Category Archives: Weekend Theme


“A fine healthy boy” said the midwife, passing him to me to bathe and swaddle. I carefully focused on the baby, gently wiping him down, soothing him with a little humming and watching his face carefully. He quickly dropped off to sleep once he was swaddled in soft cotton and wool blankets.

I turned back to Telia, my daughter. The midwife was just finishing cleaning her up from the birth. She was lying with her eyes shut, looking exhausted. I sat down in the big chair, the baby in my arms. I woke a little later, the midwife had propped up the baby with some pillows and he was still sleeping. Telia was asleep too.  My daughter, my grandson. All I cherished in the world, in one room. The room was quiet. The midwife’s feet were visible sticking out if the blanket where she lay, probably dozing, on the long bench under the window. I had been awake for 24 hours up to the birth, so my falling asleep had not been a surprise. Telia had been in labour for 20 of those, and at work in the medical tent up until her waters broke.  Fortunately the bombers had gone away and we had had some peace.

The baby stirred, and looked up at me, seeming to focus, although I did know babies see blurrily at first. “Well my boy” I said, looking at him with feelings of love and a degree of fear, “welcome to the world”.  The baby opened his mouth and let out a wail, that amazing new-born mewl that makes every mother’s heart fill with love. Telia woke, stirred and half sat up. Then she put out her arms, and I gave him to her. “She’s beautiful mum” said Telia, looking at me with shining eyes.  “I think you need to open that nappy” I said, turning to go and make us some tea.

I came back with the tea, strong and with some of the precious sugar ration in the one cup for Telia as she was bound to need it. She was sitting with the baby on her lap, looking at him with tears in her eyes. “Oh how will we be able to keep him safe?” she asked. The midwife muttered, “The war will be over before he is big enough, don’t you be worrying about that.”

I gave the midwife my cup and went back to the kitchen to pour myself another one.

When we had all had our tea, she checked mother and baby, declared herself satisfied with them both and left, promising to drop in again the next day.

The baby quickly learned how to feed and I was sure I could see him growing by the hour. Telia laughed at me, she said he still doesn’t really fit into his clothes, he can’t be growing that fast. Both of us sitting looking at him more than we did anything. The medical tent people understood it would be a few days before I could come back to work there, and Telia’s leaving for as long as she needed with the baby was accepted. They had just been grateful that a doctor like her had stayed as long as she had.

The bomb fell on the house when we were out at the clinic, getting the baby weighed. It had seemed a good morning, misty clouds making it hard for bombers to know where to go so we had anticipated a bomb-free day. We had barely made it into the underground shelter when the first thuds started. The baby lay looking at us unconcerned. I knew Telia, was making the same effort I was, to keep the bombs from a direct hit.

However after the all clear, when we emerged, the devastation around seemed worse than ever. And when we got to our road, the gap where our house had been was only too obvious.

The only answer was my cousin in the country. A train trip, hard enough when planned, and extremely difficult completely unplanned with no luggage and we arrived at the station. A phone call to my cousin produced a delighted statement “Of course you have to come and stay with us”.

The next few days were hard, trying to get new ration books and clothing. Starting with nothing again is only to be recommended for those with a great deal of imagination, friends and of course – money. And it is obviously better not to do it in the middle of a war when everything is rationed. My one trip back to the city to deal with the authorities there quickly resolved much and I returned with two bundles of adult and baby clothing, most of which fit, sometimes with a little alteration needed. The bundle of nappies turned out to be the one thing that really eased our problems.

The baby still didn’t have a name. All the questions were just met with, “He hasn’t made his name clear yet”. Telia was adamant.

Then one morning Telia was calling the baby Peter, and he really seemed to be smiling. My cousin was delighted. She said, “I was afraid you would give him some outlandish name as your mother did with you children.”

Time in the country passed happily, we had a small plot to tend, some food for us, some for the central government to sell. I did some walking in the woods and untilled fields and came back with mushrooms and nuts quite often, so we were very well fed, able to create a nut-store to help us in the winter.

Telia and I took turns trying to keep an eye on young Peter all his waking hours, wondering if he had inherited our abilities.

