Hi I can’t come to my blog right now.
I’m writing.
But here’s my stand in for the evening
He’s been known to tell a good story or two:
Today I was looking around for some ideas I could work into my writing journal/notebook-which is what THIS thing is supposed to be.
Anyway.
One of the ideas I ran across came from The Wish Jar and in the Jar article they suggested that you use something from your life as a source for a story.
So I thought I could manage that- I was sure that I could find something that’s happened to me or some unique quality in my 43 LONG years of life that could inspire a story.
Cool.
So I thought about it.
I thought about it for about five seconds before I got it.
Here it is:
I’m a champ at slowing down or stopping bleeding when someone is hurt.
Oh.
And I’m great at draining pus and cleaning out wounds when my pets get hurt.
You know- I think I’m going to back burner this one.
Maybe.
For now.
Maybe.
Max posted the most awesome expose
on the Cheezburger Cats–
at her blog
Consider Yourself Warned:
If you are one of the “Top WordPress.com Blogs Today” challenging the I Can Has Cats for a top spot…
those Blogs should be afraid….
very, very very afraid.

Problem with the car? Confusion over the house insurance? Need to put a shelf up? Even how do you blanch broccoli? I’ll call my dad.
He’ll always have an answer, or at least know where to find one. (Anything involving gadgets, for instance, gets outsourced to his mate John, who lives nearby in a house full of self-soldered circuit boards and half-built computers.)
But it worries me. I’ll be 40 in a few years: shouldn’t I already know how to tile a bathroom wall?
Where does Dad get all this knowledge from? Is it instinct? Was he born knowing how to replace a fanbelt? Did he rely on his father for all these life skills? Were they passed down like an Olympic torch, practicality burning down the generations?
Trouble is, I think I’m in danger of dropping it. In years to come, when my kids phone me up to ask how to reignite their boiler, I’ll have to put them on to Granddad.
I know it’s not just me – my brother and sister are the same. Luckily, despite being 70 and with one false hip, my dad is still the most energetic, indefatigable man you’re ever likely to meet.
Thank goodness for that. You’ve got years of cutting down trees and fixing curtain rails ahead of you, Dad. No peaceful retirement for you, I’m afraid. We’d be neck-deep in chaos without you.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a Flapper.
I wanted to wear those cool clothes and have that edgy haircut and have boys coming to my house in Model T Fords-preferably painted yellow.
I wanted to hang out in Speakeasys

and smoke cigarettes from long cigarette holders and say things like ” that’s the bee’s knees alright ” when something impressed me and I wanted to say in a low sexy gravely voice that could make people blush ” Did you see Anne’s new Sheik? He’s the Cat’s Pajama’s”
Oh wait.
I do say things like ” The Bee’s Knees ” and “Cat’s Pajama’s” and when a guys are off the scale gorgeous I do think of them as Sheiks ( as in Valentino Sexy and if you don’t know who he was, Google him )
And be warned nobody can do the Charleston as good as me- well, nobody my age anyway.

So how did a Punk Rocker born in 1964 find her way back to the 1920’s and come back again as an Honorary Flapper?
Other Grandmothers take their Grand-kids to the Park and to the Beach.
My Grandma sent me on a trip to the roaring 20’s.
My Grandmother and her Sisters- who in their day weren’t just on the cutting edge of the 1920’s it sounded to me like they stood on the blade itself and jumped up and down all over it.
I grew up on their stories about the advent of extreme makeup styles and short hair for women and the music- which seemed to have a preoccupation with fruit, booze and love.
When they would tell me about having to sneak out to change their clothes so that they could ‘ look modern’ and the lengths they went through just to wear makeup and find boyfriends and get their haircut short I would think how sweet and silly and innocent that all sounded.
One day after we traded a few wild stories that started because we had been discussing my music and motorcycle riding and new black leather jacket ripped up jeans and black eyeshadow and safety pin look I remember my Grandmother sort of looked over to one of her sisters and they didn’t laugh or chuckle or tell me how exciting my life sounded.
In fact, if anything they seemed a bit under-impressed.
And then my Grandmother winked and said how silly and fun and innocent it all sounded.
And looking back on it now and looking at the world my Nieces are living in and what it’s like for them now days- I’m starting to think she was was right.
“Don’t hit on Hillary, bring us all back, let her do that stuff. Leave her alone, you don’t need to do that, you are higher than that. Bring us up higher than that,” Weiss said with 82 years of experience.
Wilmington , NC. April 28, 2008