Grab your current read
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Share two (2) teaser sentences from somewhere on that page Be careful not to include spoilers! Make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away. You don’t want to spoil the book for others!
Share the title and author too, so other TT readers can add your book to their TBR lists if they like your teasers.
My teasers are:
I don’t want to be houseman where people look at me as if I were part of a wall.
But I don’t know how I’ll ever get a college degree and rise in the world with no high school diploma and two eyes like piss holes in the snow as everyone tells me.
– From Frank McCourt’s memoir ‘Tis
You were lucky here that that somebody lent me the Frank McCourt at book group last night. The alternative would have been our group choice for the month: Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe.
Then again, if I’d done this meme a week ago – you’d have been regaled with some choice titbits from the BT Repair Project Guide: Getting to the heart of the problem on your line. Real gripping stuff!
There’s been excitement in the house today as Mr M realised a long-held ambition – to have a kilt. Those of you who follow me on FB will realise that the topic has caused slight ‘disagreement’ twixt self, spouse (and my Scottish cousins) as to whether as a Sassenach, he’s actually entitled to wear the thing; especially as it’s me who has the Scottish connection, through my late mother’s family. His assertion that if it’s ok for the Duke of Edinburgh to sport one, it’s good enough for him has carried little weight up until now…However, he’s worn me down. After all, anybody who possesses the staying power to tramp through mud, heather, mist, parties of disgustingly smug German and Dutch hikers and hairy Highland cattle with me last Spring is entitled to some compensation. So here we are. What the best-dressed Octoberfest drinker is modelling this autumn: Mr M in his ‘Scottish heritage,’ (our family tartan ‘Gunn,’ motto-‘Either peace or War!’ is far too expensive to wear for a mere p***-up!)
And now, to slip into something more comfortable…
This one is for Cal and Japes.
Many moons ago, you’ll remember I blogged over in Greenpatches about a momenteous decision that the beloved and I needed to make. Would we or wouldn’t we? To green or not to green? It was a big step to take, one that would have repercussions not only on our own self-image but on the delicate psyches of our nearest and dearest. We thought about it. In my case – prayed about it. We sat at the feet of image consultant gurus. (Well, ok, for that read consulted the great god Google). And waited…in trust. And, our patience was rewarded. The GGG moved mightily in power, and well..might, offering us a way through our dilemma. To cut both a long story short and putting all my mixed metaphors into the proverbial nutshell: it came to pass that there was Greenbelt, and a big, green, foldy tent thingy; umpteen layers of bedding, a spare groundsheet, a kelly kettle with accompanying kindling, sundry layers of woolly thermal underlayers, three year’s worth of carefully amassed hiking gear, a fetching pair of floral ankle wellies, a stinking pair of walking boots, a socking great 60 litre backpack; the lot topped with a dainty garnish of chintzy bunting, oh, and myself. And nothing to carry it in.
Then it came to me. I hied myself to the GGA (no prizes for guessing this one) and behold! There it was; verily an answer to prayer: a ‘Festival Trolley.’
It did the job brilliantly. Mr M being A New Man is delighted and can be regularly seen with it and the dog in the shops and round the market. (Though not round the market with the trolley and the kilt). He’s convinced, converted, a Born Again Trolleyperson. Our neighbour remains to be convinced, however. Never mind, we’re biding our time…
There’s a distinctly Autumnal feel round here today, hence I’m indulging myself with an old favourite . In our case it’s not only autumn leaves drifting by our window, but sprinklings of ash, following from an unscheduled bonfire in the next street. Around 10.45 pm yesterday, we were about to lock up when we noticed a burning smell. Thinking it might be another electrical fault; the dishwasher blew earlier in the week, we tried to track down the stink. Then Mr M looked out over the garden and spotted flames nearby. Thinking it might be a fire on the old school building site, and being an over-fussy Mummy (OK, I’ll admit it, a nosey so-and-so as well) – son was at a friend’s birthday do just up the road – I made my way up the street to find that the fire was much nearer than we’d thought. Down a nearby cul-de-sac, sundry neighbours,mostly in their night things, were out on the street watching a clump of trees burning away merrily. Thank goodness it rained yesterday, otherwise it could easily have spread further than it did. As it was, the flames were only ten feet or so from the nearby houses.
Any old how, the fire brigade arrived, doused the remaining flames and hosed down a couple of cars that had got covered in ash and embers. Nobody was hurt, damage was minimal, which was the main thing, and the general thought was that the fire had been caused by somebody chucking a cigarette end down in a nearby alleyway. So – quite a frisson of excitement for our neighbourhood – which is normally quite peaceful. Still I will admit to a smidgeon of disappointment at the fire brigade. Though lovely, the fire brigade weren’t quite the hunky chaps I’d anticipated. Pathetic, I know. I blame all those episodes of Fireman Sam I used to watch with the children when they were littlies.
Never mind, all cleared up now. Some of the nearby cars and gardens have a delicate sprinkling of ashes, but the rain will soon clear it away.
The photo above, of course is entirely unrelated. I’ve done all my Greenbelt catching up over on my other blog – here, here and here but thought this snap was suitably Miffy-themed so deserved a place on Musings.
It’s been a mixed experience for me again. Looking back GB seems to have fallen into an alternating pattern of one good, one bad, one good, one bad for me. Actually let’s now say more ‘mixed,’ than ‘bad’ per se – as long as I can learn from the experience and I’d say I have. A couple of encounters, there and elsewhere recently have underlined the importance of letting yourself be seen to be vulnerable and when appropriate, saying things as they are for you. So, beginning as I mean (hmmm) to go on, I’ve been back to a piece I was struggling to write, have rehashed it in the light of GB, completed, and sent it off. It’ll be interesting to see what sort of a reception it gets.
Why is it that on the rare occasions I decide to have a lazy Saturday morning, there’s always, but always a ring on the doorbell? So it was that today at 10.15am, the mellow tenor tones of Miffdog announced the arrival of a group of JWs: one elderly and one young lady plus a little boy decked out in a spotless suit.
What they must have thought when they were greeted by this dishevelled woman in unmatching pyjamas, porridge-streaked dressing gown and rainbow striped toe separator socks God only knows. I guess they must be used to it by now.
7 April does not exist, in the archival sense of the word. Having nicked 2010’s entry for yesterday’s post, I’m now suffering from severe lack of bloggery: 08, 07, 06, 05 – there is nothing going on on that day; at least, anything worth wibbling about, anyway. And in April 2004, I was wandr’ing wild and free, happily unfettered by the chains of modern technology and social networking.
Yes, I’m so lazy I even pinch other blogger’s post header ideas! 😉 I Am Another Blogger who suffers from serial procrastinitis and acute inability to put finger to keyboard, even though I’m hardly lacking in topics to blog about: contemplative prayer, art journaling, spiritual direction, CAP Close The Gap campaign, Richard Rohr, Greenbelt, Green churches, pilgrimage, back exercises, pilgrimage planning (hence back exercises), Franciscan tertaries, mystics, ornamental cabbages…Life on Mars…