A slingshot toy, photos, and a little joke

It’s the evening of a not-so-great Monday as I write this from my favorite chair in the living room. The writing is interspersed with tossing super chicken for George. Actually, I’m not tossing it – it’s a slingshot toy. I shoot it as far as I can, which is way across the room, and then he squeaks it all the way back to me.

Needless to say, I’m not getting a lot of writing done.

I have my priorities, though. And they involve the Black & White.




All of the photos you see here were taken Friday afternoon on the property where we live. It was gorgeous here on Friday and I remember being very happy because the weekend was here.

I made myself a cocktail. Yum ~




I loved  your comments from yesterday’s post that had to do with ironing. It seems there’s several camps as far as this chore goes  - and, in fact, most of you don’t even do it anymore. I loved ‘helping’ as a child and using the iron to press my father’s handkerchiefs, a pleasant memory.




When we moved here, the vines were beginning to overtake the house. My husband pulled them all down, but he couldn’t quite get that last one up there. I can see it when I look at this photo. And I remember.

We moved here to the manor house on the hill, where we are the caretakers, in October 2008. The house dates to 1769 and I bet there was a lot of ironing going on in these rooms over the years, don’t you?




The day was waning as I shot these images. And there aren’t many blooms on the old lilac bush this year. But what we do have is lovely. Maybe they’ll be in full bloom by Easter.




Another of my violet photos. This one looks proud of himself.




I may seem like I have a quiet grace, but if you knew me in real life, you might think differently. I’ve always wanted to be graceful and quiet, but I tell bawdy jokes and laugh a lot. I use my hands when I talk, or so I’ve heard.

There’s nothing wrong with that, though.

A joke I told yesterday goes like this:

There’s two little potatoes standing on the street corner. How do you tell which one is the prostitute?




{pause for effect}


It’s the one with “Idaho” stamped on the side.




Get it? I Da Ho.


* snort *





I’m sure my mother would be appalled.


Either that or proud ~

Today would have been her 89th birthday. And if she were alive, I do believe I would call her up and tell her that joke. And hope that she would ‘get’ it.

Thanks for coming by. It’s always a pleasure having you visit ~