They're showing up everywhere. Resting on the fence:
In the trees:
Nesting in the grass:
It's Open Season!
Yum. It was delicious!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
POTUS and TOTUS
Teleprompter Of The United States...
Guys, this blog is hilarious. Barack's Teleprompter Blog. Everyone made fun of 43 (That's the most recent Bush for you Obama voters and Obama is 44) and his speaking ability and how "stupid" he was. I'll even admit his communication skills were not the best but it didn't make him stupid. I don't think Obama is stupid either, but his policies are way to the left! At any rate, I am going to go on a rant here.
There are a lot of articles out there on how Obama uses and is highly dependent on his Teleprompter. He even thanked himself for throwing a party on St. Patrick's Day. Well, apparently ToTUS has a blog of his own (her own for you feminists). I found a bunch more links on via google, good reading.
The great orator Freezes...
Teleprompter President...
I'd Like to President Obama, wait a minute... that's me...
Obama's Safety Net....
Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
A Daytrip
I've been taking my brother, who lives in a nursing home, on short daytrips to some local historic sites and small museums. He really enjoys getting out. Just don't ask him next week about where we went last week - he'll say, "I don't remember..."
Here we are in Bancroft, Nebraska at the John G. Neihardt Center.
Neihardt was Nebraska's Poet Laureate. He wrote a lot of Epic poems, but is probably most well known for Black Elk Speaks and When the Tree Flowered, both biographies of American Indians. I've read all his stuff, but my favorite of all his works are the two volumes of his autobiography; All is But a Beginning and Patterns and Coincidences.
Here is Neihardt's Study in Bancroft, where he wrote his epic poems:
It was a nice day when we were there, but we will be going back to see the Sioux Prayer Garden in late spring, when evrything is in bloom.
Winter's Last Hurrah
Which one do you like better? The one taken through the trees, or without the trees?
These were taken two weeks ago. Yesterday, it was 70 degrees. Winter in the Husker Nation... First day of spring: March 20. WOOHOO!
I've been taking my brother, who lives in a nursing home, on short daytrips to some local historic sites and small museums. He really enjoys getting out. Just don't ask him next week about where we went last week - he'll say, "I don't remember..."
Here we are in Bancroft, Nebraska at the John G. Neihardt Center.
Neihardt was Nebraska's Poet Laureate. He wrote a lot of Epic poems, but is probably most well known for Black Elk Speaks and When the Tree Flowered, both biographies of American Indians. I've read all his stuff, but my favorite of all his works are the two volumes of his autobiography; All is But a Beginning and Patterns and Coincidences.
Here is Neihardt's Study in Bancroft, where he wrote his epic poems:
It was a nice day when we were there, but we will be going back to see the Sioux Prayer Garden in late spring, when evrything is in bloom.
Winter's Last Hurrah
Which one do you like better? The one taken through the trees, or without the trees?
These were taken two weeks ago. Yesterday, it was 70 degrees. Winter in the Husker Nation... First day of spring: March 20. WOOHOO!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Here is the Youtube address of one of the cleverest songs I’ve heard in a long while:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmqIsnIp5uc
It’s a happy sounding tune but it provides the background for the angriest betrayed wife in the Western Hemisphere. The video features Rory + Joey. This husband and wife team were contestants on a show called “Can you Duet?” I don’t watch the show, but lemme tell you, “Yes, Rory & Joey CAN duet!” If you like good, new, classy Country Music in the traditional style, visit their website http://www.joeyandrory.com/ .
Now, the only thing I can find wrong with Cheater Cheater it is that it’s too short, so I thought we might try adding a few verses of our own here at OSM.
Here are the original words, in italics, followed by my own addition:
Cheater Cheater
By Rory Feeks and Joey Martin Feeks. The copyright is all their’s.
This is all just for fun, not for profit or publication elsewhere.
Cheater, cheater where’d you meet her? Down at Ernie’s Bar?
Did she smile your way, twirl her hair and say how cute your dimples are?
Did she use that line you’re place or mine while you danced with her real slow?
Tell me, cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Liar, liar did you buy her whiskey all night long?
Did you hide your ring in the pocket of your jeans or did you just keep it on?
When the deed was done and you had your fun, did you think I wouldn’t know?
Cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Loser, loser, hope you lover her ‘cuz you’re stuck with her now
So take your sorry butt and load up all your stuff and get the hell out of my house
But I just wish you’d tell me this one thing before you go,
Cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Now I’m not one to judge someone that I ain’t never met
But to lay your hands on a married man’s about as low as a gal can get
And I wish her well as she rots in hell and you can tell her I said so.
Cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Cheater, cheater where’d you meet that low-down, uptown,
Slept with every guy, around pressed on eyelash, no good white trash ‘ho?
New verses:
Redneck, roughneck, where in the heck was your common sense?
Did you just get drunk, like a dirty skunk, and throw caution to the winds?
Well, I hope she was worth all you lost on Earth. But I’d still like to know;
Tell me, cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmqIsnIp5uc
It’s a happy sounding tune but it provides the background for the angriest betrayed wife in the Western Hemisphere. The video features Rory + Joey. This husband and wife team were contestants on a show called “Can you Duet?” I don’t watch the show, but lemme tell you, “Yes, Rory & Joey CAN duet!” If you like good, new, classy Country Music in the traditional style, visit their website http://www.joeyandrory.com/ .
Now, the only thing I can find wrong with Cheater Cheater it is that it’s too short, so I thought we might try adding a few verses of our own here at OSM.
Here are the original words, in italics, followed by my own addition:
Cheater Cheater
By Rory Feeks and Joey Martin Feeks. The copyright is all their’s.
This is all just for fun, not for profit or publication elsewhere.
Cheater, cheater where’d you meet her? Down at Ernie’s Bar?
Did she smile your way, twirl her hair and say how cute your dimples are?
Did she use that line you’re place or mine while you danced with her real slow?
Tell me, cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Liar, liar did you buy her whiskey all night long?
Did you hide your ring in the pocket of your jeans or did you just keep it on?
When the deed was done and you had your fun, did you think I wouldn’t know?
Cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Loser, loser, hope you lover her ‘cuz you’re stuck with her now
So take your sorry butt and load up all your stuff and get the hell out of my house
But I just wish you’d tell me this one thing before you go,
Cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Now I’m not one to judge someone that I ain’t never met
But to lay your hands on a married man’s about as low as a gal can get
And I wish her well as she rots in hell and you can tell her I said so.
Cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Cheater, cheater where’d you meet that low-down, uptown,
Slept with every guy, around pressed on eyelash, no good white trash ‘ho?
New verses:
Redneck, roughneck, where in the heck was your common sense?
Did you just get drunk, like a dirty skunk, and throw caution to the winds?
Well, I hope she was worth all you lost on Earth. But I’d still like to know;
Tell me, cheater, cheater, where’d you meet that no good white trash ‘ho?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Phrase Creates Stories
This is a rerun from 2006, when I first got interested in blogging (Thank you, LaDawn!) Since I’ve had neither time nor inspiration lately and Shelby is tired of me not posting new stuff, I thought I’d put up a few reruns, especially for those of you who didn’t join me until later in my Life as a Blogospherian.
I and my kids, Jack, Em, are all writers. We used to do an exercise where one of us would challenge the others with a phrase on Saturday and the rest of us had to come up with a story before the following Friday. Here are a couple of winners:
Sometimes the Dragon Wins
By Jack Carson.
There’s a story out there, no one really knows who told it first, but it’s been around for long time. Anyway, it goes a little like this. There’s this village, a quaint little anywhere place, that just so happens to be in the vicinity of a ferocious dragon. As you can imagine, being terrorized by a dragon on a regular basis is not very pleasant.
So along comes this knight. Resplendent in his armor, astride his white stallion, his sword sharp, his lance long, his head empty. Anyway, this knight goes to slay the dragon. Cinch, right? Well, the knight doesn’t return for about a week, and finally the villagers send somebody to see if he’s completed his task. All this guy finds are the bones of his horse and a fused lump of melted metal, with all that’s left of the knight rattling around inside as crumbled bits of charcoal.
The guy goes back to the village and all he has to say is, “Sometimes the Dragon Wins.”
Sometimes the Dragon Wins
by Emily Carson
He sits poring over the police report, the crime scene photographs, the coroner’s reports, and the tentative timeline. His name is Don Glasser and he is a profiler for the FBI. It is his job to analyze crime scenes and provide a profile of a possible suspect. As he has so many times before, he allows himself to imagine the crime as it happened.
