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FALL ... one of my favorite seasons. The world seems to be bedding down ... the heat of summer over ... the leaves putting on a great show of color. I love it.
When prices FALL ... especially those associated with that ever more precious fluid, gasoline ... well, I like that, too.
FALL in love? Did that ... still there, and I’m still lovin’ it. Wouldn’t trade that state of mind for anything.
When snowflakes FALL ... that gentle sifting down which makes it seem that they’re dancing in the street lights ... love that, too.
When raindrops FALL with a soft pitter-patter against the window pane ... well, it’s hard to beat that kind of lullaby.
-S&G-
But when I FALL ... that’s a different story.
And I don’t mean like stepping on a banana peel and doing an unexpected cartwheel before a select group of spectators.
I mean like a FALL ... a boomp-boomp-BOOMP! ... real FALL down the steps of a stairway ... or even a half-dozen steps to another level in the museum ... or even THREE steps in a darkened hallway.
I’ve done ‘em all ... at a motel ... in an art museum ... here at home. You name it, I’ve done it. I think I may have been a stunt man in another life ... or maybe I’m intended to be that in another.
I do seem to have become something of a specialist ... without even coming close to being an expert in the pursuit.
-S&G-
Let me explain.
Phyllis and I were leaving the house the other day ... she was in front ... in case there were any tigers or other wild animals lurking about ... and I was following obediently behind.
We were going out the back entrance to Brimm Manor ... in order to reach the company of The Little Red Car more quickly and be on our way.
Phyllis descended the back steps gracefully ... as she always does ... I, on the other hand, took one step and almost passed her on the way down.
What I had failed to see was about a dime’s worth of ice clinging to the leading edge of that step on which I placed my weight.
Everything happened so quickly that not a single detail of my very detailed life flashed before my eyes. Instead, I found myself bouncing along at a rather steep angle, landing in a heap (I must admit that it felt like a heap of broken bones) at the bottom of the steps.
I heard Phyllis gasp ... and I thought I heard Little Red mutter something like, “Well ... I never!”
Nothing was broken, it turns out ... but I felt like I’d been kicked by a Missouri mule ... in the right hand, on my right forearm, and on my ... shall we say ... right hip. Unlike some of my previous falls, I didn’t butt the steps with my head this time.
I guess I AM becoming more expert. After all, I’ve had a lot of practice.
-S&G-
One of those “practice” sessions involved missing a step, and going whomp-whomp-WHOMP down the steps at the Dayton Art Institute ... and, mind you, staying on my feet all the way down. I was a little disappointed that the crowd didn’t applaud that performance.
Another time, same place, different audience ... I wasn’t so lucky. That time I really folded ... and startled the guards, who, it seems, weren’t accustomed to seeing a bleeding patron of the arts.
-S&G-
TODAY’S QUOTE: “Sometimes I feel like throwing in the towel - but, for the life of me, I can’t remember where I put it.” - Professor Squigglee
-S&G-
LOREE (Kansas), responding to last week’s installment: “I particularly liked two words that jumped out and grabbed me ... “velcro memory” ... I never thought of it that way, but it is so true ... we can no longer multi-task at our ages ... think of two things at once? Ah, for the good old days!”
-S&G-
“I doubt that many people do ‘darkness’ well,” LOREE says. “And as I age, it gets easier to make a near-fatal mistake in the dark. Loved the poem about darkness, which got me to thinking about all the causes of darkness.”
“Like Monday evening, I sat down at the computer, turned it on, and had the intention of enjoying a relaxing few minutes by reading S&G. NOT to happen!
“I clicked on the desktop shortcut, and got an ever so cold message that informed me my internet connection had failed. Still quite calm, I clicked on the refresh button. Again the same message.
“I shut completely down, started all over ... and nothing changed.
“Now panic set in ... in the midst of panic, terror, anger ... hurt! My emotions ran the gamut ... not a single one left out of my feelings.
“With trembling fingers, I searched until I found the brochure that I had gotten in the mail a few months ago. Somewhere in that brochure, in the fine print, was the phone number for contacting them.
“After managing to dial (911 would have been easier!) ... a voice told me, ‘Please leave a message! Our regular office hours are eight to five.’
