New Home

Ready, Set, Done

Our ten-minute free-write is back! Have no mercy on your keyboard as you give us your most unfiltered self (feel free to edit later, or just publish as-is).

Will we ever be finished unpacking all these damn boxes? We have been here a month today and it’s still a mess. Oh, we have been busy. Kitchen had to be just right. Or at least that was my wife’s first priority. Mine….to get MY den in shape. Not done yet!

Cats are getting accustomed to their new environment. They know  where their food dish is and where to poop.

Still have to clear off the kitchen table in order to read the morning paper and have my two cups of coffee.

New subdivision! We are not even on any GPS system. Try telling contractors how to get to your house when you barely know how to get there.  As usual we know most of our neighbor’s pets by their name before we can place the owner’s name.

A 55 and over community! All I see is a bunch of old people. And golf carts! They are everywhere. Ok, I admit we purchased a used one ourselves. I even went to the market this afternoon and drove my golf cart. One thing we will save money on is gas. We seldom get outside the compound. You can go to the grocery store, drug store, barber, and even restaurants without leaving the community on your little old golf car. Even have to get insurance, and a safety inspection to be legal. And then there is GOLF. I gave that up 30 years ago and still what did I do. You got it. I purchased a new set of golf clubs.

On the plus side we have made more friends here in the first thirty days than we did in 18 years in our old home.

My time is up!








Lookin’ Out My Back Door

In response to the Daily Prompt:

Lookin' Out My Backyard
Lookin’ Out My Backyard

We won’t have this view much longer. The house we have lived in for eighteen  years goes on the market tomorrow.

See that red maple tree on the left? That was a present I received after completing a 5k run called “Run for the Roses”.  It was just a twig when I planted it around 10 years ago. In the summer it turns a blazing red that is breathtaking. That little yellow building, center background, is our neighbors shed. Each year they host a “Pig Picken” event just in front of it. All the neighbors gather on the lawn chairs they brought and we catch up on what everyone is doing.

The wooden swing set was put a just after we moved in. The neighbors children were 3 and 5 years old then. Today they are 21 and 23. One is a senior and college and the other just graduated. That little bird house is where we welcomed our blue birds every year. My wife making sure it was clean for their arrival. It was a joy to watch the father fly off and then return with dinner for his little ones.

Time marches on they say. And so it is with us. It’s gonna take some getting used to a Florida retirement community. It certainly is not our  first move so we will survive. Maybe our last though.

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The Great Migration

The Daily Prompt is “Twilight Zone“.

Photo Credit Danny James
Photo Credit Danny James

The Great Migration is a cycle of life and death, played out on the plains of the Serengeti (in Tanzania) and Masai Mara (in Kenya). Some 1.4 million wildebeest, 250,000 Burchell’s zebra and a smattering of trailing Thomson’s gazelle make this year-long round trip. In fact, around 250,000 Wildebeest and 30,000 zebra perish in this tough trek, mainly younger ones. Along the way, many migrating animals become prey to predators including lion, cheetah, crocodile and hyena.

We were one of the lucky people who actually witnessed this event. The Wildebeest would approach the river that they had to cross in response to a lack of drinking water. There appeared to be a leader who, to me at least, was surveying the crossing for predators. He would approach, look around, sniff the air, and taste the  water. The first couple of times he, along with the rest of the heard just made a circle and returned in a few minutes. What he was seeing was crocodiles in the river and at least 3 lions on the  far side who were also staring at him. Once the stampede began the sound was unbelievably loud with snorts and the water splashing as the Wildebeest began the crossing. Once the leader started across it was like an auto expressway at rush hour. Suddenly a crocodile sprang out of the water and grabbed the Wildebeest and drowned him. Other crocodiles join the fray. The Wildebeest far outnumbered the crocodiles and most made it to the other side. On that side were waiting a dozen or so lions who joined in the feast. The squealing sound was surreal. While having the appearance of a frenzy, recent research has shown a herd of  Wildebeest possesses what is known as a “swarm intelligence”, whereby the animals systematically explore and overcome the obstacle as one.
This picture was taken on our recent vacation in Kenya. In fact on our last day. Our guide himself had not seen anything like this. You think you are alone on the large plains of the Serengeti and Masi Mara but the tour jeeps are in constant contact with each other. Once we found these Wildebeest getting ready to cross our guide contacted other tours and within minutes there were around 10 jeeps loaded with tourist like us. Guides are below:


San Diego Cafe — Weekly Writing Challenge

Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge

Hunter S. Thompson was an American author and writer. (He was also a drug enthusiast, among other things, but that’s another story for another day.) His infamous, detail-dense, first-person narrative, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, spawned a genre of reporting called Gonzo journalism. Gonzo journalism differs from typical reporting in that Gonzo journalists renounce claims of objectivity, often place themselves in the story as a first-person narrator, and include verbatim dialogue to capture and convey their first-hand experiences. The work can often have a “stream-of-consciousness” feel to it. In summary, the basic hallmarks of Gonzo journalism are:

There were a range of options to take in order to participate in this weeks challenge. I picked this scenario:

You’re in a street-side café in San Diego, California. The couple seated at the next table is breaking up.

