SoCS March 21,2020 You’re Welcome…Shut up.

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “welcome.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!




The number of folks telling others what they should or shouldn’t post on social media during our current “situation” has me more alarmed than the virus.

In our innovative, free, country, according to some, opinion isn’t welcome. The sensitivity factor of others had already thrust political correctness upon us. Today, a few folks seem to think that they ought further the “virtue signaling” control on free speech. We are in the midst of a shared experience and they know how each individual ought to behave.

I’ve seen many comments proposing no “negativity”. I actually understand the tension inspiring this but who do you think you are?! And, what the heck does negativity mean?
Our country was founded on individuality. Opinion is allowed… I like to encourage it. Fewer people would suggest an individual’s handling of grief has a universal code of ethics than there are suggesting they know what our country needs in this moment.
Shut up.
Kindly speak only for yourselves… or not. I am capable of ignoring you once I’ve had my own say.
Opinions are ideas and ideas are what we need. Nobody ever suggested you have to like the ideas but there is a thing called personal responsibility. You are responsible for your own emotional reflex to what others say. Telling people not to speak, or shaming them for expressing themselves, is unacceptable. Take up knitting or something. Probably, discussion isn’t for you. That’s okay.
I watched “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” last night. I not only enjoyed it, I was inspired by it. Of all the heartwarming messages, the one about people talking about their feelings without shame was the best. Division is caused by distance. Distance is caused by the loss of free communication. Those spouting that anything that “disturbs” them personally is divisive to the masses are sorely misunderstanding individualism and our country’s founding principles.
Let’s become more tolerant and welcoming. Listening is far better than reacting. Disagreeing is better than shaming and, more welcoming, than imposing our sensitivities upon others.
You can block posts… you can “unfollow” people… you can even shut off your computer… those are your “nice” choices.
IMHO… you aren’t helping others by attempting to direct their behavior. It annoys them too. This is America.

I recommend you watch that movie.
You’re welcome.
Have a nice day.


SoCS March 14, 2020 ~ Opening Act

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “wire.” Use “wire” as a noun or a verb or any way you’d like. Enjoy!


The wire had been empty throughout most of the bitter winter. It had held passersby, now and then, but the openness offered any loiterers the biting wind, or worse, an aerial ambush.
Still, I wandered to the front window daily, for months, missing them. A ritual of faith.
Finally, the long awaited moment arrived.
Three little black notes on a single musical line. Four, five, six… a roll call. Like a well choreographed routine, each bird fluffed its feathers in unison.
Ta Da!
The sun shone directly on them as a spotlight. Enchanted iridescent performers had returned for another tour.
This wasn’t a moment… it was an opening act.
Holding my coffee with both hands, this groupie adoringly watched every move.
My heart quickened. My eyes brighten. My soul lifted.
SPRING had arrived.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS March 14/2020

SoCS 3/7/20 Figures


Many times a day I make decisions. When my family day care was in full swing, the number of decisions were astronomical! Especially when it came to being the judge and jury of all things “fair”.
Nowadays, kids are told to seek arbitration for every disagreement. This is a time consuming endeavor as well as a “cop out” on learning how to deal with others.
We all know kids who find excessive infractions to complain about. Everyone knows complaints, and complainers, get lots of attention.
So what’s the guide for a happy medium with children?
Well first, consider the complaint. Eliminating all things that could cause physical harm is priority #1. This can be evaluated in a flash usually by the tone and urgency of the complainant. (The theatrical types aren’t usually academy award level so even they can be decoded at a glance.)
Secondly, the complainer’s reputation is a litmus test. Sorry, but The Boy Who Cried Wolf  is a parable with a real life impact. I wouldn’t disregard that kid because even broken clocks are right twice a day, but my questions would lack enthusiasm. Yes, I’ll likely roll my eyes. Kids need to learn to read clues if they are going to navigate this world. (Spare me a comment about kids with Autism. I know the difference.)
Thirdly, there may be an immediate judgement from my “court” if something aggregious has happened. The destruction of a reading book or a shoving match, would require my intervention. But, equally as often, my advice to the complainant is to figure it out for himself.
I always instructed the kids that removing themselves from the unhappy situation is a wonderful idea and compromise is also an excellent tool. Then, I get out of the way.

When I was a kid, I heard, “Don’t make a Federal Case out of it.” more times than I can count. We learned how to get along quite well. I believe that phrase could cure a large amount of the current division in our country even when taken literally.
Problem is, few want to figure things out for themselves as many haven’t any idea how to do it. Self control and individual responsibility have been elective courses over the last 40 or 50 years in parental guidelines. IMO…This figures directly into the current lack of civility.
The “want” of attention, validation, victory, and self pity is mighty high out there and everyone seems eager to listen.
I can’t figure this will change soon.

