Could Your Name be an Adjective?

           Certain names sound like they should be part of our vocabulary. Take Kimberly. Kimberly sounds like gingerly and limber. It makes you think of someone graceful yet perky.  He took the stairs kimberly, eager to see his new office.  See? Already you cannot do without this word.

          Another one that evokes a mood is Layla. It sounds restful, quiet, almost shy. She was feeling a bit layla, so decided to stay home.

          Kenny sounds bright and shiny to me.  We squinted at the kenny sun.

          Cynthia sounds sophisticated.  It sounds like synthesis and sincerity. She had arranged the room perfectly, making it cynthia and elegant.

          Ryan sounds broad and expansive to me, like an open, rolling field. Could you be more specific? Your ideas are so ryan.

          To me, Brenda sounds like a champion. A contender who's brilliant. She’s the top brenda in her Olympic event.                                                                             

          How about the name, Beverly?  Somehow this sounds optimistic and undaunted. Maybe it combines believe and ever. She was pretty beverly about it, and just kept going.

          My own name sounds like two descriptions to me. One is a jiggly verb: Maybe we can joni this into place.  And the other is a playful adjective: We had such a joni time at the park.

          How about your name? How could it be used to describe something? If you have to coin a word, it may as well be your own name.

          Be sure to subscribe! And check out my website where you’ll find kenny and cynthia books!

A Visit to the Twilight Zone

                Have you ever had one of those days when everything goes wacko?  Okay, I suspect this happens to me more often than it does to regular people (people who do not have a craziness magnet implanted in them somehow).

                But here are three things that happened last week while running errands with St. Bob.  First, I had to return some things to Home Goods. I walked in, saw the line for the cashiers, and immediately crashed into a display of wind chimes on the end cap. BIG, NOISY wind chimes.  CLANG, BANG, BRRRANg!

          Granted, I do not have excellent hand-to-eye coordination (any other body parts can be substituted for these two), but why couldn’t it have been a stack of fluffy towels?  And, of course, everyone stared at the woman who can’t even navigate a check-out line.

          Then we decided to grab lunch. Bob ordered for us while I checked out the gift shop. I wasn’t that hungry, so I told him to just order a side of mashed potatoes for me. Those are always dependable, right?  But the elderly waitress said, “Oh, did she have dental work? I always have mashed potatoes when I’ve had dental work.”  Seriously?  You would ask this of a stranger?

          Then, as we were paying our tab and leaving, Bob noticed a man coming out of the restroom who seemed confused. He was knocking papers off a table. Bob went back as Mr. Good Deed of the Day, and asked if he could help.  The guy said, “No—leave me alone! Get away from me!”  Well, you try to be nice, right?

          Maybe we should just stay home and wait for this Twilight Zone day to be over.  You can do the same—read one of my books or watch one of my Youtube videos. They’re all right here, folks.

Our Latest Catastrophe

          Hey, I know this pandemic is discouraging, but throwing yourself off a roof?  Okay, it wasn’t a person who did this; it was our gigantic vine of Creeping Fig that has grown on the wall over our garage.

          Yes, we woke up to this on a Sunday morning when Bob had an early meeting at church. It simply grew too heavy to hold on. We scooched it to the side so he could get out.  

           Then several  AMAZING guys at church volunteered to come over and help us with it, ox-in-the-mire kind of thing. 

                     Ten years ago it blew down in a killer storm, and we cut it up and waited for it to re-grow. But this time I wanted to try re-attaching it. I don’t like this ten years of waiting business.

         With mad engineering skills, they managed to hoist hundreds of pounds of foliage back up into place, string wire through eye-hooks, and basically defy gravity. It took that evening and the next day.

         Neighbors lent ladders, manpower, and encouragement. St. Bob made trips to the hardware store. Joni stood there and pretended she knew beans about fixing this. 

          Between our neighbors and our church buddies, the whole thing was like a barn-raising. We did lose the vine over the third garage door, but the main part was saved.

          Finally Bob took some video, including the last shot, our adorable neighbor (age 6) saying, “It looks like it never happened.”

          A perfect storybook ending.

And, speaking of books, find all of mine here.

Invisible Ink?

