tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81553505686059883632024-02-19T23:56:32.068-08:00Faery Taleslillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-53203267248711726452014-07-08T04:00:00.001-07:002014-07-08T04:15:31.943-07:00Scribble lounge prompt #1 Scribble lounge prompts. For more prompts click on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/334466546708489/">https://www.facebook.com/groups/334466546708489/</a><br />
<br />
Starting word is 'bear'. The first sentence must contain this word. In
the next sentence change one letter in the word 'bear', eg 'fear'...For
each following sentence change one letter of the previous word.<br />
<br />
Creativity is a like a <b>bear</b>.I <b>fear</b> this winter has been too long.The absence of my <b>dear</b> Art, in hiberation, asleep! But now the season has turned, I am awake, I stalk it like a<b> deer</b>. I swallow it whole, lick my lips and follow with a celebratory <b>beer</b>. Ambrosia in a frosted glass, drink to the bountiful future, for now I am a <b>seer</b>. And thus it may <b>seem</b>, that the icy shackles of my doubt have melted away. The <b>seed</b> of my Art - too long dormant - will now have a chance to grow. And this time I will continue to <b>feed</b> it, to keep the fire burning through the winter. It's time to expose my skin and <b>feel</b> the heat of creating once more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-40295936553052021562012-11-30T01:55:00.000-08:002012-11-30T01:55:15.568-08:00The Death MemoirsDon't know what I was thinking when I wrote this one...many, many, many years ago...<br />
<br />
Last night I dreamt I was alive,<br />
So I waited with bated breath<br />
To feel the sunlight on my skin,<br />
Instead I watched the angents of my death -<br />
The devils with broken wings,<br />
Feast upon my earthly flesh.<br />
<br />
They scratched my skin -<br />
This armour that I once lived in,<br />
And I cried out in sorrow,<br />
But still they supped<br />
On this body I left behind<br />
And all the tears that I bled.<br />
<br />
Now I watch the seasons go by<br />
As I lay on my bed,<br />
Hidden beneath the roses,<br />
The secret place in which I hide,<br />
Where even angels cannot find.<br />
<br />
I live amongst the shadows,<br />
Of the yesterdays that never came,<br />
And the tomorrows that are yet to dawn,<br />
My life is an intangible memory,<br />
A story yet untold.<br />
<br />
I yearn to watch the sunset,<br />
To smell the flowers and trees,<br />
I've lived in the shadowlands,<br />
And walked in the darkness<br />
Of the endless silence of my death.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-56845079547537154782012-08-07T17:29:00.001-07:002012-08-07T17:29:49.511-07:00My FamilyI was born in Australia.<br />
<br />
My mother was born in Vietnam.<br />
My mother speaks Vietnamese and English to me.<br />
<br />
My mother's parents were also born in Vietnam.<br />
I call them ong ngai and ba ngai.<br />
<br />
My mother's family were refugees. They came to Australia<br />
when my mother was a baby.<br />
<br />
My father was born in Australia. He tries to speak Vietnamese, but he's not<br />
very good at it. <br />
<br />Nan was also born in Australia, but Grand-da was not.<br />
<br />
Grand-da was born in Northern Ireland. He migrated to Australia when he was a young man. He came to Australia looking for work.<br />
<br />
I love my famly. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-18287961166056664662011-10-18T22:55:00.000-07:002012-08-10T18:30:15.762-07:00Tilly MilliganTilly Milligan thought she knew everything,<br />
"The capital of China is Beijing!"<br />
Tilly would spout to anyone she thought wasn't very bright.<br />
This was everyone really within her beady little sight.<br />
<br />
Tilly Milligan thought she knew it all.<br />
Although she was barely four feet tall.<br />
She would correct her parents and even her teacher,<br />
with a nasty smile, not her best feature.<br />
<br />
"Enough! No more!" they all cried in unison.<br />
"Tilly Milligan must be taught a lesson.<br />
A crafty plan is what we need,<br />
who will volunteer to do the deed?"<br />
<br />
"I have a plan," said the baker, Mrs. Wise.<br />
"I'll bake her a pie with a little surprise."<br />
Mrs. Wise had devised a secret recipe.<br />
"T'will stop her conceit, I guarantee."<br />
<br />
"A slice of humble pie is what she really deserves.<br />
Made with lots of peppercorn and chilli preserves,<br />
A spoonful of honey and a pinch of salt,<br />
some cod liver oil and a smidgeon of malt."<br />
<br />
"A pie baked for you," said Mrs.Wise.<br />
When Tilly saw it with her greedy eyes,<br />
her mouth began to water and dribble,<br />
"I'll just have a bite, perhaps a little nibble."<br />
<br />
In two seconds flat the pie had disappeared<br />
Down the gullet (while everyone cheered).<br />
Tilly bounced around like a silly goat,<br />
Pointing at the fire burning in her throat.<br />
<br />
From that day on, not a sound could be heard,<br />
Not one fact, a remark, not even a word.<br />
Tilly Milligan had learnt an important lesson,<br />
From now on she would eat from the delicatessen!lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-82319363568746799162011-10-09T00:30:00.000-07:002012-08-12T03:50:38.932-07:00The missing 'A'I've looked everywhere.<br />
Even over there.<br />
<br />
So where could it be?<br />
It's not under the lemon tree.<br />
Could it possibly be somewhere behind me?<br />
<br />
Is it over there on top of the bench?<br />
In the bin? Oh, the stench!<br />
<br />
Is it hiding in front of my nose?<br />
