Honestly, I think the Theme Thursday people can read my mind. (Or, my blog.) More than once they have picked a theme, the perfect post for which I have posted only the week before. And this week they have done it again!
For this week's theme, HELP, I refer you to Sometimes, It Takes a Village, Idiot, from just last week -- a mere two posts ago.
And, please go HERE to read others' take on the theme.
Showing posts with label Theme Thursday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theme Thursday. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Theme Thursday -- Mystery
This is a Theme Thursday post.
This week's theme is MYSTERY. I don't usually re-post, but this story from last February was such a perfect fit, I could not resist. Without further ado, Uno, Dos, Tracey presents...
An Agatha Tracey Mystery
A crime was committed here at uno, dos, tracey, and I think I have solved it. Theses are the facts.
One Mr. Television Clicker has been missing since Thursday morning at 10:03 a.m.
He was last seen in the company of one Catherine, a known meddler and sneak.
Her mother's statement is as follows: "I saw Catherine with Mr. Clicker in the hall between her room and her brothers'. I was horrified. She knows she is not supposed to be with him. I was just about to interrupt their tete-a-tete when I was distracted by the arrival of her brother's school bus." When asked if she did not have but a split second to snatch Mr. Clicker out of Catherine's grasp, she prevaricated. "I was in a hurry. I didn't even know the bus was out there until I saw it through the window. Who knows how long they had been waiting? Honestly! Anyway, when I came back in, Mr. Clicker was no where to be seen. I have asked my daughter repeatedly what she knows, but she refuses to talk."
Her father's statement is as follows: "I wasn't here. I was at work earning money to put food on the table. The last time I saw Mr. Clicker was when I set him on the end table the previous night before bed." When asked if this end table would have been within Catherine's reach, he prevaricated. "Look. I can't be in charge of everything, can I? All I know is that if Mr. Clicker does not come home soon I will be forced to play my video games with a 4:3 screen ratio. This is just devastating."With a little digging, it was also revealed that this Catherine has quite a past as a trouble make and an abuser of controlled substances.
With this information, a search was mounted. I looked high and low. Mostly low, as Catherine has a reach of only about 36 inches. Her favorite haunts, drawers, and laundry hampers were checked and rechecked. Then, in the mid-morning hours of Friday, about 24 hours after he was last seen, Mr. Clicker was discovered, face down, in Catherine's dresser drawer.The conclusion is obvious. Catherine absconded with Mr. Clicker and was keeping him prisoner in her room. The suspect is still not talking, but her eyes say, "If I can't have him, no one will."
Another case solved by Agatha Tracey.
She has been sentenced to three days of only water in her sippy cup.This has been a Theme Thursday post. Follow the link to read other writers' takes on the theme.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Theme Thursday -- Pink
My Theme Thursday post is not the only thing that was late this week.
I am 41 years old. Hubband had a vasectomy six months ago. My very last post was about how I had come to the end of the gestation/lactation portion of my life. You see, it would be impossible, but... Does this look like two pink lines to you?
So, to re-cap for my regular readers -- Three kids, one income, Hubband to get laid off next month and lose medical benefits, family to move to another state and live in attic, 41, vasectomy, two pink lines. Oh, and we won't all fit in one car. But we're good. Or we will be as soon as we are done being stunned. I'll write more some other time, once my breathing has returned to normal.
And, yeah, I posted a picture of something upon which I urinated.
So, to re-cap for my regular readers -- Three kids, one income, Hubband to get laid off next month and lose medical benefits, family to move to another state and live in attic, 41, vasectomy, two pink lines. Oh, and we won't all fit in one car. But we're good. Or we will be as soon as we are done being stunned. I'll write more some other time, once my breathing has returned to normal.
And, yeah, I posted a picture of something upon which I urinated.
This is a Theme Thursday post. Follow the link to see other wonderful writers' take on the theme.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Theme Thursday -- Breakfast
This is a Theme Thursday post.
