tickle, tickle, tickle…

Discovered my “funny bone” while visiting friend Jo Bryant’s blog, Chronicles of  Illusions…
https://jobryantnz.wordpress.com/category/funny-stuff/

Hope she tickles your fancy as well.

#1…The 80-year-old married lady

The local news station was interviewing an 80-year-old lady because she had just gotten married for the fourth time.

The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband’s occupation. “He’s a funeral director,” she answered. “Interesting,” the newsman thought. He then asked her if she wouldn’t mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living.

She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years.

After a short time, a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she had first married a banker when she was in her 20′s, then a circus ringmaster when in her 40′s, and a preacher when in her 60′s, and now – in her 80′s – a funeral director The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.

(Wait for it…)

She smiled and explained: “I married

One for the money,

Two for the show,

Three to get ready,

And four to go!”

 
#2…The woman and her dead duck 

A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary surgeon. As she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird’s chest.

After a moment or two, the vet shook his head and sadly said, “I’m sorry, your duck, Cuddles, has   passed away.” The distressed woman wailed, “Are you sure?”   “Yes, I am sure. Your duck is dead,” replied the vet.

“How can you be so sure?” she protested. “I mean you haven’t done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something.”

The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room. He returned a few minutes later with a black Labrador Retriever. As the duck’s owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck from top to bottom. He then looked up at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head.

The vet patted the dog on the head and took it out of the room. A few minutes later he returned with a cat. The cat jumped on the table and also delicately sniffed the bird from head to foot. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.

The vet looked at the woman and said, “I’m sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck.”

The vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman.. The duck’s owner, still in shock, took the bill. “$150!” she cried, “$150 just to tell me my duck is dead!”

The vet shrugged, “I’m sorry. If you had just taken my word for it, the bill would have been $20, but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it’s now $150.”

…made you laugh, right?

………hugmamma.

Advertisements

journeying towards her best life…#2

Pat’s story, as told to hugmamma…

In the beginning I remained silent. Not knowing meant not saying anything…to anyone. Perhaps not even to myself.

About a year ago I had carpal tunnel surgery in my right wrist. I wondered why it was I’d gotten carpal tunnel in the first place since I wasn’t its typical candidate. I didn’t craft, and I wasn’t on the computer 24/7. Imagine my surprise when I was told I might need the same surgery on my left wrist.

Strange. Very strange.

Right on the heels of this phenomenon, another occurred. Even weirder.

My tongue swelled…like a balloon fish. One minute it’s flat, the next minute it’s all pouffy.

Not one to panic, I figured I would soon be my old self again. Although when eating became a hazard, I decided it was either me or my tongue. No way I was going to give up eating for the rest of my life. So I sought professional advice.

Figuring anything to do with my mouth involved my teeth, I went to the dentist. He found nothing wrong so I left and went merrily on my way.

Not so merry though, when I couldn’t eat all the usual “ono” food. (Hawaiian for ooh-la-la delicious!!!)

A good friend and co-worker, someone whose friendship I’ll treasure for life, shares my love of food and laughter. 

Mel would bring a cupcake or a brownie which we would split. Not just the common, everyday kind, but the ones that had us drooling because they were so cleverly decorated and scrumptiously flavorful…and terribly sinful. We agreed it was okay though since halving them meant we were each only eating half the calories. Made sense to us.

Now, those days of carefree eating are gone. Replaced by smoothies Mel concocts from fruits and veggies that are brimming with all kinds of good-for-me nutrients.

Because my tongue is swollen my teeth are not aligned. This, in turn, has negatively impacted my ability to chew food. The upside is yyyeeeaaayyy!!!…I’ve lost 20 pounds. The downside? I could eat an entire roasted pig in one sitting! Gumming it if I have to. In fact, if I’m desperate I’ll gum all the flavor out of a favorite food and spit out the remnants. Not very lady-like. But hey! I’m making the most of a bad situation.

