Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Friday, March 21, 2025

Pi and Sixpence

My topic for March?
What else?
Pie!

Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye.
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened,
The birds began to sing.
Wasn’t that a dainty dish
To set before the king?

The king was in his counting house,
Counting out his money.
The queen was in the parlour,
Eating bread and honey.

The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.

They sent for the king’s doctor,
Who sewed it on again.
He sewed it on so neatly,
The seam was never seen.
or:
There was such a uproar,
That little Jenny wren
Flew down into the garden,
And put it back again.

Okay, I admit that this poem/song was a great favourite when I was a kid.
And I may or may not have recited/sung it ad infinitum et ad nauseum.
But now that I am a mite older, I’ve had the chance to really take a good, hard look!

Ahem…

Now, personally, I think it should start out with: ‘Sing a song FOR sixpence’ because, according to a popular author of the early fifteenth century, giving someone sixpence for a song was, if not common, at least accepted.

I know, I know. That would be an unacceptable number now—being both grossly inadequate and completely out of date.

But go with me on this…

A pocketful of rye could just be a simple unit of measure—although what one bake-er would be able to bake for his (or her) bake-ees with that much rye is questionable…

Now the next line was always the one that most fascinated me. The baking of four and twenty blackbirds into a pie.

I probably don’t have to tell you how I begged soulfully demanded asked politely for Mom to bake blackbirds into a pie for me.

Although I had no idea what a blackbird was.

Just a note: Now all I can think of is: feathers and beaks (birds and I have a history there…)

And bird poop.
Moving on…

But she never did.

So all pie singing had to be done by me. Ad infinitum, etc. See above…

And all eating by some nameless/faceless king who probably got yummy pie-makings all over that money he was counting.

Now the Queen had the right idea. Vis-à-vis eating, that is.

She was in the right place.

And eating the right things. (Although I always insisted that Mom add peanut butter to MY bread and honey.)

But the maid really got the short end of the stick.

There she was—the only person in the story (besides the bake-er) actually…you know…working…

And what does she get for her troubles?

A pecked-off nose.

Can anyone say OUCH?!

Oh, yeah…me.

OUCH!

Okay, okay, yes. Her nose was seamlessly restored by either the doctor or the less-likely Jenny wren, depending on which version you favour, but still.

I broke my nose bouncing on my bed and you have to know that anything to do with damage to that appendage… HURTS!

And bleeds.

A lot.

So I’m thinking we probably will be looking at washing to do over.

Poor maid.

See? Short end of the stick.

Oo! Oo! I just want to put this out there: Said maid was, in all likelihood, hanging said clothes on a Clothesline. I’m not too sure of their efficacy in relation to actual—as the name suggests—clothes.

We’ll have to explore that later…

But clothelines make great jungle gyms…

And there you have it.

A day in the life of the Blackbird King and Queen and their long-suffering maid.

With at least 24 blackbirds. Plus or minus one that obviously got away and started mutilating local personnel.

And maybe a bake-er.

Oh, and a doctor…or wren.

This was fun!

 

And just FYI: If you make me a pie with live birds in it, I’ll hand you a fork and napkin. Maybe even a plate.

But you’re eating it on your own.


Pi Night was a great success again this year.
My daughter and I--with a little help from two granddaughters and several more super-excited teenagers--made 106.5 pies this year.
We moved the event to our local church to see if more room would allow for more visiting time.
And it did!
A success on all counts!




I love Fly on the Wall days!
Today is that time, once a month, when my blogging sisters and I give you a glimpse into what has been happening in our homes, at our desks and in our heads.
I hope you enjoyed your visit here!
Go, now and see what my two sisters have been up to.
You know you'll like it!!!

Friday, February 21, 2025

Hiding Out

 This month, while our children and grandchildren up in Canada are suffering through -40 C (-40 F) temperatures and record snowfall, Husby and  I, together with some friends, are enjoying the sun, sand and snorkeling in Tahiti. 
I know, I know it isn’t fair.
But they are young and strong and we are...erm…less so.
So I refuse to feel guilty!
Here are some highlights!
The very short pathway to paradise!

The aforementioned Paradise!


And at sunset...

A picture EVERYWHERE!


When Cousin Carmen suggests a change in the furniture,
I'm thinking...you know...moving stuff.

Beehive Ginger

Torch Ginger

Tourist.
Okay. Okay. Husby!

