As It Goes

 So, now Trump is saying that doctors are exaggerating the Covid figures to pump up their take. How can ANYBODY support this miserable excuse of a human being? 

Congratulate Fio. Not only is she recovering from her battle with the tree limb, but she's discovered a way to repair the nicks and scratches on the woodwork--WHITE OUT. She's already used up what was on hand, so she'll be driving into town for a couple more bottles.

It seems odd not to have carved a jack-o'-lantern this year, but, between getting the house ready for sale and tending to her own health, Fiorella is having to cut out the non-essentials. Besides, politics are so intense that right now that Fio has a pretty good idea her artistic creation would be crushed and tossed into the woods. Yep, she lives in that kind of neighborhood.

Some people love the drama of the election build up, but Fio is not one of them. Her head aches, her stomach is turning, and she wants to hide herself in a closet till everything is over....with her candidate winning, of course.

Yes, Fiorella is crying again. The car wouldn't start, so there went her plans for the White Out and postage stamps. It's hard living alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From Woes to Writing

 Bad news--the balcony on the back of the house has to be taken down and replaced--Fio's house is turning into a money pit. To make it worse, your girl took a hit in the ribs when she was breaking a tree limb for the fireplace and it still HURTS. On the other hand, the maid was able to start Fiorella's boom box and Fio's realtor has located someone who will take out the accumulated garage trash. 

More good news--Fio is in touch with the daughter of a cousin on the maternal side, the side on which the women for the past three generations have married guys who have surnames beginning with the same letter. Put that one down in the Guiness Book of Records!

If you're in the least interested, your girl is steadily improving from the whiplash that the tree branch she was trying to turn into firewood gave her. She's still has trouble getting up and down, but apparently the only thing broken is the branch itself.

Thought you might like a teaser from one of Fio's unpublished romances. Situation: Neil has just learned his son was hurt in a kidnap attempt. His Jag had been waiting in covered parking  at the airport and since he since he didn't have any luggage to claim, Neil was able to clear the terminal in record time, but the drive into Austin took forever.  A semi had jack-knifed across the highway and brought the traffic down to one lane. Meanwhile, his fatherly imagination, flickering at the corners of his mind, had tried to paint a lurid picture of Aidan bleeding to death on a hospital table, but his brain told him otherwise. Miss Prim was in control, and she wouldn't let anything happen to his son.

Warning--Fiorella has located a cache of short stories she will soon be unleashing upon you. 

 

 

 

Updating the Move

 Dang! Fiorella forgot to take out the trash. Oh well--it'll keep till next week.

Your girl wants to get hold of some kind of touch-up paint to cover all the nicks and scrapes on the woodwork in the house. Hoping she can convince Son to pick up a pint of something appropriate from Home Depot and, in the process, grab another jasmine to replace the one that withered in its urn.

This is going to be a weird Halloween--not that Fio's neck of the woods has ever had door-knockers, but that everything has changed. Covid is its own horror show, and it plays every day of the week.

Okay, Fiorella is running behind so she'll be adding to this post as it occurs to her. 

Because of the work on the balcony, Fiorella will probably be in the house through Christmas, which, with almost everything having been packed into the garage, is not something she looks forward to. The house is beginning to echo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Little Bits and Pieces

 How I love my Shredded Wheat / My all-time favorite breakfast treat/ For crunchiness, it can't be beat/ So it's the only treat I eat 😁

What's this about Trump busing in his usual attendees, then leaving them out in the freezing cold after they'd performed at the rally? 

Eek--it looks like Fiorella is going to have to grab some mittens for her outdoor faucets when she drops by Target to pick up a few extras. Hmm...or maybe she could just wrap the faucets with shredded newspaper like Husband did.

Congratulate your girl--it took her a while, but she's scrubbed every tread and riser on the staircase plus the upstairs railings. They'll all still have to be repainted, though--white doesn't wear well, and  it's been twenty years.

Looking around, Fiorella is pleased to note that most of the boxes and bags that she has bought and that Realtor Mallary has contributed have been filled and moved to the garage. On the other hand, the cars are now parked in the driveway.

Fiorella's Political Career

Running for office can bring out the worst in a person, as Fiorella learned the hard way years ago when she ran for School Board.

Your girl had been active in the community and served two terms as president of the city Parent-Teachers Association and also gained recognition as a local newspaper correspondent so you might say she had it in the bag--except that her opponent's bag was loaded with dirty tricks as petty as dumping Fio's trash bags into other people's cans to make it look like she was avoiding the pick-up fee and as blatant as, with great fanfare, joining Fiorella's church. 