This week's theme is BREAKFAST. That made me think of this song. Click the title to have a listen. Or at least skim the lyrics. They are quite clever. "None of us knew his checkout time would come so soon, but before his brain stopped waving, he composed this tune." C'mon. You gotta love that. And just remember...they don't serve breakfast in hell.
by Newsboys
Hold the milk, put back the sugar
They are powerless to console
We've gathered here to sprinkle ashes
from our late friend's cereal bowl.
Breakfast Clubbers, say the motto
that he taught us to repeat:
You will lose it in your gym class
if you wait `til noon to eat.
Back when the Chess Club said our eggs were soft
every Monday he'd say grace and hold our juice aloft
Oh, none of us knew his checkout time would come so soon
But before his brain stopped waving, he composed this tune:
Chorus
WHEN THE TOAST IS BURNED
AND ALL THE MILK HAS TURNED
AND CAPTAIN CRUNCH IS WAVING FAREWELL
WHEN THE BIG ONE FINDS YOU
MAY THIS SONG REMIND YOU
THAT THEY DON'T SERVE BREAKFAST IN HELL
Breakfast clubbers, drop the hankies.
Though to some our friend was odd,
that day he bought those pine pajamas
his check was good with God.
Those here without the Lord,
how do you cope?
For this morning we don't mourn
like those who have no hope
Oh, rise up, Fruit Loop lovers -
sing out sweet and low
With spoons held high
we bid our brother, Cheerio!
Lyrics: Steve Taylor / Music: Peter Furler
© 1996 Dawn Treader Music (SESAC) / Warner Alliance Music / Soylent Tunes (ASCAP), Dawn Treader Music admin. by EMI Christian Music Publishing. Warner Alliance Music / Soylent Tunes admin. by I.C.G.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Theme Thursday -- Hat
Hubband has a hat.
Our son Samuel likes to wear it.
So, I tried to take a picture.
But, he would not hold still.
Or, even look at me when I asked.
At one point, he ducked completely out of frame.
In the end, this was the best I could do.
Click on the link to see how other Theme Thursday participants wore their HATS.
So, I tried to take a picture.
But, he would not hold still.
At one point, he ducked completely out of frame.
In the end, this was the best I could do.
Click on the link to see how other Theme Thursday participants wore their HATS.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Theme Thursday -- Green
Green? Green...green...
Beer!
On March 17th, bars all across the United States serve green beer in honor of St. Patrick's Day. On March 18th, one can buy green beer half-price.
One March 18th, several years ago, when I was a student-teacher (yes, I was a teacher, it's true), I sat on a bar stool, at a place called Flynn's, while a fellow student-teacher of mine, by the name of Art, got completely drunk on half-priced green beer, and tried to explain to me the colors of the Irish flag. I may have had a green beer or two myself, as the details are a bit jumbled up, but I think this was his story.
"The green is for the emeralds, and the orange is for their hair." he said.
"They don't have emeralds in Ireland." I said.
"They most certainly do. It is called the Emerald Isle."
"That's because it looks like an emerald from a distance, you doofus." I said, very politely. ("Doofus," being a term of art at teacher college.)
"Exactly! Green. And the orange is because all true Irish have orange hair, which is called red, but is really orange. Green and Orange. Get it?"
"Yeah, I get that you are drunk." I though to myself, very politely.
But, as I squeezed my brain, moist with green beer, I realized every Irish I had ever known (and by Irish, I mean real Irish, not some fourth generation American girl with an obscure Gaelic name her mother picked out of Beyond Shannon and Sean just because her last name happened to be Murphy) had red hair. But, I only knew two. And, not a single member of U2 has red hair. That had to mean something right?
"What about the white?" I asked. "The white, between the green and orange."
"Think about it." he said, drunk and condescending. "All Irish people are white. Duh." ("Duh," being a term of art at teacher college.)
I thought about it. Mr. McGuigan, that girl I knew in high school, and the four members of U2 -- everyone of them, white.