One day Mel asked if I wanted to share…a brownie?…a cookie?…chips?…popcorn?…chocolate? Sadly, I declined each and every tempting offer. Her reaction was hilarious, and caught me totally off-guard.  

“I miss Fat Pat. Bring back Fatty Patty!” 

My eyes glistened with tears of happiness. I could laugh in spite of all that lay ahead. 

I’m blest to be supported and comforted by an extended, loving “ohana”…a community of family and good friends. And the Hawaiian music playing in the background reminds me that I’m indeed lucky to be living where the sun shines and the sea is blue and the feeling of Aloha still warms my spirit.

Until next time…Pat.

 

 

weekly writing challenge: dna analysis

I’m a comic.

No. Not the Sunday news kind or the Superman kind, but the stand up kind. My daughter threatens to follow me around with a video, recording me as I mouth one-liners. And, of course, you know what comes next? She wants to share me with the world by uploading the video to YouTube! Yeah, right! Like that’s ever going to happen.

Superman

It’s not what you’re thinking, that I’m shy or humble. Heck no! It’s because neither of us knows how to upload a video onto YouTube. We’ve got the brains…we just lack the motivation. 

Funny thing about being funny. It just comes naturally, for me at least. I can’t remember anyone else in my family being funny. With 9 kids to raise after my dad died, funny was probably the furthest thing from my mom’s mind. Most likely she was thinking…life sucks…those stupid kids…I gotta get me some…I need a drink.

My siblings can be funny, when they’re not reminding me that they’re older and smarter. My brother Ed never does that though. He knows I’m smarter. I’ve got a college degree to prove it. Even though I know diddly-squat about computers, something at which Ed’s been working for 40+ years, only retiring a couple of years ago. And when it comes to being funny, he just had to open his mouth and cackle, and I was on the ground laughing my head off while holding my pee. A couple of missing teeth in his wide grin was enough to set me off.

Adolf Hitler, head-and-shoulders portrait, fac...

Talking about toothless grins. My once exuberant smile is nearly nonexistent now, unless I’m with close friends and family. That’s about 4 people.  You see, I’m in the midst of a tooth implant. Since it’s a couple of teeth back from the front left side, my smile is the length of Hitler‘s mustache. Get the picture? I could wear the retainer which the dentist made for me. It’s got my old tooth where my new crown will be. I’d have my old smile back, but then I’d have to take the retainer off every time I ate. You can see my dilemma…smile or eat…smile or eat…smile or eat. My ingenious solution? I eat during the day…and I smile when I go to bed at night. My husband likes my smile, although he wishes I wouldn’t wake him up to look at me…smiling.

It could be said that I cornered the market on funny because my siblings beat me to everything else…beauty…brains…brawn…booze. Being the youngest, I had to settle for the leftovers. Except there were no leftovers. So I went outside my family and found…funny. 

I probably caught the bug when black-and-white TV was invented. I learned funny from the masters…Laurel and Hardy…The Three Stooges…I Love Lucy…The Honeymooners…Abbott and Costello…George Burns and Gracie Allen…Red Skelton, Jerry Lewis, Art Linkletter, Milton Berle, and Jack Benny

Lucy watches Little Ricky's birthday party fro...

Lucy watches Little Ricky’s birthday party from the window ledge. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Or maybe I decided to be funny as an attention-getter. My friends and classmates thought I was hilarious when I fooled around, making goofy faces and spinning tales that were only half true. 

Once during elementary school I told a fib that back-fired. I did it to gain popularity among my classmates but wound up making enemies instead. I don’t remember what the lie was; I only remember crying and sweating…profusely. I forgot to mention one minor detail…I was in Catholic school where the nuns taught us…not to lie. I must’ve been MIA during those lectures. 

I was cured of fibbing, but I went on being funny. Like the time I pulled a papaya tree completely out of the ground. I didn’t plan to, of course. It just happened while my best friend and I were taking a breather from hunting down a litter of stray kittens in a neighbor’s backyard. I leaned against the skinny fruit tree, wrapping my arms around its trunk. When I moved to leave…the tree came with me. We had a hard time “replanting” it, especially since we were laughing so hard. We finally leaned the papaya tree against another one nearby, and ran like the dickens before the homeowners found us trespassing on their property. The hard-working Japanese couple might have beaten us with their shovels! Can you blame them? Of course I never did tell my mom. She would’ve beaten me for sure.