It didn't stop there. When Fio listed her  four-point objectives, her opponent (her former PTA VP, by the way) claimed the same objectives. And then there was the battle of the campaign signs. One morning Fio woke up to see her sign had been replaced by her opponent's sign in her across-the-street neighbor's front yard. Her neighbor hurried across the street and said she had no choice--that it was the wish of a dying church friend. Then there was the woman who called and asked for ten signs, which Fio delivered--but when she checked back a week later, the signs were still piled in the woman's yard. Then Fiorella learned that her opponent had told the high school special-needs mothers that Fio, whose oldest was in a special needs class for reading, was opposed to these programs. 

Not that Fio didn't make a few stupid moves on her own which she didn't realize till it was too late, but surprisingly, even with the tidal wave against her, your girl got a fairly good turn-out--but not enough. 

But maybe School Board had not been in the cards for Fiorella. When she and Husband had visited Waco in the middle of her campaign, they pounded one of her signs in her parents' front yard so everyone would know what Fio was up to, but after they left, then circled the block to get a picture of the sign, it had been removed because "The neighbors would think we were selling the house."

 

 

Keeping You Up to Date with Fiorella

 After a series of flickers in the middle of the night, the house went black, which wouldn't have been a problem except that your girl needed to use the facilities. What the heck--she had lived in this house for twenty years and could feel her way to the nearest bathroom, right? You know the answer to that. When the lights came back on, miraculously soon, she herself staring at the wall of the arts and crafts room.

It's suddenly gotten cold in Fiorella's neck of the woods so she's gearing up the fireplace again. Not only is fire the quickest way to get rid of fallen branches and paper trash, but, as you know, the pyromaniac in Fio loves to watch the dancing flames.

Friend Paula called from Vermont yesterday, and it looks like she and husband Alan will be moving up there in the near future. They plan to set up housekeeping with their daughter and her family, just as Fiorella plans to set up housekeeping with Younger Son and family. The times, they are a-changing, but THANK YOU, GOD, for telephones, email, and FB messenger.

The work on your girl's house has come to a screeching halt regarding the rotting balcony beam, but Realtor Mallary will be bringing a couple of guys over on Thursday who might be able to handle the situation. Fio will keep you posted, but meanwhile, DON'T GO OUT ON THE BALCONY!

Hooray for Fiorella--she finally got the painting of herself wearing the granny dress boxed up. It took two of the big, skinny boxes that the Bankers Boxes came in and was a bit awkward to tape, but she did it and she's proud of herself--not just for the packing, but because she used what she had on hand instead of going out and buying something.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keeping Up with the Local Scene

 Fiorella's Trumpster friend says she doesn't want to put up yard signs because she's afraid they'll be stolen or set on fire by Biden adherents. Hey, there--your girl's across-the-street neighbor has posted a Trump sign which neither Fio nor any one else has touched, although to tell the truth and remembering two years ago when she had four signs stolen from her yard, Fio's been gritting her teeth. 

Remember all the time and labor Fiorella put into boxing up the family paintings?  Well, last night, she pulled apart all the upright boxes, the ones that didn't have covers, and gave the paintings a safer, more comfortable bedding in new Bankers Boxes, tearing off the cardboard flaps and using them to protect the tops of the paintings.

Sigh....maybe, in the new house, Fio will be able to set up Grandpa's easel and turn out a few more masterpieces, but that will probably be a year away. Besides, who cares about sketches and paintings anymore when cell phone cameras are available--which your girl admits, she too has taken advantage of?

One of the two jasmines guarding the left side of the front porch has died, and someone or something has cracked the large urn guarding the right side.  GRRRRRRRRR.....

Now that the weather has turned, Fio has decided to use the fireplace to get rid of paper trash rather than continue hauling the garbage can up to the top of the road. It'll save on the heating bill too.

 

 

 

That Clock, the Weather, Art, A Complaint, Anagrams

About that antique clock, Fiorella will not be putting it in a box and storing it in the garage with the other boxes. Instead, it will sit in regal solitude on the front room shelves until moving day arrives. Then Fio will seat herself in Son's car, the precious clock in her lap, just as it sat in her lap when Husband drove her to their new residence twenty years ago--just as she hopes it will be in Daughter's lap when she takes it to her own home twenty years from now.

