We just went to the new Sandra Bullock, George Cloony movie last night. We saw it in 3D. Now I have to tell you, if I ever harboured any desire to be an astronaut, it’s gone. This was a great movie, but as Sandra loses her grip – no give aways here, we all know what happens – I held onto the arms of my seat for dear life. I Loved this and hated it, it was pretty intense. Has anyone else seen it? What’s the most nerve-wracking movie you’ve ever seen?
I’ve never understood horror movies. How can you sit down with a bowl of popcorn and watch someone get chased by a maniac with a chainsaw. To me the idea of watching a movie is to take a break from the real world, a nice break, a movie should carry me away to . . . Austenland let’s say, not Freddy Kruger’s Elm Street.
My introduction to Scary movies began when I was about twelve. My friend and I had gone to a showing of a light-hearted comedy, and as a Halloween bonus the theatre was treating us to – The Omen. Wow! Free movie, so we eagerly sat through one of the scariest movies ever made (I haven’t seen very many) and I have never recovered.
My chicken heartedness precedes me when I enter rooms with T.V.s on. “Don’t come in Mom, you won’t like this movie.” “This is scary Mom, don’t watch.” They know me well. Alas, this is coming from one who was terrified by the witch in Wizard of Oz, and didn’t sleep for a week after watching Alfred Hitchcock’s, The Birds. I won’t even tell you what happened after that Haley Jo Osmet movie about seeing dead people.
In conclusion, I am not one who enjoys being frightened. Give me Sound of Music any day.The Hills are Alive! Now there’s a scary thought.
I am a voice in the wilderness, a lone tree falling in the forest, a distant bell tolling in the wind, the sound of one hand clapping – oh, sorry, I got a little carried away. What I meant to say is this: I am one of the few people I know who will admit to liking airplane food. There I said it.
Just look at that picture. What’s not to like? I wish the food that came out of my kitchen looked half as good. To be perfectly honest, since my kids are mostly gone, I rarely even cook anymore and if someone wants to hand me a plate of attractively presented, yummy, hot food, that’s usually O.K. by me.
But on our last plane excursion there was a bit of a hitch.
My husband and I were travelling to Norway, and it was approximately Three A.M. my time – heaven only knows what time it was by the airplane clock, but it was dark and everyone else was asleep. Since I have yet to master the art of sleeping on a plane, I’d been sitting for hours, reading, knitting, and doing crossword puzzles until my eyeballs were fried. Out of the darkness loomed a stewardess who handed me a tray, presumably breakfast, and I mindlessly began to consume the pocket bread sandwich thing which was offered. As I slowly came to my senses, I turned to my husband who was looking at me.
“What is this?” he said, mid chew.
I consider what I’m swallowing. “I don’t know.” I scrabble through the litter on the floor and come up with the wrapper. “It says, Cheese Salad – shredded cheese mixed with mayonnaise and onions.”
We exchange a dubious look and threw away the remains of our sandwiches. Have you ever eaten something where the taste just won’t go away, no matter how much gum you chew? This was one of those times.
After disembarking and meeting up with our friends who were also on the flight, we began to compare notes.
“Did you eat that sandwich thing they brought us?” said my friend.
“Kind of,” I replied ” It was gross.”
“I know, cheese salad. Eeeew.”
I still like airplane food but, wiser now, I carefully examine all offerings before eating. Cheese salad, it’s out there. Beware.
- Don’t Hate on Airplane Food – It’s ‘a Minor Miracle’ (newser.com)
The Exile of Sara Stevenson, by Darci Hannah
“Trust me, Sara,” said Thomas, and then he added with all sincerity, “I will move heaven and earth if I have to so that we can be together, ye do know that?”
And so begins an epic romance. Unfortunately, due to matters completely beyond his control, Thomas is unable to keep his promise – not in the way he expected at least. I love a good ghost story, and this one has it all, The Scottish sea and a storm-tossed lighthouse, with a brooding lighthouse keeper. One reviewer calls it a haunting tale of timeless love. Continue reading
1.All through My town, by Jean Reidy
Reading All Through My Town, is like taking a walk through any small town – one populated with animals that is. Busy residents run stores, deliver newspapers, race for the bus, and meet friends. The rhyming prose is fun to read, and the brilliantly colored illustrations brim with life They brim with something else that is very special too . . . bears. See how many you can spot as you browse through the pages of this great book.
Rosie Bear says Three Paws up!
2. Too Many Toys, by David Shannon
Spencer has too many toys! He has fleets of trucks, a tub of bath toys, closets full of games, puzzles and costumes, and many many stuffed animals. Worst of all, people keep giving him more. Everyone knows that Spencer loves toys, so every time he has a birthday or holiday, his aunts, his uncles, and his friends give him presents. And they know what he likes, so they give him toys.
One day the toys become a problem. Spencer’s Mom trips on his train tracks while carrying a load of laundry. “You have too many toys!” she says. “Bring me all the toys you don’t need anymore and we’ll give them away.” They put the toys in a big box, and after all that hard work, Spencers Mom goes away for a rest. When she comes back she finds a big surprise.
This is a fun book with a great message – Spencer should keep his stuffed bear! Well, no, that’s not really the messsage, but there is another good one. Read, Too Many Toys, and see what you think.
I have a dog named Lucy. I’m creating a picture post on her, so have been thinking about her, so will write about her. She is not exactly mine, let’s call her my grand dog. A couple of years ago my husband and I had to put our faithful dog of 12 years to sleep and it was heartbreaking. Surprisingly we discovered that we were not feeling like replacing her. We missed her terribly, but didn’t miss the mess in the back yard, the vet bills etc. We were dogless. Done with that. Then my daughter’s boyfriend got her a puppy for her birthday. Oh boy – a darling little weimer mix. The boyfriend was going to keep it at his house. Hah! The boyfriend worked full-time and lived alone. You all know what happened. Now the boy friend is gone and the dog is not. She got in a lot of trouble the first summer, we tore our hair . . . shes better now, though still goofy. Good dog Lucy.
My Mom is a party thrower. She loves to entertain. She has the neighbors over for cards, for brunch, and for no reason whatsoever. I admire that quality in others, the ability to gather people together and show them a good time. My father on the other hand was more reserved. He was a truck driver, and very intelligent in his humble way. A great lover of the written word, he read voraciously.
I am my father’s daughter. I love to read and write, and am perfectly happy with no one but myself for company. My idea of a good time is to curl up in a comfy chair with Jane Austin or Charlotte Bronte, (all the better if hot cocoa or snow is involved).
Needless to say, I am not a party thrower. The very idea of hosting a big soiree gives me hives. All that preparation – deciding what to serve, the complications of a guest list and invitations – it’s all too much. Worst of all, what if nobody comes?
What if you throw a party and nobody comes? Now there’s an idea I’d like to strike from my psyche, since in all it’s variations, it holds me back from trying things I really want to do. Being in charge of the community art show for instance, submitting my writing to a publisher, or most recently, writing a blog. I get very whiney when asked to step out of the box. But over the years I’ve decided that just because it isn’t in my nature to do something, doesn’t mean I can’t.
I now have some great artist friends, some of my writing has been published, and I’ve been blogging for a month. I have 29 followers! Yes twenty-nine! Don’t laugh those of you with casts of thousands, because I am thrilled, and 29 is better than zero, which is what I would have had if I hadn’t tried.
Moving out of your comfort zone is never easy, but it can be quite fun – Woohoo!, Look at me, I have a blog! And to my small band of followers I’d like to say this – I appreciate you all, and . . . thanks for coming to my party!