It was obvious then. I had had enough green beer. Time to switch to amber.
Beer!
On March 17th, bars all across the United States serve green beer in honor of St. Patrick's Day. On March 18th, one can buy green beer half-price.
One March 18th, several years ago, when I was a student-teacher (yes, I was a teacher, it's true), I sat on a bar stool, at a place called Flynn's, while a fellow student-teacher of mine, by the name of Art, got completely drunk on half-priced green beer, and tried to explain to me the colors of the Irish flag. I may have had a green beer or two myself, as the details are a bit jumbled up, but I think this was his story.
"The green is for the emeralds, and the orange is for their hair." he said.
"They don't have emeralds in Ireland." I said.
"They most certainly do. It is called the Emerald Isle."
"That's because it looks like an emerald from a distance, you doofus." I said, very politely. ("Doofus," being a term of art at teacher college.)
"Exactly! Green. And the orange is because all true Irish have orange hair, which is called red, but is really orange. Green and Orange. Get it?"
"Yeah, I get that you are drunk." I though to myself, very politely.
But, as I squeezed my brain, moist with green beer, I realized every Irish I had ever known (and by Irish, I mean real Irish, not some fourth generation American girl with an obscure Gaelic name her mother picked out of Beyond Shannon and Sean just because her last name happened to be Murphy) had red hair. But, I only knew two. And, not a single member of U2 has red hair. That had to mean something right?
"What about the white?" I asked. "The white, between the green and orange."
"Think about it." he said, drunk and condescending. "All Irish people are white. Duh." ("Duh," being a term of art at teacher college.)
I thought about it. Mr. McGuigan, that girl I knew in high school, and the four members of U2 -- everyone of them, white.
It was obvious then. I had had enough green beer. Time to switch to amber.
Dear Theme Thursday, if any future themes are orange, white, or amber, I'm covered.
Click the link to read Theme Thursday entries from other participants!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Happy Birthday Mr. Travolta/Theme Thursday
Well, Theme Thursday has rolled around again. This week's theme is MIRROR. The first thing I thought of when I saw the theme, was a disco ball, which made me think of disco dancing, which made me think of Saturday Night Fever, which made me think of John Travolta, who just happens to have a birthday this month, which means he fits in nicely with the month's Happy Birthday Series. So, from the killing-two-birds-with-one-stone department, and without further ado, I bring you this.
John Travolta was born February 18, 1954. He became a house hold name in 1975 for playing Vinnie Barbarino in Welcome Back, Kotter on TV, complete with over-the-top catch phrases (Up your nose with a rubber hose!) and teen idol hair. A seemingly inauspicious start, but in 1977 he was nominated for an Oscar for his roll in Saturday Night Fever. By the 80s, he was a has-been of embarrassing proportions. Then in 1994, he had the monster of all comebacks when Quentin Tarantino cast him in Pulp Fiction, earning him a second Oscar nod. By all accounts he is still doing okay.
John Travolta is a good actor. I know this, because I don't really like him. I never want to see anything he is in. But, when I do, I always end up forgetting that he is him, which I suspect is the point of acting. (This is in marked contrast to Tom Cruise, whom I also do not like, but I never forget he is him.)
Happy Birthday Mr. Travolta!
John Travolta was born February 18, 1954. He became a house hold name in 1975 for playing Vinnie Barbarino in Welcome Back, Kotter on TV, complete with over-the-top catch phrases (Up your nose with a rubber hose!) and teen idol hair. A seemingly inauspicious start, but in 1977 he was nominated for an Oscar for his roll in Saturday Night Fever. By the 80s, he was a has-been of embarrassing proportions. Then in 1994, he had the monster of all comebacks when Quentin Tarantino cast him in Pulp Fiction, earning him a second Oscar nod. By all accounts he is still doing okay.
