Spread Out your Hair!


flare (v.) 1540s, “spread out” (hair), of unknown origin, perhaps from Scandinavian or from Dutch vlederen. Meaning “shine out with a sudden light” is from 1630s …

(It’s been a while since I was here. Things I had to tend to for work and at home, and for a class I teach at a homeschool co-op on the Constitution and Current Events. Beside all that, I’ve been fighting a sinus something or other, laryngitis, and of course my ever-present back issues. It hasn’t been a terribly happy break, but I’m glad to say I think things are slowly going back to normal.)

I thought about this shampoo commercial when I read the first definition of flare: 

Selena Gomez in Pantene commercial

Wouldn’t it be nice if just using some shampoo would give us all that kind of hair? Nope. Won’t happen. You’re born with it, or you’re not. You learn to make the best of what you have 🙂

RDP: Flare

Immersed in What You Love

RDP Wednesday – IMMERSE

early 17th century: from Latin immers- ‘dipped into’, from the verb immergere, from in- ‘in’ + mergere ‘to dip’.


Immersion can be very, very good or very, very bad.

When I first learned to swim, I also learned to watch where certain other people were in the pool. If I couldn’t see them, I hightailed it to the side of the pool and watched. At least that way I had something to hold on to that would keep me from being held under the water until I was terrified.

If you really think it’s fun to dunk someone, then go ahead and help yourself, but don’t hold anyone under the water. It isn’t nice. It isn’t fun for the one who is drowning. And it makes you a bully.

On the other hand, being immersed in something you love is a pure delight.

When I first learned the art of quilting, it was all I wanted to do. I remember feeling the same way about other needle arts. Knitting is probably my favorite. There was a time when I always had something in process. Not so much now, because of arthritic pain in hands, wrists, elbows and shoulders. Life changes, whether you want it to or not.

So I’m immersed in books. I guess I always have been, really, but now more than ever.

Immerse yourself in something you love, whether that is a person, people, family, work, hobby, exercise, etc. But be careful, because anything can be taken to an unhealthy extreme.

RDP: Immerse

The Date


Bobby loved his new ride. The old man had finally come through.

He spent time getting ready for his conquest.

Kathy had her doubts. Bobby was kind of shallow. Stuck on himself. But she was ready.

“Bobby, there’s nothing but woods out here. Turn around.”

Grinning, he parked, threw his arm over her shoulders, and leaned in for a kiss.

“Don’t! Stop!

He laughed.

Her knee found its mark. The heel of her right hand slammed his chin up: her elbow wrecked his gut. Panting and groaning, he didn’t feel so amorous.

Kathy glared. “Now take me home, you creep!”

Note: My first draft was 187 words. It was like bleeding to cut 87 words out. One of these days I’m going to have to come back to this and develop it. The characters I drew in the first draft were so much fun:)  But here it is, 

 words.  It CAN be done!

Mind Your Own

RDP Saturday: THREE

Old English thrīe (masculine), thrīo, thrēo (feminine), of Germanic origin; related to Dutch drie and German drei, from an Indo-European root shared by Latin tres and Greek treis .


“So, how many children do you have, dear?” asked the older woman who shared the park bench with Rose.

“Three,” answered Rose, unsuspecting.

“THREE? What, you don’t know how to keep from getting pregnant?” The look on the woman’s face was disdainful.

Image result for disdainful expression

“I’d be glad to refer you to a doctor who can help you. I mean, THREE children! I just don’t understand these people today who have such big families. Have they no self-control, or concern for the environment and our shrinking resources? Frankly, I’d be embarrassed if I were you!”

Rose stood, quietly gathering her things and calling her other two children to get ready to go home. Smiling, she looked up at her critic.

“Ma’am, I’m not embarrassed at all. We love our children dearly, and we’re hoping to have at least one more. I’m sorry that you disapprove. But, frankly, I’d be embarrassed if I were you.

RDP: Three

Oy Vey!

I created a mess for myself this morning.  Too late, I realized I’d typed my post for my writing blog onto  my Bible study blog instead. It was already published, and I couldn’t just delete it without having to rewrite it.  So, I figured I’d just cut/paste, right?

Wrong. Don’t try to do that, at least not the way I did.  I highlighted the post, and pasted it in a new tab for my writing blog.

Which completely changed the format, omitted the picture, and changed the font; it put everything all into one paragraph.

Took me some time and effort to make the necessary changes, but now the whole piece shows up in my “recently posted” widget and also in the “related” and “previous” headings at the bottom of the blog.  If anyone knows how to get rid of that mess, I’d surely appreciate it if you’d share with me:)

RDP: Help!

Back Then

PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

Granddad slung his game leg around the cantle, sitting sideways on his horse. He glanced over at his grandson, riding on his own pony. The boy’s eyes were as big as the full moon at harvest. They had stopped to rest, and drink from their canteens.

“For real, Granddad? People walked through them folded hills?”

“Really, Son. We had a guide who’d been through before. We loaded up on water and jerky .”

“Wow! I guess you was real brave!”

