Tagline? Really?

Often, our blogs have taglines. But what if humans did, too? What would your tagline be?


tag line


noun: tagline
  1. a catchphrase or slogan, especially as used in advertising, or the punchline of a joke.
    So what is my personal tagline?  I have no clue whatsoever.  I don’t believe there is any one catchy sentence or phrase that sums me up, or any other person, for that matter. I mean, there are famous people who are known for their most important or well-known achievements:
    Robin Williams was a funny, sad man.
    Adolph Hitler was a monster.  Same could be said about anyone who specializes in the murder of whole races.
    Albert Einstein was a brilliant man who was misunderstood as a child.
    Andrea Bocelli is a gifted singer who lost his vision when he was a child.
    Helen Keller was a gifted woman with lots of heart who could not hear or see. She was an overcomer.
    Linda Kreger. . . . . . . . . .well, she tried hard, but she often didn’t quite make the grade.
    Maybe I’m just in a lousy mood this morning. 

I Want the Lead!

If you were involved in a movie, would you rather be the director, the producer, or the lead performer? (Note: you can’t be the writer!).


The lead performer, no doubt about it.  I’m a ham.  I love the spotlight.

When I was a senior in high school, I got to be Liza in George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, better known to most of us as My Fair Lady. It was SO much fun!  The play itself is not a musical, and that’s a good thing.  I don’t have a soprano voice, and could not have carried off the Julie Andrews  version 🙂

I’d grown up listening to my dad copy the Cockney accent, so that was pretty easy for me. The costumes came from a provider in Minneapolis, and they were gorgeous. Sets, props, everthing–it was amazing. Our director was our speech teacher, and he did a fabulous job.

It was definitely one of the most exciting things I’d done at that point in my life, and I loved it.

Yes, indeed, I’d want to be the lead!

Image result for pygmalion eliza


I Got it in the Army

Tell us a story — fiction or non-fiction — with a twist we can’t see coming.


Last night, our church enjoyed a talent night.  People sang, played instruments, recited poetry, did funny skits, told stories.  It was lots of fun.  The final piece was a skit called I Got it in the Army. 

The setup was four rows of folding chairs, two in each row.  There was a chair for the bus driver, and several passengers filed onto the bus. After the last man sat down, there was still a vacant seat. At the last minute, a man with a terrible tick in his neck and head got aboard and sat in the vacant seat.

The man beside him watched for a few seconds, and then introduced himself.

“Hi.  My name is Dave.  I don’t like to intrude, but are you in pain? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Oh, hi.  My name is Jeff.  No, there’s nothing you can do.  There’s nothing anyone can do.  I got this in the Army.”

“Well, I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks. Hey, this is my stop.  Nice meeting you.”

Jeff got off the bus, and another man got on. This man had a terrible limp, obviously was in pain, and could hardly walk. He sat down in the seat that Jeff had just vacated.  Dave watched him for a time, and then introduced himself, again asking if there was anything he could do.

“Hi, Dave.My name is Jeff. Thanks for asking, but there’s nothing you can do.  There’s nothing anyone can do.  I got this in the Army.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, Dave. Well, here’s my stop.”

Jeff left the bus, and Dave settled in with his newspaper. A third man entered the bus, making his way to the vacant seat next to Dave.  He had his arm lifted to shoulder height, and kept throwing his hand out with his pointer finger extended.

Dave waited. Paused. Said, “Excuse me, but is your name by any chance, Jeff?”

“Why yes, it is!  How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.  And tell me, that problem with your hand, you got it in the Army, right?”

“No, I got it from my nose, and I can’t shake it off!”


Meatball Oven Dish

Tell us about your favorite meal, either to eat or to prepare. Does it just taste great, or does it have other associations?


One favorite meal?  Are you kidding me?  You don’t live for nearly 68 years and end up with just one favorite meal!  But ok, I’ll go along.

There are lots of comfort foods in my life.  One of my favorites was when Mom took a nice meaty hambone and cooked it with pinto beans.  Raw fries and cornbread were the go-alongs, and in the spring she would often make a salad of wilted lettuce.  I remember telling someone about this meal once, and got a sniffy “That’s poor people’s food” in reply.  Well, duh.  We were poor.  The food was filling, delicious, and inexpensive.  Mom grew potatoes and  lettuce.  Corn meal was cheap. That meal smelled wonderful and tasted even better.

Then there was good old pot roast with carrots and potatoes, and a salad I still make with apples, raisins, bananas all mixed together with Miracle Whip. Don’t turn your nose up. It’s very good.  Try it before you don’t like it 🙂

However, the meal that I love to this day has a story behind it, so here goes.

My parents were married when Dad was 19 and Mom was almost 17.  He was headed off to the Navy a month after they were married, so it was a very emotional time for them.