The weather has suddenly turned cold. Fiorella started strolling up the driveway to put some letters in the mailbox, then instantly turned back to the house to get her shawl. Sonia Dog, on the other hand, was ecstatic. 

You've seen the painting of Fio in the "granny dress" she made, but has your girl shown you the painting she did of herself when she was a bright and shiny eighteen-year-old just entering college? Her roommate didn't like the portrait, of course--remember, this is the same roommate who took Fiorella's boyfriend's picture down from the wall and stuck it in the closet.

Fio's beginning to think that Blogger's new set-up was designed to thwart poets and writers. WHAT THE HECK KIND OF CLIENTELE IS IT TRYING TO ATTRACT?

Just solved all four of the newspaper anagrams--it's going to be a good day😁

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Email, Chocolate, Halloween, Virus, Friends

 Fiorella the Magnificent has finally tracked down the problem with her email. Remember that she said everything had worked when she was on her land line talking with one of her kids? Remember that soon after each call ended, her  emails would stop working again? At first, Fio thought she herself was the problem, but then she realized that the land line was the only consistent factor so she tested out her theory and--voila! All she has to do to use her email is keep her land-line in close proximity. Anyone else had this problem?

Your girl isn't feeling good today. Maybe it has something to do with the half-dozen Halloween chocolates she scarfed down this morning. Okay, okay, she'll admit it--she ate the whole dang dozen.

This will be the first Halloween that Fio hasn't decorated, but she's closing up the house now and all her bats, witches, and pumpkins are packed away in the garage for a new house next year.

A poem Fiorella never imagined herself writing:  I thank God each and every day/ I sniff my my doggy's gas/ Because it means that for today/ God's given me a pass

The three of us hung together--Ann Chapman, Virginia Tschatschula, and Fiorella Plum--while we were working in the credit department of Sears Roebuck way back when, and Fio being Fio, she kept in touch with the other two when, one by one, we left Sears. Ann died early, but Virginia had a good run, while Fiorella plans to stick around a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Music, Music, Music!

  Fiorella grew up with music. Her mother taught Fio and her brother, little songs that Fio still hums to herself during quiet times, and as your girl grew older, she sang the more adult "There's a Tree in the Meadow" along with the record player. 

The whole family sang, and sometimes, on nice evenings, they would would go out on the front porch and sing old favorites. Yes, Dad sang too, quite well, but mother was convinced he was off key, just as, later, she critiqued Fiorella. Just as she critiqued the soloist at a relative's funeral--but by then, as an adult and with five years of voice training her, Fio knew the problem was with Mom, not the singer. Why? Probably because Mother been brainwashed since childhood about her own singing, which was really quite nice.

Interestingly enough, Mom, a natural musician, always sang alto, although, as Fiorella realized later, Mother was really, like most women, a soprano. However, as Fio finally figured out, "soprano," to mother, meant an opera singer-- "a loose woman."

As you can guess, when Fio's sixth grade teacher organized a choir, Fio declared herself an alto. However,  she got moved up to second soprano in high school, and then, when she hit college, learned that she was a soprano. That's when the fun began.

By the way, Fio's daughter turned out to be a soprano also, and she always took the high notes. Hoping granddaughter, who comes from musical families on both sides, will do the same.

From Chocolate to Dye Jobs

Fiorella took off for Walgreens this morning and picked up cleaning items for the house, then just--uh--happened to buy a couple of bags of Hershey Nuggets and some primo Halloween goodies that are only available on holidays. 

There are surprisingly few signs--just twelve--ballyhooing Trump in our large, conservative neighborhood, which speaks volumes.

If Sonya Dog could use a camera. you'd see how cute Fio looks in her orange tee, clay-colored slacks, bright pink socks, and flowerdy shoes.😋

Daughter walked your girl through all the steps and, at last, she had email again. But ten minutes after Fio hung up, it froze up. Something is wrong and it isn't Fiorella.

Yep, it happened--Son asked Fio if she died her hair. Your girl should have expected it because not only is ahel lactose persistent like her father, but also, her gray hairs, like his, are few and far between. Fio's brother is also lactose persistent and and has retained his own color. Hoping we both have Dad's longevity gene too.

Returning Home from the Hospital

From the Doctor's Office to the Evening Television

 There are moments you never forget, like when your new doctor, having looked over your and your husband's double-scarred bare backs says, "Did you two meet each other before or after your back surgeries?" Once we finished laughing, we explained that all four of the surgeries were singles, but that fate must have drawn us together.

