Monthly Archives:April 2012

The house is quiet – only the hum of the computer right now . . . well, and the ringing in my ears, but that is with me all the time.

Hubbymoose has been gone on his trip for two days. I put him on the plane Monday night and he arrived to his destination Tuesday night. Poor guy – 18 hours or so with layovers.

I have heard from him only twice – he texted (I know!!!) from his layover spot and then called when he was picked up by his buddy. I don’t expect him to contact me because I know he is busy visiting with his friends and, hopefully, some of his family.

The grandgirls have come down for their breakfast each morning, although the oldest one is not too willing. lol She sooo does not want to get up in the morning. She also doesn’t want to take her dottering old gramma’s advice to “go to bed earlier.” Had to laugh when the Pup asked if I meant they had to stay home to fix their own cereal – or was it okay to come down to fix their own cereal. They had cereal yesterday, but this morning I cooked (I know!!!) for them. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.
🙂

But, now it is getting late and I need to follow my own advice – go to bed already, gramma! 5:45 a.m. comes mighty early and I have a full day tomorrow. Sleeping in Saturday morning is beginning to sound pretty good.

Now the fridge is running, competing with the sound of the laptop. These are pretty normal sounds ’round here. I am sorta missing hubby moose’s snores from the chair next to mine. We sometimes take “sneak naps” – you know, the kind that sneak up on you – together. This afternoon I took one by myself.

In my chair.

Now?

Off to hog the middle of the bed.

By myself.

‘night, all.

The gavel came down. The Senate President waited until the last cough died away.

“By a unanimous vote the Body has displayed No Confidence in Senator Moriarity. The Senator will be removed immediately.”

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Trifecta’s editors challenged us to write 33-333 words using the word CONFIDENCE in its third definition. These are mine – where are yours?

3 a: a relation of trust or intimacy [took his friend into hisconfidence]
b : reliance on another’s discretion [their story was told in strictest confidence]
c : support especially in a legislative body [vote of confidence]

Goldie hated game night with all the love she could muster. Ever since SNL ran their endless skits with the fake Chicago accents, “da bears” became a password at the bar she owned.

“Hey, Goldie! You brewing that beer, woman? Three brewskis for my friends and me.”

“Yeah, yeah, Roger, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

She called them “the three bears” for a lot of reasons. They weren’t related, but there was a certain resemblance in them that put her to mind of the storybook tale.

“Papa Bear” was Roger. He was big and gruff and had a full head of unruly red curls. After the first couple of swats on her backside from Roger, Goldie tended to serve his beer across the table to him.

“Mama Bear” was Sandi – with an “i” if you please. Even wearing her Bears jersey – or maybe because she was wearing her Bears jersey – Sandi was all woman. All woman and a LOT of all woman. She wore her hair in a bob “so as not to detract from the bodacious twins, ya know,” she’d tell everyone. And the “twins” were indeed luscious. Even as straight as Goldie was, she appreciated them.

“Baby Bear” was no kid, but could easily be mistaken for one. Ted worked with Roger and Sandi at the brewery. He was small enough he could shinny up the stacks of kegs without a backward glance. He’d practically grown up in the warehouse, seeing as his paps was the foreman all those years ago.

The three bears stood out among a crowd of football fanciers. Their table was the loudest, bawdiest, most fun table in the bar. On game nights they regaled all who would listen (and those who tried not to) with tales of meeting Ditka on the L.

Goldie shook her head. Not likely that ever happened. Ditka probably had a driver. But you never know with those three. Anything could happen.

Like the night they came in with a tale of someone breaking into their homes. Nothing was taken, but their beds had been mussed up and whoever it was left a pizza box with half a pie oozing oil onto the tables. Yep – each of them had been broken into by the same person(s) apparently. Chicago’s finest had yet to find the culprit. Likely never would. But the tale of woe was always good for a round from nearby tables.

A roar broke Goldie’s reverie as the home team scored. The bell tolled and she noted Roger was buying the house a round.

Tips should be good tonight. Better than good . . . they should be jussssst right.
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Trifextrans united this weekend in a triplicate of a different sort – rewriting the tale of The Three Bears. My mind works in weird ways. Thus the above tale. Hey! I had fun with it.
🙂

And even better – no word limit! Whoot!!!! It’s your turn . . . what tale can YOU weave?