PRNDL: good fairy or bad fairy?

On my Lucky Charms Day, the day I should have bought a lottery ticket, the gear indicator came back to my PRNDL. After a couple months of intermittent appearances, then an extended disappearance, the gear indicator returned to the Buick.

On my Lucky Day half a million commuters had their morning drives, and much of their afternoon, detoured by an overturned tanker truck atop the High Five interchange of highways 75 and 635. Because I felt lucky about PRNDL, I had driven the sides streets viewing the lovely crepe myrtle trees in bloom and got to work early. The other half million got to work 1.5 to 2.5 hours late creeping on alternate routes.

In my euphoria I compared PRNDL, always pronounced "Prindle" in my family of origin, to other glittery good witch and fairy godmother names:

Glinda

Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather

Broom-Hilda

Endora (I was always rooting for Agnes Morehead against Samantha)

Not Rapunzel, but Aurora's spindle

Under the High Five are the "homes" of two persons without homes. One has been living there for over a year, a silent nag on my conscience most days as I drive by in my air-conditioned Buick. Once while I was stuck in traffic below the flying arch crossovers I heard a radio story about changing our thoughts by changing our language. Let "homeless people" become "persons without homes" in our vocabulary, and "refugees" become "persons seeking refuge." The word order shift is an instant adjustment in ugly times, an interchange to a new attitude.

The Buick PRNDL indicator did not hang around for long. A couple mornings later it had relocated to a magic hollow tree somewhere. I was not a person seriously seeking PRNDL enough to take the Buick to the dealership for a reset. I would just hang on as a person without PRNDL indications, a person having a few difficulties getting into the right gear sometimes. It should be a natural movement if I didn't think about it too much...

A driver seeking Neutral might want to go to the coin-op carwash instead of the drive-through. I was sure I had found the magic spot for Neutral after aligning the Buick on the blue line conveyor into the carwash according to the attendant's hand signals, but suddenly a really expensive new car was right in front of me, and the carwash attendant was pounding on my window pointing at my dash and demanding I get the Buick out of Drive. I tried again for the sweet spot, but Neutral eluded me. The exasperated attendant talked me into Reverse, and made me back up through the tunnel of suds to start over.  I did not drive off with Prince Charming and live happily ever after. I did feel like a pumpkin coach driver minus my livery after midnight.

* * % * @  * & * # * * *  * @ * %  * #  * * * & * P R N D  3 2 1 _______

© 2013-2018 Nancy L. Ruder

Black and white challenge OR Ghost vs. Fairies

Blog author of  NOT IN A STRAIGHT LINE, Photolera Claudinha, challenged me to post black and white photos on Facebook and tag friends to do the same. I can't quite get that together, but I've enjoyed the reminder to try some black and white shots. Halloween seems like a good time to compare black/white images with color.

Having just startled three deer on the trail as I went up the hill, it was nice to stop and snap the sparkling webs in the ten a.m. sunlight and catch my breath. The black and white photo emphasizes the underlying geometry of the spider's web, while the color one showcases the light coming from behind the web through the stems and grasses.

Flying off to haunt the neighborhood.

© 2013-2017 Nancy L. Ruder

Drove my Chevy to the levee

It is/isn't going to be a good year for green. I am totally over my old College View Seventh Day Adventist asparagus casserole recipe. Maybe crushing the last of the garlic rye Gardetto's and throwing them into the mix in lieu of bread cubes was not the best choice. Intuitive cooks do not achieve consistent, repeatable (or edible) results.

Don McLean's anthem, "American Pie," was a mystery within a jingle in 1972, but when it burbled to the surface of my mud geyser brain it seemed to fit the collision of Trump's pick to head the EPA and Pantone's pick for the color or the year, Greenery (green).


Well, the good news is we still have seasons for the time being. I already miss 2016 Rose Quartz.

© 2013-2016 Nancy L. Ruder

29

Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, the Woolly Mammoth lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Fargo, dude.
































© 2013-2016 Nancy L. Ruder

An app for the MOG

The internet is a fabulous imaginary place for identifying caterpillars so surely it's the place for locating the Mother-Of-the Groom dress you have always dreamed of, or of which you have always dreamed, even when your sons expressed the teenage opinion that you were a real witch with dangling participles and sentences ending in prepositions. Thank heaven one need not master grammar to finally marry off the youngest son.

If a caterpillar intended to walk down the aisle and sit in the front row to the right, the choices would be body main color, body main pattern, hair density, and distinct features.

This is surprisingly close to the decisions for a mother of a groom in the aisle heading for the same pew.

1. Main body shape:

2. Main color

3. Main material

[  ] Plastic bags     [  ] Duct tape     [  ] Chia pets     [  ] Goose feathers     [  ]  Bubble wrap

4. Distinct features

[  ] Cloak of invisibility [ ] Crush into overseas travel bag* [  ] Slimming [  ] Hide flabby arms 

Directions: Fill  [  ] with #2 pencil. Spelling counts.

This will, indeed, go on your permanent record.

© 2013-2016 Nancy L. Ruder

MOG PEPO is not what you think

NWA fall of 1977

MOG PEPO is a condition closely associated with MOBO. UNESCO should create an NGO humanitarian relief organization to deal with this international challenge even though contagion vectors are not yet clearly defined.

Glossary:

MOBO -- Mother of boys only
MOG  -- Mother of the groom
NGO  -- Non-governmental organization (relief)
PEPO  -- Panic early, panic often (motto)
Tencel  -- A semi-synthetic form of rayon
FCO  -- An alleged airport in Rome
CFA -- Compostable formal attire
NPR -- Pledge drive
TLT -- Think lovely thoughts (Mind over matter method for Darling children to achieve lift-off after Peter Pan blows the fairy dust on them)
NWA -- Newlywed apartment (SEE Macrame)

Imagine how very delighted my youngest son will be when I arrive at his destination wedding location with a roller bag full of plastic newspaper sleeves, then sit on a stoop weaving and braiding the bags into  a stunning full-length formal gown appropriate for all MOG occasions.

We receive a minimum of four "newspaper sleeves" every library day, and most days several more. Hmmm. Perhaps macrame. Tying the knot...

I'm not suggesting the wedding guests remove and compost their formal attire right there at the reception.  That would be bad on several levels. Thinking more about how to make extra space for souvenirs in my carry-on luggage for the return flight.


© 2013-2016 Nancy L. Ruder

I'm a waitress in a donut shop

In a flash of flames at the bagel shop the meaning became clear -- all the dreams, the omens, the acronyms, the spuds with SEE and SEE ALSO references made complete sense.  For once, it was not my green chile bagel setting off the smoke alarm, but the healthy nine-grain best-intentions/fiber choice for the elderly marathoner living longer and skinnier beside me in line.

Those dreams, nightmares really, flummox me in the cosmic extreme parking garage with NO EXIT EVER. The bizarre appearance of my sister wearing a pink Flo waitress outfit chasing me and haranguing my lack of diner hash lingo comprehension was a new and terrifying twist.

POTUS on a raft; SCOTUS with a shimmy and a shake, BOUTROS BOUTROS-GHALI and ATTICUS please use toll tag lane.  No wonder I'm craving baked potatoes with sour cream. POTSCUS!

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/277252920780923848/

The CD player on my ancient computer has gone AWOL. Dan Hicks made witty, wonderful music with a vintage radio jazz/folk vibe and a tiny dash of Sixties psychedelia I can't play on my darn defunct contraption. May he rest in sequined chaps swing.

© 2013-2016 Nancy L. Ruder