My daughter thinks I’m at my funniest now, when I’m on a rolling laugh. It only happens with her. One of us starts laughing, then the other. Then it’s as though we’re hitting a ping pong ball back and forth over the net. It’s even more hilarious when we’re on our cell phones. Using TANGO, we get glimpses up each other’s nostrils or deep inside our cavernous mouths. Jiggling our phones as we rock back and forth with uproarious laughter, we catch site of pimples…blackheads…”crow’s feet”…snot…drool…perspiration…smudged eyeliner. Not a pretty sight, I guarantee you. But one worth all the gold in Fort Knox

…a 27 year-old daughter cracking up at her 64 year-old mother’s…funniness.

………hugmamma. 

Papaya trees

Papaya trees (Photo credit: 4nitsirk)

a daughter…is a daughter

Laughter. Tears. Gossip. Advice. Stories.

Laughter...

More laughter. Always…more laughter. And stories. Stories galore.

These are the benefits I’ve enjoyed since my daughter returned to our empty nest. 

Because she spent her teen years totally devoted to training for a career in dance, I missed what most moms experience with their daughters. The conservatory she attended had no proms, no homecoming games. The handful of boys could not have met the social needs of the predominantly female private school.

As far as my husband was concerned, it was as though our daughter was safely tucked away in some convent. No guys…no problems.

I was fortunate enough to be with my daughter the first 2 1/2 years she spent training with Atlanta Ballet in Georgia. Having seen her in their summer program, she was encouraged to return to them during what would have been her senior year. It was a time of tumult…professionally and personally. Normalcy was at a premium. Everything revolved around dance.

Ballet Lift

Parenting a wannabe ballerina must closely resemble grooming an Olympic ice skater. You do what you can to help your child succeed. Even in the face of adversity and rejection, you remain positive, offering whatever support you can to help sustain the dream.

A career in the performing arts matures kids…fast. Not only must they deal with who they are becoming physically, but they must also be open to adapting their appearance to their job description. Even if they have to “read between the lines.” Because you know it’s not going to say…”You need to be a waif, or else.”

Beyond the physical, dance hopefuls must conduct themselves like adults. Be respectful. Be on time. Be prepared. Be responsive to correction. Be adept at learning choreography, and remembering roles learned in back-to-back rehearsals for a couple of different productions.  Be competitive…while being a team member. Be responsible for themselves…in all ways.

I know middle-aged adults who don’t have half the life skills my daughter has acquired during the 11 years she has been in the professional dance environment. At 27, she could conduct a class in…how to get the most out of life…with a whole lot of passion…and not a lot of money.

So you see, I’m learning how to strive while being contented, from my own personal YODA…my daughter…my hero…

…my bff…best friends forever…

Hawaiian ballerina in Spanish mode

Hawaiian ballerina in Spanish mode

 

………hugmamma.

 

 

 

comedic relief…maru

Just reciprocated a visit to blogger friend Beneath the Tin Foil Hat…at http://tinfoilhatman45.wordpress.com . I’d not heard from him in a while so I thought perhaps he’d taken a break. I was very glad to “hear” from him.

The visit reminded me of how cute our furry friends are when they’re just being themselves. It prompted me to go in search of my favorite Internet cat…Maru.

Japanese, Maru is photogenic and loves being in front of the camera. He does whatever he wants, satisfying any urge that happens to strike his fancy.

Too, too, too cute for words. So I’ll let Maru show you himself.

…have to get my grandkitty on video…he’s a laugh a minute as well…

………hugmamma.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

hamming it up for the camera…

My friend Katy directed me to some funny pet videos.

I selected the following for your viewing pleasure. Since it’s had 6,000,000+ hits, perhaps it’s already made you chuckle.

