Prompt; Song

Yesterday I listened to a story about a song.

“Louie, Louie, The Strange Journey into the Dirtiest Song Ever Written”

It’s on a new podcast on Spotify called ‘Lost Notes’. I’ve tried to link it here but I guess WordPress just isn’t big enough for it. The links I copied are just gobbledygook.

I love Spotify for finding songs. When I left my husband, I left behind a few decades of music. I had a lot of CD’s that I made. Getting all the old stuff I loved on iTunes would have cost me a fortune. I would get gift cards and buy my old favourites.

But Spotify is whatever and whenever I think of something or hear something. Hear something on TV I like;  just go get it.  It was just on the verge of too much money, ($10 a month) until I discovered all the podcasts. Now I get as much or more enjoyment out of it than Netflix!

It’s great to listen to stories while doing  housework, dishes (no dishwasher), jigsaw puzzling and sewing (when its going smooth).

‘Classic Tales Podcast’ is my favourite. Great short stories. ‘Myths and Legends’- I’m listening to the tales of Gilgamesh now.  I also pick up true crime stories from time to time.

But this prompt is ‘song’. The story of ‘Louie, Louie’ was every interesting. They interviewed the man who wrote it and sold it for a pittance to buy a diamond ring for a girl who left him. What I keep thinking about is that the most famous version is the WORST version. Some kids in high school recorded it in their garage and made a mess of it and yet it endures to this day; one of the most loved songs of all time.


SoCS: mon

A few people in my life have called me ‘Mon’. My favourite was a girl I worked with who would greet me with, “Hey, Mon!” like we were a couple of Rastafarians.

I guess its time to let you in on a secret I’ve never revealed; my name is Monica. Not a common name, hard to nickname. “Nic”, my dad called me sometimes; “Nic the pick the old Jellystick”.

‘Mon’ is OK. Mony I do not tolerate. Call me ‘Mony’ and I will tell you not to ever call me that again.


Yesterday I was getting a mammogram. There was a 91-year-old volunteer whose job it was to instruct us how to get ready. She pointed out the stack of hospital gowns, gave me a little basket for my top clothing, and explained what to do pains-taking detail even though the instructions were plainly visible on the wall.   She asked me my name.

Her face lit up when I said ‘Monica’. “Oh, that’s an English name! I knew two Monicas!”

‘Yes’ I nodded, and backed into my cubicle.

When I was in the little waiting room she came in, sat down and proceeded to tell me how she met Monica who may have been her cousin. It started with a list of her cousin’s maiden names and ambled on in a perfectly undisturbed stream of consciousness.

Luckily the lady who just had her mammogram done came back. “Oh, I’m not doing my job!” she said and got up to talk to the other lady.

I can’t remember what she said but I remember the glassy stare of the lady standing in her hospital gown wishing the nice old lady would stop talking so she could get dressed and go.

She was still talking when the technician came in and said, “Monica?”



She wasn’t there when it was done so I changed quietly and made a quick getaway.

Prompt; froth

I wasn’t exactly frothing at the mouth but I did have temper tantrum, yelling and swearing at Marian yesterday.

Marian is my sewing machine given to me by my mother-in-law, Marian. I often wonder when she’s giving me a hard time if it’s Marian’ spirit fucking with me. Sorry to use that word but I can’t think of a better one.


As all sewers know, the bobbin tension is crucial. I can look perfect on top as you sew merrily along not knowing it’s making big loops on the underside. It will do this for no apparent reason.

Because it happens a lot, I have a piece of test fabric so I can check the tension. I do this when I change the bobbin or when more folds or adding ties make the fabric thicker. Since I was using thread from another project, I’ve been loading the bobbin only so much at a time, worried I might run out of thread and have to use another colour.

This apron order has been going well until yesterday. Marian was in a bad mood. Maybe she feels me thinking about her son which I still do a lot. Sewing the hem of the apron the tension went wonky. When this happens the thread pulls out easily; long strands of thread wasted and thrown away. I can see the end of the spool is nigh.

I adjusted the tension (fiddled is more like it) tested it on the scrap, same number of folds, and it was fine. Went to sew……  big loops underneath.  I did this three times!  Three times it was good on the scrap then big loops when I sewed the apron. Same fabric, same number of folds.

That’s when I screamed and swore at Marian (the machine) but rather than froth at the mouth I went for a walk in the woods.

Luckily the pockets went on without incident

Prompt; Rush No More

When I saw the word ‘rush’ as the prompt I breathed a deep sigh of relief. No more rushing in my life. Nobody shooting at my feet to make me dance.