The two-person crew was here to repairs and spruce up the house again today, and Fiorella, as usual, did her Jimmy Carter bit, grabbing a spray bottle and a handful of treated sponges to do her part on the walls and doors. There's something inside her that insists she join in the party when people are working, especially on her own house.

Fio's computer is still refusing to give her access to email, which is quite irritating. She's guessing it has something to do with her cell-phone number, long-forgotten because twenty years ago, when she and husband moved into the sticks, land lines were the only reliable means of telephone communication.

Today is Sonia's birthday, but Fiorella isn't sure if doggie is nine or ten--her papers are filed away along with everything else so that only the vet knows, and there's no way Fio can take her big lug to the vet alone.

Now, if you will excuse her, your girl wants to tune in on her favorite TV show--Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries.

 

 

Poltical Update

Fiorella does her best to ignore critiques. She knows what she is trying to do and and say, and so does God. That's enough for her.

The neighbors across the road, up the road, and further down the road have put up Trump/Pence signs to combat Fio's YOU ARE LOVED sign.  It's hate versus love and Fio thinks her team will win.

It's hard to run a campaign on the truth when your opponent is a free-wheeling liar. Even scarier is that said opponent has attracted fervent followers. Fiorella is especially fascinated by the suburban housewives, the ones who don't have to work, but can spend their time running around with other suburban housewives or whatever.

What's all this about Trump badmouthing Fauci? It's as though he thinks the disease expert is his political opponent.  

Wondering how the last presidential debate will work out. Five will get you ten that Trump will talk past his designated time and try to out-shout Biden. Also betting His Majesty will be wearing the same swollen red face and sporting the same runny nose as at the Town Hall meeting.

 

All About Covid

Strangely, the Sunday comic strips didn't seem amusing today. Maybe the cartoonists are at the end of their ropes or maybe Fio has lost her sense of humor to the pandemic.

Regarding the virus, your girl doesn't understand people who prefer teasing death rather than altering their behavior.

Please don't judge, but Fio put on her mask this afternoon, drove over to the nearest gas station, and bought a bagful of chocolate candies to rev herself up. A couple of Three Musketeers did the job.

When a person puts up a Trump/Pence sign in his yard, he is saying he wants everything to stay the same, not realizing that means everything will get worse.

Fiorella is amazed by the number of people who have escaped the virus, even though they've been up and close to people like Trump.

 

 

 

 

 

Real Life

 NOW you know why Fiorella dislikes the "New Blogger"--because it's rigid as hell, a step back into the dark ages. Not only does it refuse to allow indentations for new paragraphs, but won't let your girl publish her poems in the proper form. It also has a stranglehold on publishing dates. WHY?

Fio is not just lactose persistent, but lactose INsistent!

That big self-portrait finally came down from the stairway wall today and is leaning against the shelves in the den. Meanwhile, Fiorella is cleaning the walls and baseboards in the guest room and downstairs bathroom, her role in preparing the inside of the house to be repainted. Thank goodness that Fio's theme color was traditional white.

The lovely couple who have been engaged to bring Fio's house up to snuff stopped by with their two girls to do a little clean-up work. In the meantime, Fiorella had a chance not only to get to know their daughters, a fifth grader and a seventh grader who were utterly charming, but also to practice talking to real live people. Remember, Fio lives out in the sticks and Sonia Dog is not much of a conversationalist.

Fiorella is fascinated by the elementary-school politicians who think they're going to influence the election by mispronouncing Kamala Harris's name.  If that were the case, Fio would have penned a clever poem centered on Donald's easily-rhymable surname long ago. Hmm...there's still time.

 

 

Sorry for the Mess

Fiorella apologizes for messing up her publishing dates. and repeating herself. Trump does that to you.

 Fiorella kept switching stations to catch fifteen minutes of Trump and fifteen of Biden and back again. Biden was knowledgeable and stuck to the subject. Trump was a strange mixture of attack and defense. Biden smiled, but Trump didn't. Biden was calm, even smiling, while Trump's face was red and sweaty and his nose was running. 

Trump said there's a difference between DACA and "The Dreamers." He's wrong. Fio looked it up. 

Your girl has never given birth. Her first was a miscarriage, her oldest was adopted and her other two were C-section (11/7 two weeks late and 9/9 two weeks early). Now you know all...almost.

Fio lives in a rural neighborhood that would vote Beelzabub if he were running as a Republican. 

Tuned in TRump last night and was aghast that such a horrible creature existed on the face of the earth. His face was red and shiny, his nose was running, his eyes were wide opening, and all he could do was spew hate, misinformation, and malediction.