This figurative post was brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday! Click the following link to find all the other posts in the comment section and join in! It’s fun!

SoCS : No Respect for that Sect

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “ect.” Find a word with the letters “ect” in it, and base your post on that word. (Not to be confused with “et cetera,” which is “etc.”) Enjoy!


white and grey voting day sign
Photo by Element5 Digital on

I want to be direct 
But suspect
the affect
may produce objection.

So I’ll not inject
or project
but protect
my choice for election.

Whom with I connect
my vector
your specter
is MY selection.
Not subject to YOUR inspection.

Political correction insists on intellectual genuflection … no respect for that sect.


The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Feb. 29/2020

“This post is part of SoCS:”


One-liner Wednesday- Wisdom Fills You Up

“Never confuse motion with action.” – Benjamin Franklin


flock of flying gulls above shore
Photo by Julia Kuzenkov on


A stout seagull sat on the pier piling with his young son. They were soaking up the first warm rays of the morning while the rest of the flock, 90 or so, was flying frantically about.
A cry came from the beach café, “FRENCH FRY!”
The whole flock descended on the trash bin in the parking lot. Feathers scattered as a cloud of dust enveloped the mob.
“Hey Dad. I’m hungry. Everybody else is getting breakfast!”
“Patience. Just wait a bit, boy.”

Instantly, another furor broke out. “CLAM! OVER HERE!”
The flock rose like a tornado and headed for a seaweed flotsam against the jetty. This time the layers of scrawny birds flapped furiously above the water keeping time with the surf.
The commotion seemed SO electric it made the youthful seagull anxious. He kept unfurling his wings flapping in imaginary flight and lifting inches above his perch. He added his voice to the already deafening din and gave his Dad a frustrated look.
“Come on DAD!”
The elder seagull silently kept his eyes trained out to sea.
“Just a bit longer. Here she comes.”
Feathers continued to scatter as the feeding riot moved quickly down the beach. By the time the weathered fishing boat pulled along the dock, the flock was a speck of a tumbleweed miles away. A breeze from the south brought one last diluted wail of “Pic-ic -asket!”.
The Dad calmly turned to his son, “Ready?”.
“Geez Dad. It’s too late NOW!”

Dad effortlessly lifted from the piling and landed softly on the deck. Then the stout old fellow waddled toward the newly moored boat just as men wheeled containers with their catch down the gangplank. Flopping fresh fish launched out at every angle from over-filled carts.

The two seagulls gobbled up those escapees until they were about to burst! Once they had eaten at their leisure, expending very little energy, and not drawing a bit of attention, the Dad winked at his son.

“Never confuse motion with action, my boy.”

Somewhere beyond the lighthouse, dark locust-like silhouettes momentarily eclipsed the rising sun followed by what sounded like a foghorn.
“DOOOUGH nuut”!


One-Liner Wednesday – Written Off

Go Dog Go Café Tuesday Prompt: Finding Home

~Response to Tuesday Writing Prompt at GodogGo café~

Today’s prompt: Write a piece of prose around the phrase: “I never want that again”.

greyscale photography of woman wearing long sleeved top
Photo by Kat Jayne on

Pearl’s whole life was one disaster after another.
She was orphaned at age six then spent twelve years in a foster care home. Today, on this glorious day, was her 18th birthday. She was SUPER ready to spread her wings. Her bitter life during all those years was over, and today, was her liberation day! As she packed her bags to set off to freedom, she looked into her bedroom mirror.

“I never want that again. I don’t have anyone and don’t need anyone.”

Pearl would begin her search for a REAL home, right away. Her worst days were behind her now. As she finished up, she recalled what she would never be missing…

When she was nine she’d fallen off of her bike, on this very date, breaking her collar bone. Her foster sister, Joy, had pushed her too hard on that royal blue birthday bike with white tassels and a silver horn. Her foster parents, Karen and Gene, didn’t believe her and always took Joy’s side! She refused to ever ride it again, of course.

“For sure!” she mumbled.

At Christmas, she had the yucky green stocking and hated that Joy (three years younger) got to put the angel on the tree top, EVERY YEAR! Santa never gave her what she wanted either. She always put her wish for a “real” home, first.

“Stupid kid dreams. Ugh!”

Gene, nag, nag, nagged her about her friends and if she’d done her homework.
He constantly shouted at her to stop kicking Joy under the dinner table!
Karen was even pushier! She MADE her take dancing lessons and insisted upon holding her hand when she was sick. Not only that, she incessantly corrected her grammar because she said ‘it was important not to appear ignorant.’

