Category Archives: silly

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not really, right?

I ask a male friend of mine, older and perhaps wiser. “Um, the guys I have dated or even just hung out with are only interested in their interests. They are not interested in me or what I am doing. For example, I mention that I have a blog twice to two different males recently and they completely ignore it. I mention that I just did a poetry reading and one whips out his phone and shows me a family member’s poem. What is it with that?”

“Well,” he says, “Men are only interested in what a woman is doing, if they are in love with her.”

“Really?” I say. “Holy crap.”

“Absolutely.”

I am still chewing on this. I have dated various “gentlemen” for a couple of years each since I got divorced. One of them is still a friend. Last month he said, “I think you like writing better than I do.” Um. He has known me since 2008. Powers of observation, like a hawk in flight, heh.

I can think of seven guys since 2007, when my divorce was final, who really showed very little interest in what I was doing. Ok, one of them did read my blog and another admitted to reading at least one post, but refused to EVER comment. What the hell? Meanwhile they want to talk about their collections, their jobs, their lives, their interests.

And so I reexamine my ex-husband. He actually DID listen and WAS interested. Mostly he laughed at me, but medical school and residency were off the scale dysfunctional and ridiculous. And in turn I listened to his golf shots and watched Payne Stewart dress in NFL colors and plus fours.

But I don’t get it. Maybe the younger generations are a lot smarter and I think they are darn smart to say who cares about the XX or XY or XO or XYY chromosomes! There are lots of other chromosomes! Let’s get over race and gender! That stuff is shallow unless you are interested in someone in the pants zone.

And then men complain to me that they do not understand women. Really? I ask if they have ever read a romance novel. One said, “Those are for women. I wouldn’t do that.” So one romance would take away your man credentials? I say, well, you might understand what our culture indoctrinates women with if you did read a romance. Not to mention notice that Disney animation glorifies virginal princesses, but gosh, queens are either dead or evil. Doesn’t seem like a good career choice, breeder for the ruler. Especially if you’ll die in childbirth or turn evil.

I hope my male friend is wrong, but I am paying attention. And noticing if a man is not.


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Food needs

I am having a few friends over and am checking to see if there are any food needs. Since my March 2021 pneumonia, I can’t eat gluten. Weird, huh? But antibodies tend to rise as we get older, darn them. And there can be a rising baseline. Double darn.

Anyhow, I have some funny friends. My query “Is there anything you don’t eat?” got these responses:

“I don’t eat anchovies or dried fishies or grubs.”

“We eat everything in moderation.”

“shellfish, giant rubbery cooked mushrooms….”

“liver”

They crack me up! I think I invited the right people.

Now, let’s see, what is my menu, with no liver, gluten, shellfish, giant rubbery cooked mushrooms, anchovies, dried fishies or grubs? Tough, huh? Pretty narrow range left.

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I took the photograph at the Great Port Townsend Bay Kinetic Sculpture Race in September 2022. Pretty earnest discussion going on among an interesting group.

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Intransitivity

Intransitive verb

Intransitive? But you know
sometimes it will snow snow
sometimes it will snow sleet
while I’m awake or when I sleep
it may be snowing sleet or snow
but really I’m not sure I know
if it can also sleet snow

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Intransitive

He’s intransitive, just so annoying
Intensitive bastard, good old boying!
Sentensitively prosing about bird wings!
Insentivizingly verbing almost all things!
So intransitive, just boycloying
Intensitive batshard, boyhowannoying!

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: intransitive.

There is a red headed woodpecker in this picture, though it is not a very good shot. No, it’s not a red headed, they are east of the Rockies. A red breasted sapsucker? https://wildyards.com/woodpeckers-in-washington/

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Satirical

I am looking through photographs looking for a Satyr. Or Satyrs. I know that I have Fauns on a frieze in a very peculiar old repurposed Elks Club in Portland, but Fauns are not quite Satyrs. And satirical is from a different origin than Satyr.

Really, though, I am surprised that no one was dressed as a Satyr at the Great Port Townsend Kinetic Sculpture Race.

The costumes are always amazing.

Here is a sculpture with the rider. A Satyr or not?

This is the day before the race, with the parade and the brake test and the water test. The water is in the 40s or low 50s.

What do we call a female Satyr?

No, surely she is not one. Will the Judges permit Satyrs?

It does not appear that they will.

The cover picture is most satirical to me: the joyful silliness of the human powered race, on land, on sea and through mud, with a sailboat race in the background and Indian Island, with a crane and a military presence. Let’s have more more more joyful silliness.

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The Great Port Townsend Bay Kinetic Sculpture Race: https://www.ptkineticrace.org/

This is the 2018 Race.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Satyr.

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Fancy hammock

Previous.

I am Elwha, cat.

