Christmas, Husband. Computer, Writing, Politics

Fiorella's Christmas decorating begins tomorrow, December 1, so today is the last day for her to finish up her Christmas card and take it to FedEx Kinko's for Dan to print out. She'll also start pulling boxes down from the garage shelves. It's also the day the guys will be back to check their roaring fans and maybe turn them off. Fio is tired of wearing ear plugs whenever she is at home.
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Husband is home from the hospital now. Hoping that he remains well over the Christman season. Good thing that the kids are going to cook the family dinner.
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Fiorella's computer konked out on her, but a quick trip to Travis fixed it--some programs needed updating. Wondering if Fio could get updated too. On the other hand, there are some years of her life she'd rather not relive.
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Hoping that Fio will be able to write freely again, without the constant Dell pop ups. She NEEDS to write, to express herself, to create stories, to explain her point of view, to do her part to make the world a better place.
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Speaking of a better world, the political news is at last sounding GOOD. Apparently Mueller has Trump cornered and the Orange One is twisting like a carp on a spear.

Raining from the Ceiling

Fiorella has not been happy with the way Husband forgets to turn off burners, even though she's posted a sign about the stove to remind him, but she's not such a hot shot with fires herself. She tried to build one in the fireplace, but it died in five minutes, then smoked up the house. Nothing like having to open the back door and turn on the overhead fan in  52 degree weather.
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As Fiorella was talking on the phone with friend Suzy in Britain yesterday morning, she realized that the kitchen ceiling was  dripping. PANIC! WHAT IF THE ENTIRE CEILING CAVED IN? No choice but to cancel that get-together with friend Paula, then call the plumber--and she had been so looking forward to the Austin meet-up.
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First the hot water system, then the shallow lake on the kichen floor. Hmm.... Fio is getting suspicious of the way Husband always manages to be in the hospital when household disasters occur.
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Never one to waste time, after ranting and raving at the air for a minute or two, Fio started working on this year's Christmas card. The sonnet was finished, of course, but now came the card itself. Don't tell anyone, but Fio is backing the poem with one of her gold wraps  the ones from Russell Stover. Trust your faithful reporter--it'll looks cool.
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The day that the kitchen ceiling dripped was also the day that Fio ran out of las toallas de papel (paper towels), and she couldn't run down to H-E-B and grab a case because she was waiting for the plumber.

Weather, Husband, Hospital, Slippers, Starbucks

It was 32 desgrees outside this morning when Sonia Dog woke up Fiorella and insisted on being let out. There was a chill in the air so Fio pulled on her winter robe before opening the door, but Sonia ran out into the yard with her tail up and wagging, then bounced around the yard like a pup. Apparently 32 degrees is her kind of weather.
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Fio spent most of the day by Husband's side in the hospital, where he's being checked out for weakness, balance problems, nasal congestion. Never one to sit by idley, she would have bolted out the door and driven home a couple of hours ago except that she started playing with her cell phone and discovered how to use some of the apps and--wonder of wonders--she also figured out how to get on the hospitals' internet,which allowed her access to Facebook, her email, her blog, and everything else she likes to keep up to date with.
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UPDATE: It looks like pneumonia again so Husband is in for at least an overnight stay at St. Davids. No problema. Fio's getting used to running the whole show--with Sonia Dog's assistance, of course.
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Good news--the scuffs Fiorella ordered from a catalogue arrived today. She now has one pink pair and one red pair to keep her little piggies warm as she pads around the house this winter on the downstairs floor, which is concrete.
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Fio took a break from attending to Husband in the hospital and drove over to Starbucks for lunch--two chocolate chip cookies and a big cup of milk. You can imagine her delight when the barista recognized her from previous visits and wrote FAMOUS AUTHOR on her cup.