Doing what he loves most!


Moorea-Maiao next door.

Ditto!

One of the BIG reasons we travel!

Oh, yeah...and our eight-year-old neighbour does a thing...
2-time Polynesian champion!
Wow!
And that's the first two weeks.
Can't wait to see what the next four bring!!!
Thanks for coming along!

Oh, yes...and our children and grandchildren are fine.
Just fine. ;)


So now you've seen what I'm up to...Go and catch up with my blogging sisters!
You'll be so glad you did! 

Karen at Baking In A Tornado

Marcia at Menopausal Mother                                  

Friday, January 24, 2025

The FGM

From the Department of
‘Now You Know the Really Real Story’!
 
    I’m quite sure you’ve heard about the ‘Fairy Godmother’ of Cinderella fame.
    I mean, who hasn’t wished, at some point, that they had a FGM (see above) who would swoop in and change everything?
    I know I have.
    Ahem . . .
    But do you know who the FGM really was? I mean in really real life?
    Well buckle up, Little Pup because this is the really real story . . .
    Most of the stories of the FGM start, rightly, at the moment she appears to sweet little Cinderella in her moment of utter despair.
    With me so far?
    Well now I need for you to come back in time with me. A long way back. To when FGM was, herself, a young woman.
    And to do this, I will have to give away a secret.
    To be totally truthful, I told the person who entrusted me with said secret that I was absolutely rotten at keeping them.
    Secrets, I mean.
    And still she persisted.
    So it’s really not my fault.
    But I digress . . .
    FGM, or Merri as she was christened at birth, was the youngest of twin daughters born to the king and queen of Clearwater Fall. The capitol of Fairyland. Or Fairydom. Or whatever you want to call it.
    Yep. She’s a fairy princess. Surprised?
    Well, I was.
    Born just ten short minutes after her sister Perri, Merri was destined to walk always in said sister’s shadow.
    But you know what? This never bothered Merri. She was proud of her sister. When someone praised Perri, Merri was no slouch in adding to it. And if anyone found fault with her, as occasionally happens when one is in public life, Merri was fierce in her defense.
    So the two sisters grew to happy young womanhood in the protected confines of Clearwater Fall, the city which was, itself nestled in the safe rolling hills of Fairyland. Or Fairydom. (Have you made up your mind yet which to call it? Well hurry up, would you? It takes a long time to write out both names . . .)
    Now, the two of them, though they were indeed twin sisters, looked nothing at all alike. Where Perri was tall and slight with flowing blonde locks, Merri was shorter and more round, with thick brown hair that would one day turn snowy white. (Think the FGM in the movies. They are surprisingly accurate!)
    But I am getting ahead of myself.
    Though Merri was, by nature, more adventurous and energetic than her quiet, studious sister, they spent much of their time together, happily exploring the city and surrounding countryside, or exploring the libraries and surrounding educational systems.
    It made for an interesting life.
    On the day where it all started (think Cinderella, etc.) the two of them were in one of their favourite places. A bower deep in the Forest of Trees.
    You have to know that these people, though bright and cheerful and happy, really weren’t courageous or imaginative when naming distinctive features pertaining to their kingdom. Hence Clearwater Fall, where the clear water falls or the Forest of Trees. Which has a lot of…ahem…trees.
    Merri had just finished spinning a tale for her much more romantic sister. A tale which involved, in no particular order, a bevy of wood sprites, a dragon or two, a Prince, several frogs and at least one mushroom. (And no, I’m not going to tell you that one.)
    The two of them were lost in their own little worlds for a moment. Perri dreaming of her prince—or maybe her mushroom. And Merri thinking about the tools needed to fight a dragon. And/or the aforementioned prince…or mushroom.
    The forest around them was, except for the mad twittering of thousands of birds and bird-like creatures, quiet.
    That’s when they heard it—a manly shout, followed by some equally manly splashing and what may have been a few derisive manly chuckles.
    Merri, paused in cleaning her nails and turned her head toward the sounds. “Sounds like Gerrold has decided to try fishing again.”
    Perri smiled. “After the last time? I don’t think so.”
    The manly splashing got louder and was accompanied by several ‘glubs’ and at least one ‘help!’
    “Huh. Maybe we should do something?” Merri got to her feet.
    Perri waved a languid (real word) hand. “You go ahead. And tell Gerrold to use a fishing pole next time.”
    Merri laughed, then poking her hunting blade into its sheath, started off toward the sounds. She didn’t have far to go. Just around some trees—and some more trees, she came upon the pond. And there, near the edge was a thoroughly soaked, entirely outraged, and sinking fast...man.