Mother got us a hammock, a two story structure. Our food can be in the lower section and I can sit above and keep an eye on it. Even when the bowl is empty. I am still hungry, but she is being a little more generous. She still feeds us in separate rooms. My sister and I race to check each other’s bowl when she opens the doors again. I like the wet food. My sister likes the dry food. Mother gives each of us some of both. We trade.

I am still doing offerings in my bowl in hopes that Mother will be more generous with the food. My sister had her head in the food bag the other day but Mother saw her and closed it up. I wish I had hands. I would open more cans.

Meanwhile I do like the fancy hammock.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: fancy.

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AI Oh

Old MacDonald has a ‘puter

A-I-A-I-O

And to this ‘puter he did mutter

A-I-A-I-O

With a mutter here and mutter there, here a mutter there a mutter, mutter butter fuddy dutter

Old MacDonald has a ‘puter

A-I-A-I- O!

Old MacDonald has a cell

A-I-A-I-O

The cell listens in full well

A-I-A-I-O

With an ad here an ad there, longer stronger 12 inch donger

Old MacDonald has a cell

A-I-A-I-O

Old MacDonald had a twitter

A-I-A-I-O

But the Chief Twit’s tweets got too bitter

A-I-A-I-O

Fire here fire there dumped and trumped everywhere

Old MacDonald had a twitter

A-I-A-I-O

Old MacDonald has an algorithm

A-I-A-I-O

His rhythm system slithers mythdom

A-I-A-I-O

Confusion here discrimination there mansplain what a pain cocaine human brain

Old MacDonald has an algorhythm

A-I-A-I-O

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I think we could come up with LOTS more verses. The photograph is of Boa, my cat who died in 2020 at age 17.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: mischief.

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National Bird

“Hey Martha! Look, she’s got a real camera! Serious zoom lens on that baby!”

“Ralph, look dignified!”

“Dignified! Are you kidding?”

“Ralph, we are the National Bird! Bald Eagles! Look proud! Like me!”

“Nah, Martha, I’m crossing my eyes. She’ll get a surprise when she downloads THESE photos! Come on, Martha, mug for once!”

“Ralph, you are impossible!”


For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: mischief.

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Eminent imminent immanence

I chose a more difficult word for the Ragtag Daily Prompt than I realized! I was thinking of imminent, but came up with immanent when using spell check. Then I puzzled because it did not mean what I thought it meant. In the ragbag ragtag immanence of my mind, I was really thinking of imminent, meaning about to happen or near in time!

It’s a nonsense poem, so the picture has nothing to do with it.

Words in my mind are immanent
but the Ragtag prompt is imminent
spellcheck I thought was eminent
turns out it is more cinnament
now I’m in my element
nonsense poems being elegant
and Tuesday being swellegant
and you’re wondering if I’m intelligent
don’t worry, this won’t be permanent
which doesn’t really rhyme with immanent

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Dance card

When we danced at Glen Echo in the 1980s, there was dance etiquette. We did not have dance cards. Instead, we would see someone we wanted to dance with, sometimes while we were dancing with someone else. One finger meant next dance, two meant the one after that. If both were taken, a head shake. No one could remember beyond two so the etiquette was not to make promises beyond two dances!

Dance card

We finally meet again at a live band dance. I have not seen him since August. It is January.

“Hello!” says T. “Where have you been?”

“That is a great question!” I say very cheerfully.

He is looking at me.

“Oh, what a great song!” as the next song starts. I tap my foot.

He narrows his eyes a little, but replies “Shall we dance?”

We dance really well together. We have danced off and on for nearly twenty years. I asked someone for his last name just a week ago. I may have known in the past, but I had forgotten. It doesn’t really sound familiar. I do know he worked for years in counseling.

The band is loud so not conducive to talking much. The dance ends and he twirls me to a close embrace. He walks me back to the tables.

“You have not been at dances much.”

I blink at him. “You said your dance card was full.” I say.

“What?”

I sigh, trying not to exaggerate too much. “You asked me personal questions. Then at the next dance you tell me that you have a woman for every night of the year.” I flutter my lashes down. “I do hope you mean dancing.”

He is silent, absorbing this.

I am channeling my Tidewater Belle mother-out-law. “Ah am sure you are very busy.” I look modestly down at my lap, glancing across his lap as I lower my eyes. .

“Hmmm.” he says.

“Ah was so amazed that you had a woman for every night of the year that I could hardly bear to go to dance.”

I look through my lashes. He is studying me.

I smile sweetly. “Perhaps you could let me know if your dance card clears a little. Mind you, dancing only. Ah can be a little old fashioned about some things.”

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The story is fiction. The photograph is from my wedding, 1989. He’s hamming for the audience again. I do not know who took this!