 

Getting Down to Brass Tacks

 It's hard for Fio to have workers in the house. She has to grit her teeth and restrain herself from entertaining them or trying to help--the last thing they need is distraction. 

Fiorella hasn't gotten any mail, not even a bill or advertisement, for two days now, which is suspicious. Did it end up in her neighbor's box again? Or is it being withheld it because she's a known Biden-ite?

With bated breath and her heart beating like a tom-tom,  your girl lifted two large, beautiful vases down from the shelf on top of the front-room fireplace, wrapped them in blankets, and packed them in a leather bench. Thanks to her mother-in-law, Fio has many antique treasures, but these two vases are in the top tier. At the very top is a clock featuring a figurine of a young eighteenth-century type figurine. It was Husband's favorite🧡

Fiorella's realtor has pulled in the big guns to help with the packing, for which Fio, who is snowed under, is grateful. Today's team worked upstairs on a leak (the man) and emptied the walls of nails and push pins (the woman). She also filled the holes left by said nails and pins. Best of all, the twosome will be back tomorrow to work more magic. 😁

Remember that silver-haired fox Fiorella is looking for? She has another specification--he must be accountant so that he can figure out her blankety-blank income tax!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boring Update of Fiorella

 Fio's computer is acting up again and she's beginning to wonder if it means that the recent malware attack caused permanent damage. She's had trouble opening up her computer ever since then as well as opening up her icons, especially her email, which is currently barred to her. GRRRRRRR....

Fiorella's Realtor stopped by yesterday with loads of boxes, lots of information, and some encouraging words today. Your girl needed all three of those, but she'll spend the rest of the day washing down the kitchen and the bathrooms.

Continued story: Fio fiddled around with her computer just now and got the email open, but then the screen shifted on its own to the Washington Post and her high school graduating class. What the heck is going on?

Hoping that the deluge of poll voters mean that Trump will meet his downfall sooner rather than later. Would like to see his partners in crime meet the same fate. Maybe the virus could be put on the run too.

And what will you be doing today, Fiorella? Still preparing the house for sale--cleaning out hidden caches, packing things away in boxes, and washing the walls. Wondering if I should go all out and repaint the walls like I did in the house Husband and I put on the market, lo, these twenty years ago.

 

 

 

Blog Blunder

Proof again that Fiorella Plum is a real person: she accidentally published part of today's blog yesterday and now she'll have to start all over again. So much for perfection.

First of all comes her salute to the kitchen, the heart of the home. It's where our food is cooked and we get our drinking water, where we store our knives and eating utensils, where we keep our table settings and towels, where our refrigerators and stoves reside. We could even sleep on the floor if we needed to--think about it.

Next comes Fio's political comment. She decided to watch the solo debates last night, switching stations at every break, and was impressed by Biden's background, knowledge, command of the situation, and willingness to listen. Trump was a different story. His face was red, sweaty, and swollen, his nose was running, his eyes were glassy, and all he could do was spew hate and misinformation. And yet, two more of my neighbors have planted Trump signs in their yards. WHY?

HOORAY! Fiorella's income taxes are on their way to the Treasury. Now to tackled her local taxes.

 

Daughter, Lover, Class Reunion, Poetry

 Fiorella has bounced up out of the doldrums again. Daughter dropped by with groceries and stayed to talk, to show Fio how to use her Boom Box, and to check on the Mercedes, which (thank-you, God) is not about to fall apart after all.

If Fio could re-do her life, she'd make better choices, but at this point, she'd like to have a well-heeled, silver-haired Prince Charming fall in love with her and set her up to do nothing but read, write, paint, compose, learn languages, and make the world a better place. Yep, Fiorella is tired of spending her days cleaning the house and filling cardboard boxes with relics of her former life.

Interesting. Fiorella's high school graduating class held a reunion recently, but, from what Fio has heard,  only about thirty graduates, mostly Trumpsters, showed up. Wondering how many of them will be able to show up at the next reunion. Sad.

The dawn gets darker every day/ As autumn winds command the breeze/ Swooping in like birds of prey/ And rattling all the trees

Fio is either/ A loner or leader/ Never an/ In-betweener

 

 

 

 

 

 

Going Down the Drain Again

 Fiorella is confused. Her steering wheel inset keeps notifying her in flashing red that she needs to check her tires, but each time she looks at them (1,2,3,4), they are all there.

