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Life as a Miracle: Seven Turns

Life as a Miracle: Seven Turns

We’ve returned from a visit with forty-year friends, a couple with whom we ‘co-courted’. Courting seems a quaint term, perhaps, but applies because we were all beyond ‘dating’ and, well, date is a calendared term linked to age… Which causes one to contemplate history, which couples and dear friends have.

My husband and I are feeling quite quaint.

Therefore, today’s post begins with a history lesson:

Double entendre words

Double entendre words

We’re all aware of double entendre, a French phrase that masks sometimes dirty tricks of language, sexual innuendo and such. Disclaimer: this post is not a reflection on the happenings in my house. My husband and I simpatico-direct, not reliant upon such words – or any words at all sometimes. We commune and communicate in a contented sphere, often knowing more about what the other means than openly disclosed. This state is a fine artifact of our long-married status. We cherish our in-tune entendre life

Not Melancholy – Mellencamp

Not Melancholy – Mellencamp

I was working my network to become a back-up singer with John Mellencamp’s band when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Triple Negative, a rare version of the disease that grabs hold of one woman in eight as a lifetime risk. After six months of treatments, several sweet God-inspired moments jogged my path. I write lyrics of a different sort than John, but I do write…

Character

Character

I am writing a sequel to my novel, Stashes. I miss my characters: Jackie and Steve Breeden, pictured sumptuously on the cover by the illustrator, Cliff Cramp (yup, he of the Star Wars dvd covers’ fame).

I miss their life misadventures – and there was an open loop in the narrative that begged for the sequel. There was a character who wanted a turn: a long lost Californian named Carl.

The sequel novel title is Hashes and Bashes. It’s fiction, but real life. You get the drift; you are living life on this planet, too. Among Human Beings who hash and bash habitually someone is going to get hit.

I’m Not Twelve

I’m Not Twelve

I’m fifty years past my tweens, those years of perpetually-plerplexed living. I am an adult. I seldom squabble or complain, behaving hyper-responsibly to problem-solve my own good end. I may have retired from working, but I didn’t retire from thinking.

I’ve amassed a collection of WTF/duh, stupendously stupid replies when I shared a concern conversationally in the past few weeks. Let them alternately amuse, enrage, or amaze you, as they did me:

Living Life as A Miracle: Appliance

Living Life as A Miracle: Appliance

The phone rang at 4:56 on a Friday afternoon, as we readied to dine out with friends. When my husband answered, the disembodied voice said, “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

My husband replied, “No, you won’t because we won’t be here,” smirking as he replaced the phone in the charger and then turned toward the closet to choose from among his Hawaii shirts. We were ready to cut loose.

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PJ Colando

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