A while back I did the Thursday Thirteen in which I googled “Alice needs.” It was a list with a lot of animals looking for good homes. This time I googled “Alice would rather.” I think I like this one better.
1.
4 year old alice would rather read a ridiculously long book then go to bed. …
3.
would rather wear their school rival’s team colors for a day than give up Wi-Fi …
4.
5.
Alice would rather trade at r = (b, g) than t, and each Bob would rather trade at s= (c,h) than t.2
7.
Alice would rather die than have Cora become Magua’s wife. – Last of the Mohicans
8.
Alice would rather be at home smoking rollies, drinking tea out of a flask and compiling crosswords.
9.
Alice would rather have Web
10.
Alice would rather lie and risk Bella, Edward , and her life to save Jaspers.
11.
Alice would rather have beheld any- other person on the earth than Lord Harold at that moment
12.
Regardless of what Bob does, Alice would rather defect
13.
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What could Mr. Al have been alluding to last week when he said the Prince had shocked the King? Let’s find out. Take it away, Mr. Al.
. .
As dismaying as it may have been for the King to know that the Prince’s private life was anything but, he most certainly expected the details of his own life to remain private. Imagine then, his shock upon discovering that his correspondence with the Prince on the subject of the Prince’s promotion to general appeared in not one, but three London papers.
The prince had gotten the idea into his head that the public would rally to his cause if they could see just how unfairly he was being treated. Surely, even the most lowly of hod carriers would agree with him that because he had been born the Prince of Wales, he deserved to order men on the field of battle. As I mentioned in an earlier posting, the Prince Really Did Not Get It.
He had to shop the letters around. The Times wouldn’t touch them with a pair of tongs. The Duke of Northumberland got wind of his project and tried to warn him off. You can’t publish dad’s private correspondence, he told him, and expect nothing to happen. He’s the King! You are not well liked! Don’t do it! The Prince would not be deterred. Every right thinking person would be just as outraged as himself once they knew the details of the king’s horrible injustice.
The public did not rally to his cause. The King was fit to be tied. How in God’s name did his private correspondence end up in the public prints? The Prince had no idea. Some sticky-fingered servant must have stolen the letters while he was passed out in the fireplace and sold them to Fleet Street. Yeah…yeah, that was it! You can’t trust anyone nowadays. Needless to say, the King did not believe him.
After this incident it took all of Pitts powers of persuasion to get the King to an interview with the Prince. It was a matter of State, after all. Personalities, as annoying as they may be, should not enter into the picture. His Majesty reluctantly, very reluctantly, agreed. But the Prince never was fully forgiven for this breech of His Majesties trust.
Now the only problem was that the Prince had, once again, found a reason to stay away. This time it was because of the Kings alleged worsening condition. He had been told by Colonel McMahon that the King was completely off his nut and being very nasty to the Queen. His Majesty had declared, publicly, that he felt nothing but the “greatest aversion” toward her, that he was going to “put her aside” and fix up Great Lodge in Windsor Park so he could keep Lady Pembroke there as his mistress. Or…perhaps the Duchess of Rutland. Or…Lady Georgiana Buckley. Whomever.
Apparently the Prince found this distressing. Considering his lifestyle, he shouldn’t have, but there it is. The Prince was further told that dad had locked himself in a room with a housemaid for forty-five minutes. No one was sure what had taken place during that time, but everyone suspected the worst. That was enough for the Prince. Dad was a total loony-tune and not fit to receive company.
When the King sent him a note, telling him how much he was looking forward to their little chat, the Prince responded with a note of his own, begging off the interview with the excuse that he was having tummy troubles. He needed to stay close to a chamber pot because, well, because he had to. That’s all. This was mostly true. Said a witness, the thought of facing his father had filled the Prince with “extreme agitation,” and this, in turn, brought on an “attack of diarrhea.”
When the King received the letter, after seeing that it came from Carlton House did not immediately open it “evidently seeking to command himself.” Once he did read it, he said aloud, “The Prince is ill.” He then went on to speculate that the cause of his illness was his fear of having to face him after that nasty business with his letters. Dad wasn’t nearly as far gone as the Prince hoped.