Or is it squished in between my toes?<br />
Nobody knows!<br />
<br />
Follow the dog, he must know.<br />
Nose to the ground, off he goes.<br />
<br />
Round and round the gum tree.<br />
One, two, three.<br />
Where could it be?<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, I remember now!<br />
I hid it under the terry towel.<br />
<br />
I've found the missing letter 'A'.<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"></span><br />
I c<span style="font-weight: bold;">a</span>n use it now, to spell words like<span style="font-style: italic;"> tod<b>a</b>y</span>,<br />
and <span style="font-style: italic;">h</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">a</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ppy</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">hoor</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">a</span><span style="font-style: italic;">y</span>.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-7528649884699642732011-09-30T04:26:00.000-07:002011-10-08T23:25:05.488-07:00Ryan goes to the moon.One morning Ryan woke to find an envelope beside his bed. Inside the envelope was an invitation.<br /><br />Dear Ryan,<br />Please come to my fancy dress party on the moon.<br /><br />Your friend Zoonie.<br /><br />Ryan jumped out of bed excitedly. He had never been to the moon before. Then Ryan had a thought. What am I going to dress up as? He dug deep inside his wardrobe, throwing aside this and that.<br /><br />"Aha!" he exclaimed, pulling out an eye patch. "I'm going to be a space pirate."<br /><br />But Ryan had another problem. How was he going to get to the moon?<br />"I could build a ladder to the moon, I suppose," he thought. "But it would have to be a really tall ladder."<br />"There must be a quicker way..."<br /><br />Ryan had an idea. Not just any idea but a brilliant idea.<br /><br />A few hours passed. Occasionally a bang or thump could be heard from inside the garage. Then finally the door opened to reveal a shiny red rocket.<br /><br />Not long after that, Ryan was on his way to the moon in his shiny red rocket.<br /><br />It was night time when Ryan arrived on the moon. Zoonie had lit a great big bonfire where all their friends had gathered. Jacob was dressed as a robot, Liam as an astronaut, Darwinia as a star and Justin as an alien. They ate lots of yummy food and had fun playing games all through the night.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-39047120160567283792011-04-23T17:28:00.000-07:002011-04-24T03:02:15.355-07:00Scribble stories #3From scribble time with Darwinia. Who knows where the scribbles will take us next?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hungry Bear, Dragon's Treasure</span><br /><br />"Grraw. I'm a hungry bear, Mama."<br />"And what does a hungry bear want to eat for breakfast?" Mama asked.<br />"Honey, of course!"<br />"How about pancakes with honey on top?"<br />"Grraw. That's Bear for yummy."<br /><br />After breakfast Darwinia and Mama went outside to do some gardening.<br />"Twitch, twitch," said Darwinia hopping around. "I'm a rabbit now."<br />"What do rabbits like to do?" Mama asked.<br />"They like to dig in the garden and eat carrots, of course!"<br />So Mama and Darwinia dug up some carrots from the garden. Then Mama washed the carrots and gave one to Darwinia.<br />"Twitch, twitch," said Darwinia. "That's Rabbit for delicious."<br /><br />It was time for lunch.<br />"Snap, snap. I'm a hungry crocodile."<br />"What does a hungry crocodile eat for lunch?" Mama asked.<br />"Fish of course!"<br />"How about a tuna sandwich?"<br />"Snap, snap. That means 'yes please!' in Crocodile," replied Darwinia.<br /><br />After lunch it was time for a nap.<br />"Hoot, hoot. I'm an owl."<br />"Then it's nap time for the little owl," said Mama.<br />"But I don't want to go to bed now," grumbled Darwinia.<br />"All little owls need a rest so that they can grow big and strong, and have enough energy to play with Daddy when he gets home," said Mama as she tucked Darwinia into bed.<br /><br />After her nap, Darwinia was full of energy and ready to play again.<br />"Puff, puff,"said Darwinia. "I'm a fire breathing dragon."<br />"And what do fire breathing dragons do?" Mama asked.<br />"They look for treasure, of course!"<br />"In that case I have just the thing for you. I found a treasure map while you were asleep. Shall we go look for the treasure together?"<br />"Puff, puff. That's Dragon for 'yes please!'."<br /><br />They looked at the map.<br />"Hmm, the map says that the treasure is hidden between a rock and a tree. What tree could that be?" Mama asked Darwinia.<br />Darwinia looked at the treasure map. "There's apples drawn on the tree Mama. It must be the apple tree!"<br />Darwinia and Mama ran to the apple tree. Beside the apple tree was a large rock and inbetween the two was a shiny blue box.<br />"We've found the treasure!" shouted Darwinia excitedly.<br />Together they opened the box. Inside the box there were two golden delicious apples, two golden passionfruit and a bag of gold coins. Of course the coins weren't really made of gold, they were made of chocolate. Mama and Darwinia sat beneath the apple tree and shared the treasure between them.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-65936457092012600502011-04-21T04:27:00.000-07:002011-04-23T03:25:05.951-07:00Scribble stories #2Scribble story time is when my daughter and I scribble whatever we feel like and make up a story at the same time. Who knows where the scribbles will take us next?!