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#holidays2024
A thousand things, frankly. After that, while tempted with the thought of picking out Mr. Mouse by his long tail, I left him to scramble while choosing what I needed, and he proved he could jump straight up and out, saving me the trouble. (sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVI) Rain pours like t'would be sweet to bide fr'intents Safe tucked awa' indoors. I maunt avail Me, sadly, yet what after that detail? How Grampa's fruitcake's fin'lly baking hence, My cousin liking that suggestion, whence I had to make this treat, as if twas bail For her, the fun we've planned, if Thou will't, frail As lo, the wreck of mine, tomorrow's sense. A mouse. An actual grey, live, fluffy fer The chill, erm: mouse. He's in my food like to Partake is thus allowed, out on in tour My deck, until I come, that is. In poor 'Scuse, now he's had some mango, left tae rue His feast now I want foodstuffs. Jump as t'were Three feet straight up and I'm left with the view. 29Dec24a
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Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 12:56 AM UTC
Tis "Never Say Never" Is It?!
So there. [What's with a gigantic motorhome the other day, and today a semi, literally driving out of their lane to push me off the road when I speed ahead on the ramp, then going back into their lane on the interstate as I try to figure out who's trying to **** me????? I didn't believe in PTSD until now.] (sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLV) From semis with an urge to **** sans bail, To nary sleep 'cept two nights all week, whence? No less than three sites Friday: if my sense Is badly ******* thank all the madness. Frail, Yet trying to stay atop, oh LORD, avail Me, for despite my efforts, all's pretense. I'm begging for dear sleep, recov'ry hence In mind, if only, fearing to ask'd fail. Thanks, thanks for all Thy mercies which in tour, New ev'ry morning, never fail. I knew Ere this week t'would be tough, and feared for sure, Yet Thou art my God and all is of You. Tis Saturday; I'm fragile. Come, bestir Thy mercies, save me now. I wait anew. 28Dec24
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Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 12:51 AM UTC
Don't Ask and I'll Not Tell
Not me, certainly. (sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIX) As if a spell's been broken when t'avail We'd had our visit, I am free fr'intents, And happy too, the sweet hours like defense For long lost joys I'd quite forgot in frail 'Scuse, like what? Griefs were buried, no detail Remembered lest I too be lost from thence In joys' destruction. Grandma Drysdale's sense The dining room, yes, I'd obliv'on's bail. Twas so good, we were up late in a tour Of such discussions only fam'ly knew. Back home, with eggnog in Mum's glasses, her Sense oer us kids, twas all a whirl, yet true. Thy mercies, LORD, prevail: I thank Thee fer All and rejoice. Come. For we wait for You. 30Dec24b
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Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 1:06 AM UTC
Well, I'll Be Jiggered...I Never?
...won't you trip? (sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVII) So, dream of crafting eggnog, like'd avail If only I did. Shortbread too, from hence, But Scottish shortbread, as the re'pe thence I used within my father's house. In frail Reply, though, seems I've lost all that and fail. They swear the latter's served with tea for sense, Which I have yet to try, since brie fr'intents Is all I'll take with Barry's--oh bewail? I've *** ne bourbon nor the money fer Th'expense, and all the rest 'cept nutmeg to Grate up, else I misguess. I'll try in tour Twa rec'pes for each, likeas that will do, If Thou will't, LORD. Please give me in lo, Your Grace to be faithful in all things, won't You? 29Dec24b
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Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
If Yer Head Is In the Clouds
Walker's shortbread cookies, to be precise; then memories of the Scottich cookbook my parents had resurfaced, whose recipe for shortbread sported a long essay the upshot of which ****** me as "...only a BAD COOK will add things: shortbread ONLY HAS 3 INGREDIENTS." or somesuch. And I used to make that recipe way too many years ago. (sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLIV) Mull groc'ry shopping til I'm wanting thence Lo, Sco'ish shortbread. Craft it to avail Me, all myself?! The antique cookbook, frail As dreams, is not mine to use 'gin fr'intents, So Google rec'pes with the ling'ring sense Of that page whose keen warning yet'd detail Aught finds: "...bad cooks will add stuff." t'will derail Some, but I know where I am headed hence. I knew twas only three ingred'ents fer All that, or maybe four, no more, else rue Thy folly, "bad" cook. I'll need butter. Were There else, I have't. "Have with tea," is that true? Me wants to try that. Sco'ish, known as poor Back in the day, what's new? LORD, save me too. 27Dec24b
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Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 12:48 AM UTC
So, Nothing Extra Fancy Here
Congratulate me?! (sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLVIII) Let morning trickle in sans voice to fence The light of day, if only to avail Me of dear rest, the circles whose detail Does NOT enhance my hazel orbs what thence Abet that hopeful thought, likeas defense, Unless, of course, being death warmed oer is bail For 'bove ground life whose plans stress shall derail, Or curse with notes to highlight sheer pretense. I'll feign tis cool being off on Monday, fer The first time in a week of sev'n which threw My mind out by their madness I'll demur To yield to, til twas nigh complete. Calm to Effect upon noon's finish, LORD, bestir Thy mercies and redeem me now, won't You? 30Dec24a
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Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 1:02 AM UTC
Twa Sinks of Dishes But an Omelet