A  few more won’t hurt. In fact…it’s what the experts suggest…for relieving stress.

ROLL ‘EM!!!

…hope that made your day…or evening…

………hugmamma.   😆

why?…the big C

When you least expect it, life can turn on a dime.

I currently know 2 people who are battling cancer. One, a friend’s father who is losing his fight with recurring melanoma. The other, a dear brother-in-law who learned he has follicular lymphoma…an incurable cancer.

LYMPH NODES-SPLEEN: SPLENIC INVOLVEMENT BY FOL...

LYMPH NODES-SPLEEN: SPLENIC INVOLVEMENT BY FOLLICULAR LYMPHOMA This illustration depicts the classic appearance of spleen involved by follicular lymphoma, namely the presence of discrete, miliary, small, white “pearly” nodules throughout the whole parenchyma. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m having difficulty wrapping my brain around both cases. In fact, I feel mentally claustrophobic unable to break away from the constant flow of negative thoughts.

How? A recurring question…with no answer.

There’s no definitive reason why someone is stricken with cancer.

Yes, one’s lifestyle can be scrutinized.

Do you smoke? Or do you live with smokers? You know…second-hand smoke.

Do you inhale red meat? Or feast on fast foods 24/7?

Have you harvested the minimum amount of fruits and veggies? Or are you anti-vegetarian to the point of gagging at the mere mention of…rabbit food?

Exercise? Not your cup of tea? Couch potato more your style?

Alcoholic? Drug Addict? Sex addict?

Do you believe…in God? Or do you thumb your nose every chance you get?

Are you sleep-deprived? Or stressed out all the time?

Are you selfish? Or selfless. Volunteering and getting high on altruism?

Smiley faces? Or frowney faces? What’s your reset button?

Is depression dragging you down?

And in our hysterical, political climate being a bluebird or a cardinal might infect the healthiest body with cancerous cells.

My brother-in-law is an admirable specimen. Everything in moderation…except when it comes to compassion…and hope.

He eats well, drinks in moderation, surfs and takes walks, is religious where it counts…in everyday life, has never smoked, and doesn’t hesitate to help others. I’ve no idea his political persuasion because he’s not one to grandstand.

He makes me laugh. Gigantic belly laughs. From the moment we embrace hello…the jokes fly. We are so in sync that we could be a comedic act. My daughter has often remarked how her uncle and I don’t even pause to think about our comebacks. And those who are with us can’t help but be swept along in our insane garble. Our mother-in-law was one of our biggest fans. God bless her soul…we were both huge fans of hers as well.

One look at my sister-in-law, his wife of many years..confirms their deep and abiding love.

So how does it happen? Cancer.

I’ve no idea. But I’m involving myself in my brother-in-law’s fight without being asked. I’m hanging out my shingle…“hugmamma, m.d.” I’ve already done some Googling on follicular lymphoma and texted my sister-in-law the information I found.

As I await instructions…I send my love and prayers and mountains of laughs…to a brother-in-law…

…who’s always been…like my brother…

………hugmamma.

guilty…as charged

We all tend to put our best foot forward…especially when describing ourselves to those who aren’t privvy to what goes on behind closed doors.

My fellow bloggers will concur, I’m sure, that somewhere along the line we throw caution to the wind and unveil our foibles to the masses. Whether to garner a chuckle, align ourselves with the majority, or demonstrate to others that, in fact, we aren’t as perfect as we wish we were, or others think we are.

Regular readers of hugmamma’s mind, body, and soul know that I’m not without my devilish moments. Take for instance my irreverent invitation to leave a comment.

Laughter is life’s best medicine. Poking fun at oneself keeps us in check. In the grand scheme of things, God’s or Mother Nature’s, we humans are but one species striving to survive. We have a hand in our own self-destruction, but we don’t control the what, when, why or how.

So let loose…once-in-awhile. Admit to the unthinkable, within reason of course. Remember, a balanced life is a much happier, more satisfying environment than tipping the scales too far in either direction.