Although he did not fall ill to the extent of his first illness, the King was far from well. There were reports from Weymouth that the King, while aboard the royal yacht, launched into a violent tirade against Roman Catholics. Everyone on board was stunned as His Majesty stomped up and down the main deck of the ship, cursing the Pope, English and Irish Catholics, Whigs and anyone else who presumed to thwart the authority of the crown.
The Prince thought it wise to postpone his interview once more. At length, the family prevailed upon him to get it over with. In mid-November, accompanied by the Queen, all the Princesses sans his wife, the Dukes of Cumberland, Kent and Sussex, the Prince met with the King. Everyone thought it went as well as could be expected. Except the Prince, who didn’t care for the fact that dad dominated the conversation.
He also did not care for the fact that dad seemed to want to talk about scandals at inordinate length. “Lady So and so is having it off with Lord Brickbats! Isn’t that SHOCKING? And, of course, Lord Brickbats is sireing a whole wagonload of bastards with the maidservants! Isn’t that FRIGHTFUL?” The whole conversation made the Prince squirmy. He thought dad was mad as a hatter.
The Morning Post wrote; “From the result of this endearing interview which has taken place, we are induced to entertain the fond hope that a most sublime display of patriotic cooperation will ere long be presented to an anxious public.” Yeah, right! To put the best possible face on the occasion, the whole family spent the weekend together at Windsor. The Princesses were pleased as punch to have mom, dad and the Prince under the same roof if only for a little while.
The Prince, on the other hand, “was evidently very much out of spirits and in ill-humor.” As indeed one would expect him to be after learning that the King was spending more time with Princess Caroline than ever. The more so since the King was not siding with the Prince over the matter of his daughter’s upbringing.
It was the Prince’s ardent desire to keep Charlotte as far away from her mother as possible. The King, although he did not hold the Princess of Wales to be the amoral trollop that her husband believed her to be, decided to calm the waters by giving Charlotte a semi-household of her own within Windsor. She would live and study there from June through January. The rest of the year she would reside at Warwick House with her governess and servants.
Mom, who was living at Blackheath, would be allowed to visit on a regular basis. The King allotted 12,000 pounds a year for his beloved granddaughter’s household. The Princess of Wales, by comparison, received 5,000 from her husband. He soon reduced this to 4,000, claiming his own reduced allowance as the reason. The Prince wanted to cut it even further. In fact, he would have cut her off entirely if he could have gotten away with it.
Ugly rumors were making the rounds. Rumors about Princess Caroline’s behavior with a growing number of young men.
– Mr. Al
The Boy went out the window last night. He went because he was grounded and didn’t want to be. Not that he had anything special going on. No, it was plain old cussedness that got him, and it got him bad enough that he actually spent the night in the car.
It took me a while to figure out where he went. Of course I was going nuts. Worse, I kept thinking that if he wouldn’t honor the requirements of being grounded, what am I supposed to do with him?
Do you have a kid that has gone out the window like that? What did you do? Did you ever do it yourself when you were a kid?
Michelle introduced me to this meme. When I saw where I landed, I couldn’t resist.
The instructions are:
* Go to your Sixth Picture Folder then pick your Sixth Picture.
* Pray that you remember the details.
* Tag 5 others.
This is what I landed on. Considering how gerbils play a part in my blog and web site, I couldn’t resist.
This is Midnight. She’s about 6 months old in this picture. Did you know gerbils can live up to five years, but are only fertile for a couple of them? By now I suspect she’s menopausal.
The Girl sold midnight recently. Between that and a couple of deaths we are now down to three gerbils. Whewh! *wiping brow in releif*
Anyway, go look in your photos and see what you come up with. It’s fun.
This is what was originally forwarded to me:
5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE…the most dangerous cake recipe in the world.
4 tablespoons cake flour or all purpose (plain, no self-rising)
4 tablespoons splenda
2 tablespoons baking cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips(optional)
A small dash of vanilla flavoring
1 microwaveable coffee mug
Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well
Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
Add the chocolate chips and vanilla flavoring…and mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts. The cake
Will rise over the top of the mug, but don’t be alarmed! Allow to cool a
Little, and tip out onto a plate if desired. EAT! (this can serve 2 if you
Want to feel slightly more virtuous).
And why is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the world? Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from
Chocolate cake at any time of the day or night!
I was going to post it as is and simply let it go, but my mother, who sent this to me, said it wasn’t worth posting – it comes out thick and rubbery and took 10 minutes anyway when you count all the mixing. She suggested making some changes.
