My Advice is. . .

Day 1 One Piece of Advice

June 1, 1926. American actor Andy Griffith was born. He played the role of the sheriff of Mayberry in The Andy Griffith show. He was often shown giving fatherly advice to his deputy Barney Fife (played by Don Knotts) and his son Opie (played by Ron Howard).

Share one piece of fatherly (or motherly) advice.

It can be about anything!

What one piece of advice would you give your teenage self? What would you tell a couple about to get married or have a baby? What one piece of advice did someone give you that you’d like to pass on to others? What one piece of advice would you give a new blogger

Share the wisdom!


Don’t take yourself too seriously.  Laugh a lot.  Cry when you must. Be firm, be strong, be flexible, but above all  laugh a lot. Doing so may keep you from committing acts of violence 🙂

June 1 Challenge

Clowns and Calliopes


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I have been to only one genuine three-ring circus in my lifetime.  When our oldest son was 10, he had a paper route. There was a contest to get new subscribers, and he won. The prize was a free trip to the Barnum& Bailey and Ringling Brothers Circus in Philadelphia.

He was so excited to have won this special prize for all of us.  Back then, we couldn’t have afforded to go as a whole family.

I loved every minute of it. I was just like the kids, wide-eyed and amazed. The entrance parade was wonderful, a magical stream of color, music, and amazing animals. The costumes were gorgeous, and the trick riders and other performers never stopped showing off for us. 

My emotions went from amazement to fear to laughter to shock at what the performers offered us. It was truly a spectacle.  Terry told me he had more fun watching me than he did watching the circus.

I was terrified when the trapeze artists  did their amazing flying act without a safety net. I was amazed when the lion tamer walked into the cage, ringed by several huge animals who could have killed him with a swipe of their mighty claws. I loved the clowns, never realizing how talented they really are. The elephants are so enormous, it’s hard to understand how they could be trained to do such amazing tricks. And the horseback-riding event?  I could have watched all night.

All I have to do to bring it back is close my eyes and hear the calliope inside my head.

Thanks, Mike.

Sean’s Bad Day


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Audrey gave him a blank look. She had no idea how to respond to what he had just said.


Sean didn’t understand why she was silent.  He’d expected something-anything–but this blank, silent reaction.  Audrey was never at a loss for words, and he’d been prepared for a barrage of unfriendly fire at his announcement.

“Well?   Aren’t you going to say anything?  I figured you’d have plenty to say. You usually have more to say than anyone, including me, wants to hear. So, what’s the problem?  Cat got your tongue?  Did I finally find a way to shut you up?  Wow! Maybe I should have it printed in the newspaper, “The Day Audrey Had Nothing to Say!”

He sat there smirking at her, obviously feeling he’d accomplished something astounding. He was clearly pleased with himself.

She still did not speak. Slowly, carefully, she stood, still looking at him with no expression. She gathered her purse, her keys, and her sweater.  As she headed toward the door of the cafe, he didn’t see the tears that began a slow trek down her cheeks. She never looked back. She opened the door and walked out, leaving Sean to pay for their coffee. As he handed the cashier the bill and some cash, he shrugged. “Well, that didn’t turn out the way I thought it would,” he said. He was pretty sure he’d get some sympathy.

So when the cashier, who knew both Sean and Audrey well, leveled a disgusted look at him, he was surprised. “What?  What did I say now?”

“You are a complete waste of time, Sean, and I hope that girl never gives you another moment’s thought.” She dropped his change on the counter and stalked off, leaving Sean standing there with a blank look on his face.

The Best of the Best


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So when I was maybe 19 or so, this kid who was 18 informed me that he thought I was the epitome of pulchritude.

Epitome I  understood.  Pulchritude?  Nope.  Never heard that one before. So without reacting in any way because I didn’t want to show my ignorance, I went and looked it up.

Does is sound like something you would want someone to say about you?  It didn’t to me, either.

To my surprise, it means beauty. Really?  How could such an unattractive word mean that?

But it does. Comes from the Latin root pulcher, which means, well, beautiful. 

Don’t worry, I didn’t get the big head. The guy was just working on his vocabulary, I think, and anyway he wasn’t my kind of  heartthrob. He was also very busy squiring several other pulchritudinous young ladies around campus.

Anyway, this is supposed to be about epitome.  I’ve always like that word.  I like that each syllable is pronounced. Ee-pit-oh-me. Comes from the Greek epitemnein,  which means to cut short. According to Merriam-Webster, it first appeared as epitome in print around 1520.

When I googled  for an image for epitome,  I got a whole slew of pictures of a car called a Laraki, whose links I was not allowed to reproduce.  Then I found this, which was billed as the epitome of elegance.  Yes. I can see that.