<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />How to bake the perfect cake</span><br /><br />It was a week before Daddy's birthday. Darwinia wanted to surprise him with the perfect birthday cake. She searched high and low for the perfect ingredients.<br /><br />She travelled around the world to find the most deliciously expensive chocolate that she could buy (chocolate being Daddy's most favourite thing).<br /><br />Then she charmed the bees, who gave her their most prized possession - honey - made from the delicately scented lilies growing in a secret location, that only the bees could find.<br /><br />Next she asked an award winning cow for some milk. Which she then turned into delicious cream.<br /><br />She now had the best chocolate, honey and cream in the world for her special cake. But it was still not enough. She wanted something unique...something out of this world.<br /><br />"Aha! I've got it, the perfect ingredient," she shouted.<br />What was the perfect ingredient? Stardust of course!<br /><br />So she disappeared into the garage for hours on end. Every now and then, a bang and sometimes a clang could be heard. Finally she emerged with a big smile on her face. Darwinia had built herself a shiny red rocket, to launch herself into space.<br /><br />Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...blast off. And out of this world she flew. She travelled for an hour and a day, till she finally reached her destination.<br /><br />It was hot and bright, but Darwinia had come prepared. She had packed her sunglasses as well as sunscreen too. She cast her special stardust collecting net and scooped up a bag or two. Then homeward bound she flew.<br /><br />She mixed all the ingredients together and waited while Mummy put it in the oven. She counted the minutes, she watched the clock, she squirmed in her chair and even pulled out her hair. Till finally she heard the magic 'ding', then out came the cake all fluffy and nice.<br /><br />When Daddy saw the cake with all the candles on top, he couldn't wait. He had to have just a little taste.<br /><br />And the big smile on his face....<br /><br />It said it all.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-60250460536811622642011-04-21T02:41:00.000-07:002011-04-21T04:25:22.257-07:00Scribble stories #1<span style="font-style: italic;">From scribble time with my daughter. We scribble some pictures down as I tell her a story. This one was from today. Who knows where the scribbles will take us?<br /><br />The Bunny Tree<br /><br /></span>There once was a bunny who didn't like to share.<br />He stole all the carrots in Farmer Nuggets garden<br />and didn't leave not a one to spare.<br /><br />He piled them high back in his burrow.<br />He had lots of carrots to eat today,<br />and plenty more left over for tomorrow.<br /><br />One sunny morning, chewing happily<br />sat he underneath a shady tree .<br />Another bunny appeared in the vicinity.<br /><br />"Please, Mr Bunny can you spare a carrot for hungry little me?<br />There are no carrots left for miles around."<br />"No, definitely not, this is all I've got," grumbled he.<br /><br />But shh, it was all just a test.<br />In a blink of an eye the bunny disappeared<br />And in it's place a fairy did manifest.<br /><br />"Mr Bunny, you must learn to share.<br />She waved her magic wand,<br />and then he was no longer there.<br /><br />In his place a little apple tree did grow,<br />"From now on sir, the fruit that you bear,<br />will be shared by all that you know."lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-38984801451630052552010-09-13T03:40:00.000-07:002010-09-13T03:45:56.768-07:00I really need to start writing again!lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-5640891337378084862010-09-08T21:55:00.000-07:002010-09-08T22:03:33.583-07:00What the?Ever notice how ants seems to get into your house the day before it rains. Getting out of the rain, that part I understand. What I don't get, is why after all that effort, do they then go and drown themselves in the kettle???lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-16526406601648857862009-11-21T14:59:00.000-08:002009-11-21T20:20:35.164-08:00Sunday Scribblings #190: Beauty<div style="text-align: left; font-style: italic;">Apologies, very rushed and rough....<br /></div><br /> *****************************************************<br /><br />"You know you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age," the old lady said.<br />Leila sighed impatiently. What would the senile old hag know, after all she was just another ugly old woman with wrinkled skin and wiry grey hair.<br /><br />With her long silky black locks, emerald eyes and flawless skin, Leila on the other hand was beautiful. She had come into this world beautiful, announcing her arrival with one loud indignant scream, followed immediately by an angelic smile. From that moment on, her parents devoted all their time, money and energy on pleasing their only child. As the days and years passed her beauty only became more and more apparent. Leila learnt at a very young age to use her beauty to manipulate and dominate others.<br /><br />"This will be perfect for your tea party. It's a new recipe I've invented. I haven't named it yet. You'll be the first to try it, " the old lady said presenting Leila with the pie.<br />"A special gift for you and your husband," she added.<br />Without a comment, Leila ungraciously took the pie, turned on her heels and walked out of the store.<br />From the store window, the old lady watched with amusement as Leila pushed her way through the busy street. "May you get what you deserve."<br /><br /> ****************************************<br /><br />"This is absolutely delightful," the Mayor's wife trilled, taking another delicate bite of the pie, as the other guests nodded their agreements.