Should this scare me. . . ?

Should THIS scare me like it does? Or should I be thinking about putting the software on hubby’s computer in secret to see just what he’s up to all the while I’m working on books across the room? *grin*

Sheesh . . . more and more ways that we’re never really alone or in private. Webcams hidden in the walls, “Candid Camera” always lurking around the corner, traffic signals that photograph your license plate, cameras on London street corners that yell at people, Big Tex and that creepy way he always says, “Howdy, there, little lady with the flowerdy dress and stripedy tights on!”

I hate that we have now given permission to our enemies to torture and do whatever they want to our troops when captured . . . oddly enough [IRONY INDICATORS PEGGED], I even feel bad for the “bad guys” who (may or may not actually BE bad guys) will be beaten and abused until they “talk” (I figure when the pain starts, they’ll start making stuff up or saying whatever they think the soldiers want them to say–they’ll lose their rational minds, and if they really DON’T know stuff, they can’t very well tell it, and I know I couldn’t remember the Quadratic Formula if you were tickling my feet!) After all, they’re God’s children, too.

Remember that when the Egyptians were drowning in the Red Sea and Moses et al were celebrating, God admonished them with, “Why are you happy when My Creatures are drowning?” Okay, that’s not scriptural and is apocryphal, but it sure passes MY test of scripture. I’m sure that was the real feeling. We saved ONE set, but lost another. That always hurts.

Or am I just a . . . softie? (*GASP*)

(What DO you expect from an aging hippie, anyway? A tie-dyed T-shirt now and then, I suppose.)

Onward to the Friday night movie date. . . .


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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