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Day #345: What Have You Done Today?

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The Story:

Little girl, little girl

What have you done today?

I have done nothing,

Nothing but play.

Young lady, young lady

What will you do this week?

Not that it matters- I choose to do nothing,

My life is so desperately bleak.

Hello ma’am, hello ma’am

Tell me about your year?

Honestly sir, there is nothing to tell…

Can you believe it’s already the New Year?


Grandma, Grandma

Tell us about your life in past decades?

 Hmmm… nothing comes to mind…

Now who’s up for a game of Spades?


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Ever have those moments where you think about your life and you wonder, “What the heck have I been doing all this time?” and the answer sounds something like, “A whole bunch of nothing, that’s what I’ve been doing.” Today was another day that will probably go down in the books as one more wasted for yours truly. I’m feeling a bit under the weather, both physically and emotionally- I’m flat out drained. After 9 hours of having to be ‘on’ at work and have all the answers at the drop of a hat, by the time I get home, especially when I’m not feeling well, the last thing I want to do is…well, anything. The little ditty above is a version of a dialog I have with myself from time to time, and encapsulates my underlying fear, a fear I think we all share on some level, that life will pass me by and I will not have done anything of consequence. I’d like to think that when I’m gone, or even while I’m still around (preferably) I will have done something of import, I will have impacted someone or something, I will have lived a life worth living. Today, I feel like I let myself down. Luckily, tomorrow is only a few hours away. See you then.

Love & Squirrels.


Day #266: Do Nothing

The Story:

“What do you mean, you refuse?!?” Kate had never seen her mother quite this flustered. It would have been funny- had the origin of this frustration been honed in on anyone else.

Emilie pinched the bridge of her nose and silently counted to ten before staring intently at her daughter. “They should have a warranty for teenagers,” she thought to herself, “…cause I think mine is experiencing some kind of malfunction”. Emilie and Kate’s relationship had experienced some strain as of late, as many mothers and teenage daughters do, but this last ‘outburst’ of Kate’s was too much.

“Mom, you just don’t get it! You’re stifling me!” Kate retorted in that whiny/ haughty tone she had somehow woken up with on her fourteenth birthday.

“Is it wrong to want to smack your child just to change the tone of her voice?” Emilie wondered a little crazed before sweeping the thought from her mind. She needed to focus. A war of wills with a sixteen-year-old girl, daughter or no, was no place to get distracted. Emilie would need all her wits about her for this one. “Damn, I’m tired,” she thought before placing her hands on her hips and drawing herself to full height as she readied for the inevitable standoff.

“Ok, Kate,” she said in her calmest I’m-in-control-not-you voice, “…since you didn’t feel it was important to do your homework all this week, please enlighten me,” (easy Emilie, you’re borderline patronizing, rein it back ‘ol gal, rein it back…), “what did you do instead?”

“I did what I wanted, ok? For once in my life, I would just like to do whatever I wanted, with no deadlines, no one pushing me into something I don’t really care about, no stupid obligations or constricting responsibilities. So, I’m sooo sorry for spending a whole week on something I thought was important… something that I enjoy and find meaning in,” Kate said with so much teenaged angst Emilie had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

Kate threw herself into the back of the couch and pulled the hood of her green hoodie over her head, Emilie assumed to shield any rouge tears from her mother’s view. Emilie let her pout for a little while, after a performance like that; the girl deserved at least that much. And, truth be told, she was a good kid, true she had a mouth on her, but still, Emilie was proud of the woman she was becoming. So, she made a decision, whatever Kate had decided to do instead of her homework that week, she wouldn’t mock it, she wouldn’t belittle it or chastise her for wasting time. Who knows? Maybe she found a new hobby or was honing a new skill that could potentially develop into a career or passion?

Wiping the back of her sleeve across her face in a covert attempt to clear her tears away, Kate finally looked over at her mother, who was examining her nails, indifferently. “You really want to know?” Kate asked quietly. Looking up, Emilie nodded. “I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. I would sit outside or lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling and just let my mind wander. I came up with silly sayings, I thought of unusual lyrics to old songs, I concocted new endings to fairytales and Disney movies. I did nothing, and it was wonderful,” Kate said, the rare teenaged smile appearing briefly on her face.

“Nothing, eh?” Emilie said thoughtfully. “Sounds… delightful.”


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      When I got home today, I felt like rewarding myself. I worked hard for eight hours, I walked again on my lunch break (Day Two, baby!) and after my God-awful commute home I thought a treat was in order. So what could I do to pat myself on the back? I know! Nothing. I want to do N.O.T.H.I.N.G. and no that doesn’t stand for anything, I just felt like writing it like that. So that is what I did… kinda. After whipping up a meal-for-one of spaghetti and meatballs (Andy had class tonight) I sat my tush down and… watched NCIS as I surfed Pinterest. Ahh…. That’s the stuff. And I gotta tell you, it took every ounce of control to say goodbye to Agent Gibbs and the gang and sit down to write tonight… you’re welcome.

Love & Squirrels.

Day #70: Potato Wrangler

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The Story:


You are the lowest of the lows,

Your belly usually firmly pressed against the cool laminate floor.

Your work receiving no accolades,

But you smile at each incident-free day that rolls by.

Never expecting your picture to be featured on the wall with the company best,

You attack your duties with the vigor of a man who knows his rewards are greater

Than any Employee-of-the-Month award could be.


Happily you crawl and wriggle about,

Unaware, (or is it uncaring?) of the curious customers who might catch a rare glimpse of you at work.

Using broom handle, yardstick or your own outstretched arm,

You wrangle those unruly spuds with a flick of a wrist, a swipe of the arm.

Happily, they seem to wobble towards him on their own accord,

As if they were penitent children, overjoyed to be found,

Thankful not to be lost forever in the yawning darkness they had found upon their ill-advised escape.


Purple Peruvian, fingerlings, sweet and Yukon Gold,

Russet, Idaho, new, Kennebec or La Rouge, it makes no difference;

They are all your lost brethren, and you- their savior.

Carefully you collect them, no corner goes unsearched, and after a gentle scrub

Back they go, returned safely, they rejoin their flock.


And with a sigh, you place your hands on your hips,

Knowing before the day is through, you will be beckoned once again.

For shoppers are clumsy, impatient and obtuse.

They hunt through the pile for the perfect specimen, all others must make way.

Should an ill-fated or poorly replaced tuber happen to obstruct their reach,

Down it will fall, its fate flouted, as it wobbles slowly out of sight…

Hidden and alone it finds itself in the bowels of its former home.

And then you will be called, broom in hand, to wrangle those lost souls,

And return them once again,

To their mounded home.


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      On a brief trip to the Publix Supermarket today (we were on a mission to buy gelatin for the makings of some homemade zombie makeup… yeah, really) we were heading towards the produce when we happened upon an odd scene. There, in the onion, garlic, and potato aisle were two legs kicking about from under one of the potato display bins. Soon, as if by magic, potatoes of all sizes and shapes began to roll out from under the display, seemingly under their own power. Only then did I see the sweeping arm gripping a broom handle and the head and torso of the teenager who emerged in time to throw a whatareyoulookingatyeahthisismyjob kind of stare. I was too fascinated to care, and continued to stare unapologetically at what I immediately dubbed the potato wrangler. Seeing I was not going to move on, the kid gave an almost-audible sigh and went back to his wrangling. Best grocery store shopping trip ever. If only he had a lasso instead of a broom handle…

Um... I need this.

Love & Squirrels.