My latest sin, for which I’m now paying dearly? Downing an entire box of See’s candies in the space of 1 week. Swearing never to repeat such a transgression, then doing it again when my biological clock struck 63!Nuts and Chews

(Photo credit:  http://www.sees.com/Cat.cfm/Nuts_And_Chews )

And what reward have I reaped as a result of what I’ve sown? Heightened inflammation run amok!!! My arthritic joints remind me of the dietetic sin I have committed. Sugar equals pain…pain…and more pain.

So until I see the orthopedic specialist to determine whether or not the pain in my wrist is temporary or permanent, I will refrain from popping sugary delicacies as though they were placebos.

Just because life ends with the Grim Reaper ferrying us to the other side, doesn’t mean we have to take the “express.”

…sugar…in any form…hastens the end…

………hugmamma.  😦

abc…awesome blog content award

I’m impressed with bloggers who create awards. It takes imagination and technical skill. I’m not certain I could get my act together well enough to pull off such a thing. So I’ll have to content myself with being a humble recipient.

I’ve Marcia Clarke of Marcia Writes at http://mecwrites25.wordpress.com to thank for the Awesome Blog Content Award. In accepting it I’m obliged to present a bio of sorts in the form of the alphabet. So here goes.

I dislike apples.
My body needs reshaping.
Cats rule my life.
My dog wants…out!
If I could only cut out eating.
Fear of heights keeps me grounded.
Ghosts hover…I fear.
Hawaiian…through and through.
I’m forever chasing rainbows…
James, my first crush; Jake, my first
beau, BJV, my everlasting one.
Kehaulani…my morning dew.
I’m in love…with life.
Me, myself and I…practicing self esteem.
I’ve finally learned to say “N-O!” 
Open arms…close arms…and hug!
People watcher… par excellence!
We can all be queens…in our hearts.
Rain, rain go away…and don’t come back!
You are my sunshine…my only sunshine…you make me happy…
I’ve always had a hankering for tall guys.
Ups and downs…that’s life.
V as in Sierra…(sorry…inside joke)
My favorite group of humans…women.
One day I might be signing an “X,” instead of my name. Hope not.
You keep reading…I’ll keep writing.
Zero tolerance for bullying!

Another stipulation to accepting the Awesome Blog Content Award is that I hand it off to another deserving blogger or bloggers. While there are many deserving of the honor, at the moment I’d like to name one… The Laughing Mom at http://thelaughingmom.wordpress.com 

Terry writes with tongue-in-cheek humor about life. I’m always smiling when I read her posts…laughing out loud…at times. Moms need to laugh…a lot. If we didn’t, there’d be a torrential downpour of tears…

...the likes of which you’ve never seen before…

………hugmamma.  😉

dog…with a message

Visited one of my favorite blogs, figments of a duchess, and was warmed by a particular post. Featured front and center is “woman’s best friend”…well, in this case it co-stars a man. Regardless of gender, the message is the same. Our furry companions will do anything for us…even going to great lengths if they’re allowed to be with us. I know Mocha would agree. Just not sure she’d have the courage of this canine. Especially since my husband and I don’t have the courage of this pet owner. Motorcycles? Not so much.

…enjoy… gratis my friend the duchess who first shared it…hugmamma.

popping pills…not for the skittish

The other day when I stopped into my friendly vet’s office, Melody reminded me of what she’d said previously. “Sitka is sooo easy to pill.” And I replied “That’s because he’s in a cage when you do it. It’s not so easy at home, where he has the run of the house.” My little bud just proved me right…again.

In our efforts to isolate our 3 cats while they eat the food solely prescribed for their diets, Sitka is shut in the laundry room with his dishes of wet and dry food in the morning. After a little while, he’s let out to roam…play…and snooze with his fellow felines, Juneau and Sunkist. Later in the day I’ll put their respective containers of dry food down on the floor in the main hallway, where I can monitor their comings and goings to make sure one’s not eating another’s food…as I do my housework.

