Today’s post comes from Bill in MPLS
In the most significant and, needless to say, dramatic manifestation since Lourdes, the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared this week in a Minneapolis neighborhood, her first stop on a nationwide tour.
“This really blows,” she announced with palpable agitation. “I hoped we were making progress, but now it’s getting ugly again.”
Have you seen her? What was her message to you?
Header image via Creative Commons under CC 2.0
Tomorrow, Donald J. Trump will take the oath of office and become the 45th president of the United States.
The official oath is very simple: I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.
This could be an awkward moment. Our next president is famous for going off-script.
Actually, that’s a lie. It suggests there’s a script to begin with.
He is known for saying whatever comes to mind. And because his brain is so unique and excellent, he has little experience in following anyone in a repeat-after-me situation. I don’t expect him to be intimidated by the chief justice of the Supreme Court. Trump will want to say it his way.
To offer a little assistance, I’ve re-fashioned the oath into what I think is a passable example of Trump-speak. And it has the added bonus of rhyming, so he could sing it if he wants.
I solemnly swear!
My swears are so solemn
they’re top of the charts
in the solemn swear column
I will execute faithfully
this lofty post.
I’m as faithful as Jesus
and a better Host.
The office of President!
I’m so well suited.
No office will ever be
more executed.
As for my ability,
you be the tester.
when we’re talking ables
nobody’s is bester.
And the Constitution!
You kidding? Forget it!
I’ll preserve and protect that
like someone who’s read it.
I promise this oath
it’s a pledge that I’ve spoken.
I’ll honor it like
all the others I’ve broken.
Wah hoo! Haters? SAD!
How are you at keeping promises?
Header photo by jatdoll via Creative Commons
Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.
The four of us (my sister and her son, Husband and moi) were on our own for five days in Paris.
We learned a lot about food and eating the Parisian way – picked up baguettes from the boulangeries (bread bakeries), croissants and other delicacies for our petit dejuener (breakfast) from patisseries (dessert bakeries), meats from boucheries, crepes and quiches from crèperies.
On our first day, however, we were lucky enough to come upon the neighborhood marché (market), which had on display all the spring (and other) vegetables you can imagine, plus sausages, fish, cheese, and our dinner – kabobs. Why I didn’t take more photos at the marché I don’t remember, but here is one.
And here’s how some of the bounty looked back at “our” flat (air.bnb, but that’s another story).
It was delicious, especially because it represented the success I had in asking the price.
Combien, s’il vous plait? (How much, please?)
Of course, the answer was spoken so quickly I couldn’t catch it, so I did what I had seen other tourists do – laid out my palm full of coins (there are 1- and 2- euro coins) and let him take what he needed. Then said “Merci.”
What’s your favorite outdoor market?
Today’s post comes from Verily Sherrilee
I’m not sure exactly when my family got our first game of Aggravation. It’s like Parcheesi; six players move their pieces around the board to their safe home base. Until you are home safe, if any other player lands on your space, back to the beginning you go. My father didn’t care for it much; he said that since it was a dice game, it was just a game of chance so not very challenging. For a while my sister and my mom and I played against each other – each taking two colors of marbles. After a few years my sister slowly withdrew leaving Nonny and me squared off playing three colors each.
We’ve played Aggravation for decades now – whenever we visit one another, out comes the game and the marbles. My game board had duct tape on the bottom side holding it together and for many years at her house, we had one oddly-colored yellow marble. We each have a favorite die (although I do trade off every now and then). Having gone up against each other for so many years, I can honestly say that Nonny and I play exactly the same game. Aggressive right out of the chute, addicted to the center spot and wildly competitive. Very very rarely does either of us make a move that the other can’t predict.
My dad was right – it’s just the dice. Nonny agrees with this assessment. But we keep playing anyway and while we do win about the same number of games, the pattern is weird. Two years ago when she was here, she won 8 out of 9 games but this past Thanksgiving week I won 10 out of 11. The fact that both Nonny and I remember these stats should probably be disturbing.
What board game makes you competitive?
Today’s post comes from Renee in North Dakota
Husband dines on Mexican food prepared in back of Pakistani-owned tobacco shop on a North Dakota Indian reservation.
He tells owner “We make chapatis and lamb curry”, and shows book of Arabic poetry.
Owner translates, then recites poetry in Urdu, and challenges Husband to read the Koran.
When have you encountered the unexpected?
Today’s post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa
On Sunday I turn 75 years old. In the past I have celebrated “landmark” birthdays with gatherings of almost everyone I know. The first one was for my 60th. It was a potluck (I provided ham and turkey) in the basement of church-turned-theater. I called it “The Funeral of my Youth” and decorated with photos from my past. Since I have friends from several different pieces of my life, I asked them to wear a nametag indicating why they knew me and when they met me. I think about 50 people were there. Upstairs in the “sanctuary/theater” a couple friends performed songs they had written in my honor, another sang John Hartford’s “Tall Buildings” for me. A friend and I performed a short play (vignette?) of “I’m Herbert” by Robert Anderson (it’s one of a collection of four short one acts titled “You Know I Can’t Hear You When the Water’s Running”). It is two old folks sitting on the porch trying to remember their past.
