Oops!

elroyjones:

Tim’s original novel was very good, it’s been through a rigorous rewrite, do yourself a favor and get it FREE at Amazon. We love FREE and we love good story writing!

Originally posted on T. W. Dittmer:

I posted that my novel, The Valley Walker, would be free on Amazon this Monday through Friday.

Well, that’s not correct. It will be free this Tuesday through Saturday.

TUESDAY, September 16th through SATURDAY, September 20th

I just looked at the calendar on Amazon incorrectly. I apologize for the confusion, but I’m a confusing kind of guy. You can throw things at me and call me names, but I probably won’t notice.

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A salt with a deadly weapon

elroyjones:

The label says it all.

Originally posted on half-priced hippie:

I am PISSED.

 

 

I hadn’t meant to make most of my posts about food, but the clean living fat man inside me cannot be silenced. I pinky promise all my posts won’t be like this. I forget why I was looking into salt in general (random, I know, but I love to learn as much as I can about whatever is in my world) and as soon as I started my research, I immediately regretted it. Same deal as lemons – what in the hell can be in there aside from salt?!

 

Let’s have a look-see at the back of my salt container:

 

 IMG_20140910_240958902

 

Salt – Seems legit.

 

Potassium iodide – Overloads the thyroid to help block the absorption of radioactive iodine. Bonus!

 

Dextrose – Sugar… IN SALT!!!!! ….why??

 

Sodium bicarbonate – Baking soda. Sounds harmless, depending on what’s actually in it…

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Battle For The Net

If you woke up tomorrow, and your internet looked like this, what would you do? Imagine all your favorite websites taking forever to load, while you get annoying notifications from your ISP suggesting you switch to one of their approved “Fast Lane” sites.Think about what we would lose: all the weird, alternative, interesting, and enlightening stuff that makes the Internet so much cooler than mainstream Cable TV. What if the only news sites you could reliably connect to were the ones that had deals with companies like Comcast and Verizon?On September 10th, just a few days before the FCC’s comment deadline, public interest organizations are issuing an open, international call for websites and internet users to unite for an “Internet Slowdown” to show the world what the web would be like if Team Cable gets their way and trashes net neutrality. Net neutrality is hard to explain, so our hope is that this action will help SHOW the world what’s really at stake if we lose the open Internet.If you’ve got a website, blog or tumblr, get the code to join the #InternetSlowdown here: https://battleforthenet.com/sept10thEveryone else, here’s a quick list of things you can do to help spread the word about the slowdown: http://tumblr.fightforthefuture.org/post/96020972118/be-a-part-of-the-great-internet-slowdown Get creative! Don’t let us tell you what to do. See you on the net September 10th!

via Battle For The Net.

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Saga Concludes

I am so tired. Part of the reason I’m so tired is (you know what’s coming and you know who’s at fault) because my husband didn’t have to do one thing in preparation for the blessed event, he didn’t even have to exert himself to sign the card. Who do you suppose is napping on the couch? Never mind. As long as he’s sleeping he isn’t issuing requests, demands, or directives that no one will pay attention to.

You may recall my alluding to a supernatural forecast back in June. Try not to laugh about the chain of events that led up to the psychic revelation. The happy couple had been to various therapy appointments, one of which included a massage ( they’re stressed and they need to relax and decompress) prior to their individual psychic consultations.

The kids had a close friend, who died in a car accident, while they were in high school. It was a shocking tragedy and an entire community wandered around completely numb. C. Michael was a great kid who used to test my patience to the limit. The boys stayed out after curfew, repeatedly, and I’d wait up angrily for them to come home. C. Michael would flash an Eddie Haskell smile at me and tell me how beautiful my flowers looked or how lovely something or other was or could he please have one of those delicious brownies I’d made and my anger would disappear because he was a lovable, charming kid and his calculated flattery was hard to resist.

During Adam’s reading the psychic told him that he was channeling C. Michael. He said that he’d be at their wedding, that it would be a beautiful day, and there would be a light breeze. He said Adam would know he was there because a bald eagle would make an appearance and the guests would remark on it. My husband and I made light of the whole thing back in June. I told Adam I wouldn’t be able to watch them exchange their vows because I’d be bringing my binoculars for bird watching.

