Wrongo

           Do you have any idea how often I’m wrong? Take a guess and join my world, because you, too, will be wrong.

          It’s a lot. I know that’s not a specific number, but neither is tons, gobs, heaps, or loads. And I’m not even sure I’m right about that.  Maybe back in the 1400s some peasant in England decided “heaps” was an exact measurement of some kind.

          My latest wrong speculation was that an apostle from our church was coming to visit our area because they’re creating a new stake. I was sure of this conjecture and shared it at a Christmas party.

          Of course my daring compatriots immediately seized upon this opportunity to profit from my over-confidence. They said if I was wrong, I’d have to throw the next party.

          You guessed it. No new stake. Joni thus had to throw a New Year’s Eve party, but the good news is that we’re on the West coast, and we could have a New York New Years’ by watching the ball drop at 9 pm and calling it a night.

          So, if on occasion you find yourself being dead wrong about something, I say celebrate. Being wrong means you are self-educating. That sounds intelligent to me. By the way, did you know that intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair? Needless to say, nobody’s testing my zinc or copper.

And that zinc/copper thing may be a myth. What’s not a myth is that my books are all available here at rock-bottom prices, but mountain-top values!

The Robots are Coming

           Meet Digit, the new robot Ford has introduced, to deliver your packages. It could replace all the folks who come to your door with your Amazon orders:

                   The techies who invented it are, naturally, very excited. The problem is that they don’t think like regular people. And, not to be Debbie Downer, but I can’t help wondering:

 

           What if Dobermans, Mastiffs, and other large dogs live in your neighborhood, see Digit as a threat, and come charging at him like a linebacker? I can see this very expensive robot suddenly airborne, then crashing to the ground and getting shaken to pieces.
           I can also see burglars kidnapping these, then re-programming them to enter your home (no face recognition problem) and steal whatever they’re told to find.

           What about glitches that make Digit take your package to the wrong house?  Or come back with any other packages lying there? And what about adolescent boys who enjoy pranks?  I envision a lasso tightening around Digit and then hefting him up into a tree. 

             I’m telling you, I need to be on the trouble-shooting team before we go romping off into the future without a reality check.

Speaking of checks, check out my Youtube Mom videos right here.

My New Years' Gift to You

           I know Christmas is over, but in my case, the goodies linger.  We are still happily chowing down on fudge, cookies, cakes and pastries. (Yes, I could have made that list longer.)

          It isn’t that we’ve all had excellent willpower; it’s that we’ve accumulated a mountain of delights. I think I told you that when I was a little girl I wanted to be Queen Frostine from Candyland.

          But now that it’s a New Year I need to hunker down and get back to a healthier diet. All was going well until I was out running errands and needed a face mask. I found one in my purse, hurriedly put it on and was suddenly immersed in the scents of chocolate and caramel. YIKES! Busted for eating these the last time I wore the mask!

          So here’s my million-dollar idea for you: Scented Covid Masks!  (Except this one was unintentional and will only make your mouth water.)  But think of fragrances that would help you fight munchies and forget about sugar—I hear mint can work.

Or spray it with an air freshener you like. Think of scented candles. Think of ocean breezes and mountain meadows. Just don’t think of chocolate. Trust me.

You can also trust me to deliver great stories right to you door—check out my books here.

Welcome Into What?

         I’ll admit it—I love shopping the after-Christmas sales. St. Bob, not so much. Recently he asked me what I was looking for.

          “Impulse items,” I said.

          “You mean repulse items,” he said. Ha ha ha. Little does he know how much it saves us for me to buy wrapping paper and Christmas napkins when they’re on sale. I have no problem waiting about a year to use them.

          But what does bug me is the latest trend I’ve noticed: Clerks saying “Welcome In.”  This never used to happen. They would simply say, “Welcome,” or maybe “Good afternoon.”  Why the sudden addition of “in”?

          I know, someone will write and say I should be grateful I’m even being welcomed, but that’s just it—I’m not being welcomed; I’m being welcomed IN.  The “in” is already implied. It doesn’t need to be stated, and thus redundant.