“It was 5:45!
“Miracle of miracles ... the phone rang a couple of hours later ... (and there was a voice) explaining that they had a problem in my area, and that they were working on it, and hoped to restore service shortly.
“The next morning I fortified myself with coffee and sat down to this machine and turned it on ... fully expecting that they had worked their magic some time during the night ... while I had slept fitfully. Not the case, though ... still no connection.
“It was just after five on the SECOND day when service was finally restored. Please ... no more ‘darkness’ ... I can’t handle any more until I recuperate!”
-S&G-
TODAY’S POEM ... I thought, since the topic of the day seems to be FALL, we might do with a fall ... or autumn, if you will ... poem.
Perhaps the images, written about so wistfully, will have little meaning to others, but to me they are the essence of things I miss about that place where I grew up.
I think it is quite natural that we have this connection with our beginnings, and quite natural that we should think of them again ... and again ... as we look back and see just how far we've traveled in all these years.
Thank goodness for that "bridge of memories." I often go strolling across it.
The poem:
AUTUMN NIGHT
Stars spilled
across dark velvet,
thin ribbon of smoke
climbing the air,
lettuce-crisp, clear,
toward a lemon moon,
square of window
whispering its light
through the trees,
beckoning to me,
wanderer still,
with only a bridge
of memories
to carry me back.
(originally published in Explorer)
-S&G-
COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.
Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to
rbrimm@peoplepc.com
... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)
-S&G-
Oh, and if you’d like to see what’s up with my other ... DAILY blog
... here’s a link to it:
http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/
Thanks for paying a visit.
-S&G-
UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!
-S&G-
© 2010
“The poem was great, and your word pictures are vivid!” ...
Beautiful words ... and greatly appreciated ... coming, as they were, all the way from Kansas ... and from LOREE herself, speaking, of course, about last week’s S&G.
And while her words were greatly appreciated, I had to take into consideration that she was in the throes of a hunger attack induced by reading S&G. Sorry about that.
I should include a “Read at Your Own Risk” warning, I suppose.
-S&G-
So those rumblings you may have heard about this time last week were coming ... not just from Ohio ... but from Kansas, too.
But let’s let Loree put it into her own words:
“I found myself getting hungry while I was reading S&G today ... and I had to wonder if those were real pangs of hunger, for real food, incited by your power of suggestion.
“I had to stop reading for a bit ... got up like some programmed zombie, and headed for the kitchen. Alas, the cake was gone ... the banana nut muffins disposed of (Loree! Now you’ve got Professor Squigglee saying he’s hungry, too) ... I finally settled for a temporary, but quick fix ... a package of those crackers filled with peanut butter! (The Professor is nodding emphatic agreement here).”
-S&G-
And the signs of the onset can come at the most inopportune time, Loree points out:
“Like when I’m out in public ... like talking to a friend I bumped into at Wal-Mart.
“What in the world is that noise?” she exclaims, looking around in near-panic.
“I have no idea,” I respond, crossing my arms across my tummy while trying to stifle the protests coming from there.
-S&G-
OH, and at night, too.
“Psycho Dog sleeps with me,” Loree relates, “and when those rumblings deep within my tummy make it to the surface and set up a persistent growling, she doesn’t know whether to bark ... or just shove her legs into me, forcing me to at least MOVE, while she is no doubt hoping that will stifle the noise.”
-S&G-
Now ... if that leaves you hungry for another of Loree’s poems ... a structured composition with a rhyme scheme (something that I’ve had to admit repeatedly that I simply can’t do ... no matter how hard I try ... in fact, the harder I try, the worse I get in that realm) ... well, here’s a link to one of her latest creations:
http://www.poetrybyloree.com/434.html
Please take a look ... and a listen.
-S&G-
TODAY’S QUOTE: “There was a time when I was so proud of my VELCRO memory ... I could hear a person’s name, an address, an important date ... just once ... and it would stick in my memory, seemingly forever ... but now my memory seems to have gone TEFLON on me ... and nothing sticks. I’m fairly sure I’m not the first person to say that ... but, so help me, I don’t remember where I first heard it.” - PROFESSOR SQUIGGLEE
-S&G-
A FEW NIGHTS ago, Phyllis and I had tickets to a play ... a big event, even in our busy whirl of things ... so, though it was raining a bit ... but not quite freezing ... we hopped into The Little Red Car and headed out into one of the darkest nights I’ve witnessed.
