Friday, September 11, 2015

And the Winner is . . .

Drumroll, please! As Rod Stewart sings, "Oh, the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum, and the words I love you rolling off my tongue. Never will I roam, for I know my place is home. Where the ocean meets the sky I'll be sailing!" Catherine! Hahaha! Blade II is on in the background, and Scud just said "Cool. Mama's got a brand new bag." Remember Scud? He's Darryl now, on "The Walking Dead." Anyway . . . Congratulations Catherine! I had to Google the answer, and you're right. You answered correctly!

Now, this answer is from libraryspot.com:

Current popular explanations for the origin of the phrase "graveyard shift" reference the 19th century problem of accidentally burying people who were still alive. To prevent this from happening, the story goes, caskets were equipped with a bell-ringing device enabling a waking "corpse" to notify the world that they were no longer dead. The graveyard attendants who remained vigilant throughout the day and night worked the graveyard shift.

According to Michael Quinion at World Wide Words the above explanation is merely a story and nothing more. He explains that the "graveyard shift is an evocative term for the night shift between about midnight and eight in the morning, when - no matter how often you've worked it - your skin is clammy, there's sand behind your eyeballs, and the world is creepily silent, like the graveyard. The phrase dates only from the early years of the twentieth century."


See? I thought sitting up with the dead, known as having a wake, put an end to the need of the old string and bell rescue trick for the not-quite-dead. I wonder what happened if the bell rang in the cemetery, and no one heard, like the tree that falls in the forest and there's no one there . . . 

Speaking of things dead. We've heard of dead letter mail, right? Did you also know it's no longer so-called dead seeing as how it was never alive anyway? Well, in a sense it was alive as long as it was moving in the direction of its destination, or was being returned-to- sender. Dead mail is now simply "undeliverable." Well, wasn't that worth a "we interrupt this post for late-breaking news about the undead" kind of a big whoop? "Live and learn," I say. But I know someone somewhere wants to know more. Such as: 

"Classification as a dead letter is one of the few instances where postal personnel are allowed to violate secrecy of correspondence, ostensibly to search for clues as to the letter's origin or destination. Countries must also set up regulations for the disposal of dead letters, particularly when they contain items of value. Some very valuable items have turned up in undeliverable mail, including a stolen painting by Marc Chagall which turned up in a United States Postal Service sorting center in Topeka, Kansas.[3]This bit is from wiki! For more of the skinny about dead mail, read on by following this link ----> No Return Address. Is your head filled with half as much possibly-useless information as mine seems to be? I believe there is an answer for every question, and I have a lot of questions. My prayers are riddled with thanks for the Internet and all the people who make it so.


Trial and error doesn't hurt either. I won't know if this will be a yea or a nay until after I hear from the recipient. I have sticks of brittle sealing wax that need using instead of tossing. I use it on journal pages occasionally. For instance? I tuck souvenirs inside envelopes and seal the flaps with wax. Brittle wax cracks. So, I used just enough LINECO's adhesive to cover the edges and top of the seal with a light coat. It dries clear and easy. Now all I need to know is, Will it survive The Mangler?


Remember the corn meal, flour, and borax recipe? Well, guess what. I left this quill in the bag of mixture overnight, and . . . ta-da! I believe it worked! Only Minuet is sneezing and sniffling worse than I did. She's had cold symptoms for three days running now. I need to hurry up and dry clean the turkey feathers! 

I had sushi for lunch. I bought food to cook. Do you ever wish we didn't need to eat in order to survive? Do you ever forget to eat? I had lunch but no dinner. No breakfast. I need a cook chef. I need to smoke some weed to kickstart my appetite too. Maybe I should eat some weed since smoking it might give me lung cancer. Marijuana is a herb, so why is it against the law to use it? Tobacco has its good uses too, as does alcohol, but you see bars and liquor stores everywhere, and it doesn't increase anyone's appetite. But anyway . . . Just as I turned to leave with my groceries, I spied this bag. I bought two! Mama's got another brand new bag. These are the postcards I've been searching for! Along with the matching stamps. I want to kick myself for not buying them back when Ace had them. 

Greetings from The Lone Star State indeed. Just for that, I will never visit the Alamo. Like it cares. 


I've never liked Ft. Worth. It's worse than Dallas. 


