Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Fiorella on Wednesday

Fiorella and Sonia took a walk in the woods this afternoon, Fio to pick up rocks to complete the border around her front garden, and Sonia to chat up her dog pals to the south. The rock hunt was quite productive, although Fio overloaded her bucket and had to dump half of her finds where she could (hopefully) pick them later, and Doggie only found one of her friends out, probably a boring one because while the other dog yapped its heart out, Sonia slept.
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Earlier in the day, Fio gave her grocery list to sweet daughter. Yep, the milk and Shredded Wheat are getting low. How long will this isolation last? It's giving Fiorella more time for herself, but it's also DRIVING HER CRAZY!
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Speaking of groceries, Fiorella boiled six eggs from the carton Daughter bought for her in her first grocery trip a couple of weeks ago, and they were the best egss she'd ever had. None of the shells broke, all of the shells came off easily, and the taste of the eggs was out of this world!
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Whew, Fio finally heard from her only cousin on her mother's side, and everything is okay in her neck of the woods, or at least as okay as it can be with the coronavirus ruling all out roosts.
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Fiorella's doctor is going to give her a six-month check up  over the phone in April, which should be interesting. She'll tell you if there are any surprising result, like, "You're pregnant!"

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

Poem to My Children

Fiorella may have posted this poem a couple of years ago, but she's going to repost it now because, in these dark times, her children need to hear it.

             To My Children

When I am old, so very old I stink
 
Of unwashed underarms and brain cell death,

So old I shake, my spine and stature shrink,

I whistle, quake, and rattle with each breath--

When I am old, so very old I drool,

And age spots big as elephants appear--

When I forget my name and act the fool,

And talk too loud because I cannot hear--

Even when I'm angry, trapped in rage,

Become a miser, call each dime misspent,

When I am cruel and stupid with my age,

When I reject you, scotch your good intent--

      Remember, once I loved you of my will,

      And in my heart of hearts, I love you still ๐Ÿงก


Monday, March 30, 2020

Fio on Monday


Somehow, your Fiorella messed up her posting dates again. She's beginning to think that the Mac has it in for her.
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Today is her self-assigned tax day, and Fio is not looking forward to it. Wouldn't it be wonderful if she had a live-in accountant?
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It's hard to watch as Trump leads his lemmings off the cliff. Doesn't he understand he'll be killing off his supporters?
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Aha! Your girl finally remembered the name of the author who wrote post-apocalyptic books for teens. ANDRE NORTON was a park ranger in real life, but apparently counting deer left her with a lot of time on her hands.
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Just got another edition of the high school class newsletter, and everyone seems to be writing his obituary. Of course, we're all the same age, but Fio thinks the times we're living in have something to do with it too.
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Happy to report that Lolly's story is moving along. Actually, working on it is Fio's greatest source of joy right now--probably because it's the only thing she can control.
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Life goes on, even with the virus whispering overhead. Fiorella has some wildflowers now, and the trees are leafing out. Your girl has been doing some rock harvesting to improve the improve the looks of the place, but there are still some places in el parke that she's like to shape up.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Cotton and Lolly Shape Up

Fiorella is feeling the best she has in several months, and it's all because this afteroon, she shut out the whole world--taxes, probate, erosion, house, coronavirus, everything---and immersed herself in Lolly's story. Here's a sample:
      Cotton sat down at his desk, picked up his grade book, and ran his eyes down the attendance page.  Two weeks into class, and Miss Redlander hadn't missed a day. She'd aced the daily quizzes too.
     He snapped the book shut and tightened his jaw. Dios, he wanted her to drop the class, to get out of his life--or at least move away from front row, center. Now he understood why males and females used to be educated separately. Those laughing eyes, the cloud of sexual energy that seemed to float around her....
     He frowned. There was nothing he could pin her on, but she was too much of a distraction, not only to the other students, but to him.
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Yep, it's a teacher-student sort of thing, but Fio has reversed the usual set up of an older man seducing a younger woman. This time, it's the younger woman on the hunt, and she knows what and WHO she wants.
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Did you see relationships like this when you taught college, Fio? 
Well, there was a little hanky-panky and a fair amount of rumors, as I remember, but nothing like the sparks that will fly between Cotton and Lolly.
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Why do you write romances?
(1)Because they always end happily, although who knows what goes on after the book ends, and also because (2) all life ends in tragedy, and I want to spread happiness while I can.





Saturday, March 28, 2020

What a Day!