Well you all know me. Of course I had to play with the recipe. First off, I don’t have any microwavable mugs handy right now. They all got packed, and I’m not sure where they ended up. So of course I reached for my handy dandy pyrex. I do love pyrex.
Second, I can’t eat chocolate, so that had to go. Sigh.
Third, I like my sweets with sugar, thank you very much. I switched the splenda directly for sugar.
Fourth, I’m lazy. You won’t catch me struggling to get the egg mixed with the dry ingredients. I dump in all the liquids at once and just go for it. Works fine.
In the top picture I switched the flour, and sugar to 1/4 c (same diff, you know) left out the chocolate and the chips, added 1/8 tsp each of baking powder and salt and dumped it into a 1c. size pyrex storage cup. It came out tasting like sponge cake. The Boy wrestled half of it out of my hand and scarfed it down with lots of loud, happy grunting.
In the second picture I upped the salt and baking powder both to 1/4 tsp, used 1/4 c milk, tossed in pumpkin pie seasoning (aprox 1/2 tsp) (yum) did it in a grab it bowl (aprox 1 1/2 cup capacity) and only nuked it for 2 and a half minutes. It came out lighter, and tasty, but a thin layer on the very bottom wasn’t entirely cooked.
Will I do it again? You know it!
Jack: What’s the matter, Darling? Why so blue?
Jill: Our families went home.
Jack: Yeah. It’s going to take a lot of work getting this place fixed up. At least we haven’t had any buyers for the house come by in a while. I’ll bet I can get the wall fixed before the real estate lady calls again. I don’t blame you for being upset.
Jill: It isn’t that…..
Jill: …. it’s just….
Jill:…. I miss them.
This one continues next week.
Today’s theme is blue
Previously in Jack and Jill Survival This one is directly connected to that one.
Saturday photo scavenger hunt
The rules for Photohunt can be found here.
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Joe and his brother Sean are not nice men. Joe shot Vin weeks ago and since then Sean has stalked Ben while running a little web-based game involving intentional car accidents. In last week’s episode, Christina, the CIA agent, revealed their whereabouts.
Joe always struck Sean as being a bit fey when he got that look in his eyes. He sat in the front parlor of Ravenhorst’s farm house and stared out the window at the highway like he had all day every day since they arrived in the car Sean stole from in front of a 4-plex in Madison.
Joe lurched to his feet with a furrow between his eye brows. He stalked to the window as stiff legged as a cat walking across a puddle. His tension was spooky.
“What is it?” Sean got up and joined Joe at the window. A car pulled off the highway into the hard-packed, dirt yard.
“It’s him! The cop!” Joe dropped into a fighting stance as he said it, then sprinted for the door.
Only, there was no point in running into the yard where their car sat because that’s where the cop parked. They could hear car doors opening and closing.
“Out the window!”
Sean didn’t argue. Joe’s sense of direction and keen hearing had saved them plenty of times. They shoved a screen out of the way, and dropped into the untended grass. He could hear knocking on the back door as they ran along the side of the house.
He itched to get at one of the cars parked near by, but couldn’t do it without being seen, and knew Joe wouldn’t take the chance. That or he’d start shooting and they’d be in real trouble. Ravenhorst didn’t approve of violence.
When Joe ran to a clump of bushes, something thorny like raspberry, Sean followed. They struck out cross country. Sean suspected Joe had no real plan, except to get away.
“Someone ratted us out,” Joe muttered over his shoulder.
“Yeah, but who? No one but Ravenhorst knew.” Sean eyes a tractor as they hit an open field and just ran.
“Christina, that’s who.”
“No, no,” Sean said, shaking his head at the very thought. “Christina wouldn’t do that to me!”
“She would do it to me in a heartbeat. Well, now. What do we do?” Joe stopped on the shelter of a stand of trees. They’d gone over a couple of hills, but could still see as the cop and a couple of other people came out of the farm house with Ravenhorst, talking. Joe was breathing harder than he ought to, and twitched his shoulders uncomfortably. His off hand went over the wound in his arm in an unconscious gesture of comfort., like a child rubbing a scratch.
Sean surreptitiously examined the angry, red mar on his brother’s skin. Could it be that Joe had taken worse from their injuries? And wouldn’t that be an laugh, to have the man who might well have let him die in a squalid apartment come down with an infection while Sean himself felt hale and hardy.
