Spitball Army

I hesitated barely a millisecond before touting my yard sale coup after scoring a $3 Polaroid camera some while back. I still consider the camera a bargain, especially since, after finding some fresh film, I discovered that it works almost perfectly.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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While I was growing up, our house was the evening stop on Christmas Eve for relatives and friends, who would congregate in the late afternoon and early evening for a meal centered on the contents of two very large pots on my mother’s stovetop. One contained pinto beans, soaked and seasoned for a couple of days, and piping hot. The other contained her wonderful chili, a crock-pot treatment of which I have perfected over the ensuing decades. The meal also had a few other key ingredients.

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Yep, I’ve gone back to shcool to learn how to spel!

But, really…My nephew Nicholas’ 8th grade class in Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina, is fundraising this weekend by gift-wrapping at their local Barnes & Noble store.

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Over the ensuing twleve months, that post has been seen enough times through Google searches and the like that it is the #9 most-viewed page on this labyrinthine website. And every single person who has seen it has moved on without having that secret yellow cake mix cookie recipe to put to use.

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If you’ve ever spent the Thanksgiving holiday away from family, spent the day travelling, or just plopped yourself down like a slug on the sofa all day, there is something for you to identify with in Ray Davies’ “Thanksgiving Day.”

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About a week ago, on the Facebook website, someone posted an event entitled “Election Day.” Members were asked to choose whether they were “attending” or not, much like R.S.V.P.’ing for a dinner party. I selected Yes, and added a note: You would have to kill me to keep me from attending. I haven’t always felt this way.

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