When I turned 64 I threw another party based on the Beatles song. Again in the basement of the small church-turned-theater. Less elaborate, again a potluck but no “performances.” Well, one. We had to hear the song, of course. A friend sang it right before everyone walked out the door.
Then at 70 I invited friends again, even more as my circle had expanded. The church-turned-theater had been purchased for a home, so I found another lovely venue nearby—the Scott House. It is a historic-once-was-a-stagecoach stop between St Paul/Mpls and Duluth/Superior. It was still beautifully decorated from the holidays. The entertainment was the movie “Lumber Jill” where I played a “Creepy Old Woman.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYf8quaYcGs ) Another potluck of exceptional tastiness. Another success…another group of 50+ or so. I promised everyone I would do it again…
But this year, even retired and with time to prepare, I opted for a less celebratory event. This year I decided I wanted to meet with people for dinner or lunch in small gatherings so I get to talk to everyone and enjoy their company more one-on-one and spread out throughout the month.
What do you do to celebrate those “special/landmark” birthdays?
way back when dale was first looking for a guest blogger or two when he was going to be away i was assigned was friday the 13th as my date and dale suggested that i do a friday the 13th blog to go with it.
today’s post comes from tim
clyde made a suggedtion the other day we do a 50 word guest blog offering
i blew past it because he also mentioned he was going to stop writing on his everything is south of here site and i recoiled
(please continue clyde)
so lets try in the same way haiku limits and defines i propose ee prepare 2017 posts of no more than 50 words (title excluded)
jerzy kozinski used to edit snd edit until no unneccessary was allowed to remain
based on that rule 1/2 this post goes along with 7/8 of whst i have to ssy in general
ready set blog
Today’s post comes from Wessew
I’m going to write about glue. All Trailbabooners know about glue. Some of you are/were teachers and may even have made your own glue using flour and water. I recall being taught the recipe in first grade to finish paper-mâché projects. At the time, it seemed rather messy so I have my doubts that process is popular today. The history of glue goes back thousands of years. Affixing one item to another was a challenge to be met by tool makers and construction laborers. Tar, eggs, starch all found their way into everyday use. For most folks their experience with glue is limited to the basics: Elmers and Super Glue. And typically their knowledge of glues is also basic: “Glue is glue”. Well, that is not true. Indeed, it can be quite confusing to go to the glue aisle of a Lowe’s or Home Depot and be confronted with a dozens of varieties of glue. As reading the fine print seems a lost “art”, I surmise that many failures arise from the assumption that all glues are pretty much the same.
In my floor covering trade, there are hundreds of different glues. Each has specific qualities and recommended usages. But the basic guideline for use is: Read the label. Well, back in the early 70’s, we were doing a project at the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks, North Dakota. The material was delivered to the job site along with buckets of glue. It was cork tile. From Portugal. With instructions in Portuguese. There was no discernible contact information in the material so as Portuguese is not a common language in North Dakota, the University did put me on to a Spanish translator. As these languages are related, I hoped for the best in getting a fairly good idea as to how to use the glue. I missed a step in translation. The glue had to be used over a porous subfloor ie wood or properly prepared concrete. Our concrete was polished meaning it was now a non-porous subfloor. We came in the next day and found the tile we had laid expanded about 1/32 of an inch in each piece causing a peaking effect. The glue had no where to go except into the cork itself. I panicked. Then I remembered a little physics and what could shrink material: Cold. We obtained dry ice and moved the chunks around the floor for hours. It worked!
We still get material from foreign countries but most often it comes with instructions in multiple languages… including English.
Have you ever had a problem with translation?
Today’s post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa.
Christmas is not one of my favorite times of the year, Memories are loaded with emotional and physical loss – each of my parents died, I received divorce papers, old reminders of the difficult maneuvering after my parents separated and divorced and remarried. Then there was exhaustion after the long hours working in my father’s retail business wrapping presents, followed by a six hour drive to southern Minnesota to be with grandparents, my parents smoking and arguing what seems like the entire way.
But one Christmas I love to remember: the year I was in Switzerland.
After my first year teaching I quit to travel in Europe. I ended up staying with a family in the small village of Adliswil just outside Zurich. They lived above their tearoom and bakery but also had a home up in the mountains near Einsedeln. The month leading up to Christmas they made candies — delicious Swiss chocolates, many with nummy hazel nut cream. (I thought they were called Moor’s Caps/Moorenkoppen, but I can’t find what I remember them being on the web…so memory being what it is…who knows what they were called.)
Not only did they put up with me, but they graciously allowed me to invite a college friend who was studying in England to join me for the holiday.
On Christmas Eve we drove up to their mountain home. The tree was decorated (did I help decorate it? I don’t remember) with real and lit candles. Interestingly my friend remembers many more details of the holiday than I do, but this we both remember: There was snow. In the evening, we walked somewhere I don’t recall and on our way up along the mountain road a man was riding a bicycle down the road yodeling. A perfect Swiss moment.
Do you have a favorite Christmas memory?
Trail Baboon 
.jpg){kind=link}