Then he recalled waking to find Joe tending to him, cleaning his wound, feeding him endless amounts of soup, adding a blanket. Who had there been to do the same for Joe. Well then, it was Sean’s turn.
“Come.” Sean squeezed Joe’s shoulder. “I know just the place.”
“Where? Ireland?”
“No, you balmy idiot. A friend’s apartment. One Christina doesn’t know about.” Shaking his head and muttering “Ireland indeed.”
“Seriously, it wouldn’t hurt to leave town, maybe leave the country.” Joe fell in with him as Sean headed off in a new direction.
“You said that before. I’ll tell you again, I’m not leaving. I like it here. And *I* didn’t shoot anyone.
Sean lead the way through the woods, skirting a corn field full of tender shoots too short to hide among. He knew exactly where the nearest in attended car might be stolen from.
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1. When someone I didn’t know all that well broke out her vacuum right in front of me to clean a carpet that looked pristine. She later turned out to have a psychological disorder involving cleaning things.
2. When a close friend did exactly the same thing not long afterword. I told her she was scaring me. She grinned.
3. When, being the most sober of the bunch, I agreed to drive the car of an acquaintance from one resort to another through the mountains in the middle of the night only to discover there was something wrong with the steering. I counted a full three seconds from when I turned the wheel to when the car actually began to turn. We were late. I drove 60 mph. on 45 mph curves in that condition and lived. I’m still surprised.
4. The last time we hit a deer, no one was injured, save the deer, but we found fur in the trunk. The car was totaled.
5. The last time I bicycled on snow. The bicycle slid out from under me. I ended up sliding a dozen yards, standing hunched over to hold the handle bars while the bicycle lay on the ground between my feet. I was lucky to be able to stay upright, and couldn’t do anything to stop as I got closer and closer to a busy intersection. When I finally came to rest, cars honked at me. I decided I’d used up a lifetime worth of luck and refuse to bicycle anywhere between the first and last snowfall each winter.
6. One day some Bozo on the interstate put a construction light on his roof and chased me like a cop. I refused to pull over. A week later I read in the newspaper that some guy was raping women who drive that section of highway using the Bozo’s technique to get to them.
7. A woman really did mention me by name in her suicide letter. It was only a couple of sentences in a five page letter, but she made it clear I should consider a critique she forced out of me a contribution to her death. I refuse to feel guilty, but I tend to be more cautious about doing critiques now.
8. My husband nearly died of pneumonia. The whole family came down with a cold, so it was days before I realized something was seriously wrong. I came home from work to find him half delirious. He was in the hospital with four kinds of antibiotics in his IV drip and two kinds of inhaler for four days. The doctors told me if we had been even a few hours later the only thing they would have been able to do would be to make him comfortable while he died.
9. I had a period that lasted a month and a half and saturated a napkin in less than an hour during the heaviest flows. Can anyone die by reproductive cycle?
10. Shortly after getting my driver’s license I was crossing the continental divide in a snow storm. I drove too fast because a half dozen people were on my bumper. Just about the time I told my mother I could handle it better than her because I was younger and had better reflexes I hit an ice patch and went into a spin. I spun into the oncoming lane long enough to let everyone behind me past, then back into my own lane just as oncoming traffic arrived. I pulled over and let my mother drive.
11. I rented a studio apartment in a house that was up for sale. One morning, having stumbled to bed only a couple of hours earlier, the real estate lady keyed herself in with several prospective buyers. I was naked. The hide-a-bed was right there in front of the door with me in it. Everyone was mortified. The only warning was a note they had taped to my door the day before which I hadn’t seen when I came home. I moved out at the end of the month.
12. I went on a week-long kayaking trip down the San Juan river. This is actually a two-parter. First I was showing off in front of a bunch of rafters and learned I couldn’t do a roll on the river after all. I had to swim downstream a quarter of a mile and slog though something a bit like mud and a bit like quicksand to reach a place where I could get back in my kayak. All the while the rafters were hooting and jeering. A couple days later we hit a spot where the rapids gave way to whirlpools. The guide said this was one of the most treacherous parts of the river because with so much mud, the depth of the water, and strange currents they couldn’t always rescue people. I dipped my oar too deep, and almost got sucked under.