That includes a night ... many, many years ago ... when I was jogging ... actually, I had shifted from jogging mode into high gear ... really making tracks down that DARK country road ... when I drifted off the graveled path and into a cluster of creek-side willows ... ka-WHAM! But that’s another story.
Fast forward to a few nights ago. We were almost there. I was, in fact, steering Little Red toward our favorite parking lot.
Suddenly, ka-WHAM! REALLY LOUD. I must’ve hit something. Little Red tilted, hesitated, then went on. I found a parking spot, quickly checked Little Red ... at the very least expecting to find a right front tire going flat ... but found no damage.
During the whole play I sat there watching the action, listening to the lines ... and thinking about Little Red.
Afterward ... Little Red was fine ... still fine ... in fact, seemed to have enjoyed the rain and had shed a ton of winter grime.
-S&G-
TODAY’S POEM - Speaking of darkness ... Sometimes I think it's best just to let the poem speak for itself. This is one of those times ... although I'm tempted to say something about so-called Daylight Saving Time ...
I always have a comment or two ... mainly to myself ... as I make the rounds ... twice a year ... setting the clocks back ... or forward ... and back ... then forward ... no, back ... My usual thought is ... why do we have to fiddle with the clocks? Why, if we're so intent on "saving time" ... can't we just adjust our work schedules ... to have a work schedule for the summer months ... another schedule for the rest of the year?
Wouldn't that work just as well? Or would we not be able to remember ... Oh, now I report in at seven, instead of eight ... ?
I usually end up commenting ... to myself ... that it's all just a ruse to provide farmers with more time to play golf in the afternoons (and I'm kidding about that, kidding!).
Don't get me wrong ... I'm all for saving energy ... especially when it's costing us all an arm and a leg ... But I'm not going there today ... because ... well, actually, the poem isn't about Daylight Saving Time ...
The poem:
IT'S ONLY DARKNESS
There's such an absence
of light this morning,
it's like scaling a wall
of darkness as I rise
slowly on familiar stairs.
My feet seek supporting
places, my hand searches
for a railing I know
is there, but still hiding
from my straining eyes.
I’m a child again, bad dreams
still haunting me while my
sleep-numbed brain struggles
to convince me there’s nothing
to fear: It’s only darkness.
My hand reaches for a hand
no longer there and I pause,
listening, waiting, almost
expecting a touch, a word
to guide me in my climb.
(originally published in ICON)
-S&G-
COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.
Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to
rbrimm@peoplepc.com
... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)
-S&G-
Oh, and if you’d like to see what’s up with my other ... DAILY blog ... here’s a link to it:
http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/
Thanks for paying a visit.
-S&G-
UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!
-S&G-
© 2010
(Those who have read S&G at all will know that my approach is to take a very limited view of subjects here ... not that I consider other views to be unimportant. Far from it. Almost any subject has its serious side ... quite serious ... when taken in the broad scope of things. Hunger, for example. There is so much of it in the world that it can hardly be taken in any other way than serious. But in S&G I always attempt to find something to smile about ... at least ... and I do that by trying to find something close to home, in my own limited experience ... my own bumbling way of confronting my own perceived problems ... that I can talk about. Bear that in mind, please, as I consider the subject of hunger ... and note that small “h” in hunger ... in my opening monologue today.)
-S&G-
Hunger ... my hunger ... is like lightning, in that it can strike at any time, and ... unlike the common perception of lightning ... it can strike in the same place more than once.
Take it from one who was known ... a couple of decades and roughly a hundred pounds ago ... as THE CAKE MAN ... I know about hunger.
I can be strolling a distant mall ... watching TV ... waking in the middle of the night ... seeing a billboard ... noting a passing pizza delivery vehicle ... glimpsing a sale bill being tumbled by the wind ... and hunger strikes.
I can be thinking deep philosophical thoughts ... but let the faint aroma of baking bread come wafting my way, and I’m hungry.
