Friday Fun Fact

The shortest relationship in my history on this planet is with my paycheck.

It barely spends time with me and rarely takes me out to dinner or the movies.

Anyone else feel the same?

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The hubbinator and I have been together 33 years. Imagine my surprise when he said he couldn’t clean a greasy pot.

So here it is in all its glory. How to clean a greasy pot (FYI this does not apply to a cast iron pot). This is the remains after cooking some bacon:


Scoop out the grease and dump it in the garbage. Not down the sink. Grease and sinks don’t mix.


Get as much out as possible and it should look like the picture above. Then add soap (no water) directly to the pot. Using a wet greenie (this is the scrubby thing) soap up the dish and clean it. The soap will do most of the work if you don’t add water to the pan.


Then rinse with hot water (the hot water is more for the drain-grease and sinks don’t mix, but soap makes it go down easier).


Dry and put away.

Et voila. It is done.

Until next time.

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Doom Box

This is the first of two posts that somehow got turned into a page.

If you have Netflix, then you know the magic of the list. The place where you can add items to watch. Items that catch your fancy while you’re scrolling through the categories. Items that Netflix recommends to you but you don’t want to watch at the moment.

And so the items sit, waiting patiently until you have the time and inclination to watch.

And sit.

And sit.

Until the box of doom appears. You know the one—available until…

I admit my heart thumps painfully when I see that box of doom. Suddenly, the movie, show, and documentary is no longer patient. It’s impatient.

And the clock is ticking.

So now the prioritizing begins. Can I watch 13 one hour episodes in a week? I definitely try:D.

Sometimes I power through.

Other times, I get partway in and then we part ways.

And sometimes I forget to scroll through my list and miss the doom box, later to realize something is missing.

Ah, well, there’s always a DVD option.

Until next time.

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Happy Valentine’s Day

I hope you spend the day with someone you love and doing something you love.

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Free for a limited time

Extinction Level Event

Six months after an Influenza Pandemic swept across the globe, the world is starting to emerge from quarantine. But Pestilence Free Day is short-lived. For an unseen enemy has just been unleashed.

Redaction-WEb.jpgRedaction-WEbFive people. Seven days.

A brilliant scientist with an apocalyptic forecast

A soldier that needs an enemy to fight

A college student venturing into a changed world

An insurance salesman who exploits every opportunity

A juvenile delinquent desperate to leave his past behind

Redaction: Humanity is about to be erased from the Book of Life


Barnes and Noble 



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Green Gravel

It is a well established fact of life, that when it rains, weeds grow.

Every weekend, I work for an hour picking the weeds out of the gravel. It seems to be a bit of a coincidence that as soon as one of the neighbors sees me plucking weeds, they start to work on their own yards.

And usually finish long before I do.

One hires someone. Another just whacks the weeds and rakes up the bits, leaving the nubs to grow again.

I sit on a folded yoga mat and pluck the weeds, one by one by one.

I’ve filled half the garbage can full of weeds and last year’s leaves and still I haven’t managed to pick the weeds from over 20% of the front yard.

Ah well, the work is slow but it allows me time to plan world domination, or maybe just my book.

Until next time.

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The Best Laid Plans

are often the ones the universe pokes off the rails.

I was quite proud of my accomplishment to keep my writing on track. Apparently, that was enough for the universe to say, oh, really? How about this.

And so, here we are day 7 in a new month and I haven’t written in 5 days. That makes me sad.

But determined.

I plan to return to my writing schedule this evening and maybe even make up some of those missing pages.

As most of you know, it isn’t the number of times you get knocked down that matters—only the number of times you keep getting up.

Until next time.

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