We made a planter box from our old deck wood. The salvaged planks are gray and timeworn (like me).
Today, we used new wood to make our first lattice.
I like the contrast of old and new.
Beans, zucchini, sunflowers and chives.
I turn 60 in a few days. I’ve never been a gardener.
So fun to try such things!
Photo Prompt: Timeworn
Once random bits formed masses.
Those masses then exploded birthing me and my kind.
I am a small space rock, hurling at incredible speeds towards the Earth’s atmosphere.
I will burn up before I assimilate.
Almost all space rocks bearing down on Earth share a common fate.
A few make it, though.
On the third rock from the sun, they are prized and feared and worshipped.
Oh, to be one of those!
I am not unlike a billion dreams conceived and set into motion.
Once in a great while, a dream survives. Takes root.
A dream that illuminates and fascinates. That inspires.
An organized existence gives common destiny to space rocks and dreams.
Born into motion and extinction.
But, that is, for the few that make it.
Oh, to be one of those!
Photo Credit: NASA Goddard Space Flight Center
Dear Yakima School District:
Your best effort ever, according to my childhood, was the Cheese Zombie. My favorite childhood hot lunch was paired with a reconstituted, milky tomato soup. Thank you, Mom, for making sure that I had a hot lunch ticket on Cheese Zombie days.
Lunch lady. Ordinary. Plump. Hair net meticulously crowned. Drawn eyebrows. Large chest in a below-the-knee cafeteria dress. Varicose veins above sensible shoes. Apron. She is white, of course. 99.5% of the people at my elementary were white. I was barely aware that people came in an amazing array of flavors. White kids. White lunch ladies. White bread.
The Cheese Zombie was steeped in delicious carby, fatty mystery. That singular hybrid of easy starch and fat required less chewing than food ought. Dip that Zombie into sweet, hot tomato soup. For a few moments your childhood troubles melted away.
Worry over lessons. Worry over playground politics. Worry over what you might encounter on the walk home. Worry over what would be at home once you got there. All of it melted away in the gooey, warm, buttery sensation of a Cheese Zombie and tomato soup.
No wonder I have food issues and a love affair with Cheese Zombies. 🙂
No Daily Prompt. Hmm. Feels like a friend just dropped off the face of the Earth.
A friend I neglected most days, but always expected to be there if I made an effort.
I’m nursing a pouty feel just about now.
It always boils down to economic practicalities and blah, blah, blah.
I doubt any of the DP crowd appreciates the dismissal. Not really. Boo, WordPress.
We liked the community. We came to recognize and look for familiar “faces”.
There was a rhythm to DP. Now a silence has settled.
Hat’s off to Sue and Gerry! They are making lemonade out of lemons. I look forward to sharing a tall, icy glass!
- Photo by PhotoMIX Ltd. on Pexels.com
On Writing is written and read aloud by Stephen King. He fascinates me and I don’t want the audiobook to end. No re-read/re-listen will have the same effect. Not even close. What he throws at me has one chance to stick.
King recalls his storyteller roots from A to Z without putting me to sleep. You’ve got to be good to do that because my mind wanders with the best of them. Bad sometimes.
Thanks to King, I now see the adverbs in storytelling. They are everywhere. He challenges me to be judicious with adverbs, eliminating them at best. King admits even he can’t kill all of them.
The concept is firmly planted. I heartily accept this challenge. It will be hard to describe my way around those little these sweeties. Writing just got a little more complicated.
Oh, and King writes for the sake of writing. Aaahhh, just as I’d suspected. Money and fame be damned, you couldn’t stop King from writing if you tried. He writes because he must. Period. Exactly what I want from a writer! He is no lazy writer and puts in the time. Lesson given. Lesson received.
Thank you, Stephen King.
Press Photo Credit: Shane Leonard.
Daily Prompt: Complication