As I’ve told many people ... friends, relatives and strangers alike ... I was born hungry ... and never got over it.
-S&G-
And so it was ... late on a recent sunny day in Ohio (a rare occasion in itself) ... Phyllis and I were tooling along in The Little Red Car ... minding the Rules of the Road ... while impeding traffic by obeying the speed limits ... when I felt a sudden pang.
I was hungry ... again.
The solution? Food. More specifically, Fast Food. I have trouble waiting for someone to approach, scribble our order, then disappear for what seems to be days before returning with our food.
-S&G-
There was a place we both knew. The food was good and FAST ... and, better yet, we were headed roughly in that direction.
We ... Little Red and the two of us ... were there in a flash. We turned the corner at the traffic light ... and almost immediately found ourselves staring into the eyes of what must have been the world’s largest tractor-trailer rig.
Fortunately, it wasn’t moving ... for the driver appeared to be enjoying a morsel of food, very possibly from the haven toward which Little Red was pointed.
Unfortunately, the rig was blocking our way. Now, understand, Little Red is not one to back down easily ... but Little Red does have some breeding ... and (usually) remembers his/her manners.
I can imagine that Little Red’s first thought was: Hey, let’s just duck under that thing! And I think Little Red might have been able to, had Phyllis and I scrunched down a bit.
But I thought better of that ... so we turned around ... and headed off in pursuit of Plan B ... another source of good, FAST food.
Within minutes we’d found that place ... and were dismounting ... Phyllis onto dry parking lot pavement ... and I into the middle of a puddle of melted snow which I hadn’t noticed in my weakened condition.
-S&G-
We soon reached the warmth inside and placed our order ... as did the person behind us.
Then I heard the counter person tell the person behind us ... “Sorry, we’re out of beef!” How could that be? This was a place which specializes in beef!
What were they handing out to that stream of vehicles passing the drive-thru window? And did they run out just after we placed our order? Or just before? Or maybe she was just kidding, right? Surely, she was kidding.
Phyllis and I stood there staring at each other for what seemed like a couple of days. Of course, she had ordered chicken ... I was the one who’d ordered BEEF.
Sure enough ... when the sandwiches arrived and we found a quiet booth where we could recover partially from the afternoon’s trauma ... Phyllis had chicken ... and I had beef.
At least I think I had beef.
-S&G-
TODAY’S POEM - This is one of my favorites, largely because of the memories it has preserved of a young family taking affordable outings. We were living in Northern Illinois at the time, and Marengo was one of our favorite destinations.
Memories of those outings were still "rotating on the carousel of my mind" as Phyllis and I returned from a now-rare outing, a trip out of town. Traffic had thinned a bit (all the trucks, buses and cars of the world had gone zip-zip-zipping past us ... because I always poke along at the posted speed limit).
During those few moments when we had only the humming of our own car's tires to keep us company, my thoughts drifted toward those summertime outings. What delicious memories! I had no choice. I had to dig out "Driving to Marengo" and share it with you again today:
DRIVING TO MARENGO
We urged the old station wagon
along curving country roads
toward that place just across
from the school, to consume
those remarkable foot-long
hotdogs with chili peppers
and onions, dripping mustard
and juices, filling the air
with an aroma that lingered
all the slow, dark drive home,
and for days afterward,
like a spirit moving softly
among us, implanting memories
still turning, slowly rotating
on the carousel of my mind.
© 1998
(originally published in Raintown Review)
-S&G-
COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.
Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to
rbrimm@peoplepc.com
... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)
-S&G-
Oh, and if you’d like to see what’s up with my other ... DAILY blog
... here’s a link to it:
http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/
Thanks for paying a visit.
-S&G-
UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!
-S&G-
© 2010
"'Twas the night before ... "
Nah ... that was something else, right? ... where not even a mouse was exploring the house ... and suddenly there was a ruckus on the roof.
Then this rather bulky guy comes sliding down the chimney ... and ho-ho-HO! ... I think you know the rest of the story.
-S&G-
Ah, but it is the night before the venerable Squiggles and Giggles is to appear magically on computer screens around the world ... at least around the corner ... and a little farther than that, in a couple of instances.
