Wordless Wednesday: Times Have Changed

 

Courtesy of Death by Lulz on Tumblr.

My Distant Husband Presents A Boy

 Sorry, readers. I like this story so I decided to query it. Hopefully you can read it in a magazine.

Although I'm not blogging every day in October, I've chosen to follow a picture prompt presented by Danneromero over at My Distant Husband. She presented  the picture below and said, "Write about it." Since I write for children, this one seemed to fit me just fine. Here's my take on "A Boy."

#GBE2: Cobwebs

We've all seen those messy dust threads that form over items forgotten for any length of time. They resemble spider webs because they indeed originated from spiders. Some were once webs, others drag lines, or residue left from a passing arachnid. Their sticky nature causes dust to settle on them and voila–cobwebs.

 I wondered how those sticky strings got their name. They don't come from corn, short horses, or male swans, but rather, the word originated from Middle English with the word "coppe," which means "spider." Someone along the way must have messed up the pronounciation because "coppeweb" became "cobweb."


Do you remember Lily Munster? She had cobwebs all over her house, but hers did not come from spiders. She would dust the furniture by shooting crud out of a vacuum cleaner. That chick makes my house look good!

The show that gave me nightmares for years.

So if cobwebs come from spiders, I have problems with cobweb humor, such as someone having cobwebs in their brain. As a child, I saw an episode of Night Gallery where a man tortured his enemy by placing an "earwig bug" in his ear that ate tunnels through his brain until it finally escaped out the other ear. I remember swatting bugs away from my ears for fear that something might dine on my brain; so if cobwebs form on the unused brain, does that mean spiders crawled inside a head?

Then there's the one about the old married couple who have not had sex in so long that the wife has developed cobwebs between her legs. Once again, bugs crawling where they shouldn't be!

I hate spiders and scream for my husband to kill them when they trespass. Hopefully single women are not as wimpy as me and can get rid of spiders on their own wherever they crawl. 

Silly Sunday: Cauliflower

My husband refers to cauliflower as the broccoli-want-a-be, but why would a cauliflower want to stoop so low? It's a beautifully unique vegetable all by itself. This delicacy started appearing on tables during the reign of Louis the XIV. Furthermore, although most cauliflower we buy is white, it also comes in green, orange, or purple. Broccoli is always green, and according to Kermit the Frog, "It's not easy being green." Cauliflower is low in fat and high in fiber. It also costs more than broccoli because it's better.

If you don't like to eat cauliflower, here's another option. ☺

Theme Thursday: Angels

This week's Theme Thursday asks the question of whether or not I believe in angles. Well of course! I didn't spend a year in high school geometry for nothing. I believe in 180* ones along with 45*, and––

Sorry, but is this a humor blog or what? I didn't want to suddenly go all serious on you with each post.

Angels! I've believed in those too ever since I was seven and one saved my life while on a runaway bike that was possessed. Not exactly. The bike might have gotten out of sorts because I didn't get the concept of coasting when riding downhill. Instead, I pedaled full force until I found myself headed straight into a moving car.

I panicked and could only think to stop the bike, but the brakes failed to heed my one request because of inertia: a body in motion tends to stay in motion. 

That's when the angel entered the scene. I guess it was an angel because I never saw anyone, but I felt it. Some invisible something grabbed the handle bars of my bike and threw me out of the path of the car. I circled into a grassy hill and got my usual skinned knees. Throughout my childhood, I never had a normal looking knee so this was no big deal. As an adult, I usually have clean knees but STILL mess them up from time to time. 

Proof! There must be angels because without them, I'd surely be dead.

 Many thanks to Beth for telling me about morgueFile. This is a delightful site that allows me to download any of their pictures without fear of being sued; unfortunately, the bloody knee is totally mine. :)

Wordless Wednesday: What Happened to My Sweet Baby?

Here is an old picture of my sweet, innocent little girl.

 Ain't she precious?

Here are two current pictures of Erica.

What happened to my sweet baby?

Don't let the camo fool you, she's still a love!

#GBE2: A Picture Prompt - Tevya

This week's GBE2 has offered us a picture prompt. Wow! How in the world did Beth choose my grandfather's uncle? It's a small world after all.

Courtesy of http://www.morguefile.com/.

I'm sure most of you are familiar with the novel Fiddler on the Roof by Sholom Aleichem or the wonderful movie that brought the story to the silver screen. For most people, it's a delightful tale of Tevya the milkman dealing with his adult daughters straying from family traditions. For me, Fiddler on the Roof is mishpacha or for those Yiddishly challenged, "Family."

My paternal grandfather was a first cousin by marriage to Sholom Aleichem and the story that this author told was based upon the family he had married into, ie. my grandfather's Uncle Tevya, Aunt Golde, and the five daughters who were his first cousins. 