I lived life in a kind of rush for years and years. My husband was always, “c’mon, c’mon…” there was always so much to do. He couldn’t stand to see me relax or even stop to eat.

My mom lived pretty far from me and always needed my help. It was a four hour drive to her place and whenever I got there…. I was late; there was so much to do. She would be disappointed if I didn’t bring something delicious to eat.

Then I would drive back to my nagging husband and the mess of whatever he did or ate while I was gong. I helped him with whatever he did, tried to make my own beeswax products for my own money and tried to keep my house clean “on my own time” as my husband would say. “When is that?”  I would ask.

When my mom was at the hospital in her final days, I had to find a ride with my nephew because he wouldn’t let me use the truck. By this time menopause was setting in and I was falling apart. I needed rest so bad but I was living in constant ‘fight or flight’.

One year later it was all over. My mom passed away and my husband kicked me out of my home and business because I couldn’t work hard enough. I agreed and never went back.

It took a long time to stop rushing. I would find myself rushing around doing things then stop….. why am I rushing? I had to consciously make myself do thing in a relaxed manner.

Unfortunately, I had to get a job and the rushing began again. At first I worked at the bakery and on cash but that was too much.

I’d always be rushing off to my shift. That would make me sweat and I’d have to put on that damn uniform and sweat, rushing to work.

NO MORE! I’m retired. I live alone. I take my own sweet time and it’s fantastic! I can putter away a morning, go for a walk, have an afternoon nap…….. no one is goading me……  I’m finally living the way I’ve always wanted to live!

SoCS; passive/aggressive

Passive/Aggressive;  It’s the most frustrating, worst behaviour of all. I’d rather have an honest, angry, in my face, opposition than a sniveling agreement then rolling the eyes or the little sideways nod with pursed lips. These are the people who tell everyone else what is bothering them about you, except you.

We all do it. I would go as far to say as women we are raised to do it because we weren’t allowed to get angry and speak our mind. “Nice girls just agree. (You don’t really have to agree)”

You can’t fight passive/aggressive behavior. There will be no banter, they just slide away like oil making eyes like you’re so crazy!

Well, that’s all I have to say about that. It just bugs me.


Prompt; frigid

Spring is taking its own sweet time this year. Frigid temperatures all week; yesterday it snowed but it didn’t stay on the ground. Even the sunny days have barely got above 0 C. (32F)

I’ve been wanting to write because its been a while but I didn’t want to join in on the A-Z challenge.  Excess writing becomes too much like chit-chat for me; I don’t like to talk unnecessarily. Just Jot it January wore me down. Yesterday I was all set to write but the prompt was ‘churn’. I thought about it and couldn’t come up with anything for so long, it got too late in the morning.

I did enjoy Eileen’s read on some childhood memories of a churn and a donkey;


Back to frigid temperatures; I’ve just about used up all my firewood! The two previous years were fairly mild and I would have firewood left over. Not this year! Most of the ‘body’ wood is gone so I’m burning big pieces that barely fit in the stove and lot of slab wood that goes up fast and hot so you have to keep feeding it.

Even though it’s frigid outside its easy to warm up the room with just a few pieces of wood. I can get the temperature warmer than the furnace setting. The other night it got up to 24C (72F). That was almost too hot: I was loving it!

But I’m itching to get outside and start some gardening. I’m really looking forward to having the time to work on it now that I’m retired.  I can chip away at it day by day, a few hours at a time. I plan on ordering 2 yards of mulch and doing my shrubs beds…… I can’t wait….. go away frigid temperatures!

SoCS; bun

“My Anaconda don’t, my Anaconda don’t, my Anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, hon.”

I love Nicki Minaj for sporting her large buns all over the screen. Take that skinny-ass white chicks.  Like me.

Not to brag but I used to have great buns. Heart shaped buns. I remember the day I caught sight of myself sideways and realized my buns had fallen off.

“My ass fell off!” I lamented and my soon-to-be-ex-husband said, “yeah, I noticed.”

Yeah, I thought of buns and not the Easter bunny which came next. What a dumb idea, how did that catch on? A bunny who delivers eggs. And what’s that go to do with Jesus? I’m sure there’s a story and someone will tell us.

When I was young I use to think that when I got old I would grow my hair long and wear a bun. My husband would look like Santa Claus. Funny how you think dumb stuff when you are young and think you know everything.  I like my hair shortish and layered but I do really like my grey streaks. My husband is no longer in my life but I sure as hell don’t want some old hippy anymore. Never would I have thought I could be attracted to someone shaved bald but times have changed.