The day his father walked through the gate, obviously tired, but so happy to see Telia and his baby was the day the baby first really smiled, or so I thought. The leave was too short, and he left, still looking tired. Two months later when we received the telegram informing us of his death, Telia said sadly “He knew he was going back to die”.

He had died in the early battles of the phase that finally ended the war, slow though it seemed at the time.  It became obvious that we needed to think about where we would live after the war. Telia was like me, she would only marry once, she would never love anyone else like that again.

Peter was crawling already, and the day I found him on the roof, confirmed our worst fears.  City living with a baby like him was out of the question. He would surely be discovered and made a freak, or kill himself as my son had.

On my ramblings I had found a rather tumbled down house in the wood, and on asking I discovered it belonged to the manor house, or rather to its owners. I visited and after a good conversation, the lady said it would be good to have tenant’s there.  I promised her we would keep it in good repair. All she asked was that we help out at harvest time, gathering hay. We knew we could take turns and it would only be for about a week each year. The two lost sheep I had found she said we could keep for the wool, and that gave me a start in building an income. Two hens and a rooster soon provided eggs, and more chicks until we had a thriving yard. Out little plot turned out more vegetables than we needed, and we gladly shared some with the main house, ensuring out living space.

The day we moved in, carrying our pitiful little supply of goods was a relief. My cousin had no idea of the long haul we would have keeping young Peter safe from his own wild abilities. Telia and I sat late that night talking about how my son, at the age of 2 had killed himself using his powers in an uncontrolled manner.

Thus began the years of watching and guarding Peter. We made sure he was never awake without one of us awake to guard and guide him. As he began to realise his abilities, we taught him carefully to use them, just as he used his physical strength that developed alongside his other strengths. He didn’t seem to realise there was much difference.

By the time he was 6 he was reading and writing, running, playing, swimming in the pond, and moving objects around with his mind, all as though everything he did was natural, but needed care at the same time. Slowly he began to learn that some abilities were best kept secret and developed a remarkable level of skill in doing so. He thrived on our praise.

Then we allowed him to attend school, once he was 7 and had proved his control. The headmaster was first very cross that Peter was starting so late, but when the teacher showed he was ahead of his age in reading, writing and arithmetic, he relented and Peter’s schooling went fairly smoothly.  Over the years there were few incidents, each of which was easy to attribute to someone not seeing properly. Each incident though was Peter protecting some child from harm.

His secondary schooling was a problem, so we moved to be near a town where he could catch a bus to a day school. We were still enough in the countryside to have a thriving egg business, and the sheep provided the wool for our yarn and knitted goods we sold.  We still didn’t want him unprotected from himself.  He finished school with flying colours and was granted a bursary for university. Telia and I could not stop him then, he had himself well under control, but we were worried about money as Telia had developed dreadful headaches and couldn’t really help much on the chicken business or with the spinning and knitting. I was becoming a little arthritic, so I needed to utilise my extra skills to turn out the fine wool and garments we sold.

Peter came home for the summer holidays (or so we thought). Beaming all over and with presents for us.  He had passed all his subjects well, and according to him he still had the extra time to earn money, enough for his keep, and to save.

We asked what he had been doing, worried he may be ‘not quite legal’ to earn so much.

He went to his room and returned with one of his suitcases. Opened it and took out a top hat, a red-lined cape and a ‘magic wand’. He spent an hour entertaining us with his tricks. Of course for us they were natural abilities, but for normal people they seemed like magic.

He took out one of the posters “Marvo the Magician” was our boy!

Over supper we talked and laughed, he saying, “they talk of illusions and I have been offered so much money to teach others. But I can’t, can I? How do I explain that it’s an illusion that my magic is JUST a trick?”


Next week’s theme

I have come to accept that the weekend theme is dead. I need something different. So a weekly theme, giving people a lot more time to create their contributions is being tried.

This week, the theme is



“My cheek throbbed and stung where she had slapped me. I felt sad and cross at the same time.

I think she is the most beautiful girl in the class, and she has embarrassed me in front of everyone. And all because I drew her as the most important person in the choir.