They honeymooned up on the Grand Mesa

in western Colorado. Gorgeous, romantic place.

My grandma, Dad’s mother, was by all accounts a wonderful cook.   She wanted to prepare something special for Mom and Dad when they came down from the Mesa to Grand Junction, so she started looking through her recipes and cookbooks.

She had a Presto pressure cooker.  Remember those?  I didn’t even know how to cook potatoes in just a plain pot because we’d always done them in Mom’s Presto. Takes a lot less time.  Anyway, Grandma found a recipe that she thought sounded really good, inexpensive, and easy to make.  It was called  Meatball Oven Dish.  It could be prepared in a roasting pan in the oven, or it could be done in the Presto in about a quarter of the time.

It was a hit!  Everyone loved it, and it became  a stock recipe in my mom’s collection.  It’s one of the first dishes I learned to make, and I still make it now and then even though it’s usually just the two of us. It uses hamburger, carrots, and potatoes in a tomatoe juice sauce thickened  with flour from the the meatballs, which are dredged in flour and browned  before the dish is put together for the oven or the pressure cooker.

This meal has been in the family for about 70 years now, and it still tastes just as good as it did the first time.


My Life Code

Have you got a code you live by? What are the principles or set of values you actively apply in your life?


Wow, this is a hugely philosophical question that could take reams and reams of paper to answer.  So I think I’ll just make it short and to the point.

My code book is the Bible, the Word of God.  My goal is to become more Christ-like with every passing day.

In order to know what that entails, I am in the Word every day.  I love the Bible, and I love God.

There.  That was easy.


Note to Grammer Nazis:  The title of this one should read “Do you have”  not “Have you got.”  Shudder.

The One

Tell us about a time things came this close to working out… but didn’t. What happened next? Would you like the chance to try again, or are you happy with how things eventually worked out?


Carrie was in love. Permanently, deeply, irrevocably.  This was THE ONE. She had never been so happy, so full of the joy of everything. Even the deep cold of a midwestern winter couldn’t freeze her bursting heart. Perfect. In a perfect world, a perfect life, a perfect relationship with a perfect guy.

In the spring, she learned he’d been seeing someone else the whole time she’d thought he was just as dedicated to her as she’d been to him.

At first, the shock kept her from feeling the worst pain of her life.  While her brain tried to absorb the betrayal, her heart tried to keep from shattering from the pain, her body kept moving through her daily tasks. One day followed another, and she survived. But there was no joy. She was seeing flaws in her perfect world, realizing that there was a lot more grey than she’d ever noticed before.

Spring rains gave way to summer flowers, blue skies, and  new people populating her landscape.  Her old friends, some of them, disappeared with HIM.  Some of them stayed, telling her they’d never trusted him and that she deserved much better. Slowly, slowly, as August drifted into September and September joined October, she began to see the beauty again.  The colors of fall had always lifted her spirits, and she loved the crisp, cool air and the frosty nights when she could pile on the covers and sleep as soundly as a hibernating bear.

In November, her dad introduced her to an average-looking guy from his work.  He’d been invited to have supper with the family and then to spend some time working on a presentation with her dad.

He was nice. He blushed every time he looked at her.

She kept glancing at him, glancing away when he caught her looking at him.

“Good grief,” she thought.  “He’s just a guy from the office.  He’s probably a complete geek. Probably has no conversation whatsoever. Boring.”

Then her dad suggested they–Carrie and the guy–might enjoy a walk before the men settled down to work. Carried wanted to sink through the floor!  Her DAD was setting her up?  Good grief!

So they walked.  His name was Tom.  Boy.  How original was that. But she discovered he had a great sense of humor, and that he actually could talk about things other than computers.  As they turned back toward the house,  he asked her if she’d like to go for a ride sometime in his GTO.  Candy-apple red.  The car AND his face!  Sure she would.  How about Friday night?  Great.  It’s a date. 


This one’s not a player.  He’s too shy, not flirty and cocky.  Who knows?

Who knew?  Forty-five years later, Carrie was still in love.  Permanently, irrevocably, deeply in love with Tom. He was THE ONE.


Morning Tigger

Head to “Blogs I Follow” in the Reader. Scroll down to the third post in the list. Take the third sentence in the post, and work it into your own.


I’ve written before about how different Terry and I are in the morning.  He’s Tigger.  I’m Eeyore.

He Rises with morning light… I groan and roll over and pretend I’m still asleep until the alarm goes off.

He bounces out of bed, hits the floor running, can’t wait to get his breakfast and get busy with his chosen project of the day.  I stretch under the covers, sigh, reluctantly swing my feet over the side of the bed and search blindly for my slippers.  I hate a cold floor first thing in the morning.