John Travolta is a good actor. I know this, because I don't really like him. I never want to see anything he is in. But, when I do, I always end up forgetting that he is him, which I suspect is the point of acting. (This is in marked contrast to Tom Cruise, whom I also do not like, but I never forget he is him.)
Happy Birthday Mr. Travolta!
For more Theme Thursday entries, click here.
For more entries in February's Happy Birthday Series, click here.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Happy Birthday Mr. Buttons/Theme Thursday
It is Theme Thursday once again, and this weeks theme is RED. To accommodate this, I am posting Friday's "Happy Birthday..." post a little early.
Red Buttons was born February 5, 1919. He was a noted comedian, film, and television actor from the 1940's until he death in 2006. He was born Aaron Chwat but was given his stage name at 16 because of the way he and his flaming red hair looked in his bell hop uniform. The name stuck. Besides, Aaron Chwat is a funny name, but not in a good way.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Buttons!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Theme Thursday -- Felt AND Impression
This week the, er, wise folks over at Theme Thursday, who are much more creative than I, gave us two themes. Felt and Impression. Well, I have don't my best. The following is a bit longer than my usual posts. If it's too long, don't read it. Just give me credit for completing this very hard (for me) theme. Oh, and this is (very obviously) a piece of fiction.
The woman on the television was very blond, very tan, and had strangely exaggerated diction.
“Hang on to your hats Hollywood.” She said, as elaborate computer graphics and punchy theme music played in the back ground. “It’s true! After months of speculation about the reason behind the 'break-up of the century,' Jax Crawford and Kate Gillian are coming out and coming clean as the new hottest couple in Hollywood. Here’s Smithson James with the details.”
Cut to a metro-sexual man in his late twenties (so says his bio) standing on an empty red carpet in the blazing sun.
“That’s right, Janie. After their red carpet walk at last night’s Golden Globes there is no question that co-stars Jax Crawford and Kate Gillian are in love and in leather.” Cut to more graphics showing pictures of the couple. “She wore a red leather Kaja Prive halter dress cut down to there and up to there, while he sported a black leather vest with his Armando tux. But even her reported twenty, yes that’s right, twenty million dollars in bling from Fred Meyer Rodeo Drive could not blind us to the sight of two stars in love.
“Speculation has been rampant about the status of the two stars, even before Kate, and the second hottest man in Hollywood, Matt Powell, announced their break-up six weeks ago. Powell was noticeably absent from last night’s award show. Well, we noticed. But, I don’t think Jax and Kate did.”
Matt Powell sat on a 20 year old couch in his mother’s 90 year old basement watching TV.
“Don’t feel bad Matty,” said his older brother Davey, from the other end of the couch. “They just say that stuff ‘cause they have to fill up the space between commercials. You are not the second hottest man in Hollywood.”
“Can we turn this off now?” Matt asked half heartedly.
“You aren’t even the second hottest man in the house.” Davey found this very amusing and laughed heartily.
“Why are you here?” Matt asked.
“Laundry.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey, I’m a student,” Davey said, as if this explained everything.
“You’re 32 years old. You drove 150 miles to do your laundry?”
“No. I drove 150 miles so mom could do my laundry. And yes, I am aware that that makes me some kind of loser. But, at least I didn’t just get dumped on Hollywood Tonight.”
Matt ignored him. He did not just get dumped. He got dumped six weeks ago. And he had been sitting on his mother’s couch ever since. This gave him very little advantage over his brother in a you’re-a-bigger-loser-than-I-am contest, and they both knew it. But, he could probably beat his brother’s philosophy-studying library-carrel-riding PhD-candidate ass. They both knew that too. They were at an impasse.
Matt took the remote control out of Davey’s hand and turned on ESPN.
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“You stink.”
Matt ignored him.
“No, I mean it. I mean, it may be true, that while you have been out in Hollywood, your shit has ceased to stink, but the rest of you, my brother, most certainly does. Go take a shower.”