Sarah Breckner tucks her four year old son, Stevie, in for the night. It’s a little chilly, so she shuts the window above his bed. Or tries to; it sticks and she can’t quite get it all the way down. She settles for shutting the blinds and giving Stevie an extra blanket. Sarah goes downstairs. She has trouble getting to sleep most nights; as is her habit, she turns on the television and lays down on the couch. It isn’t long before the droning noise has lulled her into a doze.
Outside, an intruder cuts through the screen of a living room window. He uses a hammer and a screwdriver to break the lock. Sarah stirs in her sleep, but it’s been a long day. She doesn’t awaken.
Quietly, the intruder climbs inside the house. He leaves footprints in the mud beneath the window, as well as a track on the floor. No fingerprints; he’s wearing gloves. He approaches Sarah, quietly, so quietly. She mutters in her sleep. Quickly he bends over her and clamps his hand over her mouth. She awakens, struggles, bites her lip, drawing blood.
Don takes a sip of coffee and grimaces. It’s from the bottom of the pot, thick as mud and bitter as death. This is the part that frightens him most; it’s easier to figure out what happened at the crime scene than it is to read the mind of the criminal. Yet that is what he is expected to do, it’s what he’s been trained for, to analyze the behavior of a suspect and provide a personality. What was this assailant thinking?
He jumps on Sarah, straddling her, pinning her down. Sarah is a strong woman; she runs nearly every day and swims three times a week. Fear makes her stronger, fear for her child and herself. She fights him, scratching his face. He hits her, sending the back of her head against a lamp. Her nightgown twists around her body as she struggles, leaving chafe marks on her neck and armpits. She backhands him, leaving bruises on her knuckles. Her struggle enrages him; he hits her again and again, breaking her nose, blacking an eye.
The assailant brings out his knife. It’s a hunting knife, made to dress deer and other game. He stabs Sarah through the right forearm, the knife going between the radius and ulna bones. Sarah screams. The noise finally wakes Stevie. He runs to the top of the stairs but doesn’t go down.
The assailant stabs Sarah four more times, two mortally. One punctures a lung, the other slashes the aorta.
“Mommy!” The intruder looks up. He didn’t expect a child. He runs out.
Sarah gets up. As her life is ebbing away, she knows she has to call for help. She staggers toward the kitchen and the telephone. It’s so far and she is so weak. So much blood . . .
Stevie runs down the stairs. He is crying hard now, and he wants his mother to be OK. He clings to her leg as she tries to get to the kitchen. Her blood drips down on his hair and inside his pajama top.
She’s almost there. “Please,” she gasps, not sure who she is entreating. She can feel the strength leaving her legs. Her knees buckle as she grasps the phone. She collapses on the floor, spent. Stevie huddles beside her, still crying as his mother breathes her last . . .
Don rubs his temples. One of his migraines is coming on, making his left eye water and left hand feel weak. He shuffles the papers in front of him, trying to piece the suspect together. From the footprints, he was about 6’4’’, weighing between 260 and 300 lbs. Sarah had his DNA under her fingernails, but this is either a first offense, or the perp has been careful till now, because they haven’t got a match from criminal records. Don thinks it’s more likely that the UNSUB, or unidentified subject, has been careful. Most criminals don’t start out breaking in and attacking. If the UNSUB had any record, it would be for window peeping or breaking and entering.
Since the man ran after he saw Stevie, Don doesn’t think he was stalking Sarah. A stalker would’ve expected the child. Sarah was well-off and attractive. It’s possible the man only had robbery on his mind, but got other ideas when he saw Sarah asleep on the couch. Entering, the UNSUB was organized. He had the knife and the tools. When he couldn’t control Sarah, he became disorganized. He left the tools under the window and the knife on the living room floor. This tells Don that he hasn’t attacked anyone before; any further crimes will begin blitz-style, with the UNSUB using maximum force to subdue his victims. He’ll have learned from this failure.