           St. Bob and I finally got both of our vaccine shots. And at my second appointment, the nurse said, “Don’t laminate your card because a lot of people are finding that it makes the ink disappear.”

          WHAT?  So, wouldn’t the problem be YOUR INK?  Documents are laminated all the time and I’ve never heard of it causing this particular calamity.

          Remember when we were little and we’d write a secret message in lemon juice, then hold it over a candle flame?  If your paper didn’t catch on fire, you could read the message, slowly appearing in brown lettering. Too bad little kids don’t have valuable secrets that can prevent espionage. But it was still fun.

          And now it’s going in reverse. And none of us want to go through getting vaccinated again, just because our record vanished. A friend of mine said the real reason not to laminate is because you might need a booster shot written on there someday. Okay, at least that makes sense. Maybe they should just write everything in lemon juice.

I promise the ink in my books won’t vanish before you can read them all.

People Who Live in Glass Houses

           I have to join Witsec. Again.  This time a workman saw me in my underwear. MY UNDERWEAR!  How did this happen, you ask?

          First, I was gardening. During unseasonably hot weather (my mistake, granted). Soon I was a hot mess, sweaty from head to toe. I came into the house, peeled off my shirt, drank some ice water, then sat down in the kitchen to fan myself.

          Next thing I know, a workman, who is supposed to arrive at 4pm has instead chosen to arrive at 3pm, has gone straight into the back yard, and is now knocking at the glass doors I am facing. Lest you think there is a glare on the glass and he can’t really see me, he is also calling my name.

          I look up, horrified, and quickly scramble into my nearby wet clothing. I have to go outside to answer his questions and now my face is redder than it was when I was gardening.

          Bob comes home and I tell him what happened and that we have to move and change our identities. I see his lips twisting in an effort not to laugh. I believe this is the leading cause of injuries to men.

          A few days ago I had given this workman a Book of Mormon, and now I am sure he thinks we are exhibitionists. My brain is still jumping up and down, screaming, so I can’t think how to approach this subject.

          But now, every time Bob leaves, he says, “Keep your clothes on.” He is living dangerously, that man.

People have actually asked me how I come up with such embarrassing situations in my comedy novels.  Are you kidding? Those are like diaries.  Check  ‘em out here.

Alexa Lays an Egg

            I just read an article in Consumer Reports that said bird songs can lift your mood, according to a study done of 655 hikers in Colorado.

Well, hot-diggity dove! I immediately asked Alexa to play some, to see if it worked. It started with a soft squawk.

No sooner had I opened this Pandora’s Box than Mickey, our Terrier/Chihuahua. came racing into the kitchen, hackles up, barking like the maniac she is. I could just imagine the wheels turning in her little grape-sized brain.

Then our cat, Simon, charged in, eyes the size of hubcaps, fur puffed out. He kept kept staring out the back door, on high alert for a bird foolish enough to rest on our patio. I had to wonder—are these recordings of injured birds who are easy to catch?

Mickey continued carrying on until I told Alexa to stop the bird songs. Did this lift my mood?  You tell me.

BUT… my books will definitely lift your mood. Fine them all right here.

A Chat with St. Bob

           Chatting with Bob is like spinning a wheel with no idea what the spinner will land on. Could be you’ll get a regular answer. But, more likely, you will get what I call a Bobism.

          For example, this week I was at the computer and said, “I’m sending you a couple of good forwards.”  Immediately he responded, “I love it when you talk basketball.”

          Whose mind works this way? I’ll tell you. It’s a person with a tiny squirrel in their brain who’s holding his sides, laughing.

          Then I was working on an article about people who belittle their spouses. I said, “I hope you don’t ever feel I belittle you,” (after all, there is this blog) to which St. Bob said, “Are you kidding? You be-large me!”  Yes, he will coin words whenever necessary.

          And then there was a banging noise in the neighborhood and I said, “That’s irritating, Bob” to which he said, “No, it’s not irritating Bob.” Ah, if only commas were visible in conversation.

          Last, I was explaining how to cook something and ended by saying, “Then you’re done. Boom,” to which he responded, “You mean Boom Shaka Laka.”

          Yep, that’s what I meant.

This hilarious man has wormed his way into many of my novels; check them out here.