Yesterday began with dire warnings for squalls and winds up to 65mph along the coast. We went to the inn in the morning to help set up. I actually did work, my husband enjoyed a boat ride with the bride’s dad to get ice. Neither of them did a lick of work because the younger men lugged the ice totes. I digress. The weather was less than pleasant and I told the kids not to worry, it would be fine, bad weather would make better stories later.

We came home and I ironed (just to let you know who does everything around here) and we got ready. My husband is under the misconception that chanting “Hurry” in the background is somehow inspirational. We were about 15 minutes ahead of sprinkles on the way back to the inn. The sky looked ominous. Chairs were moved back and forth, in and out of the tent, while we waited to see what the weather would do. We decided to take our chances outside.

As Adam rounded the corner of the inn to take his place at the altar, a bald eagle flew over the assembled guests. As one, the group exclaimed, “Look, a bald eagle!” The clouds parted and bright sun filled the sky. The eagle landed down the beach atop a tall pine and stayed there for the entire length of the ceremony.

It was a beautiful wedding and a lovely weekend.

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Saga Continues

Okay, I’ll say it just once for posterity’s sake. I am stubborn sometimes, and resistant, and rigid, and possibly mistaken but there is no definitive evidence to suggest that I am wrong.

Rehearsal dinner was an inclusive success. As you know, I harbor reserves of resentment at being thrust into a parental role after I made it very clear that I had no desire to participate in that arena. Oh trust me, it’s an arena all right. I always forget that I am intimidating because everyone thinks I am right. I suspect it’s in the presentation.

The original mother approached our table, which was next to her table. I pretended to be otherwise occupied- whatever, it wasn’t an actual snub. Fortified by what must have been quite a few glasses of wine, she made her approach. She thanked me for being good to her boys, thanked me for hosting the dinner, thanked me for who knows what all else. I hugged her as I told her it was a special weekend in her life and I hoped she enjoyed every minute of it.

Our guests were finally seated. I am the public speaker in our unorthodox family so I rose and began wandering around as I made the toast- “Hi, thank you all for coming to celebrate with the happy couple. A special, heartfelt thank you to Charles and Lenore Waverly for hosting tomorrow’s ceremony and reception. Annie and Adam wouldn’t be at this moment in their lives without their mothers, Lenore and Delia and their dads, Charles and Beauregard. A year ago the wedding was just a dream, tomorrow it will be a dream come true. Ladies and gentlemen please raise your glasses to the bride and groom!”

It was short and sweet. I practiced for an entire week. I wanted to do the right thing and set the tone for a lovely wedding for those two spoiled rotten, selfish, kids. MY stepson beamed from ear to ear. He was relieved that I did the right thing in accepting his mom’s overture. His mother had tears in her eyes. I don’t like being in this position but I can rise above it.

Today will be a fine day.

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Lean On

My how things have changed. Admittedly, I have always been somewhat unorthodox. I am missing the mani-pedi gene. I remember the freezing cold, startlingly bright, sunny February day when we got married. I was standing on a corner outside the bank on a downtown city street waiting for my future husband to meet me so we could go to the JP. I was afraid he’d change his mind. He appeared and we got married. The taxi driver was my witness. The JP was long winded and we smirked and leaned toward each other exerting a little pressure at our opposing shoulders because we knew what we knew and we didn’t care to listen to anyone blather on. We went back to my apartment and I threw up from nerves. My husband made me ginger-ale and vanilla ice cream to soothe my upset stomach. I knew I’d married the right man. He packed to go offshore. No muss no fuss.
Tomorrow there will be a big extravaganza, grand entrances and processionals, thousands of dollars spent for a single day’s indulgence in a world of pretend. There have been temper tantrums galore to match ridiculous excess. I wonder how, or if, they’ll know they’ve chosen the right person to lean on through the march of time?

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Sisyphus’s Rock

I haven’t changed one bit since the last time I posted. In fact, I am more like me than I ever was. All this in spite of the fact that things around me are are changing. I may or may not be trekking the path of most resistance.

