover it. They shook it and listened to the clacking sounds.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRqsacU9BcfRkaEozoOhVUjCuijKL9bXWi_6vDyx8c8aw4AODDvz3uUqif5_kYFSydCAL5EevA0OQIMk89sQhqf1zrbE045NmSDRO-TfigzK7Pj4FoQDcvOySww6wCzwkCVjXr9WJdSx14A9ztew5GYngq2chUnT55jrv8lPw6Z5huBQNTMOvXjpJ9/s960/329720218_723908609404206_8619957491187343291_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRqsacU9BcfRkaEozoOhVUjCuijKL9bXWi_6vDyx8c8aw4AODDvz3uUqif5_kYFSydCAL5EevA0OQIMk89sQhqf1zrbE045NmSDRO-TfigzK7Pj4FoQDcvOySww6wCzwkCVjXr9WJdSx14A9ztew5GYngq2chUnT55jrv8lPw6Z5huBQNTMOvXjpJ9/s320/329720218_723908609404206_8619957491187343291_n.jpg" width="156" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9yUbMBu-jkyEWEXXZKq6J4SaDNSXTs2e5EC3BSnb3jtwbX39NWcHp30AKMGGimMJEOw9dzJDwAD3m0T4M7YGb2SyNXQGUm5C3ikowGg9aLUG4Q-t6zaKwyZSmOjdzzmGhKTZ3sQOJ1CTexgdf_Fy5gn-Aj2sR294Gqxrj9wV8fhrFFdRWqF0UkoK/s960/330312855_523870826298415_8539896435585052440_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9yUbMBu-jkyEWEXXZKq6J4SaDNSXTs2e5EC3BSnb3jtwbX39NWcHp30AKMGGimMJEOw9dzJDwAD3m0T4M7YGb2SyNXQGUm5C3ikowGg9aLUG4Q-t6zaKwyZSmOjdzzmGhKTZ3sQOJ1CTexgdf_Fy5gn-Aj2sR294Gqxrj9wV8fhrFFdRWqF0UkoK/s320/330312855_523870826298415_8539896435585052440_n.jpg" width="156" /></a></span></div></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />At this age, unless they are hurting each other, I allow them to collaborate, negotiate, insist, and even demand. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Young children want all of it, and must experience all of it before they can part with any of it. Learning to share means giving up something they deeply desire. It is a natural part of growth and development to resist. Be patient if you have a young one.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Several times this toy was removed without comment and put atop the fridge. Their protests fell on deaf ears. I did not have to say more than once, "We will not fight over this toy."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">When they were calm, I placed a large spoon behind it, which depressed the individual tiny plastic sticks to make the indentation. They were amazed, and both squealed they wanted a turn when they saw the spoon image.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">That's right, a TURN. Sometimes it is your turn and sometimes it's the other person's turn. They had a blast making inverted images. And then, Charlie took a chance and imposed his face into the gadget and laughed like crazy when he saw his image. So, of course Alex had to do it, too. This toy has been beneficial in ways unexpected.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We discussed how to be calm, wait, and be patient. I stated the consequences if there was fighting and yelling. They soon learned I meant business, and they also learned to cooperate. </span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">This is the way it is with writing. We are all leaving our legacy, our imprint, taking chances, toying and tinkering with our work. Attempting new and different. Discovering what works and doesn't.</span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">And taking turns. Several of my writer friends and I contribute to the same publications that have limited space available for freelance writers. Sure, we are all in competition, but it is a healthy competition. We support one another, even if we are disappointed that our work was rejected. It is how the game is played. Mostly, we are happy and proud of our friend's contribution and publication success. </span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">The way I see it is it was THEIR turn. </span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">We can't all be in first place, but we can all participate in the game. </span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">Write on, my friends. Enjoy the weekend.</span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">Check out Pen and Prosper on my blog list to the right side. Jennifer Brown Banks has a gift for writers.</span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-85016058258358072702023-02-13T06:36:00.004-06:002023-02-13T06:45:39.983-06:00This Rose is not just any rose!<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Today is launch day! </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Introducing Pat Wahler and her latest release.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-large; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">If you enjoy reading Historical Fiction, you will love this book!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5ulqrxMWmW1dPLpwQmbIgoo-y8kRiTN3o3FONObGW2rkmEmYk08t5zy8yH3En_fgygd0ZagYnJQ9NjQ302JDB_ahBe1FvGFWmocVGXhHlqAnlN8RbJlhCqxXFz3_kQ3DVpdb7xIJTfxMgIOV4TorCmqtjacbdOrT5Q32BY5bX_ByN7YJpy-7k6xNY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2600" data-original-width="1706" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5ulqrxMWmW1dPLpwQmbIgoo-y8kRiTN3o3FONObGW2rkmEmYk08t5zy8yH3En_fgygd0ZagYnJQ9NjQ302JDB_ahBe1FvGFWmocVGXhHlqAnlN8RbJlhCqxXFz3_kQ3DVpdb7xIJTfxMgIOV4TorCmqtjacbdOrT5Q32BY5bX_ByN7YJpy-7k6xNY=w199-h240" width="199" /></span></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-indent: 0in;"><span>Link to the book: </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-indent: 0in;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/mZ0aN2"><span>https://books2read.com/u/mZ0aN2</span></a></span></span></span></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large; text-indent: 0in;">Self-taught artist Rose O'Neill leaves the Midwest for New York in 1893, determined to become an illustrator in a field dominated by males. Mindful of her duty to the impoverished family she left behind, Rose’s obligations require her to yield to the men who hold the reins of her career.