Davey reached over and took the remote control out of Matt’s hand and turned it back to Hollywood Tonight. “…the new couple, dubbed Jax and Gill…”
That did it. The battle was on. Two grown men, wrestling around on the floor of their mother’s basement, like they had done since they were boys. And, Hollywood Matt was right. PhD Davey was no match for his younger brother. Within seconds, Davey was pinned to the ground, with Matt straddling him.
“Good God he smells,” Davey thought, as he felt the impression of the buttons on the remote control being bored into his face.
“MOM!!!!!!!”
To read more brave Theme Thursday participants click here.
The woman on the television was very blond, very tan, and had strangely exaggerated diction.
“Hang on to your hats Hollywood.” She said, as elaborate computer graphics and punchy theme music played in the back ground. “It’s true! After months of speculation about the reason behind the 'break-up of the century,' Jax Crawford and Kate Gillian are coming out and coming clean as the new hottest couple in Hollywood. Here’s Smithson James with the details.”
Cut to a metro-sexual man in his late twenties (so says his bio) standing on an empty red carpet in the blazing sun.
“That’s right, Janie. After their red carpet walk at last night’s Golden Globes there is no question that co-stars Jax Crawford and Kate Gillian are in love and in leather.” Cut to more graphics showing pictures of the couple. “She wore a red leather Kaja Prive halter dress cut down to there and up to there, while he sported a black leather vest with his Armando tux. But even her reported twenty, yes that’s right, twenty million dollars in bling from Fred Meyer Rodeo Drive could not blind us to the sight of two stars in love.
“Speculation has been rampant about the status of the two stars, even before Kate, and the second hottest man in Hollywood, Matt Powell, announced their break-up six weeks ago. Powell was noticeably absent from last night’s award show. Well, we noticed. But, I don’t think Jax and Kate did.”
Matt Powell sat on a 20 year old couch in his mother’s 90 year old basement watching TV.
“Don’t feel bad Matty,” said his older brother Davey, from the other end of the couch. “They just say that stuff ‘cause they have to fill up the space between commercials. You are not the second hottest man in Hollywood.”
“Can we turn this off now?” Matt asked half heartedly.
“You aren’t even the second hottest man in the house.” Davey found this very amusing and laughed heartily.
“Why are you here?” Matt asked.
“Laundry.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey, I’m a student,” Davey said, as if this explained everything.
“You’re 32 years old. You drove 150 miles to do your laundry?”
“No. I drove 150 miles so mom could do my laundry. And yes, I am aware that that makes me some kind of loser. But, at least I didn’t just get dumped on Hollywood Tonight.”
Matt ignored him. He did not just get dumped. He got dumped six weeks ago. And he had been sitting on his mother’s couch ever since. This gave him very little advantage over his brother in a you’re-a-bigger-loser-than-I-am contest, and they both knew it. But, he could probably beat his brother’s philosophy-studying library-carrel-riding PhD-candidate ass. They both knew that too. They were at an impasse.
Matt took the remote control out of Davey’s hand and turned on ESPN.
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“You stink.”
Matt ignored him.
“No, I mean it. I mean, it may be true, that while you have been out in Hollywood, your shit has ceased to stink, but the rest of you, my brother, most certainly does. Go take a shower.”
Davey reached over and took the remote control out of Matt’s hand and turned it back to Hollywood Tonight. “…the new couple, dubbed Jax and Gill…”
That did it. The battle was on. Two grown men, wrestling around on the floor of their mother’s basement, like they had done since they were boys. And, Hollywood Matt was right. PhD Davey was no match for his younger brother. Within seconds, Davey was pinned to the ground, with Matt straddling him.
“Good God he smells,” Davey thought, as he felt the impression of the buttons on the remote control being bored into his face.
“MOM!!!!!!!”
To read more brave Theme Thursday participants click here.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Theme Thursday, Polka-dots
Theme Thursday -- Polka-Dots
I must be psychic. My post from last Thursday featured polka-dots. It is a fable for the new year, featuring a girl named Mia who lives in a polka-dotted toadstool. You can check it out here.