Twice a day I have to give Sitka a pill which helps keep his colon flowing. The past couple of mornings I’ve given it to him in the laundry room, before letting him out. When I opened the door today, he eyed me warily before running behind the dryer. Blocking his escape out the other side with a ladder, I peered down the back of the dryer. Sitka was nowhere in sight! Checking the side and back of the nearby washing machine, I found no trace of the little bugger.

Sitka had gone from behind the dryer to the nearby storage unit of shelves, and crawled inside a large backest filled with vacuum cleaner tools that sat on the bottomost shelf. When I bent down to get a closer look, I could see his eyes peering out from above the brim. As I got him out, we toppled backwards onto a nearby floor pillow with me chuckling…giggling…and laughing. I don’t think Sitka saw the whole situation as a laughing matter, however.

As I struggled to pry open his clenched teeth, insert the pill toward the back of Sitka’s throat, and close his mouth firmly while stroking his throat with my free hand, I cooed “I know…you probably want to stuff the pill down my throat. I know. I don’t like doing this any more than you like having to swallow pills, twice a day. Poor kitty. I know.” Sitka’s eyes were bugged out as if to say “Get off me…you #$%&* so and so!” Who could blame him?  

Last night I observed to my husband that Sitka no longer trails me looking for me to “uppy…uppy” him. In fact the night before as he was relaxing in his favorite chair, I stepped out of the kitchen to spy where he was. He looked up; our eyes met. I returned to the kitchen island to prepare his medication. When I stepped back into the living room, Sitka had disappeared like a “bat out of hell.” I found him huddled downstairs on the bed that he and Juneau share.

…i may have to put sitka in a cage…so i can have it as easy…as melody…

………hugmamma.  

daily post challenge: talker’s block? writer’s block?

Writer's Block (album)

Image via Wikipedia

As regular readers of hugmamma’s mind, body, and soul can attest, I’ve never been stricken with writer’s block.” It’s not something I’d brag about though. I’m probably a prolific writer because I’m also a non-stop talker, when given the opportunity. Some might think I’m doubly gifted because I never experience “talker’s block” or “writer’s block.” The truth is…these so-called talents can be a royal pain in my behind, my touche, my backside, my rump, my hynie, my booty, my (Hawaiian) okole, my arse…and yes, my ass! 

Let me list some reasons why I sometimes wish I had “talker’s block.”
1. If allowed I babble endlessly, switching topics effortlessly, leaving listeners wondering what we were talking about in the first place.

Wonder Woman as she appeared in the 2009 anima...

Image via Wikipedia

2. As I’m speaking I begin to detach myself, listening to what it is I’m saying. Sometimes I cringe hearing the moronic stuff spilling forth from my mouth. Yikes! Is that me talking??? 

3. I hate pregnant pauses. You know, when no one speaks. And it feels like the minutes are ticking by as if loaded down with sandbags. Because of this, I’ve taken to being the Wonder Woman  of the talk show circuit. I break out with all the blah, blah, blah I can muster and keep the dribble going, only stopping if someone else feels the urge to break in. Otherwise…it’s me, me, me…and more me. Yuck! 

4. Believe it or not, when I’m speaking and all eyes are upon me, I feel as though I’m physically shrinking so as to avoid being the center of attention. I can feel myself on the verge of menopausal hot flashes, sweat beginning to bead under my armpits, hairs standing on end at the nape of my neck. I’d prefer substituting a speaker box  in my place so that I could be “heard, and not seen,” unlike childhood days when I was told to be “seen and not heard.”

Aiwa loudspeaker enclosure

Image via Wikipedia

5. Finally…yes, there is an end to this in case you were wondering…when I plunge headlong into a conversation, I’m inclined to spit out the words as fast as I can. My fear? That if I dally too long, eyes will begin to roll, butts will start to squirm, and then the final trump card… “I think it’s time I got going. I’ve got lots to do.” 