All About Poetry

Hooray, hooray, hooray! Fiorella has finally finished her Christmas sonnet. It took her about a week, on and off, but sonnets are complex and call for a lot of thinking time. Now to figure what kind of border to put around the poem. Right now, Fio's leaning toward doing something with the gold candy bar wrappings.
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Fio has to admit that it would have been a lot harder for her to write the poem without her trustworthy rhyming dictionary, the big green-covered one she got for Christmas when she was in her early teens and had started writing poetry. It's about three inches thick, and Fiorella wants it to be among her grave goods. Sure, there are slick-covered ryming dictionaries on the market, and sure, one can find abbreviated rhyming dictionaries on line, but that big green book has it all.
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Okay, Fio can't hold back. The poem is called "Aspects," and it's about the four aspects of Christmas--joy, caring, prayer, and, of course, love.
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Did Fio tell you that she's trying to amass a collection of all her old Christmas cards, which span more than fifty years? Not all of the cards are poetry, of course, and not all of the poetry is a sonnet. It usually depends on how much time Fiorella had available that year. Or how much inspiration strikes yours truly.
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Fio will call upon Dan at Fed-Ex Kinko's to print the cards again. He's done her proud for many, many years now, and she tries to pay him back by posting a picture in Facebook of the two of them holding her finished card. She'll try to post the same pic on her blog, but don't hold your breath--Fio still doesn't know how to do that.

Pre-Christmas Preparations

Fiorella is preparing to get prepared for Christmas. No, she hasn't unloaded the shelves in the garage yet or dragged in the venerable Christmas tree, but she has started amassing a pile of gold medallions that used to contain chocolate on the dining room table, otherwise known as Command Central. Yeah, Fio may be trying to downsize the house in general, but when it comes to Christmas, she keeps coming up with new and wonderful ideas, like pasting those gold Russell Stover chocolate bar wrappers that she collects onto a pieces of paper to keep the wrappers from tearing. Hmm...chocolate medallions, chocolate bars--do you sense a pattern?
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Fio's planning to use those sparkly silver pipe cleaners to tie her outdoor swags onto supports placed along the driveway again. She's also bought packages of the twisties in other colors to fasten those gold medallions to the tree she's going to decorate in the south meadow. No chocolate involved there.
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Good news for the poets among you--Fio's Christmas sonnet is almost finished.
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It's the time of year when Fiorella feels the urge to get together with friends she hasn't seen for a while, but Former Friend is not on her list. Fio wishes her well, but, sadly, thinks FF has played this game brfore and will never find a friend who satisfies her.
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Husband has put a toy drone on his Santa list. Fiorella has a new chainsaw on hers. Think about it.

Life with Fiorella

Nature rules. Whether or not Fio gets a full night's sleep depends on whether or not Sonia Dog needs to go out in the middle of the night. When Fio wakes up every morning depends on when the resident cardinal decides to start sharpening his beak on the dining room window.
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Fiorella has finally realized why she has such trouble with electronic devices--because she doesn't like to follow directions. From childhood on, she has preferred doing things HER way.
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OMG! Fio just remembered the telugu word for book--which is pustakum, if you wanted to know, and it was all because Humana sent a guy with an Inidan surname over to the house for a home health check yesterday. Fio greeted him in Telugu, Hindi, and Malayalam and asked him to take his choice, but it turned out he was from NEPAL--the first person Fio has ever met from Nepal. Fortunately, he also spoke Hindi so Fio let loose with ap-ka-se-heh, which she didn't even know she remembered. Of course, she was bouncing around the rest of the day with the idea that her lost languages might be recoverable, which apparently stimulated her Telugu brain overnight. (The reason "book" was the first to fly up from the dustbin is that Mr. Krishnamurti commented on all the books on the front- room shelves.)
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To continue the story, Fiorella's medical check-up went just fine. She even passed the memory test-- rice, table, money--which was to her mind a readaption of the memory test her primary care physician gave her last year--table, apple, penny.
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"You don't multi-task, do you," Husband said to Fio the other day when she asked him to turn down the TV volume because she was trying to write a column. Dumbfounded, Fiorella didn't answer. Multi-tasking is Fio's life. She is a woman. 

Travel, Gandbaby, Journalism, Politics, Attire

Fio gets a kick out of burning up the asphalt as she zooms down I-35 to Austin. It's pedal to the metal in the 80 mph lane and holding tight to the steering wheel all the way.
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Now that Grandbaby has figured out what her legs are for, she won't quit. Her favorite gait is a gallop💓.
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Fiorella is tired of talking heads and speculative "news." Whatever happened to straight reporting? Fio wants to know what has happened and what is happening, not what might happen. (She's also tired of over-sweet human-interest stories, most of which she thinks have been rigged.)
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Let's forget about party labels. The basic devide is betwen those who are trying to make the world a better place for everyone and those who are out to make it a better place for themselves.
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It's all jeans, slacks, or shorts in the boondocks. Fio hasn't worn a dress since way back when.

