Things I'll Never Do Again...

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I was challenged recently to write about "things I'll never do again." Well, there are quite a few on my list. Here's installment number two, and it seemed fitting for a Sunday morning. Songs that I won't sing in church again...

When I was small, my mother gave me her portable record player and 45s that she had as a child. I would play them over and over and over. My favorites were "Davy Crockett," "Roll out the Barrel," and the King's "Hound Dog."

 Mom said that one Sunday whatever the congregation was singing must have sounded like one of the tracks that I knew. She said that I belted out “Roll Out the Barrel” in church.  I sang the beer barrel polka to a tea-totaling congregation.

What I've Been Reading Lately

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My sister gave me a subscription to Oyster for Christmas. I'm having so much fun. It's like my own personal library.

This week, I've read Writes of Passage, edited by Hank Phillipi Ryan. This is great for writers. It helps to know that others have the same problems and fears.

I also read Susan McBride's To Helen Back. This is a cozy series that she writes about seniors in a small Illinois town. Here character has Miss Marple qualities. This is a fun, quick read. I like McBride's Deb series best.

I hope you're snuggled up with a good book this week! Happy reading.

I Have Proof! Reindeer Tracks

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            One year, it snowed late on Christmas Eve. It rarely did that in Virginia Beach. I didn’t know which was more exciting, Christmas or snow. We opened the front door, and there were real, honest-to-goodness reindeer tracks on the front steps. I couldn’t believe it. I had proof. I saw them. That’s where the reindeer waited while Santa unloaded all of my loot.

            I found out much later that my “reindeer” was the next-door neighbor’s German Shepherd JoJo.

Things I'll Never Do Again...

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Someone asked me this week if there was something that I would never do again. There are lots on the list. Here's one from the 1970s...

My mother had a matching pair of hand-crafted, wooden rocking chairs in her living room. The backs of each had an ornate opening that was very large at the top, and the cut-out narrowed sharply at the seat of the chair.

When I was about five years old, for whatever reason, I stood on my tip-toes and put my head through the wide opening at the top. I couldn’t stand on my tip-toes forever, so I slid down to the narrow part, and I got stuck. I couldn’t get my head out.

My mother tried pushing and pulling to no avail. Finally, she was able to rescue me by picking me up and sliding my head out through the top.