PSA: THANK YOU for voting. I don’t care for whom you voted, only that you did. Remember, if you didn’t vote, you are not entitled to voice an opinion on anything that happens until the next election at which time you will vote. Won’t you?

Intro:

First the Sad news—Alex Trebek died yesterday (8 Nov 20). My very first Sister of Choice (SOC) Val, and I used to watch Jeopardy! together and win and lose fortunes every time. Of course, we were in the safety of her living room or mine. And the money was never collected – or paid. Not only did we learn a lot of interesting facts; we had fun, and it was all due to Alex Trebek. Several years ago, I took a 5-day seminar taught by a woman who had worked as a writer on Jeopardy! and she had only wonderful things to say about him. He was friendly, professional, smart, nice, caring — pick your positive descriptor, and I’m sure it would fit. The world was a brighter place, a kinder place, a more fun place because Alex Trebek was here for eighty years. He will be missed. As Uncle George (Takei) said on his Twitter account, “The heavens have all the answers now.”

Now for the Good news. Really — I put together a collection of poetry and had it edited by a professional editor, who made some very good suggestions both in content and order of presentation. She then suggested a publisher, who had done her last book, so I sent the updated ms off to the publisher. They acknowledged receipt immediately, and I settled in to wait for their decision, guessing sometime after the new year.

While at the computer Saturday morning, at 8.20, I received an email from the publisher, with my proof copies attached!!! While sitting and trying to catch my breath, just seconds later, I was staring, pretty much unseeing, at the tv in my office, just as NBC called Pennsylvania, and the election, for Biden.

Now, as most of you know, that is very good news to me. I realize some of you probably feel like I felt four years ago, but I think we’ll find Biden will be a peacemaker, if we all pitch in and help. I survived the previous four years, and I’m more than willing to try to help you survive the coming four if you’d like. That’s what friends do.

Wait. Wait. There’s more! I’m in a poetry group in the Tri-Cities, The Tarweed Poets, and three of us are putting out a book of our poetry. We hope to have it available before Thanksgiving. You’ll be among the very first to know when you can order it, and how.

Was looking for some weather specific photos, and came across these from a few months ago, when it was somewhat warmer. I do enjoy watching the Great Blues and Great Egrets over on the island. This handsome guy is a Great Blue Heron.

Entertainment:

Sigh, no movies/tv shows beyond news this week. But, I did read a book 😉

Books: 

See Rainy Day Reads for reviews and mayhaps a bit of snark. Who? Me? Snark?

I’m still reading Peter Strok’s book, Compromised. I had to put it down for a bit, as it was getting to be too much politics. I did, however buy a copy of The Man She Married: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-pounding twist, by Alison James. I bought it on Friday and finished it on Friday. By the time you read this, my review will be posted.

A friend put me wise to a new (to me) site, Freebooksy. You can sign up for a newsletter every morning containing a list of free books for several forms of eReaders. You choose your e-reading format when you join. You choose the genres which interest you the most. If you’re a bookworm, check them out. You can also sign up for heavily discounted books.

And remember, if you like a book, please write and post a review. It doesn’t have to be a college-level critical review, just something as to why you liked it. Reviews are virtual hugs for the authors. They mean a lot!  

Outro:

We are now having over 100,000+  Covid19-positive cases per day. It should be a no-brainer; masks help stop the spread. Combined with social distancing, hand-washing, and common sense, we can slow the spread down quickly, and keep it down. This virus is a painful killer, of small children to old farts and fartesses and everyone in between. Young, old, healthy, not so healthy. Please, be a patriot and wear your mask.

Go forth and have a great week. Do good, get into good trouble if you need to, read a new book, better yet, write the book you really want to read. Remember, Santa will be here too soon (as well as the bills), and I hope to have two options for your want list soon. You do want one or both of the books, don’t you?

If you enjoy this blog, please share with friends. 

Auntie Lenora

a flash fiction of about 940 words

by Lenora Rain-Lee Good

It was a beautiful, crisp October morning, the houses in the village were decorated with ghosts and witches and hand carved Jack O-Lanterns. All but The Manse, reputed by many to be truly haunted, which stood currently vacant of tenants and looked dark and lonely on top of the hill. I had just opened my door to walk to work when the phone rang, “Jan, Marcus here, can you come down to my office tomorrow at three o’clock? Mrs. Gooch died, and she wanted you present when I read the will.”