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;">Yet despite the obstacles facing her, she excels at her craft, eventually designing a new character, the Kewpie. Her creation explodes into a phenomenon, but Rose’s disenchantment with the status quo fosters new ambitions. She must decide whether to remain within the boundaries dictated for her, or risk everything she’s gained to pursue the creative and personal passions that ignite her soul.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>The Rose of Washington Square</b></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-indent: 0in;"> is the story of a remarkable artist, writer, suffragist, and philanthropist whose talents lifted her from obscurity into one of the most famous women of her era.</span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Pat Wahler</span><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"></span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9tiw5CCXGtU2T7pOTiRRLWJ-9XU8lCSgiQAARqFh0Fq-j1EiuHy335dUlwANtlRwwMWrDzd0sDxr65NQK9ClwDKviqxf_qiv1-1ovqB0c9Xs6ZgJCI68dtlg0jMmuhwdfHlYA0Zddd5Xqox1akpm2YsVSI4tE0kYri-aGBPJuCrp1l_hynj8phhgZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1335" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9tiw5CCXGtU2T7pOTiRRLWJ-9XU8lCSgiQAARqFh0Fq-j1EiuHy335dUlwANtlRwwMWrDzd0sDxr65NQK9ClwDKviqxf_qiv1-1ovqB0c9Xs6ZgJCI68dtlg0jMmuhwdfHlYA0Zddd5Xqox1akpm2YsVSI4tE0kYri-aGBPJuCrp1l_hynj8phhgZ=w195-h240" width="195" /></a></span></div><span><i><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Pat Wahler is winner of Western Fictioneers' Best First Novel of 2018, a Walter Williams Award winner, and the winner of Author Circle Awards 2019 Novel of Excellence in Historical Fiction for</span><em> I am Mrs. Jesse James</em><span style="font-style: normal;">. She has also authored a three-book contemporary romance series-the Becker Family Novels, and two holiday-themed books; all named Five-Star </span><i>Readers’ Favorites</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. A frequent contributor to the </span><i>Chicken Soup for the Soul</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> anthologies, Pat is an avid reader with a special passion for historical fiction, women’s fiction, and stories with heart. She makes her home in Missouri with her husband and two rescue critters—one feisty Peek-a-poo pup and a tabby cat with plenty of attitude.</span></span></p></i></span><p></p><div><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: large;">1. <b>What inspired the idea for <i>The Rose of
Washington Square</i>? </b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">
</span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I enjoy writing
women from the past, particularly if they have ties to my home state of
Missouri. Doing random searches on women from history in the Midwest, I ran
across the name of Rose O’Neill. I knew she’d created the Kewpie Doll, but I
really didn’t know much else about her. The more I dug into her numerous
accomplishments and realized what a trailblazer she truly was, the more
fascinated I became. Before long, I knew I had to write her story. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">2. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>How much research did your book require?</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">As a writer of
historical fiction, I always do a fair amount of research. I need to understand
the era, culture, and events of the time period I write. Then there’s a deep
dive into correspondence, journals, biographies, plus magazine and newspaper
articles related to the specific person I’ve chosen. Next I construct a world
timeline alongside a personal timeline to give me a sense of what happened
when. If possible, I like to spend time at actual locations that were part of
my character’s life to experience what they did. Finally, I plot and outline
the story and then on to writing it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">3. <b>How long did it take you to write the book?</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">The initial research portion took around a year. During the time I
began to put words on paper, there were additional pieces of information that
came to my attention, so I actually wrote and researched in tandem for another
year before I could even glimpse the finish line. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>How did you come up with
your title?</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">Oh, titles. They’re one of my most difficult decisions. I can’t
tell you how many different “working titles” there were for this book. I had a
page of possibilities, and over months I pared the list down to three. Oddly
enough, none of them really grabbed me, until I had a conversation with my
developmental editor. She came up with a suggestion that seemed so simple yet
so perfect, I grabbed onto it. <i>The Rose of Washington Square</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">5. <b>What advice would
you give a writer working on their first book?</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">Make sure you have
good editors and proofreaders who will help you shape your manuscript and
polish it until it shines. If traditional publishing is your goal, pitch the
