Snerds and Candy (a fairytale for Julien)

The Snerd loved candy.  Oh, yes he did.  Now it’s true that all Snerds love candy, but this Snerd, was the snerdiest of them all and loved candy so much that he hoarded it depriving other Snerds of their opportunities to acquire candy.  This Snerd would cackle with glee at his bounty all stored in his cottage.

Now Snerds don’t eat candy.  Oh no.  They use it as bait for unsuspecting children.  If you study Snerd lore, you already know that a Snerd would never harm a child.  But they are big and scary looking and find it hard to make friends with the little beings they are so enchanted by.  Your average Snerd looks just like the monsters you think you see under your bed and are sometimes drawn in books.  They have big eyes and big teeth and lots of hair and fur. 

Photo by Katarzyna Pracuch on Unsplash

They don’t mean to frighten children, but they do.  And so for years and years, the Snerds have been studying ways to befriend children because Snerds like children the way we like puppies – with abounding love and lots of giggles

Our Snerd, the hoarder, would race to the store after payday every week and spend his earnings on candy to entice children.  He was frugal in all other areas of his life, so he sometimes bought all the candy which made the other Snerds mad for it hadn’t yet occurred to any of the Snerds that there might be another way to get a child’s attention.  Throughout the history of Snerds, candy was used.  Snerds experimented with different kinds and different ways of getting it to the children, but it was always candy. 

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Stilettos – The Queen Bee of Shoes

I wrote a blog post some time ago where I waxed poetic about my love of shoes.  All kinds of shoes. 

I wrote: 

Stilettos.  The queen bee of shoes.

Here I am with sequinned stilettos — a favorite!

When you are young, stilettos are just too much fun.  Even if you don’t have good legs, stilettos will improve them considerably.  If you do have good legs, men will weep.

They are indeed the Queen Bee of shoes.

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Our wa is disturbed

Today, my wa is disturbed. Our wa is disturbed.

Wa? Wa is a Japanese term the meaning of which is morphing here lately, but originally it meant harmony or peaceful unity.  It applies to personal relationships, living environments, and even corporate boardrooms. It also meant peaceful community over individuality. It’s a strange concept for westerners to grasp especially those of us in the cult of individuality. 

Which I am.

I am all about the individual.

But I am also all about harmony between individuals. 

I made the mistake of turning on the news last Friday evening. Memphis Police released the Tyree Nichols video. I only caught the tail end of it, but it was enough to bring tears.

I am in a foul mood. 

The world, this country, seems to get uglier and uglier. I posted on Facebook a meme I made.  A few people liked it. One person commented. Nobody shared it.

Nobody.

I am so tired of hearing:

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just… I don’t understand why she was wearing… I don’t understand why they won’t just fix their own country…”

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Slippery, slimy, gross, disgusting cold, wet pasta

I have written before about my dislike of vacuuming.  It’s not just dislike, it’s a visceral hatred that suffuses all of me and makes my hair stand on end.  Inevitably, the machine will clog, the belt will break, and I will end up cursing.  Every time.  Every single time.  For now, and always and forever.  This is true.  I no longer fight it.  I try to roll with the flow.

Photo by Mae Mu on Unsplash

I am also not fond of putting laundry away.  I don’t mind doing laundry so much, but right outside my laundry room door is an 11-foot old oak church pew.  Fresh from the dryer clothes seem to end up there.  And even if I do fold them, they tend to stay there.  I often dress from the church pew in the hallway that is right in front of my windowed kitchen door.  This is flirting with disaster.  I am someday going to flash somebody.

Dusting also annoys me.  I live on a dirt road.  I have 3 dogs.  I have laundry sitting on the church pew.  I have dust.  And it accumulates at warp speed.  I often say I’m running a retirement for dust.  Just as soon as I carry some of it out to the bin, a new crop arrives to take its place.  It’s maddening.  I can wield a can of Pledge for hours and admire my sparkling furniture and shelves, but by the next morning, it looks as if weeks have passed since anything has seen a dust rag.

Suffice it to say there is not much I like in the vein of housecleaning aside from making up a bed with clean linen sheets and a freshly aired duvet.

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