But once again I find myself with nothing to write about.
Of course, you know what that means ... especially if you’re in the habit of printing out Squiggles to inflict it on ... er, share it with ... others: Be sure the printer has lots of paper.
But I promise to be relatively brief ... just this once. OK?
-S&G-
It all began many years ago, in a small farming community ...
Nah ... that’s not right, either.
It began a couple of days ago ... when all the local forecasters agreed on one thing: SNOW.
And did it ever snow ... all day, and probably all night, too. I watched it coming down all day (when I should’ve been doing some light mental pushups in preparation for the inevitable night-before production of another installment of Squiggles).
But, as I said, I watched ... and watched ... and watched ... all day, but not all night, I can assure you. I hardly ever work the night shift now.
-S&G-
Then Friday morning arrived ... and what should appear to my wondering eyes? Snow ... and more snow ... as far as the eye could see.
Naturally, the Brimm Manor servants had the day off ... or had called in with various excuses. Even Professor Squigglee was absent ... off doing research, I presume.
Well, somebody had to clear all that snow from the long, curving, winding driveway that ends at the multi-compartmented building where The Little Red Car awaits our next adventure together.
I hated to have Phyllis doing all that shoveling alone ... especially with the neighbors peering out their windows ... so I grabbed a shovel, too ... and in a matter of hours (I thought it would take days, but Phyllis really goes after intruding snows) ... we had the drive cleared sufficiently for Little Red to get out and ... if we were lucky ... back in.
I must say that Little Red seemed more than a little surprised when we broke in upon it with our keys at the ready.
-S&G-
So we celebrated ... by going out to mail some letters which had piled up while the snow was piling up ... by taking an indoor walk at one of our favorite places ... then, on the way home, by stopping at a fast-food place for some warm nibbles.
-S&G-
There you have it ... not only did nothing (except lots of snow) happen this week ... but here I am on Friday night with nothing to write about ... again.
Sorry.
-S&G-
TODAY’S POEM - It’s another “oldie” ... so some of you may have seen it before. Sorry about that (I seem to be apologizing a lot today, right? I seem to do that a lot when I’m tired ... so maybe all that shoveling did steal some of my energy).
It’s a little off-kilter, as seasons go, but ... I was out for my daily walk when I saw those geese rising ... stood watching them ... don't remember if I sat at the next bus stop to put my reactions on paper, or waited till I got home ... but I had a poem in the making, right there on that street.
Sorry I didn’t have my camera with me (there I go again), but maybe you’ll get the picture as you wend your way through what I wrote.
The poem:
HEADING SOUTH
Just beyond the trees
giving up their gaudy
leaves of autumn, five geese
rise slowly, dark against
a mottled sky, heading
generally southward,
seeking those highways
that the wild geese take,
while I stand rooted
where chance has put me.
I shall think of them,
wishing vaguely that I had
their gift of flight
as I ride out the storms
of winter, waiting to hear
their honking again,
telling me the season
is breaking, melting into
spring, skein of renewal
linking those who can fly,
those who can only wish.
© 1997
(originally published in Capper's)
-S&G-
COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.
Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to
rbrimm@peoplepc.com
... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)
-S&G-
Oh, and if you’d like to see what’s up with my other ... DAILY blog ... here’s a link to it:
http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/
Thanks for paying a visit.
-S&G-
UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!
-S&G-
© 2010
Here it is ... the second day of January already ... and I’m still writing the year right. It IS 2010 ... right?
I don’t know why it was so easy for me to make that transition this time. Maybe it was all those months I spent thinking about it ... meditating, if you will, on the need to get it right when that last page was torn from the 2009 calendar.
People still do that, don’t they? They still have calendars with pages? Or am I the only one in the whole universe who still observes that ancient custom?
At the end of the month, they, we, I ... either turn over the page or tear it off and throw it away while wondering where the month ... or year ... went so fast.
-S&G-
I WILL NO DOUBT continue to be amazed that I’m getting the year right ... on letters, checks, etc. ... until ... one day ... or some dark night ... I’ll start putting last year’s date on everything.
Meanwhile, I’m just a little confused about what day of the week this really is. Don’t worry. That happens to me with each holiday ... and especially when two holidays come so close together ... like Christmas and New Year’s.