From Thanksgiving to Zuckerberg

Fiorella had one of the best Thanksgivings of her life at Brother and his wife's place yesterday. The food was great, but the company was greater. Bastrop son, his wife, and their toddler were in attendance, and Baby stole the show. As soon as she got over new-environment shyness, Baby not only explored  the house but warmed up to everyone in it--including Fio, which thrilled her beyond bearing.
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Three deer stalked across the street in fron of Fio and Husband as they drove out of Brother's suburban neighborhood. Amazing--Fio's never been able to get that close to deer out here in the boondocks.
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On the way home, Fiorella couldn't help but reminisce about visits to Osceola Mills, Pennsylvania, where her father's relatives livedand died. The get-togethers were a lot like the one she and her cousins had in Ohio three months ago--telling stories on themselves and laughing and laughing--but somehow the laughter of the great-aunts and great-uncles seemed louder and fuller--like it would make the earth wobble on its axis.
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Tragedy in the making--Fio may have lost the Christmas poem she was working on while she was in Austin on Wednesday. She'll have to call Starbucks, Dan's Hamburgers, and her neurologist's office this morning to see if a yellow writing tablet has turned up anywhere.
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Fiorella isn't the only one that Facebook is screwing with. Apparently Zuckerberg is having such a good time being a celebrity that he's letting the business go hang. Tell Fio again how infallible electronics are.

BUEN DIA DE ACCION DE GRACIAS!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Fiorella and Husband will be venturing into Austin for the traditonal turkey dinner with Brother and his wife, Daughter, and Bastrop son's family. Fio is hoping Brother's mother-in-law, who is now in assisted living, will also be able to attend.
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The family will all be celebrating Brother's birthday too, and he doesn't know it, but, going against the no-gift rule, Fio has has had a thick-paper copy made of the cover of the family-reunion Shutterfly book for him as a present. She'll also take the book itself so he can see what a good-looking clan he's part of.
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Claro que si, este entry will not be complete without su Fiorella butchering el espanol. Thus, tenga un buen dia de accion de gracias a todos!

One of Fio's Science Fiction Stories.

This is a start of a story Fiorella wrote about twenty years ago and is now revising. 

It was after midnight in the warehouse district, and the street lamps were so far apart that Leonie melted into the darkness during her trek between them. The bums and beggars, the pushers and users, had packed up for the night, and the wheeler-dealers had found brighter lights and more exciting venues. Except for an occasional rat splashing down the rain-filled gutter, she was alone as she pushed Dodie's gimp-wheeled grocery cart along the cracked sidewalk.

Almost alone. 

Someone was following her, slipping from alley to alley in her wake. And he was hungry.  

Hungry for her. She increased her pace.

Headlights slashed across the blackness, reflecting on the asphalt still wet from the late-evening downpour, and a dark car purred slowly into sight, a big black Ford with a police emblem emblazoned on its side. The driver was staring straight ahead, but the guy sitting shotgun turned in her direction.  

Were they just patrolling the neighborhood or working with the shadow who was on her tail? It wasn't unknown for crooked cops to hook up with crooked shadows if the payoff was big enough. 

Leonie took a firm grip on the handle of the unwieldy cart and picked up her pace. Night, which hid all, was her friend. Just a few yards more and she'd duck into the alley, shift herself out of Dodie's identity, grab the tote she'd hidden under the pile of plastic bags, and make a run for it. The guy who was following her would be thrown off scent and the cop would never know what had happened to the old woman dressed in layers of ragged clothing.

     But why had she caught his eye? People usually ignored bag ladies, especially one trundling a shopping cart loaded to overflowing with plastic bags full of God only knows what. 

The big car abruptly swerved to the curb and the man who had been watching her leaped out and was on her so fast that she couldn’t swing into the alley without overturning the cart and revealing the canvas tote... and its contents.

He grasped her arm and stared down at her, his pale eyes glittering in reflected light. "Hold on there, Dodie. You're moving along way too fast." Leonie risked an upward glance at him and didn't like what she saw. Her unsmiling captor looked like a Teutonic god--tall and broad-shouldered with short-cropped pale hair that glowed neon under the street lamp.

He was human, but more than a plainclothes cop, she thought. Maybe somebody higher up in the ranks? But why was he targeting her? Dodie was a fixture on the back streets of downtown of Greenville.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other cop circling around behind her. She sucked in her breath. They weren't taking any chances. They knew she was an unregistered shadow, and this was a bust. 