manuscript at writer conferences. Submit it to agents or to publishers that
don’t require agented submissions. Listen if experienced people in the writing business
offer advice. </span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">Don’t fall for scammers who are interested in your money, not
your manuscript.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"> Many authors find great satisfaction in publishing their own
work. Just make sure you have a professional quality cover and product to
offer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">Finally, as Winston
Churchill once said, “Never, never, never give up.” If you want to be a published
author, make that your mantra. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">6. <b>What is the
best writing advice you were ever given? </b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">The importance of
connecting with other writers. Join writing groups and get involved with a
critique group. It’s a great way to learn, and I’ve found writers to be
extraordinarily supportive. Plus, it’s kind of nice venting to people who not
only understand your frustrations but help to celebrate your successes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><span><b>Pat</b>:<i> Linda, thank you
so much for inviting me to your blog! </i></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><b>Linda</b>:<i> My pleasure. Congratulations and much success to you!<br /> Readers, check out Pat Wahler and her newest release, and please leave a comment below. Isn't that cover beautiful?</i></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="color: black; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Link to the book:</span> </span><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-indent: 0in;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/mZ0aN2"><span>https://books2read.com/u/mZ0aN2</span></a></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .25in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large; text-indent: 0in;">Website: </span><a href="https://patwahler.com/" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: x-large; text-indent: 0in;">https://patwahler.com/</a><u style="background-color: transparent; font-size: x-large; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Facebook Author Page: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/PatWahlerAuthor"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">https://www.facebook.com/PatWahlerAuthor</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Goodreads Author Page: </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13504530.Pat_Wahler"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13504530.Pat_Wahler</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Instagram: </span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/patwahler/">https://www.instagram.com/patwahler/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Twitter: </span><a href="https://twitter.com/PatWahlerAuthor">https://twitter.com/PatWahlerAuthor</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Amazon Author Page: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pat-Wahler/e/B079158GWC"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">https://www.amazon.com/Pat-Wahler/e/B079158GWC</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Bookbub Author Page: </span><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/pat-wahler"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">https://www.bookbub.com/profile/pat-wahler</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><span style="color: #0563c1; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">Pinterest: </span></u><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/k9friend1/_created/"><span style="color: #0563c1; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;">https://www.pinterest.com/k9friend1/_created/</span></a></span><u><span style="color: #0563c1; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></p></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-68854584965221898622023-02-09T09:11:00.010-06:002023-02-09T09:22:50.239-06:00Should you stop or should you go? <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">Artists, writers, creatives, quilters, dreamers...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">Did you ever set out with an idea in mind to create one thing and end up with something all together different? I think we all have. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Four-year-old Charlie was painting at the easel when he started smearing all the colors. I asked why? He said, "Oh Nana, because I feel like I'm on a nature walk seeing all beautiful colors and things."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIOeT1BdJ9owePXN1ko5Ls2iw63rxcXyLpOFFITlLIfojVNQB14hyyYqopxWKls56Lb_5jyPYIJd4KUQ5ppJpF3gXmbo2KIpIzGPQ-mg3EJ5z7wDtsDMjWWWbTumeqfIExSRCjOBrzDao-659HSPTY4fCqF42EBc7FMOXz4bVIxbE0XjyAnUjghmd/s1733/Charlie%20painting.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1733" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIOeT1BdJ9owePXN1ko5Ls2iw63rxcXyLpOFFITlLIfojVNQB14hyyYqopxWKls56Lb_5jyPYIJd4KUQ5ppJpF3gXmbo2KIpIzGPQ-mg3EJ5z7wDtsDMjWWWbTumeqfIExSRCjOBrzDao-659HSPTY4fCqF42EBc7FMOXz4bVIxbE0XjyAnUjghmd/w186-h320/Charlie%20painting.jpg" width="186" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">How do you interefere with that kind of creativity when it is flowing from the very soul? That expression on his little face is PRIDE!</span><p></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Writers sometimes tweak until the original piece is unidentifiable. Do you think it is possible to tweak too much? I have tinkered with a story or poem that resulted in two pieces. Have you?