It all started when I was quite small. My drawings caught the eye of someone in the school, and the next thing there were strange people in our house. My mother was crying and my father shouting at them, then fighting, but that time he was fighting with people who could stop him hurting them.

I remember the day when my mother came to say goodbye. I was living with mom and dad then, and they sat both sides of me to make me feel safe. They shouldn’t have worried; I know one day I will hurt her like she used to hurt me.”

“And why did you draw her bigger than everyone else in the choir” asks Miss Julia.

“Because she is the prettiest, and she sings the best, and ‘cause I like her. But now she doesn’t like me”

“How does that make you feel Edward?” asks Miss Julia.

“Very sad” I reply. “Maybe I must draw her smaller? Will that make her happy?”

“I think maybe you should tell her why you drew her so especially big” says Miss Julia.

I smile. Suddenly I can see her smile too when I tell her how special she is.


In the tea room Julia, who is the art teacher and David who is the class teacher sit quietly enjoying their cup of tea and a biscuit, knowing the rowdiness in the playground means the children will have released a lot of energy and be ready for another half hour of focusing.

Julia is telling David of the little classroom spat. David asks to see the drawing and they take it later to the school therapist.


“The boy has an incredible ability to draw, apparently his very vivid pictures of his parents beating him, pinching him, and sticking needles into him and his sister were the cause of the original investigation into the abuse. When the authorities investigated and found his sister, damaged to the point where she will never walk properly or talk or see out of one eye again it was too late to save her. She committed suicide in the hospital, though how she found the open window was hard to determine.

He seems to have adapted. His drawings now are as detailed, you can always tell the people in them, but until now his idea of perspective has not changed. Important people are big, and he is always the smallest, regardless of the actual sizes.”

The school therapist smiled at Julia, “ you were right to ask about his emotions. Letting them express them seems to be helping. At one stage we believed he too was a suicide risk, but slowly he is growing his image in the pictures. We hope that when he reaches the same size as his friends we can start to really hope for a full recovery.”


Weekend Theme

Friday, should already be the end of the day and I still have work to do!


And the theme…. OOps, I did find something this week that I thought fitted nicely.


Pretty Dubious

By all accounts I had been an extremely docile and obedient child up until the day we went to the Elak farm for my brother to select his Elak. He was 7, just the right age to take on a young Elak and bind for life. I was only 4, nowhere near ready in anyone’s mind to be selecting my Elak. Many girls did not choose one until at least 8 or 9 years old, and some little girls found the sheer size of the growing Elak rather scary.

We had walked through the rows of chambers, each with a female Elak warily watching us and we came and stood quietly in the door while my brother walked among the young Elak, talking to them, patting those brave enough to come up to him. He had already chosen, and he and the young Elak were together on the floor, him stroking the head and the Elak crooning as they do when they have found their human mate.

Apparently it took a few minutes for anyone to realise I was not standing between my parents as I had been. Then everyone was scurrying around looking. They found me in the last chamber, with an Elak too young to be a mother, and too large to be one of this year’s babies. The farmer stopped suddenly with a sharp intake of breath, my mother collided into him, while my father who had been ahead was stopped when the Elak stood up with its wings outstretched and hissed. The farmer said “Oh Shit!”

There was much hurried discussion and the farmer set off to get help, while my parents watched (helplessly) as the Elak and I bonded. When the farmer returned with several burly men and some stunners, my parents explained it was too late, we had bonded. “Impossible” was the farmer’s comment, despite the obvious fact that it had happened.

We all walked out into the sunshine, my Elak and I walking closely together, she about twice my height already. My brother and his Elak, that only took him up to his thighs looked quite disconsolate. After all here was I his YOUNGER sister, already bonded where he would have to wait about two years for the magical moment of bonding, after he had spent most of his time caring for the youngster.