Non-political Post

Fiorella has lost her favorite red lipstick and knows the only way to find it is to buy a new one--sigh.
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Why do people let other people control them--virtually enslave them? Nature, nurture, what?
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Congratulate Fio, she is back at work on a romance--not on Sabrina and Bram's cursed story, but an old one she'd almost forotten writing. It's a shapeshifter thing, actually, and she's using it as bait for that screwy SAVE and taking iPhone shots of every mischief her machine throws at her..
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Fiorella's been out in the woods a lot lately, dragging cedar branches onto the the side of the driveway for her wonderful yard man to dispose of. She's also picking up oak limbs and branches for firewood. (PS: Don't tell Husband because he doesn't know it yet, but Fiorella wants a new chainsaw for Christmas--either that or her old one totally checked out and overhauled.)
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As soon as she finishes this blog, Fio's going to be ordering some scuffs from a Christmas catalogue. She's wanted some for a while, but apparently they're only available during the winter months.

Silver, Sonnet, South Woods

Nowadays, an engaged couple will ask for cash to help cover a European honeymoon, but in the oldern days, brides were inundated by silver--plates, candy dishes, cups, platters, everything you can imagine--apparently with the presumption that said bride would someday be hosting a dinner for British royalty. Fiorella displayed her own take on shelves and coffee tables for years, but Elizabeth never called, styles changed, and the pretty pieces turned dark so she decided it's time for the silver to find a new home. She'll keep the flatware, of course. She hauls it out every Christmas for the extended-family get-together, and Sir Christopher is a good pattern and still in demand, which means her lucky heirs could sell it off to finance a trip to Europe.
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Yes, your Fio is working on a Christmas sonnet. Now, if she can just find her trusty rhyming dictionary, the one her parents gave her for Christmas when she was in high school. Yes, Fiorella knows there are several rhyming sites on line, but none of them are as comprehenive as her old faithful.
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Three cheers for Fiorella. She escaped to the woods yesterday afternoon and not only found some good rocks to shore up her driveway edging, but also cleared a good part of the south woods next to the road of fallen cedar branches and cut saplings. Fio likes thing to be neat and clean, and clearing off cedar trash also lessens the fire risk.

Facebook, Chase Bank, and Roger Beasley Mazda

Hey, hey!  Fiorella is back on Facebook, maybe because of the sharply-worded note she wrote on a slot she found further down FB's page. Now to conquer the endemic SAVE problem, which she has learned from writer friends endemic to Dell. Fio's current plan is to use a short story she wrote several years ago as bait, catch SAVE in the act of erasing her revisions, then post photos of the offense on FB. Maybe somewhere down the line, she'll talk to Dell about getting the offending mechanism disabled.
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If you've wondered, Chase Bank still has not fulfilled its promise to send her the 300-some dollars it owes her. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
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If you want to hear a feel-good story, let me tell you about Fiorella's visit to Roger Beasley Mazda in Georgetown yesterday afternoon. Remember that Fio's baby car, a 2002 Miata, is on its last legs--er, wheels--so it was with a heavy heart that Fio drove it to the shop, hoping that Richard, who'd repaired Baby's front fender last year, could work another miracle. As Fiorella waited like an anxious mother, Weldon, the head honcho, struck up a conversation with her about life, politics, and making the world a better place, which Fio thoriughly enjoyed. Half an hour later, Richard, a big smile on his face, announced that Baby Car had been repaired, no harm done. Yes, Fio loves Georgetown's Roger Beasley Mazda. 💓
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GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Dear Stupid Facebook: 

I do not appreciate being thrown off Facebook and denied further access until I send you "proof " that I am me, a real person. Not only have I posted several pictures of myself over the years on your pages and held several conversations with friends over your Messenger, but my name is so unique that I am the only one in the USA who claims it. And to add insult to injury, while you have given me a list of items I can send you to prove myself worthy, you have NOT told me where to send them or how--by air, by dog sled, by US mail?

Nothing to do but wait until Monday and drive over to Click Computers to consult Travis, who knows everything. It won't hurt me to have two days off.