    Merri grabbed a stout length of tree branch and carried it over to the bank nearest the struggling man. “Here!” she shouted.
    The man looked at her, then at the branch, held tantalizing close to him. Then he shook his head and sank beneath the muddy water.
    “Oh, bother!” Merri muttered. Raising her voice, she shouted, “Perri! We’re going to need some help!” Then she dropped the branch and leaped into the water.
    I know you’re probably thinking that Perri, at last glimpse, looked rather lazy and ineffectual. But you have to know that that girl can move. When properly motivated. And her sister’s voice, carrying just the right amount of ‘Yikes’ in it, could do it.
    Almost before you can blink, she was standing on the bank exactly where Merri had been moments before, quickly making a study of the roiling water and surmising, correctly, where her sister and whoever she was rescuing were.
    And what they, in all probability, needed.
    Uncoiling a length of rope she kept in her handy-dandy little hunting pack, she moved to the nearest strong-looking sapling and, using a patented bowline (I knew you'd want to know) knot, quickly and efficiently tied it round.
    Then paying out the length of rope behind her, she made her way to the water.
    Just as Merri emerged with a very soggy and barely conscious manly-looking man.
    It was a simple procedure to toss the end of the line to Merri, who slipped it under the man’s arms and tied it tightly. Then Perri began pulling in the cable while Merri kept the man on his back and his head above water.
    In seconds, all three were safely on dry-ish land.
    It was then Merri noticed what had probably contributed to the man’s inability to save himself.
    His hands were tied behind his back.
    The man began to cough and hack and Merri rolled him on his side so he could (ugh) spit up some very nasty-looking water.
    As he did so, she took the opportunity to slash through his bindings, freeing his hands.
    Finally, he gasped and shuddered and rolled onto his back once more. Then he opened his eyes.
    Now you’re probably thinking that, if this story went according to other stories you’ve heard on stage or screen, the young man would immediately spot Merri, his rescuer, fall hopelessly in love and…end of story.
    That’s not what happened.
    Oh, he spotted someone. And the whole ‘falling-in-love’ scenario followed.
    Indeed.
    He looked up into the bluest, most amazing eyes he had ever seen.
    And said good-bye to his heart forever more.
    This is probably the place where I point out that Merri’s eyes are hazel.
    I’m sure you’ve caught on.
    Yep. All of this happened to Perri. The one who never even got her feet wet.
    And to make the story even less likely by today’s story-telling standards, Merri was totally okay with it.
    By now, you’re likely wondering how on earth this manly young man ended up in the lake.
    Without his swimming costume.
    And in a vastly inconvenient position to actually…you know…swim.
    Well, it turns out that he was induced into going on a hunt by some rather unsavoury ‘friends’ (I use this word facetiously) who wanted, not his company or his hunting expertise, but his fortune.
    Their idea, as closely as I can piece it together, was to have him simply disappear.
    Which never happens if you’ve heard any of the stories told by the travelling minstrels. I mean, am I right? The dead bodies always float to the surface and are discovered. And the bad guys are then also discovered and come to sticky ends.
    Truth.
    But in this story, the dead body wasn’t quite dead enough to refrain from telling tales. The ‘friends’ were brought up on charges and the whole thing just basically caused a nine-days wonder.
    The sticky end happened too.
    And then the manly young man, whose name was Peter—or Pete as his real friends called him—married Perri and all was well in the world.
    Oh. Something else you probably need to know. Fairies—really real fairies—can change their size. Yep. The truth is that, originally, they were quite normal sized. Human normal sized. But, as the real humans and other creatures took over more and more of the surrounding countryside, it became convenient for them to…shrink. Take up less space. Be less noticeable.
    So a fairy and a human (because that’s what Pete was) getting married was, not only possible, but entirely…erm… possible.
    And a year of wedded bliss later, they welcomed their firstborn daughter. Whom they immediately named Ella (You can see where this is going).
    Merri was asked to be the sweet little half-fairy, half-human girl’s godmother. Something she accepted with alacrity (also a real word meaning, roughly, eagerness).
    And that’s the true story of just where the FGM came from.
    The really real story.
    You’re welcome.