No fingerprints, no composite sketch. One witness, a traumatized four-year-old. Don writes his profile, but isn’t hopeful. Unless this man attacks again, or is arrested on an unrelated charge, it’s not likely he’ll be found. Stranger crimes, ones with no connection between the victim and the perp, are among the hardest to solve. By all accounts, no one who knew Sarah Breckner wished her ill. It appears she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Don lets out a frustrated growl, shoving some of the paperwork off his desk. He makes a promise then, one to Stevie and his mother, that he will not give up. He will keep fighting and looking for clues. Despite this, something one of his mentors at Quantico once said runs through his head: “Sometimes the dragon wins.”
And Janell’s “Sometimes the Dragon Wins” story? I’m ashamed to say, it was started, but never finished.
Maybe next time…
Do you have one to share? Remember, “Sometimes, the Dragon Wins…”
This is a rerun from 2006, when I first got interested in blogging (Thank you, LaDawn!) Since I’ve had neither time nor inspiration lately and Shelby is tired of me not posting new stuff, I thought I’d put up a few reruns, especially for those of you who didn’t join me until later in my Life as a Blogospherian.
I and my kids, Jack, Em, are all writers. We used to do an exercise where one of us would challenge the others with a phrase on Saturday and the rest of us had to come up with a story before the following Friday. Here are a couple of winners:
Sometimes the Dragon Wins
By Jack Carson.
There’s a story out there, no one really knows who told it first, but it’s been around for long time. Anyway, it goes a little like this. There’s this village, a quaint little anywhere place, that just so happens to be in the vicinity of a ferocious dragon. As you can imagine, being terrorized by a dragon on a regular basis is not very pleasant.
So along comes this knight. Resplendent in his armor, astride his white stallion, his sword sharp, his lance long, his head empty. Anyway, this knight goes to slay the dragon. Cinch, right? Well, the knight doesn’t return for about a week, and finally the villagers send somebody to see if he’s completed his task. All this guy finds are the bones of his horse and a fused lump of melted metal, with all that’s left of the knight rattling around inside as crumbled bits of charcoal.
The guy goes back to the village and all he has to say is, “Sometimes the Dragon Wins.”
Sometimes the Dragon Wins
by Emily Carson
He sits poring over the police report, the crime scene photographs, the coroner’s reports, and the tentative timeline. His name is Don Glasser and he is a profiler for the FBI. It is his job to analyze crime scenes and provide a profile of a possible suspect. As he has so many times before, he allows himself to imagine the crime as it happened.
Sarah Breckner tucks her four year old son, Stevie, in for the night. It’s a little chilly, so she shuts the window above his bed. Or tries to; it sticks and she can’t quite get it all the way down. She settles for shutting the blinds and giving Stevie an extra blanket. Sarah goes downstairs. She has trouble getting to sleep most nights; as is her habit, she turns on the television and lays down on the couch. It isn’t long before the droning noise has lulled her into a doze.
Outside, an intruder cuts through the screen of a living room window. He uses a hammer and a screwdriver to break the lock. Sarah stirs in her sleep, but it’s been a long day. She doesn’t awaken.
Quietly, the intruder climbs inside the house. He leaves footprints in the mud beneath the window, as well as a track on the floor. No fingerprints; he’s wearing gloves. He approaches Sarah, quietly, so quietly. She mutters in her sleep. Quickly he bends over her and clamps his hand over her mouth. She awakens, struggles, bites her lip, drawing blood.
Don takes a sip of coffee and grimaces. It’s from the bottom of the pot, thick as mud and bitter as death. This is the part that frightens him most; it’s easier to figure out what happened at the crime scene than it is to read the mind of the criminal. Yet that is what he is expected to do, it’s what he’s been trained for, to analyze the behavior of a suspect and provide a personality. What was this assailant thinking?
He jumps on Sarah, straddling her, pinning her down. Sarah is a strong woman; she runs nearly every day and swims three times a week. Fear makes her stronger, fear for her child and herself. She fights him, scratching his face. He hits her, sending the back of her head against a lamp. Her nightgown twists around her body as she struggles, leaving chafe marks on her neck and armpits. She backhands him, leaving bruises on her knuckles. Her struggle enrages him; he hits her again and again, breaking her nose, blacking an eye.
The assailant brings out his knife. It’s a hunting knife, made to dress deer and other game. He stabs Sarah through the right forearm, the knife going between the radius and ulna bones. Sarah screams. The noise finally wakes Stevie. He runs to the top of the stairs but doesn’t go down.