With anger in my heart,

Fiorella Plum

From Tongues to the Universe

Bon jour, meine fraulein! Nee how ma! Gahvahreetzee lee vwee pahrooskee? Get used to it--Fio tends to go language crazy every now and then. Aloha, mis amigos! Feliz el accion de gracias, which she hopes means "Have a happy Thanksgiving!"
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If given the chance, Trump would claim credit for the sun in the morning and the moon at night.
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Trump is not a conservative. He's an opportunist. His only goal in life is to get away with highway robbery.
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To my kids: thank you, but I doubt of my paintings will end up in galleries. I didn't make a name for myself. Besides, I paint true, not fantasy.
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Fiorella woke up in the morning with a perfect understanding of life, death, and the universe. Then the dog bounced downstairs, and Fio forgot everything.

Decorations, Woods, Gramp, Writing, Photos

As you've probably realized, Fio doesn't believe in buying holiday decorations when she can make them herself. Not only can she do it better, but she also saves money, which suits her inner Scrooge.
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Life is so wonderfully simple when Fio goes out into the woods and gathers rocks, identifies dead trees, or hauls in fallen branches. Then she returns to the house . . .
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Gramp, Fiorella's mother's father, was a great guy most of the time--until he got loaded. Fio's guessing a lot of alcoholics are like that.
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Fiorella, you write about things like alcoholism, child molestation, and sexual misconduct in your romances. Why? Did those things happen to you? No, but they've happened to other people, and I write realism--and redemption.
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It strikes Fiorella--who grew up in the era of Kodak and Poloroid--as weird that she now takes her photos with a "phone."

Getting an Earful

Ear plugs--what a wonderful invention. In fact, they may have saved Fiorella's marriage as well as her hearing. Husband likes to watch action shows like NCIS--the ones that have sound tracks with repetitive dissonances to keep viewers on the edge of their seats--and without hearing aids, he would turn the volume up to a level that made Fio cringe or flee to another room, which irritated him. Now that Husband is wearing the hearing aids--most of the time--the matrimonial bliss has improved, but there are still times when Fiorella can't even think because of the TV volume or because she doesn't want to listen to Husband's choice of programs. Enter the ear plugs.
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Before Husband had his new aids, he would often ask Fio to repeat what she had said, and sometimes accuse her of speaking softly to give him a hard time, which she did not do. In fact, to save his pride, she developed the habit of speaking loudly and over-articulating, a habit that he called her for once he had the aids.
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Husband, who sees no reason why loud volumes should bother Fiorella, has been talking about taking her along with him on his next visit to the hearing aid store and having her hearing tested. Fio doesn't have a problem with the procedure, as she's told him before when he suggested it, but he's never followed through. Actually, Fio probably will trot off on her own one of these days to get her hearing checked because she's noticed that upper registers now sound like clashing banjos to her.

A Good Day

Fiorella dropped by Walgreens to pick up the family prescriptions, and, of course, she couldn't help but peruse the candy aisles, which she expected to be fairly played out after Halloween, but Walgreen's was one step ahead of her. Yes, even before Thanksgiving (which foodwise is a turkey and pie holdiday), the pharmacy's shelves were filling with Christmas chocolate. Accepting her fate, Fio bought a couple of chocolate and marshmallow Santa faces (they were jack-o'-lantern faces at Halloween), and ate them as she was waiting for the pharmacist to okay her prescrition pick-up. She also grabbed six five-inch-across chocolate quarters, two in silver, four in gold, because somehow chocolate in shiny wrappers tastes better, and also because she's planning to use the wrappers to decorate the cedar tree in the south meadow like she did two years ago.
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Every door in the house is standing open today, and it's exhilarating. The weather is mildly cool, with no mosquitoes in sight. Aah, for a hammock--but who is Fio kidding. She'd lie in it  for three minutes, squirm a little, then hop out and bounce around looking for what needed doing, like shoring up the rocks along the driveway and dragging firewood onto the porch to dry it out. (This paragraph was written the day before the temps dipped down to the forties. It's definitely not hammock weather now.)
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Husband turned on the TV to the new version of  The Sound of Music, and Fio started crying because she immediately realized why the show had been pulled out of the dustbin--because the story had become so relative to what's going on in the country right now--good people having to deal with a creeping evil.
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WARNING, WILL ROBINSON! Husband has attached a keyboard to la Senora Computadora to see if the dreaded SAVE sign pops up, which might be able to tell him and Click what is going on with Fio's nemesis.
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Okay, Fiorella confesses. She bought a whole box of Russell Stover Christmas chocolate bars and hid them in the back of a cabinet (alacena.)

Considering...