So, what did you do yesterday, Fiorella?
     Well, I worked on Lolly's story and was really moving along until Sonia Dog decided to flop herself upon the open computer, which put it out of order for the next two hours as I tried various remedies, then contacted daughter for Mac Central's magic phone number again, then called in, then waited for an hour and a half and called in again, then waited about fifteen minutes more before a WONDERFUL woman named Tracy not only told me how to fix the problem, but totally enjoyed my story of how Sonia Dog had thrown herself, stomach first, on the computer, probably because it was nice and warm, like mommy.  
     P.S. Tracey said that cats sometimes do this, but it was the first time she had ever heard of a dog doing it. (Remember, I always told you Sonia Dog is special!)
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Speaking of Sonia, remember how, in a bid for attention, she scratched Fio's arm? Well now, either because she's apologizing or likes the smell of dried  blood, she keeps trying to lick the band-aid.

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Fio forgot to report that in the morning, when she went out for the mail, she brought back six rocks to line her front garden with and intends to search out six more every day until the edging is complete.. Piedras also play into her new plan to handle the backyard erosion.
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Oh, this is a biggie--Fiorella finally remembered the name of the author of post-apocalyptic books for teens that she liked so much way back when: ANDRE NORTON!
     Anyone else remember her?
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Sometimes I wake up rosy
Sometimes I wake up black
But however it is I wake up
I cannot take it back
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Friday, March 27, 2020

Crossing My Fingers

Fiorella has a superstitious streak in her a mile wide. She remembers how a cold dread ran through her when a relative and his family came to visit and the wife handed her a knife as a hostess gift, saying that's all she could find lying around. Fio tried to be gracious, but all she could think of was when she was a child and Great Aunt Helen gave her a penknife, then asked for a penny, explaining that you should always do that when someone gives you a knife so it won't turn on you.
     Unfortunately, Fiorella was too flummoxed to give relative's wife a penny, and the next thing she knew, Wife had left her husband and there no more family visits.
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Let's get this straight--Uncle Sam expects Fio to put together her taxes while the coronavirus scare is going on? NO WAY!
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Fio has told you she lives in isolation on acreage, as do her neighbors. but just how isolated we all are was demonstrated when the mailperson put North Neighbors' church mail in her box instead of theirs. Guess what? They're LUTHERAN, just like she is, and for almost twenty years, she's never known it!
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Wonder upon wonders--even though she stupidly got her lawn cut too early, she does have bluebonnets in front of both sides of her horse-shoe driveway! Now to get a picture of them for FB๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’™
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Fiorella finally located the first thirteen chapters of Lolly's story in which her heroine has to face problem after problem. Now, if all goes well during during her "sheltered"  durance vile, Fio will occupy her time by writing six or so chapters in which the story will come to a climax, then a satisfying ending.

Thursday, March 26, 2020

How Is "Sheltering" Going, Fio?

Fiorella actually ventured outside yesterday--to mail letters at the post-office drive-through, gas up the car, and maybe stop by the Walgreen's drive-through for a refill of Hershey Nuggets. She was able to stick the letters in the mail slot without problem, but when she stopped at the gas station, she realized she'd forgotten to pack a credit card. Luckily, a nice older man opened her gas tank for her (which she still can't do) and filled the tank up--no charge, and all at a six-foot distance.
    Unfortunately, no one showed up to buy her some chocolate.
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Your Fio spent most of the rest of the day putting the pages of Lolly's story together, then lining them up on the breakfast counter to skim through. Wow! That story is hot, hot, hot! Now to finish it off and consult writing friends about the latest in publishing.
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Once and for all, Gwen, a fellow Wacoan, is off Fiorella's Facebook list. Yes, you may remember when Fiorella de-friended her a couple of years back when she attacked Fio full-throttle, but when she started attacking Fio's friends, your girl leaped into the fray again. In a depraved way, it was fun to tangle with someone so determinedly uninformed, But Gwen has gone beyond the pale now--with all of us, I think. It wasn't a matter of her politics, but her attitude.
     Fio should add that she herself has other friends, REAL friends, who disagree with her politics but have never called her names or threatened her like Gwen did.
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Sonia Dog scratched Fiorella's arm, then tried to lick it well again while she was typing, then put on a hurt-feelings face when Fiorella refused her ministrations.
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Sad to say, Fiorella has had a couple of bad visual migraines lately. Nothing to worry about, but they do interfere with her reading and writing. As always, she blames stress, but has there ever been a time when she wasn't under stress?