“Me? Sure, I’ll be there.” Mrs. Gooch died? She’d been around forever, and it never dawned on me she’d die. She was too much an institution in the village. She was, well, she was just too damn ornery to die. But die she did. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why she wanted me at the reading of her will. We weren’t really friends. I just worked for her off and on as she needed help.

The phone call raised memories of how we met. I smiled at the comparison of those memories to specters and Halloween. I was a kid, with my first paper route. Mrs. Gooch was known to dislike people, especially children. “Too noisy,” she said. “No manners.” The boy who had the route before me said she was a real witch and he rode his bike by her place as fast as he could and just threw the paper – if she wanted it, she could find it. My mom told me to deliver the papers to the front doors of my customers. Mom was right. I got big tips at the end of the year, especially from Mrs. Gooch.

One summer day, she saw me pushing my lawn mower over to one of the neighbors. “Jan,” she called out, “would you be interested in mowing my lawn? I’m very particular about how I want it done.” She was, too. She wanted it mowed first in this direction, then in that direction. And she tipped well at the end of the season.

We always smiled and waved at each other, and she wanted to know all about my classes when I came home on breaks. She seemed genuinely interested, but not overly friendly. While I was away at Veterinary school, she decided she’d had enough of the stairs of The Manse, and bought a new, modern, one-storey ranch. She used The Manse, as she called the old Victorian Painted Lady, as a rental. She had a handyman-chauffeur who did nothing but drive her around. I spent quite a bit of my spare time fixing and painting the old place. Vet school was expensive, and her generous pay and tips certainly helped. It didn’t matter, as no one wanted to stay in it. “Haunted,” they said. “Strange noises. Things go thump in the night.” Hogwash! I thought, but kept my comments to myself, after all, there are only so many animals for a Veterinarian to see in our village.

That old house was well over a hundred years old. I’m sure it had its share of creaks and groans, but ghosts? I think the tenants were city folk who had never lived in an old house and had no idea of the sounds made when it heated and cooled. I looked up at the old house, imposing at the top of the hill, and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to live there. I hoped whoever got the house would keep it, and not tear it down for apartments or condos. Then, again, Mrs. Gooch was enough of a grouch she might come back and haunt it. I smiled at the thought as I walked toward Marcus’ office the next day.

By the time I arrived at the law office of Marcus Whitworth, two others waited—Sally, Mrs. Gooch’s housekeeper and Bill, her chauffeur. They wore expectant smiles and faux tears and were positively giddy with anticipation at their expected new riches. After all, Mrs. Gooch had no known family, only her two servants of several years. They openly questioned my presence, sure that I wanted to rob them of their anticipated inheritance. Marcus cleared his throat, glanced at each of us, and then proceeded with the business at hand. “Mrs. Anabella Theodora Metz Gooch specifically asked the three of you to be present when her will was read. Since you are all here, we’ll get started. Sally, Mrs. Gooch said you are to receive $1,000.00. There would have been more, she said, but she knew you regularly dipped into the change bowl. And Bill, you get $1,000.00. She said that if you hadn’t used the house gas card for your vehicle, there would have been more. My secretary has your checks ready; you may sign for them on the way out. Jan, you inherit the rest of her estate. The home in which she lived at the time of her death, all her belongings, her investments, The Manse – well, we’ll go over it later, in detail. She said you were the only person in the village who treated her as if you liked her, even though she wasn’t likable. You, my friend, are very, very rich.”

Sally and Bill stood, glowered at me, and huffed out of the office; I sat, too stunned to move.

“Oh, one more thing.” A twinkle appeared in Marcus’s eye. “In the attic of The Manse, is an old record player set to a timer. Mrs. Gooch suggests you remove them before you move in—or rent it out. Here’s the key to the padlock on the attic door.”

Happy Belated Halloween, y’all!

Entertainment:

Did you notice this is my Halloween issue? Ya know, it written before Halloween, but not posted before. Still, in this time of Covid19, we can stretch a holiday a bit. Can’t we? So, being surfeited on news (i.e., politics and covid, covid, covid, covid), I turned over to Hallmark Movies and Mysteries the other night, needing a nice cozy murder. Uh, no. What I got were Christmas love stories. They couldn’t wait until Black Friday, let alone Halloween, even. Oh, well. Predictable, and no politics, no covid, no serious angst beyond will the star-crossed lovers realize their mistrake and turn to each other in the last two minutes???  (Spoiler: Yes! Yes, they will.)

Books:

See Rainy Day Reads for reviews and mayhaps a bit of snark. Who? Me? Snark?

