My gripe? Writings, books, people that have wonderful value in the information they are propagating, but first they have to tell you how horrible is the state of affairs—toxins, poor diet, disease, destruction, chaos, in short a ghastly mess…however, this such in such (whatever they are promoting) will fix it.
Ta Da!
Are we so stupid that we have to be scared into action?
Yep, I guess so.
Soap boxes ought to be short and not so sweet, and followed by a love story. Here is a very very short love story:
“Noticed her legs first. Strong and lean. Long scar on the back one. I took time approaching. Kissed her on the nose. Great horse.”
--from Twitter, I don’t know the author
Daughter from Oregon, grandson, and grand dog are visiting. Daughter spent four days in Texas and we child and dog sat. Natasha our Grand Dog spent the night stretched out between HD and me sleeping with her head on a pillow...Morning found her and Obi Kitty Kenobi cavorting, romping, antagonizing each other like brother and sister, chewing on each other’s legs, neck torso, using our bed for a trampoline, then collapsing in each other’s arms. We need to get Natasha a kitty—I’m not sure daughter agrees though.
Grandson number one and I built a six million piece Lego Star Wars Shadow ship—no he built it, I kibitzed from the sidelines. Who designed these things? And for a six year old to put it together? I’m in awe. Remember when Legos were simple little blocks we put together as houses? Now they fly through space—with the aid of imagination of course—have lights, moving parts, and even put the helmet on Darth Vader via a sliding apparatus.
You know how they say treat a cold and it will be over in 7 days? Or, ignore a cold and it will be over in a week? They lie.
We have been chased by a cold bug around this house for over 6 weeks. It subsides, flares up. Poor baby, I know. Husband Dear has managed to skate through unscathed, the rest of us have been a mess.
We’ve done things though, figuring if we wait until this is over we will never do anything. Thinking we were on the recovery side of our colds we went to Disneyland with our visiting family. (I’m sorry though for our colds flared up with a vengeance after that.) The day there, however, was great. You have heard me talk of Disneyland many times, and now we are thrilled when we find some little out of the way place we hadn’t seen before. On the last visit—it was after dark, and walking back to the entrance a route we had never taken—we came upon a little fairy village tucked into some plantings. Overshadowing the area was a large tree, and on the tree was a stature of a fairy sitting in a bird’s nest. The tree was alive with tiny lights that crept up the branches like miniscule light worms. We held our hands in the light beam, and our hands shimmered as though sprinkled with fairy dust. We are magic now.
Our other astounding find was at the Golden Horseshow saloon house. It is newly renovated, that is the exterior is freshly painted a brilliant yellow gold. The interior seemed the same as I remember from yesteryear. The performance was a hillbilly group fresh out of the mountains of Santa Monica. The fiddler could make a violin do about anything except read the Gettysburg’s address—although he could probably do that. The true stars, however, were the sign language men standing in the box-seat off stage. To the tune of The Auctioneer, the signer contorted himself and made every effort to keep up with the singer who made every effort to challenge the signer. The two signers took turns less they throw something out of joint in their efforts to gallop while signing Ghost Riders in the Sky.
We’re home and recovering—again.
Oh, the surprise from last Sunday. We were celebrating Grandson number one’s 6th birthday, and my bright idea was to get an air flyer—that is a flying shark that swims through the air via remote control. We stumbled upon it a on the internet and it was selling like hotcakes. Baby Darling thought it was funny—on screen—in real life it was a bit daunting. Actually it was scary with its gaping mouth. It works great, though, Husband Dear and I put it together in the garage—fitting those tiny pieces of the remote together was as tedious as dissecting a stomach out of a mosquito. Holding a Mylar helium balloon that felt like nothing in your hands and kept trying to escape was a challenge from which we emerged victorious.