Fio's thinking that the next time she attends her high school reunion, she should wear a big placard on her back that reads "I'M FIORELLA. WHO ARE YOU?"
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Is there anyone out there who's come up with a simple, easy way to protect campaign signs without getting arrested for injuring said thief?
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Dear Google: Yes, I flee to the stories on the British royal family stage show every now and then because I get depressed with what's going on this side of the pond, but that does not mean I want my news feed "tailored" to my "preferences." I want to see ALL the news and decide for myself what to read.
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It's deliciously cold outside now, and Fio loves it. Bring on the snow!
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Fiorella was quite impressed by herself when she read through a couple of chapters of that book she sent you an excerpt of on Friday. It bolstered her self-confidence, which has been battered time after time these past two years, mostly by the eccentricities of electronics.

From Bug Bites to Badass

Congratulate Fiorella--it's been more than a week since she's had a new mosquito bite.
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The table in the dining room, which Fio uses as Current Project Central, is now cleared of Halloween and will soon be covered with Christmas. Has she ever told you how much she enjoys holiday decorating?
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Your Fio was sick yesterday, which she resented mightily. She tries to make the best use of her time and lying on the couch for most of the day does not fit into her game plan.
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Hey, did you like the snippet of Sigrid's story that Fiorella fed you yesterday? It's from a romance she wrote about ten years ago that won a fair number of contests, but never got published, which Fio intends to remedy as soon as she finishes Sabrina's story and Lolly's story, none of which she can do until la computadora is cured of the nasty habit of rejecting revisions.
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Want to know what a badass Fio is? The second she decided to attend the Wednesday afternoon electronics classes at the local library, it closed down for remodeling. But that will not stop her. She will wait it out and pounce the second the library reopens, just like she will not stop writing novels despite setback after setback. Just like she will continue to try to make this world a better place despite her campaign signs stolen and her heart being broken.

From an Award-winning Romance

Adjusting her jacket, Sigrid examined herself over in the full-length mirror.  The medium-weight lavender pantsuit would keep her warm while the white blouse with a perky bow that tied tight under the neck would keep her modest.

So far so good.  She looked like a Lutheran nun.

After skinning her hair back into a bun so tight it slanted her eyes, she slipped pearls studs into her earlobes and swiped on a bit of lipstick.  No need to do the whole bit today.  She wouldn’t be on camera.

She moved up closer to the mirror.  Hmmm . . . her eyes looked bald.  Maybe a little mascara wouldn’t hurt.  She rolled the wand across her lashes and checked again.  Good, now she could pass muster. Her goal wasn’t to look like a complete dowdy, but to put a damper on any sexual appeal she might have for Mik.  She didn’t want him to get the impression she was interested in another scene like the one this morning.

In fact, they’d better reach an understanding about that sort of thing. It was an aberration and would not be repeated.

            Mik--what would he wear?  For a second she thought of changing to slacks and a sweater so he wouldn’t look so shabby compared to her.  But no--too bad.  He should have thought of that before he started this stupid charade of his.

            After one last glance in the mirror, she marched down the hall and out into the living room. 

            Mik stood up when she entered and her eyes went wide.  He’d shaved, tied back his hair, and somehow come up with gray flannel slacks, an open-collared white dress shirt, and a camel hair sports jacket, which she could tell at a glance had been custom tailored. 

            “Where—where did you get the clothes?  Don’t tell me they were in your backpack too.”

            He gave her one of those smirky smiles she hated.  “The concierge brought the rack up.  Thought I might need change clothes so I had a couple of things sent over from New York when you were gone yesterday.  .  Amazing what one can do with FedEx and a credit card, isn’t it?”

            She picked up her purse.  “Let’s go to the car,” was all she could think of to say.

            They were alone in the elevator.  This was her chance.  She turned to him and cleared her throat.  Make it short and sweet.

“Mik, what, uh, happened between us earlier was an anomaly.  I’m not blaming you.  I realize I was as much at fault as you were, but now our relationship is back on a professional basis and I want you to understand that it will stay that way.”

He smiled.  “Of course.”

Following her out, he pocketed the key card, then ogled the sway of her hips all the way down the hall.  He did like Sigrid’s ass.