If you're familiar with the tale, you may remember Hodel, the second oldest daughter who married a man with radical ideas. That man was Sholom Aleichem, the author himself.

Although my family no longer follows the strict traditions of the people of Anetevka, the flavor of the culture still runs through my veins. When my grandfather left Tsarist Russia circa 1904 to escape the harsh treatment of Jews, he brought his religion and lifestyle with him. Grandpa Paull was one of the younger siblings of many and spent an entire night listening to his brothers tell him why he was foolish to leave Russia for America. After all, my grandfather didn't speak the language nor did he have money. 

The next morning, he chose not to listen to his brothers as he boarded a boat for a new life in America. However, he was not entirely alone because two of his older brothers were already settled in the new land.

Once in America, Grandpa landed in Ellis Island, moved to Chicago, and then eventually traveled further south with his new wife. Grandpa Paull started a successful business in St. Louis that became Fair Mercantile Furniture Company. 

While in the states, communication from home was tough, but he did receive a letter from one of his brothers. The letter said, "I wish I would have come with you." That is the last word my grandfather ever received from his family.

Years later, someone from a subsequent generation traveled back to Russia in search for the family roots. The relative found the spouse of one of the brothers who reported how the pogroms had wiped out most of the family. Russian soldiers barred the door to a synagogue and set it on fire while my great grandparents prayed. Not a pretty picture for my family, nor my usual funny post.

Enjoy this video from The Fiddler on the Roof.

Silly Sunday on Saturday Morning

I know I typically post on Thursday nights, but it's been one of those weeks. Sorry about that. I have a feeling things will get better. 

My husband Mitchell even does dishes!

Last night, I dined at The Spaghetti Warehouse with the Century Bike Club to carbo-load before their 100 mile bike ride, which is happening now. I've been on a low carb diet, so I enjoyed my chicken caesar salad.

My husband Superman has been the leader of this illustrious club and takes great pride in training greenies to perform the amazing.

At the restaurant, an adorable stranger was celebrating her 75th birthday. I had to snap a photo.

Her Highness!

If this ain't silly, I'll eat pasta!

Wordless Wednesday: No Solicitors

Thanks to the creative and talented Jerold Rabushka for sharing this jewel of a photo.

Yes! The red sign reads, "Absolutely NO SOLICITING"

#GBE2: Exploring POV

As a writer, I love the challenge of taking a short scene from my WIP and changing the POV, but I wonder if there is any harm in posting this scene. My manuscript has not been sold, or even queried yet, but I will be in the process of sending it out this month. Would a future agent or editor object to my 250 or so words being published on my blog? I hope not.

Charlie Brown and my little Knob have a lot in common.

I'm in the habit of writing everything in first person, so it was a fun challenge to convert a scene to third; however, the first paragraph was not too different, so I didn't even bother to repost it.



Here is a first person scene from MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS:

Slater’s mom pulled a chisel-shaped knife out of its top drawer and leaned her head back. With the precision of a surgeon, she gently slid the blade downward until it disappeared into her throat. Next she thrust it out with one gigantic swing. Blood covered the blade while red liquid filled her mouth. Her eyes rounded as her lips curved into a smug smile. She winked at me! Blood gushed out of her mouth, and she winked! While the room spun in oval circles, I couldn’t decide if she was crazy or if I needed the loony bin.

When a thick, red droplet dribbled down her chin, I squeezed the back of a chair and stepped backwards. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I worried that I might hurl at any moment.

“You’re b-bleeding.” I gripped the chair with my other hand too until my knuckles turned as white as Mom’s had when she drove me home after I’d gotten in trouble the other day. “Hospital. We need to t-take you to the h-hospital!”

Slater, Calfie, and Mrs. Slatker laughed so hard tears filled their eyes.

“What are you laughing at? I think she’s really hurt!” I plopped into a chair, put my elbow on the table, and leaned my head into my palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s fake, Knob,” Slater said in between chuckles. “She squirted fake blood in her mouth!”

How about a brush with third person?

 

Mrs. Slatker winked at Knob, whose face had transformed to a mixture of ashen and green. He squeezed the back of a chair and placed a wobbly foot behind him.  Spastic churning bloated his belly in an achy, sick sensation.

“You’re b-bleeding.” Knob gripped the chair with his other hand until his knuckles turned white. “Hospital,” he said. “We need to t-take you to the h-hospital!”

Slater, Calfie, and Mrs. Slatker laughed so hard tears filled their eyes.

“What are you laughing at? I think she’s really hurt!” Knob plopped into a chair, put his elbow on the table, and leaned his head into his palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s fake, Knob,” Slater said in between chuckles. “She squirted fake blood in her mouth!”