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Friday, November 22, 2024

An Eggs-citing Story


With apologies to Dr. Seuss…
It was my favourite story when I was growing up.
Let’s face it, my imagination just filled in any troubling (ie. frankly impossible) potholes in the plot.
Still does, in point of fact.
Ahem…
Horton was an elephant who lived in the jungle. Friendly and kind-hearted, he was nearly always the first to offer help when needed—even when said offer may be a little…complicated.
On this particular day, Horton happened to be walking past the nest of Mrs. Mayzie, a bird who lived in the neighbourhood.
Mayzie had laid an egg and the euphoria of anticipating her ‘blessed event’ had, how can we say this judiciously?...erm…worn off.
She was ready for someone else to take over so she could take a well-earned (in her eyes) break.
An unfortunate word when talking about an egg, but let’s just go on from there, shall we?
Now, I will admit that it took a little convincing, but soon, Mrs. Mayzie (that lazy bird) was winging her way to Palm Springs ‘for just a day or two’ and Horton—he of the several lovable tons—was sitting in her tree, gently keeping her egg warm and comfortable.
Let’s think about that for a moment, shall we? Firstly: An elephant. In a tree.
And secondly: Said elephant sitting so gently on a bird’s egg that it wasn’t crushed into an eggy nothingness.
Now, I probably don’t have to tell you that five-year-old Diane swallowed this story whole.
Diane of later years filled in a lot of potholes (see above).
Back to my story…
Now Horton, because he was loving and dependable, or, in his words, "An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent!" stayed on that Lazy Mayzie’s egg for nearly a year.
He suffered through storms, ridicule and finally hunting season and not once did he falter in his task.
I keep wondering what he ate. (Can one order take-out in a jungle?)
The hunters who had discovered him during the aforementioned hunting season, rather than do anything hunter-ish, decided they might make a bit of money off him if they dug up the tree—elephant, egg and all—and hauled the whole kit and kaboodle to a circus.
Which they did.
There followed an arduous trip through the jungle, over mountains and across heaving seas.
I don’t know about you, but when I’m anticipating a ‘blessed event’, the last thing I want to be doing is crossing heaving seas.
Gulp.
Poor Horton could do nothing else but endure. And finally, he, his egg, and his tree reached their new home.
In the middle of a circus.
Where—you’ve probably guessed it—they were instant draws.
People came. They stared. They discussed.
They marvelled.
Now this will probably come as no surprise but coincidentally, Lazy Mayzie’s ‘day or two’ Palm Springs spa was just down the road!
Who would have guessed?
And our sweet little mother-to-be just happened to be in the mood for some big-top entertainment.
Imagine the surprise when she and Horton clapped eyes on each other.
Of course, Mayzie probably would have simply faded happily back into the audience, except that, at that very moment, the egg—that very egg Horton had been sitting on for 51 loooong weeks—started to hatch.
And Mayzie, now that the work was all done, decided she was ready to be a mom.
Words were exchanged–well, mostly screamed—and by Mayzie.
And Horton, he of the perpetually loving nature, backed down the tree and out of his egg’s life.
And that’s when things really went sideways.
Well, for Mayzie, that is.
Because the bird that hatched from that egg…
Well, that bird looked remarkably like Horton!
Yep.
Little trunk and ears and tail.
Of course, it also had wings and bird feet, but one can’t have everything.
And everyone—including the ‘chick’—proclaimed Horton the parent.
And Mayzie had to be content with…nothing.
I found this so satisfying as a child. I mean, she hadn’t done any of the work. Why should she get any of the reward?
And you know what?
I still think that.

Fly on the wall is our chance, once a month, to share what has been happening in our homes, lives and imaginations!
We're so happy you could visit!
Now hurry over and see what my sister writers have been up to this month!

Baking In A Tornado

Menopausal Mother                                 

Friday, October 18, 2024

Of Wits and WITches

Okay, I’ve officially interred this story as Chapter One in “Bad Parenting 101’.
I will explain.
But first a little background...