So how did it come to mean the tiptop example of anything?  Well, originally it meant quite literally to summarize something by picking out only the highlights, as in a critique of a book or play. A critic, for instance, would mention only the best part, using it as a come-on for people to read a book or see a play or hear a piece of music or view a work of art. And so it morphed into the way we use it now. An example of the very best.

For those of you who dislike this sort of academic wandering into etymology, I do apologize. I can’t help it. I was an English teacher.  I love words.

I found a new one today in my search for all this fascinating information. Foozle. It means to manage or play awkwardly.  He foozled that play and lost the touchdown. She foozled her routine on the floor competition and lost the gold medal in gymnastics.

Gotta love a word like that.  Foozle. Say it ten times in a row, fast. If you’re not laughing, you foozled it.



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Well, now I’m totally befuddled.  Earlier, the daily prompt came up “Music.” On my laptop, not here on my PC. So I went to a little trouble to search out the many posts I’ve done on music and posted the links and thought I was done.

Then, an hour or more later, after getting a shower, starting the dishwasher, throwing in a load of laundry, folding what was in the dryer, and ironing a shirt, I came in here to my PC to do my Friday Counseling issues post, decided to check the stats first on this blog, and found out that the prompt was “Fork,” not “Music.”  Hmph.

So frankly, folks, I don’t have a clue what happened. Gremlins, maybe.

I’ve come to a fork in the road. I need to get some things done before I go out to lunch, forking in the food with my daughter and granddaughter. It’s our annual Teapot Day, so christened by my granddaughter when she was about six. My daughter does this every year as my Mother’s Day gift. We’re going to a doll factory after lunch. Should be a fun afternoon.

I always thought this dude was a little creepy.  He is one of the many gods in Greek mythology, the son of Poseidon, for whom he acts a messenger. His bottom half is fishy, which I guess makes him a merman. His fork is called a trident.

My dishwasher has a basket on the door for forks, knives, and spoons.  We tend to run out of spoons first.

I have a meat fork that was part of a set of knives given to us as a wedding gift. I can’t even begin to imagine how many fork loads of beef, chicken, turkey, pork, lamb, and fish that fork has lifted.

And speaking of forklifts, have you ever wished you could drive one?  I think it would be loads of fun to lift up huge heavy loads of whatever and move them to a different location. Maybe that will be my next career.

My piano could use the guy who comes with a tuning fork.  It’s been about 1 1/2 years, and I think I need to call him.

But before I do, we need to fork over some money on a couple of other bills.

I try never to speak with a forked tongue.  Reminds me of snakes, and if you’ve been with me for a while you know what I think of those slithery fork-tongued horrors. Which leads me to wonder whywhywhy on earth anyone deliberately has his tongue forked. Yikes.  Yuck.  Ick.

Okay, I’m done.

All My Music Posts


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Really? 210 responses already, and it’s only 8:50 a.m. ?  Wow.  Lots of people must care a lot about music!


Seems I’ve done some extensive writing before on this topic, because music is an integral part of who I am.  So excuse me for a minute while I see if I can find it.

Okay, there’s actually quite a bit. I’m going to give you the links, and you can take your pick or read them all 🙂

Well.  I had no idea I’d titled three different posts exactly the same 🙂  And now I suspect that this may be an old prompt, and possibly one of my links is already there. Anyway, you’ll see a common thread running through all these posts. I love music.

How Many Times?


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Amy wondered how many times more this would happen as her feet hit the cold floor and she searched for her slippers.  How many more times would she be yanked rudely from sleep to go and tend a fussing baby?  How many times would she have to leave the warm nest of her bed to take care of a child with a belly ache, or leg cramps, or a coughing fit?

“This is our last baby,” she thought. “No more infants demanding 24/7 attention. I wonder how long before I’ll get a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep?  Ha!  Probably never happen.  I’m so much in the habit of tw0 o’clock feedings, I’ll probably be waking up Tom over there to feed him a sandwich!”

She smiled to herself as he belted the robe around her still-post-pregnancy waist. Well, for all the countless times she’d done this,  she figured she could do it a few more without going bonkers. She always managed to make it through the nights and the days, sometimes napping in her chair when the littlest ones were getting their afternoon sleep. She did dearly love her four munchkins.  It was just that sometimes she was. . . . well, just tired.  Tired to the bone.  Felt as if she’d never been anything but a mommy, on call all the time.

And then the years whizzed by in a blur of activity, work, teens, weddings, grandbabies–and she could sleep the night through except for those dratted calls of nature that seemed to beset women her age.

Well. It gave her some time to remember, as she drifted back off to sleep; to remember, and to be thankful.