<br />"It's a new recipe I came up with. I haven't named it yet." Leila lied.<br />"You'll have to let us in on your little secr ---"<br />The Mayor's wife gasped as the other guests looked on in horror.<br />"Leila...your face..."<br />"What is wrong with my face?" Leila cried, running her hands frantically down her face. Where once there was flawlessly smoothe skin, Leila now only encountered bumps and grooves.<br />"A MIRROR! I NEED A MIRROR!"<br />No one moved. Their attentions were focused on Leila's hair, clumps of which now lay on the floor.<br /> <br /> *********************************<br /><br />A month passed, doctors came and went. Not a single one of them knew why or how the once beautiful Leila came to lose her exquisite looks. They could only shake their heads in pity. Only one person knew the real reason and she called it a slice of humble pie.<br /><br />Click here for more <a href="http://www.sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/">Sundayscribblings.<br /></a>lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-6749375025580499482009-10-18T18:18:00.000-07:002009-11-07T21:59:50.073-08:00The Dream Writers: redrafted<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >There is a world beyond our dreams, existing on the edges of our imagination but not very far from where we are. It is not very far at all. In fact is is only just a porthole away...</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />CHAPTER 1<br /><br />"At the tone, it will be twenty strokes before the dream porthole closes."<br />"Hoot, hoot, hoo-"<br />There was a loud bang as the alarm owl narrowly dodged a blast from Wexland Dreamer's pen.<br />"Ahem, at the tone, it will be nineteen and three quarters strokes before the dream porthole closes," the suicidal alarm owl continued.<br />"Hoot, hoot, hoo-"<br /><br />This time, the bang was followed by a shower of feathers accompanied by the smell of burnt chicken. Wexland's stomach responded by letting out a loud rumble. Surprisingly it was the rumbling that woke him up.<br />"Hoo...huh..." puffed the alarm owl, before fainting dead away. There was a thud as it fell from its perch and onto the floor.<br /><br />With eyes still closed, Wexland almost succeeded in trying to unglue his face from the pile of paper he had fallen asleep upon. With his right cheek still firmly attached to a piece of paper, he dragged himself to the kitchen and stuck his head in the refrigerator. The blast of cold air finally managed to peel the last of the sleep from his mind. He pulled himself out of the fridge, but not before grabbing a slice of rhubarb and cherry pie.<br /><br />It wasn't until his stomach was full (this required polishing off the rest of the pie as well as a pumpkin and five peas) that he noticed the smell.<br />"Fiddle cakes!" he cried.<br />With a little panicked hop, Wexland launched himself into the air. For a few seconds the only sound that could be heard was the frantic waving of arms. This was then followed by a loud thud. For a stunned moment, he lay on the floor. After the brief moment of confusion, Wexland realised that his wings had been confiscated (for violating section 13, that is flying while operating a mobile pigeon phone) . Picking himself up, he ran into his room and tripped over the fallen alarm owl. At exactly ten strokes to the dream porthole closes, Wexland's nose, followed by the rest of him, came to a skidding halt in front of the pigeon phone.<br />"You have a message," the pigeon phone announced despondently.<br />"Umph," Wexland grunted in reply.<br />"Press one, if you would like to listen to the message. Huh...two if you...well you know the drill."<br />From his position on the floor, Wexland reached up and pressed one. There was an unhappy sqwark as the pigeon phone squeezed out a message egg. The egg fell through the air and landed with a messy splat on the floor.<br />"Message received at eighty two strokes before the dream porthole closes. This is Dreamwriters Central, you have been reassigned to Billy Kramer, aged eight. His file will be faxed to you following this message."<br />There was a loud SPLAT! which was then followed by a muffled "Umph".<br />Unfortunately for Wexland, the fax-egg had landed on his head. The contents spilled out to reveal an unsmiling photo of Billy Kramer, aged eight. Class bully.<br /><br />CHAPTER 2<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-1339773364885392682009-08-07T19:16:00.000-07:002009-08-07T20:37:36.169-07:00Sunday Scribblings #175: NewSunday Scribblings Prompt #175: New<br /><br />There’s a trick to this, I think to myself, as I re-read the instructions for the third time. There must be something here that'll tell you how not to pee all over your hand. I give up on trying to find what is clearly not there. I’m a scientist, surely I can figure this out. Unfortunately I don’t, but a few minutes later the magic words appear, PREGNANT.<br /><br />I sit on the toilet seat, stunned. This is what we’ve been dreaming of for the past year. So why am I so scared? Oh crap, I think to myself. I've only just got the new promotion at work. How am I going to break the news to my boss?<br /><br />I take a deep breath and give myself a mental shake. I’m going to be a mother. I smile at this thought. I'm still grinning like a nut, when the phone rings.<br /><br />"Hey babe, I just got off the phone with Marcus from the car dealership. I'm going to test drive the car this afternoon, do you want to come?"<br />Darn I'd forgotten about Boyfriend's obsession with buying a new car.