As someone who will soon be in the market for a new home, Fio does not like "staging." She'd rather be able to see the naked bones of the house and dress it herself.

Every time we mechanize one of our tasks, we become more dependent on machines. Think about it.

Fiorella's Email is refusing to open up again.

Fio's accountant called and instructed your girl on how to get some needed IRS info regarding her savings account. Fiorella followed the instructions to a T and got through the bank's ID exam until it came to the phone number of her cell phone, which she couldn't remember. Nonplussed, she drove to down to the bank in her car with the wheels that are fire-engine red--and discovered it was closed. Is it a wonder that Fiorella has been known to scream and scream and scream?

 

 

From Covid to Halloween

Covid is getting closer to home. It looks like one of Fio's high school/FB friends has it, along with members of her family. Shiver.

As you know, your girl has been working like a slave to fill up cardboard moving boxes with her treasures, and this week has been devoted to the front room, i.e., the library. Since both Fio and her husband were inveterate readers, you can imagine how bare the room looks now--except for the furniture, of course, whose turn will be coming up soon.

Daughter will be coming over tomorrow to fix the headlight and low tire on the Mercedes thank goodness. Fio has many talents and skills, but automotive care isn't one of them.  But what about the Miata, you ask? Well, the dealership drove Baby Car back home a couple of months ago, and she's sat in the driveway for so long now that her batteries are dead. 

Looking through her old artwork, Fiorella is craving to paint again, but, like everything else, what she WANTS to do has to take a seat to what she HAS to do. Yep, she was brought up to be responsible. damnit! 😢

Oh--almost forgot to tell you that Fio, who put away all her Halloween decorations last year, found some old construction paper bats among the books and immediately taped them in a spiral to the front door. HAPPY ALMOST HALLOWEEN!

 

 

 

 

 

Languages, Election, Porcelain

Everything is getting more and more scary on the political front, but at home, Fio is bored, bored, bored. Filling cardboard moving boxes day after day after day is not her favorite activity. Okay, she'll admit that there have been some joys too--your girl had forgotten how many language books she has in her collection.

The fly memes on Facebook are getting funnier and funnier. Will this be the first election determined by a flying insect? When will the book come out?😁

Two of Fiorella's Waco schoolmates posted hate-filled rants about Harris and Biden today.  At this point H and B are in the lead so the best thing to do is to ignore the smears and let humor take over.

It was so obvious that Trump's balcony scene was staged. Wonder how much the extras were paid--enough to get the royal treatment in a top-notch hospital like his majesty had?

Back to the packing, your girl will finish off the front-room library today, then tuck into the more fragile items, like great-grandmother's French porcelain. There's gonna be a lost of cushioning in Fiorella's future.

 

 

 

 

Morning Thoughts and Confessions

Panic time--Fiorella's world is shrinking around her as she packs away all her pleasures and proofs of accomplishment, not knowing when--or if--she will ever be her full self again. In the meantime, her stevedore muscles are getting a work out packing boxes and she panics at the drop of a hat, partially because her life has changed so drastically, partly because of the move, partly because of the virus, which threatens us all.

Mother, who had lived in and around Akron her whole life, had trouble adjusting to Texas and constantly compared it unfavorably to the Garden of Edin that was Ohio. Aping her, Fio did the same until she was squelched by Mr. Mahan, her seventh-grade social studies teacher. "Fiorella, not everything is better in Ohio," he said gently, and suddenly recognizing what an ass she had been, Fio folded her arms on her desk and cried her heart out. It was a hard lesson, but a needed one.

It's difficult to write a blog when a Mastiff insists on licking your elbow the whole time. Fiorella doesn't know if her arm is dirty, Doggie needs to wipe her tongue, or it's some kind of weird canine love blessing.

What was it with the noodle-brained idiots who trained for months to kidnap the governor of Michigan? Delayed adulthood? Too many movies and videos? And, on the darker side, what were they going to do once they got her?

Trump is on his way out, at last, and it's by his own doing. He thought he could out-bully Covid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moving, Moving, Poem, Chocolate, Drama

 Fiorella is always drawn between calling upon her kids for help packing and not wanting to interfere with their lives. She knows she could hire outsiders to help her, but that would cost money which she is trying to hoard for the sake of said offspring. For the same reason, she has restricted her own purchases to the barest of necessities. 

Guess what--your Fio did a quick count and discovered she'd packed over a hundred bags and boxes, with more to go. Gonna have to hire a fleet of moving vans to transport everything.