The assailant stabs Sarah four more times, two mortally. One punctures a lung, the other slashes the aorta.
“Mommy!” The intruder looks up. He didn’t expect a child. He runs out.
Sarah gets up. As her life is ebbing away, she knows she has to call for help. She staggers toward the kitchen and the telephone. It’s so far and she is so weak. So much blood . . .
Stevie runs down the stairs. He is crying hard now, and he wants his mother to be OK. He clings to her leg as she tries to get to the kitchen. Her blood drips down on his hair and inside his pajama top.
She’s almost there. “Please,” she gasps, not sure who she is entreating. She can feel the strength leaving her legs. Her knees buckle as she grasps the phone. She collapses on the floor, spent. Stevie huddles beside her, still crying as his mother breathes her last . . .
Don rubs his temples. One of his migraines is coming on, making his left eye water and left hand feel weak. He shuffles the papers in front of him, trying to piece the suspect together. From the footprints, he was about 6’4’’, weighing between 260 and 300 lbs. Sarah had his DNA under her fingernails, but this is either a first offense, or the perp has been careful till now, because they haven’t got a match from criminal records. Don thinks it’s more likely that the UNSUB, or unidentified subject, has been careful. Most criminals don’t start out breaking in and attacking. If the UNSUB had any record, it would be for window peeping or breaking and entering.
Since the man ran after he saw Stevie, Don doesn’t think he was stalking Sarah. A stalker would’ve expected the child. Sarah was well-off and attractive. It’s possible the man only had robbery on his mind, but got other ideas when he saw Sarah asleep on the couch. Entering, the UNSUB was organized. He had the knife and the tools. When he couldn’t control Sarah, he became disorganized. He left the tools under the window and the knife on the living room floor. This tells Don that he hasn’t attacked anyone before; any further crimes will begin blitz-style, with the UNSUB using maximum force to subdue his victims. He’ll have learned from this failure.
No fingerprints, no composite sketch. One witness, a traumatized four-year-old. Don writes his profile, but isn’t hopeful. Unless this man attacks again, or is arrested on an unrelated charge, it’s not likely he’ll be found. Stranger crimes, ones with no connection between the victim and the perp, are among the hardest to solve. By all accounts, no one who knew Sarah Breckner wished her ill. It appears she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Don lets out a frustrated growl, shoving some of the paperwork off his desk. He makes a promise then, one to Stevie and his mother, that he will not give up. He will keep fighting and looking for clues. Despite this, something one of his mentors at Quantico once said runs through his head: “Sometimes the dragon wins.”
And Janell’s “Sometimes the Dragon Wins” story? I’m ashamed to say, it was started, but never finished.
Maybe next time…
Do you have one to share? Remember, “Sometimes, the Dragon Wins…”
Friday, March 06, 2009
Little Joe Loves You Tube and...
Hey, little Joe has an enfatuation with Planes. Probably because I am always on them. At any rate, I bought him two model 747's. And recently, in an effort to entertain him without watching CARs or NEMO or Madagascar, I turned to the net. I was astounded by what I found. I think you will get a kick out of these... they are endless.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAfQwDizpRo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feGZ4l5fk4Q
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKqO6gdJIz8 - I did a landing similar to this last April.
I love flying, and my frequency of flying boosts my confidence in aviation and aviation safety. You'd be amazed if you saw what passenger jets could really do. Check out the links above and they will lead you to many others! Enjoy, and its addicting.
By the way, this is also interesting...
http://www.pagetutor.com/trillion/index.html
Hey, little Joe has an enfatuation with Planes. Probably because I am always on them. At any rate, I bought him two model 747's. And recently, in an effort to entertain him without watching CARs or NEMO or Madagascar, I turned to the net. I was astounded by what I found. I think you will get a kick out of these... they are endless.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAfQwDizpRo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feGZ4l5fk4Q
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKqO6gdJIz8 - I did a landing similar to this last April.
I love flying, and my frequency of flying boosts my confidence in aviation and aviation safety. You'd be amazed if you saw what passenger jets could really do. Check out the links above and they will lead you to many others! Enjoy, and its addicting.
By the way, this is also interesting...
http://www.pagetutor.com/trillion/index.html
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