H
ansel and Grethel lived happily in the woods with their parents. A papa who made his living—what else?—cutting wood and a mama who stayed at home and made delicious things to eat and loved her family.
But, sadly, their sweet and gentle mama got sick and died.
A year or so later, their kind papa married again.
Their stepmother was not like the mama they had lost. Oh, she was a ‘sturdy’ individual. Strong and hard working. The house was clean and meals on time.
But she was not what you would call ‘affectionate’.
So Hansel and Grethel, though clean and well-fed, always went to their kind papa for snuggles and stories.
And were nearly as happy as before.
Then ‘hard times’ came.

And that's where our story starts...

As the countryside grew poorer, though everyone still needed firewood, no one could pay. Instead, they sent their sons (and a few daughters) into the woods to cut their own wood.
Thus the official woodcutter—though he was very good at his job—grew very poor indeed. And his family along with him.
Finally, they were looking at their last few crusts of bread.
Now remember when I said their stepmother wasn’t ‘affectionate’? Well, that comes into play here.
One night, after the children had been put to bed without their supper, the SM told her husband, “We are starving. But there will be more for me—and maybe you—if there are fewer mouths to feed.”
Who even thinks like that?!
I’m picturing the look on his face.
I know what my expression would be…
Moving on…
It takes—quite literally—all night, but the woman finally convinces him that they should take the children into the woods and abandon them there. 
I think he gave in just to shut her up.
What are your thoughts?
Now there was one little hiccup in her plan.
It was overheard.
By little ears.
Hansel, unable to sleep, heard every word. And that was a lot of words.
Being a clever boy, he crept out of the hut and gathered the white pebbles shining in the moonlight.
Who’s with me in thinking all would have been well if they’d just fed said pebbles to the SM? I mean...it worked with Red Riding Hood.
Just sayin'.
Sigh.
Back to my story…
The next day, the two parents announced—one brightly, one…erm…not—that they were going for a picnic in the woods.
Things rolled out as the SM had planned: long trek along almost-non-extant trails. Fire built. Children told to wait while parents ‘did something else’.
And, along about nightfall, the children realizing they had been abandoned in the woods.
But clever little Hansel had dropped pebbles beside the trail during their long walk from their hut and, when the moon rose, they were clearly visible.
The two littles easily found their way home by following them.
To their father’s joy.
And their SM’s…erm…not-joy.
But remember when I said this woman was ‘sturdy’. Well, she was also persistent.
Undeterred, the next day, she again enacted her plan.
Second time’s the charm, right?
This time, Hansel, unable to pick up pebbles because his SM had locked the door and was sleeping on the key, used bits of his piece of bread—oh, I forgot, each of the littles had pieces of bread for their ‘picnic—to make a trail home.
Yadda, yadda, yadda…abandoned.
This time, they were unable to find their way home because the birds in the woods had found and devoured their tasty little signposts.
Dratted birds.
The littles simply wandered around until they finally fell asleep.
The next morning, when they awoke, they saw, to their relief, a funny little cottage peeking out between the trees.
They hurried to it and discovered that it was made out of bread and cake and other yummy things. With spun sugar for the windows.
Okay, I don’t know about you, but if I was starving and came upon a little edible house, I’d be munching first and asking questions later.
Which is what they did.
Soon a little old lady came out—yes, someone lived in that little house.
I have one thing to say…rain.
Moving on…
She was quite hospitable at first.
But all that changed after the kids had eaten their fill and were fast asleep in soft beds, dreaming of little edible houses.
I have a question…How would one ‘clean’ such a place? I mean, I’ve tried to brush the dirt off of a piece of bread with little to no success.
And what would the dust-bunnies be? Cotton Candy? (Let me just say that this would the answer to all my childhood dreams.)
Back to our story…
While they slept, the old woman—actually a nasty, child devouring witch—carried poor, unsuspecting Hansel to her dungeon. With the intent to fatten him up and…you know…devour.
And Grethel was forced to do the feeding.
This went on for some time.
The meals were good.
And plentiful.
Which begs the whole question: if the witch had so much food to stuff into Hansel, why didn’t she just eat that? Why capture a child at all? Hmmm…?
Oh, well, if we’d wanted reality we’d simply watch the news.
Every day the witch would ask Hansel to stick a finger out of his cage so she could see how fat he was getting.
Subtle, she wasn’t.
He simply stuck out a bone from a past meal.
The witch, unable to see very well, accepted said bone at face value. So to speak.
And kept feeding him.
Finally, as he didn’t seem to be gaining weight, she ran out of patience.
Lighting the fire under the ‘big’ oven, she asked Grethel to check the heat.
But Grethel, though she doesn’t get much of the spotlight, was as clever as her brother. Standing back, she simply said, “Please show me how to do that?”
I have to tell you that I got away with something similar whenever my mom would ask me to any household chores.
True story.
Ahem...
The witch—hopelessly outmatched in this game of wits, showed Grethel how to climb into the oven to check it for heat.
At which time, Grethel simply…shut the door.
I know the witch's death was distinctly unpleasant, but, let’s face it…she was sort of asking for it.
Grethel wasted no time in freeing Hansel and the two of them—justifiably, I think—ransacked the house to see if there was anything worth taking.
And discovered chests of jewels, etc.
Which they lightened considerably into capacious pockets.
Then they skedaddled, finally finding their way home.
(Oh, there is a little side story about a kindly duck who sails them across a great pond, but we'll discuss that another time.)
Where their father, now a sad and broken—and single—man sat, grieving.
There are several opinions on what happened to his second wife. Some say she died. 
Some say she left because:
A. Even with the children gone, there wasn’t enough to eat.
Or B. She had to go find herself.
Or C. Let’s just face it…the ending is better without her…
The children and their father had a grand reunion and an almost-immediate trip to the grocery store because—a-fortune-in-jewels.
And the three of them lived satiated-ly ever after.