13. The time my son, who never listens to me, jumped down the staircase from about 7 steps up, hit the newel post which had a sharp edge, and ripped open a wound the size of my palm. At first I thought he’d broken the bone, pushing it all the way out because of the white of his fat and a strange lack of blood. This, and the pneumonia thing, might well have been the worst moment of my life.
.
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Last week Mr. Al talked about the new Prime Minister, Addington. Lets see what Prince George wanted from him.
And so it came to pass that The Prince needed a weensie favor from Parliament. I know my regular readers are thinking, “He wanted his allowance increased.” You people are SO cynical! You think with the Prince it was all about money, or women or horseraces or strong drink. Give the guy a break! He did think of other thing occasionally. But not this time.
Some lawyers put a bee in the Prince’s bonnet involving the Duchy of Cornwall. He had agreed that the whole of his income from that source would be applied to his debts. The law, as he thought he understood it, was that he was entitled to those revenues upon reaching the age of twenty-one. That’s when he began receiving them. “Nosireebob!” Said his powdered wig sharpies. The Prince was entitled to those revenues starting the day he was born!
The Prince was delighted to receive this bit of news. He put in a claim to Parliament for twenty-one year’s worth of Cornwall revenue. Payable to him. Personally. All at once, if it wasn’t too much trouble. With interest, if they could manage it.
It was too much trouble. Even some of the Prince’s pals had a problem with the idea of shoveling that much money into the Royal Bottomless Pit of self-indulgence. They didn’t need a crystal ball to know what he would do with it. They REALLY did not want to have to explain to their constituents why they gave him so much taxpayer money, with interest, when those payments had already been made to the Crown, but not to the Prince personally.
He did receive a consolation prize the next year, however. In order to re-establish the Prince in “that splendor which belonged to his rank.” As Addington put it, it was proposed that he should receive an additional 60,000 pounds a year for three years to settle his debts. In return, His Highness would renounce all claims to the Cornwall “arrears”, as they were called.
The “Annuity Bill” was passed; but by so slender a margin that it seriously damaged the reputation of Addington’s administration. The administration managed to limp along for another year and was almost on the point of collapse when the King fell ill again.
All the symptoms were the same as before. Addington called in the Willises. When they tried to demand admittance to the Kings apartments, the Dukes of Kent and Cumberland were on hand to bar the way. Unbeknownst to the Willises, the King had made the entire family swear Holy Oaths that under no circumstances would any member of the Willis family be allowed to come near him.
Instead, one Samuel Foart Simmons, a doctor from St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics was called in. His methods differed but little from the Willises. He had His Majesty in a straitjacket in no time. Also like the Willises, he issued reports that His Majesty was doing just fine. As long as he remained under the care of Doctor Simmons.
Simmons was no more inclined to let the Prince see his father than the Willises had been. Ministers were allowed in on official business. They reported that His Majesty seemed to be able to get on with government matters, although it was an obvious strain. They were careful not to press him too hard.
The family had another opinion altogether. The King was excessively ill tempered; dismissing servants for no reason whatsoever. This behavior “afflicted the Royal Family beyond measure; the Queen was ill and cross, the Princesses low, depressed and quite sinking under it.”
The Prince prepared for the worst. He began lining up a new administration. Addington was a good fellow, but he wasn’t going to make it. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Names were tossed about. Even Pitt’s name was brought up. The Prince let it be known that he would consider anyone, regardless of party, provided “they enjoyed the countries confidence.”
Pitt’s response to this was to tell friends, strictly in private, that His Highness was a man without honor, common sense or even one shred of credibility. His word was worth nothing. The only thing you could trust the Prince to do was act on his own selfish desires.
True as this may have been, and no doubt Pitt sincerely believed it, he was not going to poison the well by carrying on a public feud with His Highness. Pitt was “out” and he very much wanted to be “in.” So much so that he was willing to try and form a broad based coalition government with Fox and Grenville. In Pitt’s view, war with France was a sure thing. The country needed a unified government.
The King tossed cold water on their plans. He wasn’t completely around the bend yet. When he heard that Pitt considered Fox and Grenville to be necessary to forming a new government, he made his displeasure known. What really toasted his muffins was that Fox and his son had kissed and made up.