“Don’t turn around Sara. I think the couple behind you is breaking up. Apparently she has had enough of his carousing around. Oh look, no don’t look now, she’s stirring her glass with that swizzle stick so fast there is a little whirlpool going round and around. Boy is she mad. I mean really mad. She keeps pushing her hair back with that real agitated look. You know the one I mean Sara? The one that says I’m pissed.”

“What does he look like?” asked Sara.

Cindy without a pause says, “Beautiful face, beautiful body, horrible attitude. The Holy Trinity of Hot Boys.”

Sara, finally looking back, says “I would say that boy is in for one hot argument. I would not like to argue with her because I would no longer feel safe because of the possible actions she may take. Watch her start pacing back and forth real fast, breathing out her nose. I least that is what I would do to that no good cowboy. I don’t care what he has done. What do you think he has done?”

“I don’t know what he has done but it must be a really bad thing. You know what that girl will do? I’ve seen her kind. When she gets to her boiling point she will start talking in the third person. That’s scary as hell because that’s her way of telling him that from this point on, she is not responsible for none of her actions. You go Girl!, said Cindy. I tell you women are cursed and men are the proof.”

Nice Try Buddy — But No Cigar

Kevin’s brain was fogged in. Slowly, it was receding to where he could make out fuzzy things. That was an improvement over having your eyes opening and seeing nothing but blackness. This state of poor vision reminded him of the time he finally decided to have cataracts. He loved to read the paper but he found it was fuzzy and out of focus even if he extended his arms full length or put the paper up to his nose. Some of the fuzzy things were moving. Slowly he realized he must be in a hospital but how did he get here. More memories started to flood his brain to almost overflowing with  thoughts trying to catch him up to the present.

Then he began to cry as he recalled what had happened. He was recently fired from a position he had held for many years because of insubordination. His lovely wife Mary had left him about six months before that. She could not stand his temper and him coming home drunk every night. He had no friends, he had lost his father last year, his younger sister 4 years before that and his mom 6 years ago. He had no friends at work. No hobbies, except if you call watching as many sporting events as possible in 24 hours, a hobby. He couldn’t stop his drinking and he knew full well he was extremely depressed.

That last night at the bar had been the last straw. Even the old girls were laughing at his attempt to pick them up with his old corny lines. He really had not thought that much about it but maybe, just maybe, life would be better if he ended it himself. Take responsibility. Yes Sir! I made that decision. I mean who would suffer? His wife? She was already dating a young business stud working as a stock broker. She wouldn’t care one way or the other. Hell, maybe she preferred him dead. “Get out of my life!.” Those were the last words she launched at him as she slammed the door on his face. “If you don’t leave now, and I mean right now, I’m calling 911,” she said.

That was two nights ago and he had not sobered up yet. Why should he. He had nothing to live for. Absolutely nothing. Driving home the bridge across highway 101 looked like an idea solution. They would suspect he was driving drunk, which he was, but they would not label it as a suicide. Would they? He didn’t care.

He head a voice say “Mr. Cartright….Mr. Cartright?” Kevin nodded his head as much as he could to indicate that he was indeed Mr. Cartright.

“I’m Doctor Yates and you have been in a serious car accident Mr. Cartright.”

Kevin mumbling and with slurred speech said “Trrryyyyed to killll meselfs.”

“Nice try Mr. Cartright, but no cigar,” replied the Doctor Yates.”

Then and there Kevin decided he would not  try that again. Ever!

I Was Here

The Daily Prompt:

You are the first astronaut to arrive on a new, uncharted planet. Write the note that you leave to those who come after you.

For Sale

New Planet

Hardly walked on

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Simple Irresistible

Simple Irresistible 

Tell us about the favorite dish or food that you simply cannot turn down.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us TEMPTATION.

Angelo’s Restaurant, Flint Michigan


This little place must make the best Coney Island Hot Dogs in the world. Forget Chicago or New York. The best coney is located in an economically depressed town of Flint, Michigan. My judgement is not in the least influenced by the fact I grew up there. At one time I used to get off work at midnight and head right to Angelo’s. Two coney’s and an order of french fries with gravy. I have since lived in Arizona, California, Colorado, and North Carolina and no place, although they advertise different,makes a better coney than Angelo’s. It a must place to go when I go back to Michigan to visit friends. “Let’s meet at Angelo’s.”

NaBloPoMo #27

Safety First

Thanks to the Daily Prompt


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