When I die, seek not my grave/ For I will not be there/ But with you always, in my love/ Hovering in the air

Drove down the road to Walgreens to get a loaf of bread and wound up loaded with Halloween chocolate. Must have been a gremlin attack 😊

WOW--a plot to kidnap a sitting governor, and all because she stood up to Trump, closed down her state, and saved its residents from the worst of the virus. Hollywood would be laughed out of town if anyone made a movie like that.

 

 

 

 

 

Aftermath of Debate

It was with fear and trembling that Fiorella decided to watch the vice-presidential debate last night, but when the time came, what stood out the most to her was how much Pence's face looked like dried bread dough. Was it a bad make-up job or what? In contrast, Kamala's face was warm and expressive, complete with raised eyebrows and a confident, sometimes amused, smile that spoke volumes.

Fio caught Jimmy Kimmel's opening dialogue after the debate and it was hilarious. (How the heck did he manage to get a studio audience?)

Your girl has the blues about packing. Because of distance and the virus, the kids can't stop by and fill up a box or two for her from time to time so she has to pack EVERYTHING, herself and some of it is pretty darn heavy. Then there's the issue of Elder Son's stuff, which he left behind after his last visit. 

As you can see, Fio is still wrestling with the rigidity of the new Blogger. Thus she's experimenting with  abandoning her use of asterisk altogether because Blogger now demands a double space between entries. How does her dead space look?

Fiorella renewed her Romance Writers of America membership yesterday with the hope that she'll soon be writing, writing, writing again. The publishing world has turned upside down and around during her hiatus, but romance is still romance, and your girl has all sorts of stories stored up in her head--and heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moving On with Hope

 From the depths of despair to the top of the world! Fiorella received her ballot yesterday afternoon, filled it out, and will take it to the Election Office tomorrow. Yes, happy days are here again😁

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Another thing that energized your girl is that friend Paula called, and she and Fio spent a good amount of time laughing, talking, and solving the problems of the world--if it would only listen to them. Paula and her husband may be moving to Vermont soon, but what's a continent between true friends?

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As a kid, Fiorella's favorite mystery series was Nancy Drew, so it only makes sense that television's Miss Fisher was her adult favorite. Both of the principals were the stars of the show, the action figures, the ones who solved the mysteries, but while Nancy was as 1950-wholesome as you can get, Miss Fisher was 1920-decadent and had a whole passel of sexy boyfriends on call. Fio's not about to reread Nancy's exploits, but she has been watching Miss Fisher lately. Caution: if you decide to look the lady sleuth up to see for yourself, be aware that the settings are great, but the plots are sometimes...well...stupid.

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 Today's the day that Fiorella will work on the upstairs shower, try to put together a box for kindling, and, as usual, try to save the world. It's also the day that your girl will exercise her constitutional right and cast her ballot for truth, decency, and fair play. Here's hoping😑💛

Tearful Confession

 As if you haven't figured it out, Fiorella has been crying a lot lately. It's the loneliness, the pressure of the move, and the scary idiocy in DC. It all came together in a perfect storm yesterday when she had to navigate hell in order to prepare a gift for Elder Son in Minnesota (which he may or may not appreciate), haul another delivery of cardboard boxes inside, and keep up with all her other responsibilities. Then, in the evening, she couldn't find a decent TV show to watch, or even her old fall-back, the country-western music advertisements. 

She cried a while, then started writing down how she felt. A few accidental rhymes fell into place, which encouraged her to find more, which led to comments. Maybe she couldn't talk to anyone face-to-face, but she could talk to her computer, which absorbs everything she has to say and never lectures her for being too sensitive or dramatic. So--here goes:

I live in fear/ I live in sorrow/ What will my life be like/ On the morrow?

I automatically step away/From people I would gladly greet/Any other day

Fiorella doesn't have as much money as people think, and for the sake of her children, she is a miser.

Fio, who likes people, always tries to do the right thing, the compassionate thing, which sometimes turnes out to be the wrong thing.

Fiorella absorbs everything, but sometimes the best thing your girl can do is remain silent.

 

 

SIGRID AGAIN

Sorry to be running late today. As usual, Fiorella's life is all too full, but she's searched out a couple of pages of Sigrid's story you might like. It's set in Minnesota, where there's a fairly large Russian contingent, allowing your girl to show off what is left of her Rooskee studies.

Sigrid toweled her hair dry and rolled it around her head, then paired a wool tweed skirt with a shirt of white silk and wandered into the front room.  