<br />"Um...the new car might have to wait. We're going to have a baby."<br />There's silence on the other end of the phone. Then Boyfriend starts to giggle like a teenager.<br />Somehow we manage small talk before he hangs up.<br /><br />A few seconds later the phone rings again. “I wasn’t dreaming was I, you did say you were pregnant?”<br /><br />For more click on <a href="http://www.sundayscribblings.blogspot.com">sundayscribblings</a>lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-78974293807299552742009-04-28T06:24:00.000-07:002009-04-28T06:47:30.063-07:00The Dream ThievesArtle reached over and threw his time blinker off its perch beside the bed. Unperturbed the suicidal time blinker imp continued to announce, "It is now four blinks past the previous dream. The porthole no longer has any vacancies. The next opening will happen in ten blinks, counting now..."<br />By this time Artle had regained enough of his senses to grab the wand from under his pillow and direct it at the imp. Unfortunately, everything he owned including the wand was, either broken, on its way to being broken, or hastily mended. <br /><br />There was a loud bang. <br /><br />Artle woke to find himself stuck to the ceiling looking down at his bed.<br /><br />The ceiling groaned in protest.<br /><br />When he regained consciousness for the second time, he was lying face down on the floor beside the bed. A whimper of pain escaped from his lips, while the imp announced, "It is now two blinks to the last dream. This is the final warning before the porthole closes." Artle groaned in reply. This was the second day in a row that he had missed the portholes. At this rate he would never eat.<br /><br />There was a knock at the door. Artle barely had enough time to roll himself over before the door opened to reveal a goblin and a troll. He let out another groan. <br />"Ah, Mr Tobler, I see you've managed to get out of bed," sneered the goblin.<br />"Morning, Mr Le Tat."<br />Ignoring the greeting, the gobling continued, "It has come to my attention, Mr Tobler that you haven't paid this weeks rent. Where are my dreams?"<br />"Well you see, Mr Le Tat...funny story actually. You wouldn't believe the kind of week I've been hav - "<br />"Enough! You see Mr Tobler the agreement was for two dreams a night. Imagine our disappointment, Mr Tobler when Friday came and we didn't see or hear from you. Now just to make sure you understand the agreement, Mr Dizzlebick here will remind you." <br />He moved aside to reveal an angry looking troll, carrying an even angrier looking club.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-79202609901501712822009-04-04T00:31:00.000-07:002009-04-04T06:28:53.763-07:00Rings and things...Boyfriend and I are sitting down to dinner.<br />"How was the marine mammal workshop?" I ask Boyfriend.<br />"It was great. I missed you though," he replies, reaching for my hand.<br />"That's so sweet. I misssed you too," I say blowing him a kiss.<br />"I thought about you, but there was this pretty chick in the group. So I didn't think about you for long," he adds laughing. I flick a pea at him.<br />"You really need to buy me a ring," Boyfriend informs me.<br />"Why?" I ask.<br />"I'm surrounded by all these women who want a piece of me. I'm in high demand you know."<br />It's my turn to laugh.<br />"I'm serious. You're marrying a very handsome man. I've got to let these women know that I'm spoken for."<br />I laugh even harder. <br />Boyfriend turns to our dog, "I think she loves me, Rusty."lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-67690925293716116452009-03-30T01:26:00.000-07:002009-03-30T04:57:57.101-07:00Scribble Soup for Writers' Block #56: Is that even a word?<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">What word or words would you use to describe the missing sock phenomenon, ie when you wash a pair of socks, you somehow mysteriously end up with only one.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Do you have word/s or terms that you have made up to describe something?</span><br /><br />*************************************************************************************<br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br />The Great Socktery</span>: when washing a pair of socks, you somehow mysteriously end up with only one.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Daylexia</span>: dyslexia caused by early mornings.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Worklexia</span>: dyslexia caused by work.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Couch-a-tional field</span>: the gravitational field of a couch. The force required to remove oneself from the couch is directly proportional to...well I haven't been able to remove myself from the couch to calculate this one.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Remote dependency</span>: one's dependence on the t.v remote control.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Temporary Bridge Craziness</span>: The compulsive need to speed when driving over a bridge, especially when you're stuck behind a slow moving truck.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Speedmosis</span>: the uncontrollable need to keep up with other speeding cars.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Breakfast-a-la-car</span>: eating breakfast in the car, on the way to work because once again you're running late.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Dreamscaping</span>: daydreaming during an important meeting.