</span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">When is enough just that, enough? Do you know when to quit? Do you have an end in mind, or do you write until you run out of steam? Each to his or her own.</span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">I have read stories and poetry that would have been stronger had they ended sooner. But in my opinion, when free writing, you should let the creative juices flow. </span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Then go back and edit, cut, discover what needs to stay and what needs to go. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrY2XH-eEyD5d45zsTXGxDzDvLPBmrGJgKMSVPLux5EECLY-bWExpv0Vkhb7bkcl6Rx7MSRsq3FASYW7RripUskaTo1Rytn4dHFIYFZmzxufhN9ulJuVe2t7HBampoOSKrk86ZMvhbYxZimSsNTQUkTE_NVMnrHF6VNK5Lx0-eS89tZ7JwFjhReurG/s878/boys%20foot%20balls.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="552" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrY2XH-eEyD5d45zsTXGxDzDvLPBmrGJgKMSVPLux5EECLY-bWExpv0Vkhb7bkcl6Rx7MSRsq3FASYW7RripUskaTo1Rytn4dHFIYFZmzxufhN9ulJuVe2t7HBampoOSKrk86ZMvhbYxZimSsNTQUkTE_NVMnrHF6VNK5Lx0-eS89tZ7JwFjhReurG/s320/boys%20foot%20balls.jpg" width="201" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">Never say, "I can't!" Always say, "I can try." That was my class motto when I taught. One of my former students, now an adult, wrote to tell me she uses these words to motivate her children. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> I had to put into practice what I preached for four decades when I attached these colorful, lightweight balls with masking tape to a cardboard. (The wall would work just as well. Masking tape doesn't leave residue.) I encouraged Alex and Charlie to remove one ball at a time USING ONLY THEIR FEET and place the balls into the basket. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There were many protests of, "I can't do it!" "I quit!" "I am not even playing this game!" As fast as the balls were knocked off and rolling away, I retrieved them and stuck them back on.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">When they began to slow down and have success, they laughed, cheered, tried and tried, even when their short legs could not reach the upper balls. I showed them how to scoot their bottoms closer to the wall and reach higher. More success! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It is the same with any craft, nobody starts out a pro. Try, try again until you reach a level of success.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-45512337369726483462023-02-03T07:03:00.003-06:002023-02-03T07:03:41.423-06:00Coming up on 34 years together<p><span style="font-size: large;">Tripping the Light Fantastic by Linda O'Connell</span></p><p> Published in Sasee Magazine February 2023 </p><p><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px;">My husband asked me recently, “Do you like yourself these days?”</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">“Not my crooked teeth, droopy eyelids, and flabby belly. Do you like yourself?” I probed.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">Aware that Bill’s milestone decade birthday was hitting him hard, I said, “We sure could dance back in the day. We hardly took a break. Whenever a fast song played, I grabbed your large hand, and you flung me to and fro; our steps were synchronized. People used to clear the floor and watch us dance. I am ever grateful you taught me to jitterbug in middle age when we met.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">He looked at me as though I had hurt his feelings. “We had a good thirty years of boogying. There’s no reason YOU can’t still dance just because my legs and back are giving out.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">I didn’t want my husband to think I was making a negative statement about his physical health. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">“Oh honey, it’s not your legs and back that has put the end to our fast dancing. It’s my left knee. I couldn’t spin or pivot if I wanted to. And forget about you sashaying me under your arm and spinning me back and forth. For both of us, high kicks are a thing of the past. I can hardly lift my left leg high enough to tie my tennis shoe.” He smiled, relieved my comment was as much about my condition as his.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">We returned to our television show. Then a commercial came on, an advertisement for a high-end hotel. The image was of a couple being served a plate of… nachos. Bill looked at me quizzically and said, “Well that’s a pretty common dish for an uncommon resort, don’t you think?”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">I squealed with delight. “You might not be able to twirl me, but your observations and comments make my gray matter swirl, and I don’t mean my hair, because I still color my grays.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">“Well, there you go making me laugh!” my honey said. “And I wasn’t even trying to be funny.” </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">I commented, “I have to hobble down the hall until my knee loosens up, and you have to use a cane for balance, but we are still ‘dancing’ together. We can read one another’s moves and signals. We are still in rhythm sitting right here on the couch. If I tried to shimmy it would be embarrassing, and if we even dared do the Twist, we would impair our hips. Whenever we feel the urge, we should just dance in our seats. What do you say?”