Thanksgiving didn’t help, either, although I know it does come on a Thursday (doesn’t it?) ... unless a new law has been voted into effect and I just haven’t heard about it yet..
-S&G-
I WAS LOOKING forward to a really quiet celebration as the old year drifted off to ... where ever old years go ... and the NEW YEAR arrived, all bright and shiny ... with a chassis-buckling load of fresh opportunities for all of us.
And it was quiet at Brimm Manor ... OK, relatively quiet. We have some neighbors ... bless ‘em ... who always set off some fireworks around midnight. Sometimes at one o’clock. Sometimes at two o’clock, too.
Let’s just say they are a relatively noisy welcoming committee.
This year was no exception. It sounded like we were being invaded ... but I learned, long ago ... not to go rushing to the window to see where the invading troops were ... or how close to our front porch roof the flaming debris was falling.
This year I did my bit to add to the ruckus by snoring ... loudly ... through most of it.
-S&G-
I’M NOT SURE whether it was during this interlude ... or maybe the next morning, when I was trying to pry my eyelids open ... but I had what might be considered a brainstorm.
That’s brain- ... with a B ... and not rain- ... with an R.
In other words, an idea pelted me when I least expected it.
It occurred to me that some readers of S&G might prefer the old form of delivery, rather than the current method.
Remember? There was a time when S&G was a weekly e-mailed “newsletter” which went out across the countryside and was there (usually) waiting patiently in the in-boxes of the world for eager readers to take a look.
Then AOL put a stop to that ... but that’s another story.
Time passed ... I discovered that, instead of struggling to keep up with an ever-changing mailing list, I could simply post S&G here ... much like tacking a YARD SALE notice to a convenient utility pole and waiting for the crowds to gather.
As I started to say ... I think I’ve discovered a way to resume sending S&G out ... at least to a small, deserving ... EXCLUSIVE LIST ... via e-mail.
Mind you, it would be much like its present incarnation here where you’re reading it now ... but, simply put, it would come to you, instead of your having to come to it.
As in the past, there would be no charge for this service ... no salespeople would call, purporting to represent S&G (even at mealtime) ... and I won’t ever, ever, ever sell or trade your e-mail address, or even reveal it to anyone else.
I can’t promise you, of course, that Professor Squigglee will never quiz you on the S&G content ... but that’s a small risk to take, right?
But, you ask, what’s the catch? None.
There is one teeny-tiny formality, however: You have to ASK to be put on the mailing list. That’s it, just ask.
Shall we have a show of hands? Better yet, how about an e-mail (to my e-mail address, posted below), asking me to put you on the list? And I’ll do just that, once I’ve worked out the details.
-S&G-
TODAY’S POEM - I sometimes write about driving ... or other drivers ... but not today.
The wheel referred to in today's poem is a potter's wheel ... that device on which a glob of clay is tossed, then, with an expert touch as the wheel goes whirling round and round, gradually becomes a work of art.
It may become something quite fragile, or it may turn out to be a very substantial piece, depending on the imagination ... and skill ... of its creator.
I feel that same process at work when I toss a glob of words on the wheel (I always hope it's a somewhat orderly collection of words, even in the beginnings of a poem). Then the revisions, the serious shaping and reshaping begins.
Over time those words take on new shapes, new meanings, sometimes quite fragile, sometimes substantial. Then I let the reader judge ... in light of his or her own experience, for the reader always brings something to the poem.
This one was originally published in Candlelight Poetry Journal:
AT THE WHEEL
I sit watching
these words
mounded, whirling,
rising at the touch
of my fingers,
becoming something
I shall slide
into the glowing kiln
of understanding
and, warmed by it,
stand marveling
at what I've made.
-S&G-
COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.
Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to
rbrimm@peoplepc.com
... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)
-S&G-
Oh, and if you’d like to see what’s up with my other ... DAILY blog ... here’s a link to it:
http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/
Thanks for paying a visit.
-S&G-
UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!
-S&G-
© 2010
(See? I got that right again ... but I can’t guarantee I won’t slip back into 2009 mode as the months whiz by)