Electronics, Politics, Sports

Congratulate Fiorella. She finally learned how to view email posts she's sent. It was obvious how to do it in the old gmail, but took a lucky accident to discover how to do it in the new set up. On the other hand, she still doesn't know anything about texting and translating on her iPhone but the rudimentaries, and she still doesn't even know the rudimentaries about moving a picture from her iPhone to her blog, as you may have noticed.
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Fiorella drove over to Starbucks yesterday morning because she needed to get out of the house and think things over. Also because coffee shops are historically where all political uprisings are promulgated, and she is determined to DO SOMETHING that will save the nation--or at least Texas. While she was waiting for her hot chocolate and chocolate-chip cookie (the traditional  fare of dangerous redicals), two women waiting for their own orders commented on her DUMP TRUMP badge. Anecdote led to anacdote, and she joined them at a table. Their names were Jennifer Pinkley and Suzanne Robinson, and they have been very active on the local scene.  WE SHALL OVERCOME!
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Fio and Husband attended a Democratic rally yesterday evening and while Fiorella supports the cause, she wasn't comfortable with the process. She does not like to stand around in crowds of strange people shouting rhyming slogans like she's at a UT football game.
By the way, she doesn't like football games either. She considers sports to be a waste of time unless they are for fun and excercise instead of blood and money, and she isn't comfortable being part of what is basically a mindless mob scene unless she's running the show.

Thursday Morning

Fio had a bad night, but when she woke up, she grabbed her bedside tablet and wrote "Last night I was molten, but today, I am steel," which was a good start to a poem, but wasn't quite true. As the day wore on, she became more and more depressed, even taking a long afternoon nap. Then came dinner. Fio, who usually doesn't cook, selfishly put a slab of salmon in the oven because she knew she needed some protein. Surprise, the salmon was GREAT! Perfect, in fact, and Fio and Husband gorged themselves on it. Somehow, as Fio cleaned up the kitchen, the day seemed a lot brighter than it had been. OMG--is Fiorella so shallow that thet state of her stomach governs her moods?
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Now that Husband is recovering from his hospital and re-hab stays, he's tending to the finer aspects of life, like his hearing aids, THANK GOODNESS. It wasn't till he got them repaired and started wearing them again that Fio realized she'd had to be in a constant shouting mode for the last two months.  It's also nice to know that , with the TV volume kept down to a decent level, Fio doesn't have to leave the room when she's trying to work on her computer.
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Fiorella doesn't have any problem with Muslim women or Catholic nuns or anyone else wearing religious headgear. What she does have a problem with is anyone wearing face coverings. We must be able to identify each other.

Yesterday's News

TUESDAY
     Fiorella was on pins and needles all day because it was the day, but come evening, she doesn't want to look at the results because she is afraid of what they will be. She's peeked a little and has been happy about some of them, but is terribly depressed about others. As far as she's concerned, people like Lyin' Ted stole their elections as surely as the thieves who made three drive-bys and stole her campaign signs--two BETO signs, a BJ Hegar sign, and the SHAME sign. Fio's betting that when she checks tomorrow morning, her VOTE sign will be gone too.
     Why do people vote for low-lifes who will make their lives worse? Who oppose gun control? Who want to shred Medicare and Medicaid? Who borrow money from Russia and China to buy yachts and grandiose homes? Who lie through their hats every time they turn around?
     Weep with Fiorella. WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE USA?

Unconnected Thoughts

Fiorella feels better about the upcoming election today than she has in quite a while, and it's all because when she went to the bank this morning, the conservative-looking older couple sitting across from her in the lobby smiled and commented favorably on her DUMP TRUMP button. Also because all her signs are still standing. Also because the negative ads on FB seem to have gone missing--except for two posted by one of Fio's old schoolmates who's married to an "evangelical" pastor and is, of course, rich as Croesus.
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Okay, one of Fio's pet peeves--pierced septums. Having had several friends from India, Fio's is used to nostril rings, but the bull ring or prong is something else. It looks like a runny nose.
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Remember the days when a movie star's marriage/divorce would be the scandal of the day? Back when we thought presidents and congresspeople were totally dull?
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Fiorella's been thinking about the monsters among us and conjectures there are some people who gravitate to being bad because they like the feel of it, like when one is playing a villain in a stage production.
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Fio doesn't understand why taxpayers have had to pay $13m so far for Trump to play golf in his own clubs and why he's spent 123 days (23% of his days in office) on the links, then told the veterans that there have to be more cuts in VA programs because the nation needs to control its spending. Has he reclassified vets as employees and decided to stiff them?