I don’t think we own any of the planet, regardless of the pieces of paper that say we do. I have never owned a house or land. I’ve never had any desire to own things and become responsible for them. I have always been a tenant, coming and going as I please, without any hounding obligations. I am not a fan of responsibility for anything other than the boundaries within my reach, the stretch of real estate I call The Self. My husband is very different. He has owned commercial fishing boats and houses and stuff out the wazoo. He likes the challenge of acquisition because he is competitive. I am not competitive. I’ve never had to compete for anything because, generally speaking, I don’t want what I haven’t got. My husband, who is much maligned (on this blog) wanted this-
IMG_0263We talked about it and I voted for prudence. Too bad for me. My vote didn’t count. The next thing I knew, I was an innocent bystander at a realtor’s office witnessing a transaction. I never saw it coming. The man, who is much maligned (on this blog) and perhaps a little too foolhardy for his own good, answered a question with “Don’t call me; call elroy, this is in her lap now.” There’s a piece of paper somewhere stating the rock belongs to us. I know that isn’t even remotely true. The rock belongs to the people who collect taxes on it and even that’s not precise, it would take infinity + 1 to figure out who owns the rock or if it can be owned.

I caved. I couldn’t understand why we worked so hard or what we were working for. Belonging to the rock seemed as good a reason as any other. The rock reminds me of The Big Rock in my grandfather’s field. When we were little kids, we used to have picnic lunches on it-baked bean sandwiches and lemonade- and slide down it until we’d rip the bottoms out of our pants and get in trouble for ripping them. There are apple trees on the other side of the rock and there’s room for a garden for someone who has leisure time to tend it. My grandfather had apple trees and a huge garden. He would have loved my husband and my husband would have loved him. They are so similar. Gram deferred to Gramp in much the same way I defer to my husband.

We belong to the rock. It seems there is no point in belonging to a rock. It should be one with the universe. We’re going to put a building on the other side of the rock and we’re going to move the rock to the other side of the driveway. If the rock doesn’t stay, I won’t budge-see how that works? My husband has told the casts of thousands of people, who make their living off people who believe they own the rock instead of the other way around, “My wife is keeping the rock.” He is oddly proud of my affection for it. He dumped the whole thing in my lap, trusting me to make the dream real. There’s an awful lot of ego involved in having so much faith from just one man. Who would I be if I couldn’t do it for him?

His kids, the boys, have come to believe that their dad must be onto something in placing all his faith in me. The eldest will be married in a couple of weeks. It will be an extravaganza. You know, I don’t cotton to displays. I have a very hard time with most of the symbolism in the ceremony and the expense of the affair. It doesn’t sit well. Even though it would be safe to say that nobody there, but me, will find one bit of it objectionable.

I want the kids to have a joyous day. I’ve bought into the magic of the dream. Of course, (you’ve been reading this far to get to the of course because you love it when I’m awful) in making a display, certain opportunities have presented themselves. As you may recall, I have found myself in the position of the heavy on more than one occasion with the boys. I’m not their mother.

I was the person cruising the parking lot with my husband trying to make sure they didn’t get in more trouble than they could get out of. I was the person who tried valiantly to remain calm and objective, the person who donated her time to an endeavor (she never wanted for herself) because it was the right thing to do. I was the person who held the phone receiver and told them to call their mother to apologize for the ugly thing they said to her because what if something happened and those were the last words she ever heard them say.

She didn’t plan on having them, she didn’t plan on guiding them, she didn’t plan for their future. I did. Their mother was a mean-spirited, divisive faction between those boys and their dad. My husband and I will host the rehearsal dinner, we hosted the engagement dinner too. I don’t like pretentious displays but I am, after all, only human. I will utilize an opportunity if it arises.

The bride loves all things spectacular. She believes she is a local celebrity, I can tell. I ordered some lovely, thick, cream colored invitations requiring the real mother to RSVP to me for the dinner she should have been hosting for her son and his bride, the dinner she could have hosted jointly with his father if only she’d planned on it. In an effort to make sure that the evening is as amicable as possible, I ordered escort cards and I’ve assigned the seating with as many tables as possible between us and her. In a supreme gesture of charity, I seated her close by her son. She doesn’t see him very often now because she moved away to be with the man I think of as her “retirement plan“.

I am secretly terrible but well-behaved. That’s what you like about it, it’s a secret and you’re the only ones who know what the truth is behind the illusion of untainted generosity. You know I’m an impostor, with deceitful thoughts and ulterior motives, pushing Sisyphus’s rock up a hill.

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