He whistles.  I plug my ears.  He bops. I shuffle. He bounces.  I drag. He loves oatmeal.  Just give me coffee.

Once, when we were newlyweds, he came springing into the bedroom at 5 a.m. and BOUNCED the mattress, saying “Get up! Get up!  It’s a beautiful day!” After he recovered, he promised he’d never do that again. The bruises around his neck faded quickly, and I wasn’t arrested.

The down side of his morning cheer, of course, is that by 7 p.m. he’s become Eeyore.  I woulldn’t go so far as to say that I’m Tigger at that point, because I’m old now and the energy isn’t quite as fresh as it used to be.  But I’m maybe more like Pooh, cheerful in a quiet way and looking forward to an evening of good conversation, maybe some TV, maybe a walk outside in the good weather.  Understand, the conversation has to be fairly brief because he’s asleep on the sofa by 7:05. If he’s outdoors, we do much better.  He loves outdoors, and he’ll even stay awake while we take a walk.  As for watching TV, that’s a solitary activity for me even if he’s in the same room. Sometimes his snoring drowns out the sound.

Why?  Why are so many couples on completely different clocks?  Beats me.  Must be that old “opposites attract” thing going on.  There’s no point in complaining about it. He’s not going to change, and neither am I. So we’ve learned to adapt and accept, and to realize that our best “together” hours are around noon until maybe three or four.  That’s cool.  We’re both awake, feeling good, and able to communicate without bloodshed.

Compromise can be a beautiful thing 🙂


The Locket

Draft a post with three parts, each unrelated to the other, but create a common thread between them by including the same item — an object, a symbol, a place — in each part.


World War I had come to America.  After sitting by for too long, the country was finally mobilizing to enter the European  mess, and America’s young men were signing up by the thousands to go “Over There” to keep the enemy from actually invading America. The eyes of the world were on  the war effort in the United States, hoping that this young, energetic country could put an end to the misery.

Joe wanted to give his sweetheart something to remember him by. One day he spotted the perfect gift; a beautiful gold locket with pink flowers embossed on the cover. He persuaded Annie to have her picture made, and he did the same. The tiny portraits faced each other when the locket was opened, and Joe like to think they were embracing when the locket was closed. 


Fran was a neat, orderly person. She couldn’t stand mess, and she’d never understand how people could keep things in attics, sheds, barns and basements that would never be used again. The house she and Ed had just purchased proved to be a rat’s nest of discarded boxes, trunks, suitcases and bags that they hadn’t noticed in the main part of the house. Everything had been shoved under the rafters, into dark corners, anywhere it could be covered and camouflaged. But now, Fran and Ed were faced with the job of clearing it all out.

As she worked, Fran shook her head in disgust.  Moldy, ancient clothing. Mildewed books. Papers that fell apart at a touch.  Ed was thrilled with the discovery of some antique tools, but she only rolled her eyes in despair.

One day, she came across a wooden box.  She blew the dust off, and was surprised at the intricate carving and lovely painted flowers. There was no lock, and the lid opened easily. Inside, there was an assortment of old jewelry. Most of it was junk. But there was one piece, a gold locket with pink flowers embossed on the cover, that struck her fancy.

She decided to keep it.


Lauren loved antique stores. She and Cody had spent many wonderful hours poking into the nooks and crannies of  wonderful shops that had everything from trash to treasure.  Lauren was a crafter, and she was especially adept at taking old jewelry and recycling it into retro pieces that were wildly popular with young women.

As she poked through the pile of jewelry from an estate sale, she paused when the flash of gold struck her eyes. Digging carefully through the mess, she pulled out a lovely old locket that had pink flowers embossed on the front. Carefully opening the locket, she gazed at the faded faces of a young man in World War I uniform and a pretty young woman with thick, piled-up hair. Wondering about their story, she decided to buy the locket.

One day, after she had cleaned it up and decided to leave it intact, she noticed a handsome young man browsing through her shop. He paid special attention to the jewelry.  She walked over to him, asking if she could help.

“Yeah, I really like this old-fashioned locket.  I’m looking for something special to give my girlfriend before I leave for Afghanistan. Can you tell me how much it costs?”


My Biography

If you could have any author –living or dead – write your biography, who would you choose?


Jane Austen, because her elegant use of the language appeals to the English teacher in me: because of her humor and insight into human nature.

Georgette Heyer, because of her delightful characters and her laugh-out-loud humor. The people in her stories get into the most ridiculous predicaments, yet almost everyone lives happily ever after.

Elizabeth Cadell, for her humor, grace, and gentleness.

Humor gets the prize.  Elegance comes in second. Impeccable research and understanding of human nature also get the nod. Any one of these three women would be just fine with me.