Signs of Discord

Fiorella knew that sometimes campaign signs were stolen, but she never thought it would happen to her. Not when she lives on a low-traffic country road. Not when she gives a cheery wave to all the cars that pass by. Not when no one has argued with her about her left-leaning allegiances.

But her BETO sign was stolen in the dark of night.

Nothing Fio could do but buy a replacement sign, but just to be safe, she didn't put it up till after Halloween. To be even safer, she surrounded it with garden fencing and looped it with faux barbed wire. Then, around noontime on Saturday, her BJ HEGAR sign disappeared. Fio lost her cool this time and screamed her anger to the whole neighborhood,--although, apparently, judging by the lack of response, no one was home--before tromping back to the house and writing a scathing letter to the Homeoweners Association, which she then tore it up.

She would NOT buy another BJ HEGAR sign because it would probably be stolen again, just as she suspected her second BETO sign would be, and she wasn't going to play that game. Instead, she rescued a large piece of fiberboard from the garage and printed

                               SHAME

                                  ON SIGN THIEVES                                                       

on it and put on display where the newly missing sign had been.

Fiorella is writing this blog Sunday night, and so far, BETO#2 rremains in place in place, Fiorella's third sign (the one for Katherine Kubatzky) is untouched, and the SHAME sign is still extant.. But if anything else happens, Fio has a plan that she'll let you in on if it's needed.

Hint: class always wins over trash..


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Fiorella Marches On

Wouldn't it to be nice to have a president like Prince Harry, one who can charm children? Oh wait, we did--Obama.
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Fiorella recognized the hum of Husband's car as he drove up the hill even before he slowed down to turn into the driveway. WOW!
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If you've followed Fio on Facebook, you know she is protecting her replacement BETO campaign sign with not only garden fencing and a faux barbed wire, but strands of greenbriar, a nasty vine that grows on the property.
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Fio has all her Halloween decorations down on the dining room table except for the bats, which she adores. Maybe on Monday...
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As you know, Fiorella is very angry about her BETO sign being stolen--probably because she herself ran for office (School Board) many years ago and had a lot of dirty tricks played on her which she was too naive to recognize.

More of Fiorella's Art Gallery

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What's on your mind?

27 mins
HOPE THIS PHOTO COMES THROUGH. Fio posted a partial pic of her gallery and art desk on FB so she could transfer it to her blog because she is so electronically challenged that it’s the only way she's found that has a chance of succeeding. In case you’re wondering, the dog portrait is by Fiorella's younger son, and the girl with her hair in a towel and the Indian woman braiding her hair are Fio's. The Jesus picture was something she did for her brother as a replacement for the sappy Jesus picture his Sunday school teacher had passed out. It’s the only religious painting she's ever done because made-up biblical portraits are misleading.



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Politics, Hollywood, BETO, Tired

Fiorella has been horrified by the nationwide ascendance of the bad people and hopes the midterms will favor the good people. As a Texan, she has been especially disturbed by the TV ads.for three incumbants. For their lies alone, Payton, Patrick, and Cruiz deserve to lose, lose, lose.
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We all know Trump's basest base likes violence, but so does Hollywood. After all, "action" movies in which brute strength is glorified in seem to be what draw the crowds. Fio would love to see a comeback to light comedies and feel-good cinemas.
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If Fiorella hasn't told you before, there's no need to buy shoe polish if you have a Sharpie of the appropriate color in the house.
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Fio stabbed her new Beto sign into the hard ground this afternoon, surrounded it with foot-high garden fencing, and draped it with what looks like barbed wire (but isn't). Her thinking is that if the thief returns by night, he'll get tangled in the wire and fencing. If he returns by day, the neighbor across the street will spot him--maybe. 
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Fiorella is tired of trying to save the world. Could you take over for the next week or two?

According to Directions

Fiorella is practicing transfering pictures from her cell phone to her blog, which takes eighteen steps in all. Above is a partial shot of her art gallery on the walls above the stairs to the second floor. Fio did the two acrylics--the white house which, as she remembers, was on Springdale Road, and the woman eating the apple, who was herself many years ago. She also did the oil portrait of Husband in the upper right corner. Younger son did the water-color nude on the right and the digital exercise in the center. The water color, bottom middle, was a wedding present from Hal Normand by Hal Normand, the upper oil painting on the side was an inheritance from Husband's family, and the abstract below it is a painting by a UT art professor.

Brace yourself. There's more to come.