“Geez… power hungry do-gooders!”

Pearl waltzed out the front door, suitcase in hand, and walked down the concrete steps.
“I learned to roller skate launching from those.” She grinned a little.
As she struggled to unlatched the sticky front gate, she remembered it saving her from the “mean girls” who had chased her home daily, in eighth grade, during an entire marking period. When Karen found out, she went straight to the principal. It stopped there after.
“Good ole gate.” She patted it as it squeaked closed.

Everything was about to change. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. As she reached the corner, Pearl snuck a last glance at the house. She was going to miss the place, anyway. She couldn’t help but notice Karen wiping her eyes partially hidden in the drapes. “Karen was never any good at spying on me.” she sighed.

It was a Monday when Pearl set off to become a woman and fled her past to find her place in the world.
By Tuesday, she’d found a home!
She sat down lightly at the dinner table. That life long heavy chip on her shoulder was gone. No one had asked her to explain her escape.
It was absolutely warm and welcoming.

A squeal came out of nowhere!

“Pearl, please stop kicking Joy under the table!”


Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, 25, 2020

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, 25, 2020 – phrase: “I never want that again”

Random Word Story #38: Taproots In One Place

{ Wicahpi is pronounced Wick-ah-pie}

Wicahpi needed to rest. She sat down harder than she’d intended on a newly toppled tree almost spilling her basket of apples. This last uphill patch to her cottage was always the toughest.
“Oh, that wouldn’t have made me happy, now.” She whispered through he teeth.
She directly addressed the apples next. “You’d make me chase you all back to the bottom. Wouldn’t you, now?”.
Her waist length gray braid swept the ground as she bent forward to steady her precious bounty. She fingered the pencil thin tip of it as her eyes followed the last section of path leading home. Once upon a time, many young men made repeated climbs up that trail to try to sweep her away from the mountain. None were successful. Wicahpi had lived alone for forty-five years and liked it.


Her deep brown eyes had dimmed a bit, yet, she had those same fine features of the once beautiful woman who’d broken so many hearts. They’ve just been a bit harder to make out, these days, beneath a weathered ninety years of exposure to the outdoors.
Wicahpi squinted as she scanned the canopy of the hardwood forest. It was getting late. A sudden breeze rattled the dying leaves of early autumn trying to shake them loose.
Her thoughts sharply turned to the vixen she hoped to observe again at dusk. Her new friend had come out along the broad stone wall for the last three evenings. They had created an almost enchanted attachment simply through studying each other from afar.
“A little farther, now. I won’t be late, my lady. I’ve slowed a bit, now. I won’t be givin’ up yet.”
As she hoisted her basket, she suddenly became overwhelmingly thirsty. Wicahpi felt her knees buckling, and one shocking moment later, she opened her eyes finding herself lying on the ground beside the frog pond behind her comfortable lifetime home.
“How’d I get so old that I’ve lost my strength AND my mind?” she grumbled.
Wicahpi glanced toward the cottage that her father had built. There was no place on earth she felt safer. Not that she’d traveled at all but one knows when they have “taproots in one place” as her Daddy put it. Her words came out feebly, ” I…I’m fine. I’ll be fine, now.”.
She hesitantly rolled to her knees and sat on her heels. “I’m still flexible, now, aren’t I?”. Wicahpi was talking directly at her own reflection in the twilight darkness of the pond. She was accustomed to doing that. In the next moment, she watched her own eyes widen with terror as she felt a whisper on her neck. “Come, Wicahpi. I’m waiting.”
The old woman buried her face in her hands and shouted, “Oh Lord, what kind of spell has been put on me?!”
Almost paralyzed with fear, she slowly dropped her hands and turned her head at tiny increments for a glimpse of who, or what, had spoken in her ear. There, a few feet away, sat the vixen licking her paw.
“What a sneaky thing to do, now! You gave ME the start of my life!”
The vixen whispered once again. “Come, Wicahpi. We’re waiting.”
The creature then padded straight up to her and licked her on the cheek. She looked over her shoulder, just once, as she trotted away into the dark forest. Along the far side of the pond, several pairs of golden eyes blinked alive in the day’s last light. A warm breeze stirred up the leaves then all went silent.

They never found the old lady who was the last of the family who once lived there. Her disappearance would become a chilling local legend. A demolition crew was brought in from the State because local crews were too superstitious to take the job. Eight months went by before bulldozers roared flattening the abandoned cottage and widening the old path into an access road…
all the while, a gray fox, with deep brown eyes and fine features, sat silently within the tree line watching.Urocyon_cinereoargenteus_grey_fox_Aurora_zoo_image_9810

Tuesday Writing Prompt February 18, 2020: “Dangerous Thoughts”

While seated on the bridge railing, I studied the horizon. Out of nowhere, a deep voice startled me away from my thoughts.