I sorely dislike Big D. Can you tell? Wow. I guess it shows.



This one is an insult. Beaumont??? But not Katy? Katy has more actors and actresses than Beaumont will ever have. Heck. We used to be the rice capital. Beaumont. Pfftt! I have a slew of relatives in Beaumont though. It just goes to show I have better taste. 


Now, Galveston is another story. Well, it used to be a good story, but lately it's more about flesh-eating bacteria, the red tide, inedible fish, and other facts that might make great episodes for . . . Oh. And what's that serial killer's name? The millionaire? Durst. Robert Durst. "American Horror." That's the show.  Have you ever visited Gal-vest-ton? Used to be you'd detour into Mickey Gilley's on your way, but that was such a long time ago. Long after Glen Campbell longed for her sea waves crashing--back when he was twenty-one. Goodness. I loved Galveston. Back when a swim suit fit like a second skin, when a date was two rides on the ferry, and a single round trip was just the right amount of time to get in a whole lot of necking. 
  

Here's the flip side. Of the bag. The colors and weathered look are so cool it's almost nostalgic. They look the way I often feel when I see old photos of me in a swim suit. Grinning is good for your facial muscles! Try it! 


What do you think of this? You see it a lot here about. Sometimes I feel like I could use a fresh coat of paint, then again I feel just as spruced up when I wear something other than yoga pants, a tee, and clogs. I am uniform if nothing else. Just like the the lone star flag.


Yes, I have my barbed wire moments too. I'm pricklier than a prickly pear, and peevish when necessary. I hated barbed wire when I had to stoop to get through. I never failed to rip something or bleed every time we came within spitting distance of each other, but Aunt Pauline never-ever-ever had a mishap, not even when she made space for me to creep through. Barbed wire loved hems. Mine always hung. My socks always crept down my skinny legs and found refuge bunched up under my heels. My little mama was forever telling me to pull up my socks. 


I heard "Get up off your rusty butt" a lot too, when I was growing up. The Tin Man must have had one for sure, right? I finally get it now, since I think mine is rusting. It has too be 'cause I promise I can hear it creaking when I sit for long spans, or when I walk more than is called for. This photo reminds me of Ove. 


Some days I feel penned in when there's so much space to explore around me and I can't get to it. Used to be if you couldn't find me at home, you knew I'd be roaming the back roads and pasture edges, jumping ditches, and talking to herds of horses and cattle while they posed and we'd chew the cud a spell. Calves and yearlings have the sweetest smell. 


This has always been my Road to Wherever. I finally followed it one day. I wish I hand't. The road is long. There's one wind. The other isn't a wind at all; just a dead end. The mailbox is gone now. It left with its family before I finally mustered enough courage to photograph it. By chance I discovered another one instead! My new choice is less likely to get me shot at. Or simply shot.

I wish you good mail, one and all.










6 comments:

  1. oh wow yes katy does have a lot of people I know one for instance was on American idol and I believe her name was kim something . Forget her last name but I'm sure I will tell you when I remember LOL . great post as always .

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    1. It has to be all the rice they eat. :) Or the wide open spaces. Perhaps the fine tuned their talents by singing to the herds? Thanks for the thumb up. :)

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  2. okay so let me do this again ; Big d dallas LOL I wish I could remember that girls last name that was on idol that was from katy tx this has been eons ago . great post dear

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    1. Aw, come on now. Dallas has always been known as Big D. :) They used to have a super store that rivaled Wal-Mart back when I was a girl. I bought a cheap birthstone ring there for $1.98. I wore it only occasionally during our week's vacation in Dallas because I honestly thought they'd sold me a real diamond by mistake, and would want it back. My cousin stole it. :)

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  3. Limner--I have a special pal I call "the little Texas Gal" who would love that bag you got -- can you tell me where you found it? Thanks. i love the weathered look of the postcards...

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    1. Sure I can tell you, girl. I bought them at the Kroger's food store up the road from our subdivision. Our store doesn't have them yet. Is the chain in your state? There's also another beauty. It's a beautiful cowboy boot.

      I Googled the bag but didn't find them online. I did find the vintage postcards. There are just too many of them to buy today. :( I'll save them for my next fun mail campaign.

      You're a great friend for wanting to buy a bag for a friend who can get it herself. That's thinking outside the envelope. :)

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