As for the Prince, now that dad was able, for the time being, to stick his oar in, he was once more a spectator to events that he should have been a part of. He was very upset that he did not know his father’s true condition. The doctors said he was much better. The doctors also continued to forbid the Prince from seeing him.
The Queen was allowed to see him. She would have been happier if she hadn’t. As had happened during his first illness, the King was aggressively hostile toward her. This, not surprisingly, made her rather hostile toward everyone else. The more so since His Majesty made obvious efforts to be nice to the rest of the family.
Or at least civil. Except toward the Prince, which hardly mattered since the Prince wasn’t allowed to see him anyway. One member of the family His Majesty was very pleasant to was the Princess of Wales. Throughout the month of June the King had been steadily improving. By the 26th, everyone, the doctors, Pitt, the Queen, felt that he was stable enough to have an interview with the Prince.
This was an important matter. It was a matter of State. It was important that the country know that the King and the heir to the throne were getting on well. The only problem was, the Prince didn’t wish to see him. Or was afraid to see him. Probably a bit of both. The Prince claimed that the immediate problem was dad interfering with his husbandly porogitives.
To wit, the King had bestowed upon the Princess the Rangership of Greenwich Park. What this entailed exactly, I don’t know. But there was some money in it, which gave the Princess a source of income independent of her husband’s heavily, conditioned largess. The Prince found this intolerable. As a result, he used it as an excuse not to see him.
Both family members and Whig politicos urged the Prince to stop being such a prat and go and visit his father. The sooner the better. Who knew when he might have a relapse? The Prince finally agreed and the date of August twenty-second was set. Now all the interested third parties had to do was get the King to agree to it. During the interim, the Prince had gone and done something so shocking to His Majesty that the King was ready to kill him.
– Mr. Al
No, it’s not a Halloween costume.
Remember a while back when I bought too much fabric? This skirt is one of the first things I made with it. The Girl loves it. She even thought of pairing it with the tie-die T-shirt. I think they go great together in a Bohemian sort of way. Mr. Al took one look and dubbed her the Gypsy Queen.
The thing is, she’s wild and crazy enough without with the wild and crazy outfit. So, should I encourage her to wear it or not? I was kind of slow putting it through the wash last time she wore it. Does that make me evil? On the one hand, I made the skirt for her knowing full well she’d fly in the face of convention regardless of what all the other girls around are doing, on the other I was expecting it to be matched with a solid, or other sedate kind of top.
Should I let her know I think she’s cute as a button in this outfit? Or encourage her to tame it down a little?
What would you do?
. .
Eaton actually gave me this award before she gave me the Proximidade award. Thank’s Eaton *waving wildly.* This one I had to think about, which, you know, takes me longer.
Here are the rules:
Mention the blog that gave it to you and comment on their blog to let them know you have posted your award.
Publish these rules:
Share 6 values that are important to you and 6 things you do not support~
Grant the prize to 6 people.
6 things I value
1..My family
2..Time, which never seems to go far enough
3.. All that I have learned, and not just about writing.
4.. Friends – all of them from my school buddies I still keep in touch with, if only in the occasional picture email, to the ones I know in name only.
5.. The patience and generosity of strangers. It never fails to surprise me no matter how much I see of it.
6.. The smell of pine needles underfoot while half way up a mountain trail.
6 things I do not support
1.. An unwillingness to consider other people’s points of view.
2.. Arrogant cruelty
3.. Failure to use turn signals.
4.. Neighbors who leave dog poop sitting around for days on end.
5.. A policy of asking if patrons actually want their change.
6.. Businesses who do not respect customer’s rights.
6 people I would like to pass this award to
1.. Di
2.. Susan Helene Gottfried
3.. Kelly R
4.. Michelle
5.. expatraveler
6.. Tamy
These are quick and easy Halloween ornaments.
All you do is wad up one tissue.
Place a second tissue over the first. Twist the second tissue just under the wad. Tie off with dental floss or string. Leave enough string on the end to be able to tie to a tree, bush, or house.
Notice, all you needed was the tissue and the string.
These work best indoors. 🙂
Jack: Was that the door bell? They aren’t here already, are they? You’re family is scary.
Jill: My family?! What about YOUR family? They’re beasts!
Jack: Well yours are monsters! I’m serious, Darling. The way your cousin Mike looks like he’s only got one eye, and that thing your cousin Jeff is always carrying. What’s up with that?