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />For more writing challenges click on <a href="http://www.scribblesoupforwritersblock.blogspot.com/">scribblesoup</a>lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-69369935737233901722009-03-28T20:00:00.000-07:002009-03-28T20:02:36.233-07:00Okay, need to start posting again soon. I've been very busy at work...and very slack.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-69205275104970719532009-02-27T18:00:00.000-08:002009-02-27T18:02:04.328-08:00I was so tired on the way home from work Thurdsay afternoon, so I wasn't quite 'with it' when the I was pulled over by the booze bus police. In all my years of driving I've only ever been breath tested twice (this being the third), and as my grasp on technological breakthroughs - like my grasp on reality - is tentative to say the least, I wasn't quite sure what was happening when the copper shoved the breathalyzer in my face. My first thought was where do I blow as there was no nozzle. The policeman said something, which I completely missed (since I'd lost another 10% of my hearing after going to see Nine Inch Nails on Tuesday night - they were awesome by the way). I asked him to repeat it.<br />"Can you count to ten, ma'am." So I do, silently in my head.<br />"Out loud please." Oh, it was then I realised that the gadget he was holding to my mouth actually didn't require me to blow on anything. He must of thought I was an idiot. I know I felt like one.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-53024952279841938012009-01-29T02:29:00.000-08:002009-01-29T02:54:10.472-08:00lemonade award<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXWvmt6HWdl_Su2rtY3UlC763WCT4RIVYO5D-i-C8Jhql9BlvpqjZudLFko9WwXwMqe5ODW3NVNEP9ub-NQSN3pUt_SnJpMgkCr-ZtK6CKo9nyVrzswH0o4KFixyN5IT668rDffHYcTiY/s200/lemonade_award.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXWvmt6HWdl_Su2rtY3UlC763WCT4RIVYO5D-i-C8Jhql9BlvpqjZudLFko9WwXwMqe5ODW3NVNEP9ub-NQSN3pUt_SnJpMgkCr-ZtK6CKo9nyVrzswH0o4KFixyN5IT668rDffHYcTiY/s200/lemonade_award.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://sunshinejones.blogspot.com">Sunshine</a> was gracious enough to pass the Lemonade Award to me.<br /><br />The way the “When Life Gives You Lemons, make Lemonade” Award (for short, The Lemonade Award) works is:<br /><br />1) You must link back to the person you received the award from.<br />2) You have to nominate 10 bloggers who are deserving of this award!<br /><br /><br />Now comes the hard part. Since I don't know that many bloggers, I'm going to pass this on to everyone who is interested (leave a link if like). I'm giving a big shout out to the following people for their beautiful blogs.<br /><br />** <a href="http://abra-stories.blogspot.com">Abra</a> for her fantastic way with words.<br />** <a href="http://happytiler.blogspot.com">Giggles</a> for her art and great blog.<br />** <a href="http://anenglishgirlrambes.blogspot.com">An English Girl Rambles</a> for her stunning photos.<br />** <a href="http://ramblingwoods.com">Rambling Woods</a> for all her informative posts and amazing photoslillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-35195803274333655712009-01-25T13:36:00.000-08:002009-01-25T21:28:36.820-08:00From baskets to trolleysBoyfriend and I decide to do a late night supermarket run.<br />"Okay, let's not go overboard this time," Boyfriend suggests.<br />"No problems, I just need some stock up on food for my lunches," I reply reaching for a shopping basket.<br /><br />I check my mental shopping list and head straight for the items I need. Boyfriend disappears. I find him half an hour later intently studying the label on a packet of cramp bark.<br />"I should get this," Boyfriend tells me.<br />"What about the magnesium powder your chiro gave you."<br />"I keep on forgetting to take it."<br />I raise my eyebrows. Boyfriend snickers, "Okay, I'll put it back."<br /><br />Boyfriend mysteriously disappears again. Twenty minutes later, we meet at the check out line. Boyfriend has swapped his shopping basket for a trolley. I raise an eyebrow.<br /><br />"It's not my fault. You left me unsupervised," he says defensively.<br />The eyebrow moves another inch higher.<br />"Okay, I'll put this one back,' Boyfriend says reluctantly reaching in the trolley for the packet of 100's and 1000's.<br />"Here, take this with you," I say handing him a box.<br />"Not the garden light. It's for the garden gnome."<br />"We don't have a garden gnome."<br />"We do now," Boyfriend announces excitedly.<br />I give him the 'look'.<br />"And you can return the butter as well," I say quickly scanning the items in the trolley.<br />"But we're out of butter."<br />"No we're not, we have two tubs at home. The Anson's left a full tub when they came to stay."<br />"But this is different, it's organic butter"<br />"Anyway, you're not supposed to be eating butter...or cheese...or bacon," I say removing the items from the trolley.<br />"You never let me have any fun," Boyfriend whinges.<br />"It's not my fault you have high cholesterol."<br />"I knew this would happen. I was good, I walked away from the chocolate section."<br />"So is that a bag of carrots I see disguised as a bag of violet crumbles?"<br />Boyfriend snickers guiltily, "That's different. It's for work."<br />I mentally count to ten before asking, "How is that diff -"<br />"Shh," Boyfriend says, placing a finger over my mouth. "You're so much prettier when you don't talk."<br />I poke him in the stomach.<br /><br />Ten minutes later and $203.05 poorer, we head back to the car.<br />"Not bad," Boyfriend says.<br />"What do you mean?" I ask.<br />"We spent $100 less than the last time. Next time we'll do even better."