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">My thoughts drifted into the past when Bill first asked me to dance. I had to admit I didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. It is really easy, just a few steps, one and two, three and four, rock-step. I can lead your every move once you learn the basic steps.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">I was embarrassed and offered my girlfriend’s hand. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">“She can fast dance.” He led my friend to the dance floor and like a gentleman returned her to the table. As he asked again, I turned down his offer of an impromptu dance lesson. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">The next week when my girlfriends and I returned to the dance hall, I accepted Bill’s offer. He had so many competent and available partners willing to Jitterbug with him. Still, he approached me, the one who continually stomped his toes and scuffed his shoes. But eventually, we made it work. I got the hang of the dance steps, and he began to add new moves, which made me whine, “No, I can’t.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">“Yes, you can if you believe you can and you allow me to help. But you can’t lead. I have to lead you. Okay?” So, I was doing the wrong thing the whole time? I knew it! But my dancing man didn’t reprimand me; he encouraged me.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">I smiled thinking of our first dance, decades ago. Then I realized at our grandson’s wedding last summer, when Bill led me to the dance floor, he led with precision but allowed me to lead, so we would look as good as the family thought we were. We slow-danced; actually, we swayed in place remembering when we were vibrant, young, and had the stamina to dance the night away.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">When our favorite fast song came on, my dear man, who usually wears jeans and casual shirts, looked like my prince dressed to the nines in a suit and tie. I felt like a princess when he smiled, presented his hand to me, and asked, “May I have this dance?”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">With the same twinkle in his eyes, he led me to the dance floor and whispered, “This is for you, so honey, you will have to do most of the work.” </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">My big, always jovial, Irish man stood on the dance floor using hand motions to cue me. So what if I did the footwork and turned myself around? I was charmed. Winded and moving slower than when we first danced to Bob Seger singing Old Time Rock and Roll, we returned to our seats and Bill said, “That was for old times’ sake.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">It’s possible that was our last fast dance, but it was as memorable as our first. Only this time I didn’t dance on his toes, I danced on mine.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">My dance partner’s fast steps have turned to a shuffle these days, and slow dancing has taken on new meaning: leaning on one another, supporting each other so we don’t stumble, walking arm in arm.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">I said, “You asked me if I like myself these days. I do. I like myself, probably better than anyone else likes me, even if there are things about me that I resent. My lack of mobility just means I’ll have to dance down memory lane.”</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #262626; font-family: Literata, Heuristica, Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21.5225px; grid-column: 3 / span 8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: var(--flow);">“May I join you? I like you, too.”</p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-37257281996529564202023-01-29T09:56:00.002-06:002023-01-29T09:56:35.304-06:00Unpredictable mama<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">The other day we had snow.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yesterday the temperature was 59 degrees. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Today and throughout the week, the high will be 30.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Daffiodils are budding in the backyard. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Trees are getting buds. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">People don't know how to dress.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Mother Nature's gone crazy!</span></p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-26114237104929264612023-01-25T08:27:00.004-06:002023-01-25T08:35:36.023-06:00Snow surprise<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sasee Boy, aka: Buddy, heard me getting his treats. He was stunned to find them in a plate of snow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfEZ2UnqbaC4fqo0QnLaHly-HQVWwwuCYslmmJlEHT4xo86VTz7RqBFVLQlcoRoq2lNXOhJePyqsDd1C4DE818OwY69Gx3ZOZzwInDCAuvrYQPxPWOazjSA34SocZu8opWlX_c5WneLX4QLLBmDY8E9-xdvXtAb26622D_QmezHEBdqDYaTj7al2x/s960/sasee%20snow%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfEZ2UnqbaC4fqo0QnLaHly-HQVWwwuCYslmmJlEHT4xo86VTz7RqBFVLQlcoRoq2lNXOhJePyqsDd1C4DE818OwY69Gx3ZOZzwInDCAuvrYQPxPWOazjSA34SocZu8opWlX_c5WneLX4QLLBmDY8E9-xdvXtAb26622D_QmezHEBdqDYaTj7al2x/w191-h320/sasee%20snow%201.jpg" width="191" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;">He looked at the plate, then me. I observed. He finally touched the snow and was surprised. He looked at me as if to say, "Are you kidding me?" I waited him out and he finally scooped out his treats.