Found at this site
First made aware of this credit goes to Pottermom.
What has this started for Der Bingle and me? Let’s see, Anthony Quinn, he was Greek . . . and wasn’t he in the movie The Cows of Navarone?
Since those of us who are over a certain age and went to college when Freshman courses were basically dictated by the curriculum and therefore toted around our Western Civ books, can we consider the theory that moose evolved from cows? Oh, forget that, it’s a stretch.
It looks so much worse than it is, but, gosh, it’s fascinating. But not fascinating enough to look again.
Lana, you are so right; my angels were wiping their brows . . . and now they are giving me a good talking to.
LADY IMPALES SELF ON RETRO TV STAND LEG.
When I was little my father was very diligent in trying to teach me to be careful – handwashng, avoiding rusty things, never leave sharp objects in a potentially dangerous position. On and on and on with the cautions; sometimes it seemed overwhelming. But he was right.
A couple of days ago I was moving stuff around in the den and upended an old TV stand I had picked up at a garage sale. I thought it was nifty – steel tubing fashioned into four legs and a horizontal TV support that included sliding parts to accommodate TV’s of various widths. I used it as an easily moveable stand for computer accessories: printers, scanners. Since I use a laptop, it made it easy to set up shop anywhere.
Now, when I upended it, I did think of those four tubular legs poking up into the air, but I ignored the thought; I mean, Hey, it’ll be all right. I was all wrong.
I had scooted some firewood away from the hearth while I was moving stuff and I forgot that and turned around and tripped, sending myself flying flat on my face. Between the floor and me, though, there was a table leg. I wish I could claim some James Bond/Jackie Chan great maneuver that allowed me to avoid it, but it was luck, pure luck that caused my body to turn slightly. I do remember a flash of fear: I’M BEING IMPALED.
And then I wasn’t. I was only poked about an inch, on an angle and I hit the floor as the leg pushed on my rib or sternum. Who knows – it hurts in the general area when I touch it. And I don’t touch it often.
This is what resulted:
Old dogs need to remember and heed the lessons they were taught as pups; luck may not always be positive.
I’m not certain I know how to pronounce this name, but I think when I first saw it along with the band of purple weather that is due over my head Friday night, I exclaimed RATS – or something to that effect.
National, this is MATEO:
Yeah, it’s going to be FUN.
It’s not so much that I mind the storm; it’s the elongated bullseye. On the other hand, if I owned a Hummer with all the bells and whistles, I would probably be waiting in said “car” eagerly anticipating the first snowflake. But I have a Buick; it is front wheel drive with a good solid 3800 Buick engine – and it still gets stuck where my driveway meets the street. You see, there is a road that intersects my street at a “T” just one house to the south; and the wind whipping down that street makes a drift in the street in front of my driveway which the snowplow moves into my driveway entrance.
Now, that’s not real bad – at first. I can drive right out through brand-new snow (unless it’s a major blizzard), but then there are ruts that form and repeated trips by the snowplow make it worse. Snow-packed tires in deep icy ruts bode ill, as in plague ill . . . and one winter it took three people shoveling and an ATV with a cable to get me from where I was stuck half into the street.
I have used a snow blower, a shovel, high-quality ICE MELT and if I am very lucky there are times when I don’t have to “run the ruts” which is not unlike running the bulls as far as jostling and disaster are concerned.
This is a rambling, whining complaint. I don’t feel any better for it. You probably don’t . . . so I suppose I should have added warning flares to the post title.
Groundhog Day has come again, and once again I refer you to the left sidebar.