Then there’s abundance. Sick of this idea that we can wish ourselves into abundance and if we don’t, we’re thinking wrong. What? You want more? More money? More stuff?  Not just more….. abundance. ‘I want it all and lots of it!’ Crapola.  This is the opposite of spirituality, not the reward.

What if Satan had taken Jesus up to the mount to tempt him into having it all and Jesus said, “Yeah, Abundance, I deserve it all! I’m the Son of God!”

Then there would be no Easter Bunny. Maybe. Or maybe the Easter bunny would have a huge basket overflowing with chocolate…. and abundance of decadent treats.


SoCS; picture

I’m picturing my future filled with good friends, fun and laughter. You might say I’ve been visualizing it for a while. It’s working.

Picture me at a party, partying….. Oh yeah you can’t because you don’t know what I look like. But I did party last night at my neighbours and it was fun! There were new good people there that were great! The ‘woman’ who is the worst couldn’t make it because she had a face peel. She had her face burned off with a laser for $500.(teehee)

The young neighbours were there. Mr. Knoweverything tried to pin me down on “my philosophy” on why I don’t eat eggs.  I shrugged and said it’s been so long I forget. He’s so pretentious: no way am I getting into that at a party.

I got a song stuck in my head; oh crap my speakers aren’t working.

Shutting this down and moving on with my day.


Prompt: talisman

A talisman is an object believed to have magical powers. First off; I don’t believe in such a thing. However, I believe the human mind is so powerful that if you believe it has magical powers, it can.

I was working in ‘health food store’ when crystals and stones became all rage. People would come in and hold them with their eyes closed to feel the vibrations. My boss, apparently was super-sensitive to their powers. Personally, I thought she was a flake but she believed it and that’s what’s important. It’s the belief, not the object.

The reason I didn’t believe in them is unabashed ego. I’m feel I’m very sensitive to ‘unseen forces’ but I feel nothing from crystals. It is so minute compared to the immense power of a human being. So in other words, if I can’t feel it, it isn’t true.

I may be wrong.

This isn’t to say I don’t have magical aspects to my life. There are things I believe and so they are true to me. I have burned sage around my house, I feel the universe is trying to make me feel better when I get a good bird sighting; like swans and Bald Eagles.

Where I live is a migration route of swans. Every spring is The Return of the Swans. The other day I was on my way to visit my aunt and came upon thousands of swans in fields on both side of the road. They were many in flight in the clear, blue sky. I pulled over to listen to the cacophony. Fantastic! Stopped again on my way home.

In a way, you could say these swans were a talisman. It sure felt magical and healing to be so close.  A local photographer was there that day and posted some great photos on Facebook:


A photo can only get a slice of how many swans where here.

That felt magical!

SoCSunday; green

Yesterday I could not get into WordPress. The log-in page came up but the cursor would not flash and nothing could be typed in.  I tried a few times over the course of the day. I always write SoCS!

The prompt was ‘green’ for St. Patrick’s day. I posted on Facebook that I would eat potato chips all day and have potatoes for dinner. This ‘holiday’ is for getting drunk. It’s an excuse to get drunk all day. On top of that they die the beer green. oh, yuck. That certainly is not for me.

I didn’t wear green either. Even though I like the colour, it’s only the mossy, muted greens that look good with my skin tone. Blue and purple are my colours.

It was a very pleasant day.  I did some cleaning and vacuuming then went out and shoveled the tire tracks out of my driveway so they wouldn’t freeze into ruts. The young people who live in front of me didn’t even come outside. My driveway is a right-of-way through their driveway. It got so deep this week I almost didn’t get out.

They solved the problem of shoveling: She parks up by the road and he doesn’t have a car because he doesn’t work. So now my driveway is not their problem.

I can’t imagine sitting in my house on a beautiful day and NOT doing it. I want to get outside and do something. I’m 65 and they are 30. I also can’t imagine being 30, watching a 65-year-old shovel her driveway and not even do my own part. WTF?

The driveway is lined with cedars and stays shady all day. The other areas around my house are green! Well, brownish-green. I walked around and stood in my garden; the sun was so warm. I just couldn’t find anything else to do outside.

My porch/deck is built into a corner and is sheltered from the wind so I got my lawn-chair out and sat out a few times over the course of the afternoon. Heavenly! Today is going to be even better…. I’m getting out my lounge/lawn chair.

Got a prettier puzzle! In fact I bought two. I don’t often take down an incomplete puzzle but I was sure glad to get rid that ugly thing.

Well…… another day alone in Paradise.