“Writer’s Block?” Why would I wish it? Read on…
1. I’ve an addiction to writing, or haven’t you noticed? I’ve even written about it in https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/07/16/task-reward-task-reward/ and https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/07/15/addicted-me-nahhh/. And we all know that addictions are taboo. I’ve not seen research studies denigrating writers’ needing to pen their thoughts 24/7…yet. But give the naysayers time. They’ll get around to us sooner or later. We needn’t fear being overlooked. Trust me! They’ll get around to ripping the pens from our fingers, and the keyboards out from under our frenetic grasps. Hey! I might start the ball rolling and have public pressure move me to have “writer’s block.” Hmmm…a thought…

2. Insomnia’s another reason I’d cozy up to “writer’s block.” At my age sleepless nights are usually guaranteed. So it’s a double whammy to be kept awake at night, ideas bouncing around inside my head, wanting out…now, now, now!!! I’ve posted of this in https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/08/01/daily-post-challenge-204-does-your-mind-go-blank-when-you-close-your-eyes/, and in  https://hugmamma.wordpress.com/2011/01/13/cure-for-insomnia-blogging/.

3. Apart from loving to write, I love being a homeowner, a gardener, a pet owner, a friend, a wife, and, of course, a mom. But somehow all the rest take a backseat to writing. The fluidity and speed with which I can knock off post after post far surpasses my ability to dust, scrub and vacuum…weed, water and rake…pop pills and rotate feeding dishes for 3 special needs cats…socialize…pamper…and smother with love.

Work It Out (Beyoncé Knowles song)

4. Life is about balance. Tell that to “hugmamma.” She needs a megaphone secured to her ear through which Beyonce’s never-ending voice screams Balance! Balance! Balance!”

5. I’d like to take up another hobby. Not sure what it is yet; haven’t had the time to peruse the possibilities. Maybe I’ll figure it out in an upcoming post. At least writing things down puts them front and center, for my consideration. Now if I could only move my bones in a new direction afterwards.

…so don’t talk to me about “talker’s block”…or “writer’s block,”…be thankful you can “pull the plug”…

………hugmamma. 

in need of some humor

Sunday (2008 film)

Image via Wikipedia

I’m sharing the following with you from blogging friend nrhatch. Witty, well-versed and pretty as well, she’s got an impressive following of readers. You won’t be disappointed if you decide to float on by to check out her blog.

A minister decided that a visual demonstration would add emphasis to his Sunday sermon.

He placed four worms into four separate jars.

*The first filled with alcohol.
*The second filled with cigarette smoke.
*The third filled with chocolate syrup.
*The fourth filled with good clean soil.

At the end of the sermon, the Minister reported the following results.

*The first worm in alcohol – Dead.
*The second worm in cigarette smoke – Dead.
*The third worm in chocolate syrup – Dead.
*The fourth worm in good clean soil – Alive.

The Minister then asked “What can you learn from this demonstration?”

An old woman in the back of church quickly raised her hand and said “As long as you drink, smoke, and eat chocolate, you won’t have worms!”

That pretty much ended the service.

…you must be chuckling into whatever it is you’re drinking from that jar…

………hugmamma.  🙂

daily post challenge #216: what do i want my tombstone to read?

I’ve thought of this in moments of humor when I’ve been going back and forth with my husband…teasing one another about this and that. Here’s a sampling of inscriptions.

Tombstone

Herein lies a wannabee stand-up comic…who belly laughed her way into the ground.

Herein lies a wife…whose husband would’ve been a millionaire…if he hadn’t married her.

Herein lies a mom…whose dance moves were lovingly imitated by her ballerina daughter…provoking fits of hysteria in both.

Herein lies a literary woman…who rewrote Webster’s dictionary…introducing such words as moodoes (mom), hudus (something yucky), oogy (holdover from the 60s, to mean creepy, sleazy), puka-head (hole in the head).

But all kidding aside, I’d like my tombstone to read…

Herein lies a beloved wife and mom, who felt compassion for all, was a voice for positivism, and laughed all the days of her wonderful life.

have you thought what yours would say?………hugmamma.