The End.

Real Estates: All Murders Included in the Price!

Real Estates: All Murders Included in the Price!
My FIRST murder mystery!

Blessed by a Curse

Blessed by a Curse
My very first Medieval Romance!

God's Tree

God's Tree
For the Children

Third in the series

Third in the series
Deborah. Fugitive of Faith

The Long-Awaited Sequel to Daughter of Ishmael

The Long-Awaited Sequel to Daughter of Ishmael
A House Divided is now available at all fine bookstores and on Amazon.com and .ca!

Daughter of Ishmael

Daughter of Ishmael
Now available at Amazon.com and .ca and Chapters.ca and other fine bookstores.

Romance still wins!

Romance still wins!
First romance in a decade!

Hosts: Your Room's Ready

Hosts: Your Room's Ready
A fun romp through the world's most haunted hotel!

Hugs, Delivered.

Compass Book Ratings

Compass Book Ratings

Ghost of the Overlook

Ghost of the Overlook
Need a fright?

My Granddaughter is Carrying on the Legacy!

My Granddaughter is Carrying on the Legacy!
New Tween Novel!

Gnome for Christmas

Gnome for Christmas
The newest in my Christmas Series

SnowMan

SnowMan
A heart warming story of love and sacrifice.

Translate

My novel, Carving Angels

My novel, Carving Angels
Read it! You know you want to!

My Second Novel: Kris Kringle's Magic

My Second Novel: Kris Kringle's Magic
What could be better than a second Christmas story?!

Join me on Maven

Connect with me on Maven

Essence

Essence
A scientist and his son struggle to keep their earth-shattering discovery out of the wrong hands.

Essence: A Second Dose

Essence: A Second Dose
Captured and imprisoned, a scientist and his son use their amazing discovery to foil evil plans.

Looking for a Great Read?

E-Books by Diane Stringam Tolley
Available from Smashwords.com

The Babysitter

The Babysitter
A baby-kidnapping ring has its eye on J'Aime and her tiny niece.

Melissa

Melissa
Haunted by her past, Melissa must carve a future. Without Cain.

Devon

Devon
Following tragedy, Devon retreats to the solitude of the prairie. Until a girl is dropped in his lap.

Pearl, Why You Little...

Pearl, Why You Little...
Everyone should spend a little time with Pearl!

The Marketing Mentress

The Marketing Mentress
Building solid relationships with podcast and LinkedIn marketing

Coffee Row

Coffee Row
My Big Brother's Stories

Better Blogger Network

Semper Fidelis

Semper Fidelis
I've been given an award!!!

The Liebster Award

The Liebster Award
My good friend and Amazing Blogger, Marcia of Menopausal Mother awarded me . . .

Irresistibly Sweet Award

Irresistibly Sweet Award
Delores, my good friend from The Feathered Nest, has nominated me!

Sunshine Award!!!

Sunshine Award!!!
My good friend Red from Oz has nominated me!!!

My very own Humorous Blogger Award From Delores at The Feathered Nest!

Be Courageous!


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Ghost of the Overlook

Ghost of the Overlook
Need a fright?