<br />I laughed, "Next time, I'm leaving you at home."lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-49909022721315886952009-01-04T15:57:00.000-08:002009-01-05T01:40:54.630-08:00Scibble soup for writers' block #46: the art of gift givingFor my 25th birthday Boyfriend presented me with a non-stick frying pan.<br />"Happy birthday! Look what I got you," Boyfriend exclaims, waving the unwrapped pan around. "It was on sale," he adds, oblivious to my 'I can't believe you got me a frying pan for my birthday' look.<br />"Uh...thanks," I say packing the pan away.<br />"Don't put it away yet, we can use it tonight."<br />"You mean, I can use it tonight to cook you something." My sarcasm falls on deaf ears.<br />"Yeah, I got some salmon steaks to celebrate."<br />I picture a big fat dent in the shape of a frying pan on Boyfriend's head. I pack the pan away, just in case I give in to the temptation to use Boyfriend's head as batting practice. I count to 10 slowly, before saying, "It's my birthday, why don't you cook me something instead."<br />Boyfriend finally realises that I'm not as enamoured with the non-stick frying pan as he is, "It's a fantastic pan. You never have to scrub ever again!"<br />I give him 'the look'.<br />"Okay, I'll take you out to dinner instead," he grumbles.<br /><br />A few months later for his 26th birthday I inform Boyfriend that his present was a pair of binoculars.<br />"Where is it?" he asks.<br />"I haven't bought it yet."<br />"Why?"<br />"I've been busy."<br />"But you work only a few doors down from the store."<br />"Okay, you'll get them next week," I promise.<br />Months passed. Boyfriend waited.<br />"Guess what!" Boyfriend shouts from the doorway one afternoon.<br />"What?" I reply.<br />"Happy birthday to me," Boyfriend sings, entering the room with a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck.<br />I giggle guiltily. I had forgotten about his birthday present.<br /><br />for more prompts click on <a href="http://www.scribblesoupforwritersblock.blogspot.com/">scribblesoup</a>lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-65260372450301209952008-12-22T14:35:00.001-08:002008-12-22T21:18:18.440-08:00Scribble Soup for Writers's Block #45: the great outdoors<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlQfOU3KIBI_GZAoPJFZW2k8lFZ9DzsNFx5PmySfsv0SPi-0QuTGbVVPiq7b7I2f3OW77XGZXATVe8c3YWIF8fawk-38H0ct-h6mZx6HtYnX_RRmwZ0LrKp6fbk70RinBi2N-sRw8Fx0_/s1600-h/PC210147.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlQfOU3KIBI_GZAoPJFZW2k8lFZ9DzsNFx5PmySfsv0SPi-0QuTGbVVPiq7b7I2f3OW77XGZXATVe8c3YWIF8fawk-38H0ct-h6mZx6HtYnX_RRmwZ0LrKp6fbk70RinBi2N-sRw8Fx0_/s200/PC210147.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282801765060628242" border="0" /></a><br />It's another stinking hot day.<br />"Let's go bushwalking," Boyfriend says.<br />"Okay," I mumble in reply, not taking my eyes off the t.v.<br />In an unusual spurt of energy Boyfriend gets up and showers, while I lounge about.<br />"Are you ready?" Boyfriend asks 15 minutes later.<br />"I will be soon," I reply, not budging from my seat.<br />"Come on, hurry up!" Boyfriend calls from the dining room.<br />"Well have you packed the water bottles?" I say as I throw on some clothes.<br /><br />Ten minutes later I ask, "So what's happening with the water?"<br />"It's coming! Where are the bottles?" Boyfriend asks, not having moved an inch from where he'd been standing.<br />I point to the bottle sitting on the table to his left, "Oh look, it's a candle disguised as a bottle."<br />Boyfriend gives me 'the look'. "I guess you want me to fill it up with water now." He says sarcastically, walking to the fridge. He opens the door, stares, then walks away. "We're out of juice. Can you put it on the list?"<br />I add it to the list, "Anything else you need?"<br />"Yeah, cereal."<br />"There's a box on top of the cupboard," I say.<br />"It's empty."<br />"Then why isn't it in the bin?" I ask in dismay.<br />Boyfriend laughs guiltily, "It was easier than throwing it into the bin."<br />I give him 'the look'. "The bin would have been closer."<br />Boyfriend snickers even louder.<br /><br />In the car, Boyfriend gives me his hourly update on the temperature, "I can't believe how hot it is. It's only 28 °C but it feels much hotter."<br />We arrive at Forest Island. It's stinking hot and I'm covered from head to toe in my anti-leech combat gear. For added insurance, I spray myself with tropical strength bug repellent. Five minutes into the walk, the battery on my camera dies. Without the constant activity of photo taking, my mind is free to analyse the likelihood of a leech attack. I mentally list all the places on my body that a leech can latch on to. I feel exposed and vulnerable. I start to sulk. Boyfriend decides to climb down the ravine to take a closer look at the creek. I calculate the chances of a leech attack. I don't like the odds. I sulk even further. Boyfriend forces me to follow him. So I do, protesting all the way down. It's a beautiful spot, but I am ever vigilant of leeches. I keep my eyes wide open. I am not deceived by the creek's beauty.<br /><br />We follow the creek until we can no longer do so without getting wet. Boyfriend decides it's time to head back to the track. Our climb is impeded by a patch of stinging nettles. This is not a problem for me, after all I'm covered from head to toe. Boyfriend is wearing shorts. I suggest he places some palm fronds down.<br />"Good idea," he says. Unfortunately he slips. The buggers get him. He is in pain. We march on. He trips over a loose rock, and twists his ankle. We march on.<br /><br />An hour later, we return to the car. Boyfriend has a hankering for banana bread. He asks me if I feel like stopping in Deena for coffee.