Tag Archives: junk

Sharing My World 58

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One of those Facebook shares for which the source eludes me.

SHARE YOUR WORLD – 2016 WEEK 15

Name one thing not many people know about you.

I am an open book once you get me talking.  I will spill everything and tell you many things, some of which couldn’t possibly interest you and I don’t even care.  It happened at my CT scan last week when the nurse asked me one innocent little question and I proceeded to blather away for ten minutes as her eyes glazed over.  Then I just decided to shut up.  It was probably nerves.  But here’s the thing you would never guess.  I hate talking to strangers.    So I have no idea what makes me feel like I have to do it.

Maybe I was conditioned from working so long as an optician in a retail setting where it was a job requirement to interact with patients and customers.  I always had to push myself to initiate a conversation.  And then I’d learn all kinds of weird things once we got started. People confide in this face.

I also hate being asked when I’m shopping if I need any help.  Yes of course I need help, but not necessarily the kind I’m being offered unless the employee is a psychiatric therapist working part-time in a shoe store and can give me some life skill tips.

See what I mean?  I just say shit and wonder why later.

If a distant uncle dies and you were always his favorite and he leaves you $50,000 (any currency) in his will, what would you do?

First I would wonder why I was always his favourite.  Because for sure I never called him or remembered his birthday.  I would gratefully accept the cash and put it in the bank.  From there it would slowly dwindle away and disappear.  Then I would wonder where the hell it all went.

Where do you hide junk when people come over?

In cupboards and drawers and closets or just stacked neatly in plain sight.  If I get too creative about squirreling it away it may never surface again.  This house is not that big so it’s incredible how many things go missing in a day.  But random things also show up.  Like the iSkin film for my iPad to keep the screen from getting all wrecked.  It turned up yesterday from under a pile of papers, but it might as well have stayed missing because I made such a mess putting it on that I peeled it off again and threw it out.  Gawd, my life is just one traumatic episode after another.

Complete this sentence: I want to learn more about …

…..historic castles in Britain.  I did not know I wanted to learn more about them until a couple of days ago when I started watching “Secrets of Great British Castles” on Netflix.  The Tower of London was once a sort of zoo housing exotic animals royalty received as gifts.  Why did nobody ever tell me this before?  I’m surprised it’s never come up in the check out line up at the grocery store.

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

W has come home from the east to wait for the river ice to break up at the island and then he will head back for spring fishing and whatever he messes about doing for the rest of the summer.  While he is home I have put him to work on the lawn.  Because what are husbands good for if not rigorous yard work.

I have sanded and painted the stair railings, working outside in the sunshine, inhaling sawdust and paint fumes.  It will be interesting to see if I can put them back where they came from right side up and all.  There is still some prep work left to do on the walls and trim in the back entrance and then the second coat of white goes on the ceiling and the trim.  The rest will be a beautiful shade called coconut milk which will compliment the wood panels part way up two walls.  It’s the greatest stuff for a hallway because it absorbs boot and shoe and handprint marks.  If it was all paint I probably wouldn’t let anyone come in via the back door ever again.  Sort of like how I don’t want anyone to touch the taps or turn on the water after the sink is all sparkly clean.

Every day I add something to the garage sale pile.  W firmly believes the garage sale is imaginary and will never happen.  Oh he of little faith, who may be right, but the stuff is going somewhere, someday.

Next week I’m looking forward to carrying on carrying on.  And maybe naming those galaxies in my coffee.

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Sharing My World 20

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Share Your World – 2015 Week #9

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

If this is a trick question, my answer is that I would be exactly the age I actually am whether I know what it is or not.  But if I had to take a good look at myself and figure it out with a wild guess, I’d say fifty.  (I’m a bit pathetic at guessing anyone’s age).  Then I would look at my adult children and wonder why I gave birth to the first one when I was ten.  This is assuming I recognize them of course.  Who knows what else I may have forgotten.

If this question is asking how old I would LIKE to be, there’s no magical time in my life to which I wish to return.  Life goes on with ever new challenges and adventures.  If I could make time stand still or slow down I might opt for that.  The older I get, the faster it flies.

Are you left or right-handed?

I am right-handed, but do a lot of things with my left hand, and so I used to tell people I was ambidextrous because ambidexterity sounded like a very impressive thing to have.  I have a son who is left-handed, so I will pretend he got that from me.  If it’s genetic, I will then be forced to admit he got it from his “actually ambidextrous” paternal grandfather.

One of my more interesting useless skills is the ability to write backwards, so that you have to hold whatever I wrote up to a mirror to read it.  Or perhaps you have the interesting useless ability to READ backwards, in which case, here’s something useless for you to read.

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This has less to do with being left-handed or ambidextrous than it has to do with childhood boredom and writing secret messages in code when you’re too lazy to think up a real code.  I am an expert when it comes to finding the easiest way to do something.

If you HAD to change your name, what would you change it to?

My mother loved my name, as mothers do, but I always found it lacked sophistication.  So I would change it to Lindsey Maive MacKayla.  And although you may think that must be some random pronouncement right off the top of my head, I actually used a name generator to come up with it.  The suggestion for a pen name if I were a romance novelist is Libby Anne Funnyflower.  Seriously.  Does it get any better than that?  Well, yes it does.  I have been advised to write science fiction as Lilliana Mars Spencebot.

Where do you hide junk when people come over?

Hey!  How did you find that out about me?  Okay, if you must know, I use the dishwasher, drawers, closets, cupboards, rooms with closed doors,  and throwing things down the stairs into the basement.

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I am grateful that W got well enough from “the worst cold he has ever had in his entire life” (this is how he describes every cold he has ever had in his entire life) to travel by plane to Ontario to visit his parents and celebrate his dads 93rd birthday.  I am looking forward to a nice quiet relaxing week on my own, doing nothing,  with no interruptions of my chosen nothingness activities.   It takes concentration to do nothing right.  And I am an expert at that too.   share-your-world2

Junk and Treasures

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Before bed she watches her grandma scurry about the house making preparations for tomorrow, putting what appears to be worthless junk on the kitchen table, although she knows her mother considers these things priceless family treasures and will be thrilled to have them.

In the  morning she is still disoriented and exhausted after her long flight across the ocean, the drive to the farm and her restless night in yet another strange bed, with nothing better to look forward to now than a two-day road trip on her long journey home.

With a defeated sigh, she throws her things back in to her travel-worn bag, wishing she could stuff her bad mood and all her worries in there right along with them.

Once she gets everything downstairs she simply can’t stop laughing at the sight of her funny little grandma, giant fork under one arm and enormous spoon under the other, declaring herself all set and ready to go.

And just like that, all the irritation disappears.

Five Sentence Fiction  is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. This week’s word: IRRITATION

Lillie McFerrin Writes
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