For this Thursday, I offer the following.
My Grandma Dorothy, and my Aunt Dorothy used to have an accordion band called the Polka Dots.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
History
Theme Thursday -- History
This is a work of fiction.There was a man in front of me in line at Target talking to his young daughter. She had on tights with mulit-colored horizontal stripes. I remember them because I would love to wear a pair just like them, if I were not 37 and they would not look ridiculous on me.
There was something far-away familiar about the timber of his voice. Familiar enough to make me look up from this weeks tabloid magazine covers. (Boy, is that Tiger Woods in some trouble!)
I glanced. His eyes caught mine. And lingered. Just a split second too long. It happened like a flood. Recognition. Mine and his. The far-away familiarity replaced by the vividly intimate. How long had it been? Twenty years? Really? That should feel like a long time, but it does not, standing there, exposed, in the check out line at Target, flashes of teen-aged pain and drama blurring my vision.
My fingers went to ice and my face to fire. I looked away quickly. Back to Tiger. My face still burning. Struggling to steady my breathing. Panic!
There was nothing I could do but wait my turn, pay for my toothpaste and toilet paper, and move along as if nothing had happened. As if the most humiliating and painful experience of my life was not standing in front of me, wearing a Cal sweatshirt and a wedding ring, buying toothpaste and toilet paper.
As he was leaving, just putting his bags in his cart, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, him turn to me, as if to say something. I waited a beat too long. When I looked up, he looked away. And then it happened.
He looked me straight in the eye and gave me a wan smile. I returned his with a weak smile of my own. My eyes closed, involuntarily, and I felt the ancient history pass between us.
This is a work of fiction.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Snow is...
It snowed here this week. The last time that happened was 1976. This may help you understand my interesting relationship with snow. Below is my (somewhat tongue and cheek) description of what snow is to me....SURPRISING
Snow, when first experienced, is surprising.
Snow fall is silent.
Fluffy white snow is not fluffy. It is cold and wet. That "snow angel" thing could cause pneumonia.
...WORK
Snow is kind of a pain in the hiney.
In places where it snows a lot, people have to plug their cars in. Not new fangled electric cars. Just their boring old Dodge Dart or whatever. To keep it warm. Like an electric blanket. So it won't freeze and crack. The guy who invented this should be rich.
Snow buries things. You park your car, you go to bed, it snows, you wake up and where your car used to be there is now a heap of snow. You have to dig it out. With a shovel. But not until you dig a path from your front door to the street. And, I'm guessing it is cold out there. Good times.
...SCARY
Snow is scary.
I have cousins who lost everything in Hurricane Katrina, but returned to New Orleans. We suggested that they re-locate out here in California, but they declined. They didn't want to live anywhere there were earthquakes. Too dangerous. Huh? I have a similar feeling about snow.
Several years ago, in the mountains around here, (where I will only go in July and August), a man got lost hunting in the snow. He was found safe and sound, but he couldn't get his truck back until spring. Spring? Really?
A friend of mine who used to live in Missouri tells stories of driving, or rather sliding, the wrong way down the interstate into the path of a big rig because of snow and ice. People live like this? No thank you.
And these are just the stories without tragic endings. I am still haunted by several took-the-scenic-route-and-got-caught-in-a-freak-snow-storm stories. They did not end so well. I will leave it at that.
...INSIDIOUS
Snow is insidious.
Unlike other forces of nature, snow has some how passed itself off as beautiful and nostalgic. No one dreams of a Charred Christmas. Or sings, "Let it flood, let it flood, let it flood." Volcanic ash that stays on your nose and eye lashes? Not romantic. But, snow, obnoxious snow, has managed to charm it's way into our collective consciousness. Well...your collective consciousness. I'm not fooled.
You can keep the real stuff. I will be dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to watch on TV. Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, singing, dancing, fake snow as far as the eye can see. I have the DVD now, which is even better. White Christmas; no commercials.
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