<br />"No, I'm all sweaty and yukky," I reply.<br />He doesn't tell me he really wants to stop in Deena, until right before the turn off. With five cars trailing closely behind us, he says, "I really feel like banana bread."<br />"If you really wanted to stop at the cafe, you could have just said so," I reply.<br />Without slowing down, Boyfriend takes the turn-off. I hold on for dear life, Boyfriend's camera bag falls to the floor. He turns to me and says, "What? The other cars were right up my arse. I couldn't slow down."<br /><br />Our stomachs full with banana bread, we decide to stop off at Crystal Waters. Boyfriend discovers that his stunt driving has broken his very expensive camera lens. Now it's his turn to sulk.<br /><br />For more click on <a href="http://www.scribblesoupforwritersblock.blogspot.com/">scribblesoup</a>lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-1064107942040871642008-12-19T22:09:00.000-08:002008-12-19T22:52:34.193-08:00Sunday Scribblings #142: Late"Yay, the Birthday Girl is finally here and only 43 minutes late," Bestfriend says, clapping her hands as I slide onto the seat beside her.<br /><br />"It's not my fault. It was the tiger snake."<br /><br />"What snake?" Everyone asks in unison.<br /><br />"Well, I was sitting on the sofa watching t.v, when I saw something moving from the corner of my eyes. I turned and it's was a snake crawling on the floor next me. Of course I automatically went into denial and convinced myself that it was stick. Then it reared it's head. That's when I did my superman leap and ran like hell upstairs," I say pumping my arms in illustration.<br />Everyone laughs.<br /><br />"I swear the snake followed me, because when I turned around it was at the foot of the staircase. I ran to the phone. I didn't know who to call so I called directory. When the lady asked me who I wanted to be connected to I said, 'I didn't know'. I told her I was trapped in a house with a snake. She didn't know too, but she eventually put me through to the police. I called them and told them my story and they laughed. They then gave me the number for the zoo and snake catcher. I called the zoo but it was after hours and no-one answered, so I called the snake catcher and waited," I pause as the waiter filled my wine glass. <br /><br />"Well go on. What happened next?" Bestfriend asks.<br /><br />"When the snake catcher came, he tried to get me to come downstairs to open the door, but the snake was still at the bottom of the staircase. There was no way on earth, I was going down. It was sort of strange because when I usually come home, I leave my keys on the kitchen bench. Today I carried them with me upstairs. I'd left them beside the phone. So snake catcher guy had to get a ladder and climb to my window and break through the safety screen so that I could pass the keys down to him."<br /><br />"It took him less than 2 minutes to catch the snake. By this time it had crawled to the kitchen. He put a tea towel down and it crawled to it. Piece of advice everyone, if you ever have a tiger snake in your house, put a towel or something down. They'll move to it."<br /><br />"Are you serious?"<br /><br />"That's what he told me."<br /><br />"How'd you know it was a tiger snake?" Bestfriend's boyfriend asks.<br /><br />"He told me that too. And that everyone is why I am late. Now can I eat, I'm starved."<br /><a href="http://www.sundayscribblings.blogspot.com"><br />Sunday scribblings</a> promptlillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8155350568605988363.post-54384718885583764652008-12-13T20:26:00.000-08:002008-12-16T18:35:04.148-08:00Scribble Soup for Writers' Block #37: Serendipity<span style="font-style: italic;">Your word prompt is "serendipity". Have you ever stumbled upon an opportunity by accident...or design?</span><br /><br /><br />As I alighted from the tram, I cursed myself silently. I'd overshot my destination again, this time by several stops. It took several more choice swear words before I noticed the store. Actually, what I really noticed was the pair of ruby ear-rings displayed in the window. I pressed closer, mesmerized by the intricate red and black, rose design. I did a little jig on the cold pavement, waving my arms around, until I caught the sales assistant's eyes. I mimed, "price?" through the glass. The lady walked towards the display and turned the price tag over, $149.95.<br /> <br />I couldn't afford that on my lowly student income. Disappointed, I turned around and walked towards the bus stop. It started to rain. Heavily. I fished blindly in my bag for the umbrella and came back empty handed. I dropped the bag to the ground, squatted beside it and ventured where I'd never dare gone before, into the dark recesses of my bag. I pulled out an envelope addressed to me. Curious I opened the envelope and pulled out $50 and a handwritten note. <br />"Thanks for the loan, sis."<br />It was from my brother. He'd left the envelope on the kitchen table earlier this week. I'd grabbed it on my way out, put it in my bag and promptly forgot all about it. <br /><br />It stopped raining. I smiled to myself as I repacked my bag, then something smacked me on the head before falling to my feet. It was a $100 note. I looked around me, searching for the owner. There was no-one around. I picked the note up. <br /><br />Ten minutes later, I was the proud owner of pair of ruby ear-rings. As I walked passed the store for the last time that day, I finally noticed the shop sign. On the window, painted in large black letters were the words, 'Serendipity'.lillyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08065006273091905792noreply@blogger.com4