“Don’t do it. Then again, who am I to tell you what to do? Go ahead. ”

I looked up and there sat a pigeon. He was staring directly down at me. I glanced around to make sure this wasn’t a joke. “Someone must be messing with me.” I thought. But, nobody was there . I was alone.

“You… you talking to me?” I squeaked as I whispered. It felt silly for sure. I was talking to a pigeon? Could this day get any crazier?

“Yup. You don’t see anyone else do you Einstein? Why are you whispering? I’m not with the FBI. You’re not being taped. Speak up!”

“How’d you know what I was thinking? Where’d you come from? Mind YOUR OWN BUSINESS!”

” That’s more like it, Arnold. I knew you had a backbone. Those were dangerous thoughts you were just considering. Killing yourself  would be such a waste. You’re no coward. I know. ”

“How’d you know my name?! A talking, mind reading, pigeon? I’m losing it alright. Oh God… Give me strength! ”

“The BIG MAN ain’t here. He’s down South. Hurricane season, ya know. He sent me instead. I’ll have to do.”

” What in heaven’s name do you want?! ”

” I want to thank you, that’s all. You shooed away that cat and placed me in a tree when I bounced off of your windshield last week. Remember? You took a real chance slamming on your breaks and jumping to my rescue during noontime traffic. Oh boy, that guy behind you was really mad! By the way, is a “son of motherless goat” a real thing? How’s my beak look?  Hasn’t felt the same since… Don’t look at me like that! This talking thing is new to me. I LIKE it! ” 

I felt numb. My mouth was dry and my head ached. After an awkward silence, he went on…

” Any coo, THANKS pal. ”

Suddenly, it started to pour. It was a cloud burst! I was instantly soaked to the skin. My body shivered uncontrollably and all I wanted, now, was a hot shower and a warm meal. The boss, the bills, and all those regrets , could wait. I needed to go HOME!

I wanted to RUN but shielded my eyes from the rain and paused just in time to see the pigeon fly away.
All I could do was shout after him.

“You’re WELCOME!”

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge–February 18, 2020










Random Word Story #37- What’s Eating Bitsie?

Word generator words: sack, sashay, mature, weave, value, bat, organize

There’s a big difference between getting angry and going berserk. Some call the latter being “triggered”.  I’m not allowed to use that term. Mom says, “There’s no excuse for losing one’s cool, ever. People who say they’re ‘triggered’ are simply not mature enough to control themselves.”

I think Bitsie Banks was born triggered. She doesn’t ever say it… or use it as an excuse, though. Her world is just a whole sack of triggers. Maybe she hates what her grandma calls her “condition” or maybe she misses her mom and dad or maybe God just gave her an extra helping of the “angries”? Whatever it is, she doesn’t seem inclined to tell me and I ain’t askin’.

My Dad says, “Everyone has value. Some folks just hide it better than the rest.” I’m afraid Bitsie has hers buried where SHE can’t even find it. When she isn’t screeching her business to the moon, she’s as quiet as an owl swooping in on a mouse under that moon. There isn’t any in between. 

Bitsie lives with her grandma two streets away from our school. When my bus pulled in on Friday, I could see her cutting through the ball field. She usually ducks behind the bleachers and pops out of the dugout closest to the courtyard. It isn’t easy to keep her in sight. She’s three feet two inches tall with her shoes on and there’s a hedge along the infield fence.

By the time I organize my locker and head for homeroom, Bitsie’s always there in the front row. Today, her little chair is empty.

I know, for certain, that I’d seen her. She had her navy blue cardigan on and her usual ponytails were waving wildly from side to side. Bitsie could never be confused with anyone ‘cept maybe a peg legged pirate.
I lept to look out the tall classroom windows that face the ball field. It was empty! Just as the late bell rang, Bitsie came in with a bat over her shoulder. Her hair was full of leaves and twigs. Her sweater was torn almost clean off! That usual stomping gorilla-style gate had been replaced by an alarmingly uncharacteristic “sashay“. Bitsie’s chin lifted toward the ceiling and she winked at me as she passed. Whatever had happened, and whoever it happened to, Bitsie Banks had been the perpetrator NOT the victim.

At lunchtime, she’ll weave a tale Indiana Jones wouldn’t even believe and I’m the only person on the WHOLE PLANET she’ll tell! It’s gonna be hard to wait for this one.