<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZoUPV4ICeWxJLS4jz3-kbykytDq-KF0ivJDhCaN3p1sgw18gu8KIzJxq4hr0ogOCJClAhJeHG3DtxAHQR3SJ3om8yS_BYhswAuMc6Yu4qJC0zC91RzbupODdDpBkt7JSuZrXbwgEB8YvXKZDs-phUF4KIKDn8Wekoecof5J-cI_7o3y2jh9mntH9/s887/sasee%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="887" data-original-width="552" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZoUPV4ICeWxJLS4jz3-kbykytDq-KF0ivJDhCaN3p1sgw18gu8KIzJxq4hr0ogOCJClAhJeHG3DtxAHQR3SJ3om8yS_BYhswAuMc6Yu4qJC0zC91RzbupODdDpBkt7JSuZrXbwgEB8YvXKZDs-phUF4KIKDn8Wekoecof5J-cI_7o3y2jh9mntH9/s320/sasee%202.jpg" width="199" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;">The plaque hangs on the front door during January. It reads, LET IT SNOW... Some place else!<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireDXkfj_l5TvBOWtJuaiObefDYFLV-kAlh5hW0R-X-KdANdLsQw5h6QDlSQDNIJaJ7EZonj_e0T6TCoeLSZmM1dPtOAjqPojH73F9PNFB5Tjaj4OMPMklqG8ZAkOoZER-5T-MF5FWES7R-1g4NaZlHmaIcolvzOlBZcdWWeioZyM4EpDoxCjiJ8GV/s960/sasee%20snow%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireDXkfj_l5TvBOWtJuaiObefDYFLV-kAlh5hW0R-X-KdANdLsQw5h6QDlSQDNIJaJ7EZonj_e0T6TCoeLSZmM1dPtOAjqPojH73F9PNFB5Tjaj4OMPMklqG8ZAkOoZER-5T-MF5FWES7R-1g4NaZlHmaIcolvzOlBZcdWWeioZyM4EpDoxCjiJ8GV/w190-h320/sasee%20snow%203.jpg" width="190" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /> Kitty boy is lucky he no longer has to fend for himself or search for food. We found him in our back yard five years ago when he was three. </span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">He has a cozy life. He has a slew of toys, but he is a lazy boy and seldom swats his toys, chases balls with bells, or attacks his catnip mice. He prefers the crook of Bill's arm.</span><p></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutg9PZvoxaJ2DIwaH4eCqFDBYOy2kaLf7acrVD4cQcI3OCWWv7kSTPivcHC5BQxZbSlbW2OHpQqb45ZnPdqH2o5aNG2YoUxvWobSQBNRFMnPpKGhEHl5sypzzs8W6meAh7z0IcD9yytdMCbNim5SB1CFSXYCpJNv4XllSQBDxaX9VQOGyD3QhpK8R/s1733/Bill%20%20and%20Sasee.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1733" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutg9PZvoxaJ2DIwaH4eCqFDBYOy2kaLf7acrVD4cQcI3OCWWv7kSTPivcHC5BQxZbSlbW2OHpQqb45ZnPdqH2o5aNG2YoUxvWobSQBNRFMnPpKGhEHl5sypzzs8W6meAh7z0IcD9yytdMCbNim5SB1CFSXYCpJNv4XllSQBDxaX9VQOGyD3QhpK8R/w223-h320/Bill%20%20and%20Sasee.jpg" width="223" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">Sassy sits in front of Bill's chair until he invites him onto his lap. This big fat cat flops over, lays in the crook of Bill's right arm, and snuggles in. He will indicate by moving into different positions where he wants to be petted: under his arms, on his belly, back, head, under his chin, and on his nose! He is our BIG spoiled baby. After his massage he turns around and snuggles between Bil's knees to snooze. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">With a couple of inches of snow outside and chicken and dumplings in the crock pot, I'd say this is the perfect way to spend the day. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">South of our town the snow is 4-8 inches. No thank you!<br /></span><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-46941288585220142792023-01-21T19:48:00.003-06:002023-01-21T19:50:22.010-06:00Cough, cops and a canine officer.<p><span style="font-size: large;"> Well it has been a week!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My sneezes turned into snorts, the snorts turned into coughs, and I slept three days away.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Charlie ran out of the bathroom at his house and his mama stopped him. "Hey, short man! You come back here. You cannot leave the bathroom with out wiping your butt, and washing your hands."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Charlie said, "Mom, mom it's okay. It wasn't the poops it was gasoline." I laughed until my chest and snotty nose cleared up.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Before I took to the couch with my Kleenex, water, and cough drops, I saw four police cars across the road at a vacant property (owners died a while back). A canine officer and several cops were checking the perimeter of the property and barn. They left shortly thereafter.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A few minutes later the caretaker arrived and noticed the barn door open. He called the police again. They returned lickety split, did a rerun of the four acre fallow farm. They were ready to give up the search when the caretaker yelled, "The prowler is INSIDE the house. I have him on my intruder camera. Oops, he cut the feed."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So they beelined into the house through the back porch which the window had been kicked out of. No luck flushing anyone out on first floor, so they yelled, "Releasing canine on count of three."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The prowler/intruder came down the stairs and was taken into custody. He appeared to be a youth and they found his backpack in the barn. It is likely the charge will be trespassing, and because he may be a juvenile, charges will be reduced. Who knows? All that excitement wore me out. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I'm awake and alert after my long snooze, and I am very happy to report I am on a roll in January: six writing acceptances! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I hope your 2023 is off to a good start.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-4071477134167611192023-01-15T12:31:00.006-06:002023-01-15T12:37:24.507-06:00What would YOU do?