Have started Compromised by Peter Stzrok. The Introduction was fascinating, as is the first part of the book. He’s a very good writer, at least at the beginning. And so far, I’m learning things I didn’t already know, or having things I suspicioned verified.

Quill and Parchment isn’t a book, but a beautiful online magazine. They have published three of my poems this November. Please feel free to check out mine and read all the others at http://quillandparchment.com/members/memberink.html No politics, no covid, just nice poetry.

Outro:

Masks save lives. That’s proven fact. Remember, the lives you save may be your very own ghosts, goblins, zombies, or vampyres — wear your fracking mask!!! Get a cloth one, it won’t cut down on your oxygen level one whit! Neither will the KN95s. It may actually make breathing in the super cold and or polluted air easier. Wear the same ones that surgeons wear—they certainly aren’t going to wear something to cut down their oxygen. Besides, they’re cute and sexy. The masks. And, well, some surgeons 😉

If you missed the Disney video last week, here it is for an encore performance:

Show your love, wear a mask! (Thanks, Bill for the video! 😉

THOU SHALT NOT COVID THY NEIGHBOR’S LIFE–WEAR THY MASK! (Swiped from the www.)

If you enjoy this blog, please feel free to share.

Auntie Lenora

For those who would rather listen than read–

I read an article the other day that had me in snickers for a while, and then I got angry, and then I thought to myself, Self, this is worth writing a post about. So here ya go.

Monica Hesse wrote a Perspective piece for the Washington Post which may be paywalled, so I found it via another source and will share that link here.

At first I was dumbfounded, gobsmacked if you prefer, that men actually think wearing a mask makes them less masculine. That was the giggle part. Apparently, it doesn’t take more than a small piece of fabric tied over their faces to emasculate them. Then I got to thinking about life as I’ve lived it, and life as I know it and I got angry.

Now, I’m speaking in generalities, so please don’t get your knickers in a knot, unless the shoe fits, in which case wear the damn shoe and untie your knickers! But for too many years male privilege has been to blame the woman/victim—for anything they don’t want to accept responsibility for. She was raped? Why did she dress that way? Show her hair? Her ankle? Lock her up, save male virtue from itself because the men can’t control it, so they must control her.

Wear a mask? Hey! Real men aren’t afraid of no stinkin’ little virus. YOU wear the damn mask. Remember, the Lone Ranger wore a mask. True, it covered his eyes, not his mouth, but it was a mask. Cowboys wore and wear masks, ie, bandanas, over the lower part of their face. Useful for keeping out dust (and possibly Covid 19) and when they weren’t paid, for robbing the local bank or cattle baron. 

But, but, do they not understand that the mask does not protect the wearer, it protects the other person? Men don’t wear masks because their wife/mother/children/significant others/parents do, so why should they worry? 

I’ll agree, masks aren’t sexy, they chafe, they’re hot, they aren’t really comfortable, but they are a lot less uncomfortable than Covid 19. And public safety should be worth something more than a fragile ego.

And if a mask, a mall piece of fabric, makes a male feel somehow emasculated, I remind him (and you) of the late Eleanor Roosevelt who said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Substitute the word ‘inferior’ with whatever you need. Making men feel manly in a mask is the man’s problem, and the man’s responsibility to overcome, it is a public-health issue. Period. Punkt! Full stop. Roll credits. Man up!

Many men really do have a problem accepting responsibility for their own actions. That’s why they try to turn women into mommies, so mommy can take the responsibility, kiss it, and make it all better. If your man doesn’t wear a mask, find a new man. One who will wear a mask and show you and the world that he cares for you and your children, that he cares for his neighbors, that he cares. Period. 

Now, I admit, I’m not a fan of Dick Cheney, never have been, but I’m open to changing that fanship, at least in this case. #RealMenWearMasks. Yeeeee-haw! Ride ‘em cowboy! Way to go Mr. Vice President!

Dick Cheney, swiped from Liz Cheney’s tweet

And to all of ‘my’ men who care enough about me, their spouses, the public, and who know what a Real Man is and wear those freaking masks, THANK YOU!!! Any man who doesn’t feel the need to bully others into agreeing with him; any man who when he makes a mistake is willing to admit it, say he’s sorry, and do what he can to rectify the situation; any man who isn’t intimidated by a wee bit of fabric over his nose and mouth; any man who can make me laugh—even Dick Cheney—is a real man and one of ‘my’ men!

Auntie Lenora