          Think about it. When was the last time someone came to your home and you said, “Welcome in,” instead of just “Welcome!” 

Imagine visiting a king at his castle. He’s standing there in his royal robes, arms flung wide and he says, “Welcome!”  He would never say, “Welcome in!” 

          So now I have to add another thing to my pet peeve list. I’ll put it right under “Let me see where it’s at.” (sigh)

          You will never find epressions like this in my books—order them here and see. Oh—and if you do find one, Oops.

Oh, the Hugh Manatee!

        It’s Christmastime, so it’s time for my annual gift-making disaster story. Usually it’s a craft, but this time it’s baked goods. The first idea was to make candy cane breads that would look like this:

           But I doubled the recipe and made the loaves too large. Thus they looked like manatees (or fat otters) curling up for a nap together: 

          Not to be dissuaded from continuing with this stupid idea, I decided to make braided bread instead. More mixing. More rising.  The goal was this: 

          But it came out looking like baby aliens. This one even has a face!  

              This one looks like it landed on Santa and crushed him:

              Maybe I’ll just say, “Here’s some Alien bread. Hope your Christmas is out of this world.” 

          And you MUST buy A Little Christmas Prayer which is the ideal gift for anyone, any age, any faith. Even for a manatee.

Re-naming My World

           You’ve seen the socks and T-shirts that say, “I’m silently correcting your grammar,” right?  Well, I am silently correcting some of the street names near me.  

            I told you here that I’ve actually named some streets. But I’ve never re-named a street. And this is a pity, because not far from my house is a new development that needs my help. Tell me these would not be better names:

          Lookout Pass: Are you kidding? First, there is no elevation, no mountain, no “lookout” as in “view.” So what are we to think—that crazy drivers live here, ones you need to look out for? Instead, change it to Cookout Pass.  Now you want to go there.

          Powder Ridge: This would be a great name for a street in Utah, Colorado, or anywhere else where people snow ski. But this is a part of California that gets NO SNOW.  What’s next—Shoreline Drive where there’s no shore? I suggest changing it to Power Ridge, so at least you could hope to see some superheroes.

          Great Divide: A bit optimistic, here. Sure, every street divides one group of houses from another. But is this truly great? It seems the least you could expect, really.  Certainly nothing like the Great Barrier Reef or the Great Salt Lake. On the other hand, Adequate Divide seems a bit sad. How about going the opposite way and calling it Harmony Court or Unity Drive?

          Heather Falls: First, no waterfalls. Second, no heather. What are we to think—that someone named Heather keeps falling down in this area?

          Singletree Court: Uh, false advertising. There are waaay more trees than one here. It’s like Blue Oaks Boulevard near me, which boasts not a single Blue Oak. Doesn’t it seem like the first rule of street-naming should be to at least look around first? (sigh)  So many streets, so little time.

          HOWEVER, you can easily spend less time shopping if you simply buy my books—there’s even one called A Little Christmas Prayer that’s perfect for adults or kids!  

In the Pen?

        The three younger grown kids bought Richie, the eldest, a fabulous fountain pen for his birthday. First they sent an inkwell for him to have while he anticipates the pen’s arrival.

          Richie texted, “Wow, thank you so much for the birthday present, everyone! This is just amazing.  I can’t wait to write with it.”

          The others responded with gladness, and eagerness for him to try it out. But they couldn’t simply leave it there.

          Brandon: In the meantime, you can just finger paint with the ink.

          Richie: Ha—people will think I tried to rob a bank and got hit with a dye pack.

          Brandon: Yeah! They’ll think you’re a super cool bank robber. Everyone loves a heist.

          Nicole: Sounds like this is going to open a lot of doors for you.

          So if you see a guy who is possibly too tall for the mug shot measurement lines, and he has black ink on his hands, 

just know that he wasn’t actually robbing a bank; he was finger painting.

          Have you ordered your copies of A Little Christmas Prayer, yet? I’m telling you, it’s the ideal gift for anyone, of any age, and of any faith. Rock-bottom price, too (and the Kindle version is just 99 cents)!