Mik had left a note on the kitchen counter saying he was driving over to Elk River to track down a promising source. That meant she would be alone in the condo for once, but her ex-husband's presence was everywhere--his sweater flung casually over the back of the couch, his laptop lying open on a cushion beside one of his stupid paperbacks.

She took a seat in his usual spot and idly touched Mik's computer, then picked up the paperback lying and glanced at the title: Dead On. She already knew the main character was named Alexei and that he was somehow connected to Minnesota's Russian Mafia, and, turning the book to check out the back cover, she learned that Alexei's wife, Stefania, was being held hostage by a rival faction to force the hero to to betray his brother.

Opening the book, she skimmed through the first paragraph. Alexei was in bed with Stefania, and it was pretty hot going. 

Her nipples tightened and she sucked in a quick breath.

Wow! Mik certainly knew how to arouse his readers!

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CATCH-UP AGAIN!

 In and out and 'round about, but Fiorella seems to be on-line again. Who fixed the problem, you ask--the Geek Squad, Neighbor Michael, Click? No, it was her DAUGHTER, who has never claimed to be a technological genius, but certainly knows her way around Mack Care. It took at least an hour, maybe two, but Fiorella now has access to Facebook, Blogger, and her Email.

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During her day without outside contact, Fiorella turned on the news station and got caught up on Trump, who's apparently gone from bad to worse in the hospital, both physically and ethically. Fio doesn't wish him ill, but she doesn't with him well either. 

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Daughter also ordered twenty more cardboard boxes for Fiorella to fill. The house is beginning to look like an old-west fort.

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Did Fio tell you that she completed her five-hundred piece jigsaw puzzle this morning? 😁😁😁

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OMG, Trump staged a break-out! HAS HE GONE STARK, RAVING CRAZY?

Computers, Moving, Virus

 Fiorella now lives in a jungle of cardboard boxes, and there's still more to come--plus the furniture. A year ago, she would have held several garage sales and an estate sale, but that isn't possible with the virus roaming around. Dang! She'll probably have to $tore a lot of things.

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Your girl's computer is only partly fixed. It works like a charm for a while, then chokes up. What the heck is going on? And no, Fio doesn't want to take Baby back to Best Buy. The guys there are very nice, but think her blank stare means she understands what they're saying.

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So, Trump and wife have the virus--or is this just a way for him to get out of the second debate? If they really do have Covid, will he insist on using the home remedies he endorsed early on? What about his cronies--are they sick too? And what about Pence--is he now in control? 

     Whatever, Fio wishes Trump well as she does everyone, regardless.

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The contractor dropped the news on Fiorella that repairing the bedroom balcony will cost big money, but she knows it has to be done if she's going to make big money from the sale. Meanwhile, she is trying to save pennies by doing a lot of work herself and employing her maid again. Most of the family has pitched in too, but Fio is the one on the spot all the time. Excuse me--gotta go scrub out the bottom kitchen cabinets.

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Interesting: Fiorella can now connect with Blogger and Facebook, but not her Email.  Anybody have any idea what is going on?

Fiorella's Back in Town!

It took a week, $$$, and a kind neighbor, but FIORELLA IS BACK AGAIN!

She's also full of questions, like why had a double whammy of malware been launched at her? Your girl has opinions, but she's not exactly a star on the world stage. On the other hand, maybe the attack was personal--had Fio, who tries to always be kind, offended someone lately? Or could it have been coincidence, a mistake in a programming?

The only plus was that in her desperation for human contact, Fiorella turned on daytime TV and, EUREKA, watched two "Miss Fisher" episodes for free!

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 Did Fio tell you that in the midst of everything else, her doctor scheduled her for a coumadin check-up without being sure the proper syringes were in stock which resulted in your girl, who had sat in the waiting room for forty-five minutes, having to drive down the street to a Walgreens to get her blood properly drawn?

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Fiorella accidentally tuned in on the presidential debate and was fascinated by how red and sweaty Trump was--also by the nasty faces he made, his rudeness, and his attempt to smear his opponent's family. In contrast, Biden played it cool, focused on his audience rather than Trump, and maintained the sort of dignity required of a world leader.

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Back to her kind neighbor. It was Michael, of course. Fio is thinking of drugging him somehow, packing him in a suitcase, and taking him with her when she moves 😉

 Fio, the beloved of mosquitoes and every other carnivorous flyer, is hoping and praying for a blast of cold weather. Translation: She woke up with three bites on her face this morning.

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