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Are you good at improvising or thinking out of the box? I like a challenge and enjoy finding solutions to problems others might readily give up on.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">When children are stuck indoors, you can still offer lots of winter activities. No coats, no mittens, no boots.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDfZjYgGzQ0LlXAcVGMCDIk_uM37WvfqlqmXC9fEHbE8JfotKgl7p0DcOzGQ7J8lX-_KvHvj7tcdWPvMtbjAKK1GFmFM7DT5Y9n_R6a_AN03CUy-hTQyl2vkcWoYAhUlVe3XyLRZeXSsgD1nocv6DowMIcUVRmF7StbrZ8JM49Qv3MdsyWS__JcXJA/s1733/322855946_515693593713002_7127761413323208898_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1733" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDfZjYgGzQ0LlXAcVGMCDIk_uM37WvfqlqmXC9fEHbE8JfotKgl7p0DcOzGQ7J8lX-_KvHvj7tcdWPvMtbjAKK1GFmFM7DT5Y9n_R6a_AN03CUy-hTQyl2vkcWoYAhUlVe3XyLRZeXSsgD1nocv6DowMIcUVRmF7StbrZ8JM49Qv3MdsyWS__JcXJA/w209-h320/322855946_515693593713002_7127761413323208898_n.jpg" width="209" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">The snow is gone, the weather was too cold to play outdoors, and Alex and Charlie's mom forgot their car seats. So, stuck inside, we improvised. I drew snowmen figures on paper plates with arms in different positions. We skipped around singing, "Ring around the Rosie, pocket full of posy, snowmen, snowmen, STOP LIKE THIS!" </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The boys stopped in these poses, laughed and skipped some more as I held up snowmen cards, one at a time: touching head, ears, tummy, back, the floor, bent over, arms raised, arms extended out to sides, on hips, elbows bent. Great physical activity.</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7DPAlWntHfuhHC3NJ5bA3SeFNhUhWMElE_m9eyefqr9htg6oVp6IGSNjrN0JXYwOUPKjhu89kwP7y0NisZBgyMcWbhFEbWIzp--1tMDdFQkqxRcCtPk1UGrA4qI6vpRe-2JX2mvvArJyht6Qajeh3xLS1HVumBiRNWTMVjHPmOgrX0fhJ62HVtXw/s960/325393615_3409809559347107_6910207085621327240_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7DPAlWntHfuhHC3NJ5bA3SeFNhUhWMElE_m9eyefqr9htg6oVp6IGSNjrN0JXYwOUPKjhu89kwP7y0NisZBgyMcWbhFEbWIzp--1tMDdFQkqxRcCtPk1UGrA4qI6vpRe-2JX2mvvArJyht6Qajeh3xLS1HVumBiRNWTMVjHPmOgrX0fhJ62HVtXw/w199-h320/325393615_3409809559347107_6910207085621327240_n.jpg" width="199" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"> <br /> We used cotton balls for snow balls, tongs to pick them up, to make groupings 1-10, and then blindfolded, they used tongs to transfer cotton balls into a container. Oh the laughter and cheering.</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhQBUVxBjE7P_uIY20ZYXy98EPnCOnEucFFJovsd01h32auYdgoegiQgFHbqndF4gdhNmTcXbh3QA3t-d7bFoqwf7solXbIQ8UiD0yg4IBGVEOBGdkHrqqVWnmWdV8vyIpmNCbci3BusMFbkNJCfiWxhAB4-g3RLbllQ4J9to7TKuH3OAAdQZ95Vw/s1397/325354850_1505089750017524_2434798661347296733_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1397" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhQBUVxBjE7P_uIY20ZYXy98EPnCOnEucFFJovsd01h32auYdgoegiQgFHbqndF4gdhNmTcXbh3QA3t-d7bFoqwf7solXbIQ8UiD0yg4IBGVEOBGdkHrqqVWnmWdV8vyIpmNCbci3BusMFbkNJCfiWxhAB4-g3RLbllQ4J9to7TKuH3OAAdQZ95Vw/s320/325354850_1505089750017524_2434798661347296733_n.jpg" width="193" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">The boys have been wanting to play with trucks and tractors. I would have brought snow inside if we had any (I am not wishing), instead I got out the kiddie pool and clean cat litter, and they played for an hour.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">If you are a writer, how do you improvise? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">If you get off track do you swerve back on topic, or proceed with a new idea?</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">If you miss a submission deadline, do you give up or send elsewhere?</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">If the topic is cooking, can you come up with an item other than food that can be cooked? Think about that. Not everything cooked is edible.</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">I sent a story to a call out about Love Stories and Food.</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">I supposed most entries would be about romantic love. I wrote about the love of a best friend and how we baked together. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">How do you improvise or think out of the box? Bet you do so more than you think.</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">On Friday, the boys were so anxious for their mom to arrive. They threw themselves on her and both tried at the same time to share with her these activities they particpated in. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span>Charlie laughed loud and said, "Alex, did you hear Mom? She just said,</span><span> 'Holy gracious!' "</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Alex said, "Huh uh! Mom meant, 'Holy mackeral!' "</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span style="color: red;">Charlie cackled, "No way, Mom don't say that. Mom says, Holy <br /></span></span><span style="color: red;">shit. "</span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wide-eyed mama panicked. <br />I turned my head. <br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Papaw improvised. "No way, boys. It's, Holy SHIP</span><span style="font-size: large;">!</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">"</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">They really thought they had learned something. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">We adults couldn't stifle the laughter.</span></span></div><div><div><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><br /></div></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-75205924995767887702023-01-10T09:27:00.006-06:002023-01-10T09:41:51.560-06:00A third of the month is gone. Don't pass up an opportunity.<p><span style="color: #2b00fe;">WEDNESDAY CLUB</span> is having a <span style="color: red;">no entry fee</span>, poetry contest with three prizes. You must live within a fifty mile radious of St. Louis, MO. </p><p>You may choose any topic/theme. <span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p>No email submissions, snail mail only, but worth the effort if you want to take the chance of winning. </p><p>1st prize $500, <br />2nd prize $300, <br />3rd prize $150. <br /><br />Oh yes you can!</p><p>Choose your pen name (a must) and sign each poem with it. Submit <span style="color: #2b00fe;">two different poems</span>. </p><p><span style="color: red;">Two copies of each poem on their own sheet of full size (copy) paper.</span></p><p>Type poem, then your pen name and <span style="color: #2b00fe;">sign</span> with pen name. <br />Do not add anything else. No identifying info at all. <br /><br /></p><p>Do this also for poem #2. THEN after completeing these four typed pages, include one additional page with your real name, address, phone and your email. </p><p><br />NO cost! No chance to win if you don't enter by Februaury 1, 2023. </p><p>And if you do win, let me know, so I can brag about your good fortune. </p><p>Catherine is not the judge. She is collecting the entries.<br /><br /></p><p>Mail to:</p><p>Catherine Rankovic<br />Original Poetry Contest<br />3901 Sand Glade Trail<br />Pacific, MO 63069</p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-42118336319916482022023-01-05T07:07:00.004-06:002023-01-05T07:07:45.525-06:00So far so good<p> 2023 has started off great: permissions from Chicken Soup for two stories for an upcoming humor book, a request from an editor to write an article, and a nice little nugget I found in Writer's Digest, for a possible submission I may be able to finally get out there. </p><p>Wishing all of you good health and happiness. Write on!</p><p><br /></p>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4145825647751945760.post-24209047402586693142023-01-02T08:48:00.003-06:002023-01-02T09:22:35.008-06:00Overdue at sorting through <span style="font-size: large;">On New Years Day I usually take down the tree. Instead, I cleaned out kitchen cabinets and packed up odds and ends: glasses, old mugs, and lidless, spaghetti sauce-stained plastic storage containers. Headed for a recycle bin or donation box.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">We purchased oblong-shaped, glass, freezer-to-oven, kitchen storage containers with locking lids. Not a big deal really, but it really made me feel good to know the crap in my life will no longer tumble out when I open a cupboard. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Today I tackle the tree. I will miss being silhouetted only by colorful Christmas tree lights as I sit in the livingroom before dawn meditating, praying, expressing gratitude.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I decided to get lit in other ways. Instead of exposing myself to glaring television light, local news crime statistics, and muting the TV fundraising appeals for abused and neglected dogs and suffering people, I decided to flick the switch. No noise no images. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Just a growing stack of magazines: <i>AARP, Writer's Digest, AAA Explorer</i>... with interesting covers and enticing headlines.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I flipped through <i>Writer's Digest</i>. As a freelance writer for 25 years, I often think I already know this or that, so I skim or skip articles. What caught my eye this time was not the headline, but the opener by Estelle Erasmus: <span style="color: red;">"This is my last "All About the Pitch" column."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">What would the author have to impart as her final tips? Nothing I didn't already know about pitching.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I did find a nugget. The interview subject was the editor-at-large of a privately-owned publication, whose mission is to publish relationship stories. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">BINGO! I have a piece I've been trying to home for two years. Spurred on by my critique partners, but discouraged by a lack of places to publish this genre, I shoved my essay into a junk basket. Another stray piece in another of my collections.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> I'm going to polish my article today and see if my pitch pans out. Then I am going to tackle my kitchen pots and pans and see what I can cook up to freeze in my new storage containers. </span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">How about you? What are you storing? Do you have orphans in electronic files or hand-held folders you haven't visited in a while? Is there a new topic you might like to tackle? Don't collect wanna bes or might have beens. Get in there and sort through your possibilities. </span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">Thank you to my readers from around the world. Wishing all a healthy, happy, blessed, and prosperous new year. </span></div>Linda O'Connellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15982895073903619018noreply@blogger.com4