Jill: Well your Aunt Mimi is an old crocodile!
Jack: Old? You want to talk about old, what about Carol and Anthony. They’re real dinosaurs. And your grandmother is a regular old dragon.
Jill: Yeah? Well your brothers are something else. Rick the rat, Greg the Gorilla, and Tig… Tig! Does he ever stop jumping around?
Jack: Yeah, Honey. You’re right.
Jill: I am?
Jack: All I can say is neither one of us are anything like the other people in our families.
Jill: *giggle* You got that right. Well, the table’s set and the food is almost ready. Cross your fingers we get through this without having to call an ambulance.
*Ding dong*
Jack: *Sigh* I guess they’re here. I better go answer that.
Today’s theme is scary
Previously in Jack and Jill Surprise Reunion
Saturday photo scavenger hunt
The rules for Photohunt can be found here.
Be sure to visit the home page.
Christina noticed the way Miranda took the seat on the couch next to Vin, removing the remote control from his hand so they could clasp one another. Suzie sat stiffly on the other side, leaving Christina to sit in a hard backed chair facing the three in their living room as if it were she to be questioned, rather than the other way around.
She sat on the edge of the chair; her hands clasped before her, leaned forward, and hoped they would help her out.
“Did you learn anything new?” Miranda asked eagerly.
Christina hesitated. She had indeed learned something, but she didn’t want to say anything for fear they would jump on what they must consider a golden opportunity, and in the process destroy her case.
“We learned something, didn’t we Suzie.” Miranda leaned around Vin to look at Suzie. Suzie glanced at her in narrow-eyed irritation. “We found out the Smash Master is back to his old tricks.”
“The Smash Master?”
“Sean, I think. Or maybe Joseph. He has a web site where he talks people into getting into car wrecks on purpose.” Miranda looked happy as a puppy with a stick in its mouth.
Sean? Christina’s heart contracted painfully. It sounded like the sort of thing he would do. The sort of thing likely to get him arrested. She told herself she was being silly, hoping to pin everything on Sean’s brother instead.
“Nothing like this has come up in my investigations,” Christina said.
“It’s part of the FBI case that started everything,” Miranda tossed back just as quickly.
FBI? Drew. With a rush of the cold shivers Christina turned toward Suzie. So far as Christina was concerned, Suzie was the weak link. She didn’t like Christina, but she’d agreed to help. Why? For information, of course, but also to get even with Drew over his lack of cooperation. What if she and Drew were getting along now? What if they were in cahoots.
Then what she had to say would be disastrous.
She had to know. “Suzie, what is Drew to you?”
“Drew and I…” Suzie trailed off, her voice and expression both pained.
“Are doing the nasty. We know,” Vin said.
“You and the FBI agent are intimate?” Christina pulled back, thinking furiously.
Either this was a horrible development guaranteed to ruin her case or a wonderful opportunity, depending on who this woman trusted more. How likely was she to trust the FBI agent? Christina supposed she should do something, say something, that would make Suzie not trust Drew, but she wasn’t sure she had it in her.
She leaned back as far as the chair would allow and frowned. Now she couldn’t trust this woman with anything important because she would pass it on the Drew. This is what she got for trying to act all tough like Todd. She simply wasn’t enough of a jerk for this kind of work.
When she went into the CIA she’d imagined herself like a female James Bond. She was risking her life for the good guys. She was keeping secrets and playing tricks for freedom and justice. Only there was precious little that was free about it, and she was having a hard time seeing how ruining Suzie’s life would lead to justice.
So what this was really about was protection. She was here to protect the world from people like Sean and Joseph O’Connor. Maybe she wouldn’t succeed in her assignment. So what? Maybe her assignment wasn’t all it was cracked up to be anyway. If that meant SHE wasn’t all she wanted to be, well then she’d just have to cry in her pillow on her own, wouldn’t she.
Her lower lip threatened to turn traitor on her, but he held her own as she said, “You can tell Drew I know where they are. At least, I think I know where they were.”
“You mean that girl’s apartment?”
Christina shook her head. “No. I mean the farmhouse just outside of town on Highway 12 between here and Alpine Valley. They are crashing with someone I know.”
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I felt Haloweenie, but not costume like or anything. So here are thirteen pictures from emails I have received that made me go “Yikes!”
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