“Nope. We just knew the Indians was superstitious about them white hills, and wouldn’t foller us through ’em.”

Greatness to Goats

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

His life, from birth, was planned for him. Born to wealth and power, his education the best, he grew up believing he was invincible.

As a young man, newly married to the state’s most beautiful and elegant young lady, he was already held in high regard by everyone. His stature was indisputable. His wealth, inherited and earned, was legendary. Money paved every path.

His wife closed her eyes to his “indiscretions.” She dutifully produced an heir, and dutifully died thereafter.

Now, he has a huge gravestone and a herd of goats to keep him company.


Copyright –Douglas M. MacIlroy

He felt the tension release the minute he closed the door. She’d never understand it.  She didn’t need to. 

He loved his mess.  A male sanctuary requires no explanation, no organization, no routine cleaning.  No worry about shavings, little pieces of electrical wiring. No reason for the variety of “kept things.”  The frisbee game. The  tool chest. The wire netting. The garden tools he never used. 

His computer let him travel , using his “globe” to dream of far-away places where his pants didn’t need to be patched, or buttons sewn back on his shirts. 


Odd Word

RDP Saturday – SQUAT

Middle English (in the sense ‘thrust down with force’): from Old French esquatir ‘flatten,’ based on Latin coactus, past participle of cogere ‘compel’ (see cogent). The current sense of the adjective dates from the mid 17th century.


Image result for squat etymology

(Yesterday was a loss for me.  Some sort of stomach bug. Better today, but still not right. Anyway, onward and upward 🙂

Words are never boring. So much change in this one over the centuries.  Today, we use it in two primary ways:  Squats, as you see in the picture above.  And as in “You don’t know squat!”  meaning you’re ignorant.  I should research when that usage became popular.  I remember some of my students using  it, only they added “diddley”– you don’t know diddley-squat.

Okay, so I just did a quick check, and now I know more, but I’m not sharing it here.  If you’re interested, just google the term. I probably won’t use it again.


I think of a circle of little kids squatting on their heels, playing jacks.  Or marbles.

Or of a cowboy hunkered down by the campfire, enjoying his hot beans and hot coffee.

It’s not a comfortable position for me these days.  Old joints don’t do so well in that position.

It’s a good exercise, though, tightening and strengthening glutes and probably quads.

And that’s all, folks 🙂

RDP: Squat

That Stinks!


mid 18th century: from Latin putrescent- ‘beginning to go rotten,’ inceptive of putrere ‘to rot’ (see putrid).


Have you ever put your hand in a bag of potatoes to start  supper, and come up with a handful of stinking, rotting, putrid  goo that made your stomach turn? Image result for a rotten potato

Or have you bitten into a rotten tomato and nearly lost the contents of your stomach?

Ever found yourself gagging over the stench of a really bad baby diaper?  Holding your breath so you could clean up the poor child?

Or had to deal with stinking, slimy vomit? For me that’s the worst. I can deal with just about anything else, but that one?  First I see it, then I do it.

Putrescent is a colorful, useful word for describing  the worst kind of rottenness you can imagine.  I’ve never smelled a dead human body as it decomposes, but I’m told there’s nothing much worse, and once you’ve smelled it you won’t forget it.

That’s all physical stuff, though.  Sometimes, in my work, I have to hear putrescent stories of things people have gone through that make me want to hurl. The way one human being can abase another always, even after all these years, leaves me shocked and wondering why God allows us to continue breathing.

Physical torture is horrendous. Inexcusable. Unforgivable. Putrescent. Stinking, rotten, filthy.  But so is verbal torture; emotional torture; sexual abuse, passive-aggressive manipulation, narcissistic satisfaction in keeping other people off balance ALL the time.  People who have no conscience are capable of unthinkable, unbelievable cruelty in their efforts to control everyone and everything in their sphere of influence. There is no wrong deed that they commit–it’s always someone else who forced them to do it.This person is a great blame shifter.  Example:  “You really hurt me when you said that.”  “Well, what about YOU?  You aren’t always exactly nice to me, you know.”

It saddens me that often, marital counseling is a dismal failure because of the absolute certainty of one partner that he/she is ALWAYS on the moral high ground, always right, always must win.  That means the other partner is NEVER on the moral high ground, never right, always must lose. There is no hope of success in counseling that kind of situation unless the narcissistic partner can be persuaded to change his approach. And that’s rare.

Such behavior, to me, is just rotten. Putrescent.  Stinks to high heaven.

And then I have to turn the mirror back on myself.  I do so love to win.  To be right. To be proven superior.  I’m just nicer about it.  I’ve learned to cover it better than someone who just doesn’t seem to care if everyone knows how rotten he is, as long as he gets his way.

Don’t worry,  I’m not a felon just waiting for my opportunity to commit murder most foul 🙂 I’m just an ordinary human being who sometimes needs to do some self-examination  and ask God to show me what needs to change.

Surprising, isn’t it, how easily these one-word prompts can lead us to so many different places.  A little philosophical meandering for me today.  Looking forward to reading all of yours–no time to do that yesterday.

RDP:  Putrescent