The farmer sat us all down on the grass under a tree and told us the story. One of the female Elaks in the previous breeding cycle had apparently died giving birth. The baby was found in the passageway between chambers, the tiniest Elak they had ever seen. It went from chamber to chamber, with each mother giving it some care. The bigger Elak foals all allowed it to share their mothers. The farmer and his workers decided this foal would probably never bond with a human as she hadn’t learned how from her mother. That was why today they were so worried over her selecting me, a rather underage child.

She had grown faster than any of the other foals born around the same time, and was already larger than some of the Elaks two years older than she. In all an anomaly, not likely to fulfil a role with a human, likely to die young was their considered opinion. They had been wondering what to do with her. My parents were worried, as children who had bonded would fade away and die if their Elak died. Adults fared little better.

By the end of the day we were all established at our home, though transporting a half-grown Elak was not an easy task, especially when a small child refused to be parted from it.

However soon we settled for the night, my Elak and I in the room that had been intended for my brother in a few years, and he with his small Elak, in his normal room.  I was aware when my parents came in a few times to check on us, but really no child is safer than curled up against an Elak.

She and I quickly settled into a routine, together all the time, she learning to fly, me watching and laughing with delight at her antics.  We could sit together for hours, learning each other’s minds. I discovered that as she had no mother alive, she had learned from each of the mothers on the farm, and seemed to know so much more than any Elak I had heard of. But then I was only 4, so what did I really know? But by all accounts I had changed from that docile child into one who would try anything, dare anything as long as we were together.

When my Elak was three years old, she was as advanced as other Elaks at 4 or 5 years old and the Elak-master who visited said she was ready for the naming ceremony. Up until then, I had just called her Elak, as did every child with their Elak. But on the day the child and Elak were to take their first flight together, the Elak received its name and the child the name it would have as an adult. Some senior family member would suggest names, until the Elak and the child felt the names mentioned were their adult names.

On the day decided I was up early, now a full 5 years old and ready to step into my adult role as an Elak partner. My father’s uncle, as the oldest family member came to perform the solemn role of finding us names that suit.

My Elak and I walked out to the garden where the whole family stood, my brother obviously annoyed that it was I the focus of attention and not him.  My father’s uncle looked at us and said very loudly “That is a pretty dubious pair!. And immediately my Elak and I began singing together “Pretty Dubious”. I lept onto her back and shouted “My name is Pretty” and the Elak sang in my head “My name is Dubious”, so I shouted that to the family.

Then we took off together, forever a partnership.

Pretty Dubious for ever.

Weekend Theme

First I have to apologise for ducking out on the last weekend theme. The half-written post stares at me from my desktop daily. Not really begging to be written (I think it realises that is not going to happen) but as a guilty reminder of failure.

So I have decided to cut my losses on that one. The mojo definitely left home and I think the only way to get it to return is to offer fresh sacrifice to the mojo for its return.

(What’s a mojo?) a few years ago on a South African blg platform we had a long discussion over it. Our version is like a muse, only, being African, it is more powerful and embedded in one than just some external magic charm.

So I’m back, ready to start reading what you lot write. Which of course brings me to the place of remembering I don’t yet have one – a theme – that is.

(long pause while searching word of the day sites, the news, and even a random search of cartoons on Google)

The theme for this weekend is Dubious.

As usual, to play along, create your post using the theme, then come back here and post a comment with a link to your post. Follow the other links to find out what the theme did for others.

The rule, as always, is Have fun with it!

Something I have never done before

Day 1: Dennis died yesterday.  In his office they said. At lunchtime. He had phoned to say he was not coming home for lunch as he wanted to work through.  Apparently his secretary, Margery found him and called the ambulance. No one phoned me until he had been declared dead at the hospital. When I went to collect his things and take a suit for the undertaker to dress him, they insisted he had not had his tie on him. That beautiful dark blue silk one I gave him for his birthday last year. When I went to the office, there it was, hanging over his jacket on the stand. I assume the ambulance people took it off him when they tried to care for him. After all we are always told to loosen clothing when we feel faint. I’m sure that’s what happened.

Day 2: After Father Jones left I went to Dennis’s office to confer with Arthur, his partner for over 30 years in the business.  Arthur told me he had already paid the undertaker and that all was arranged as Father Jones had told me, for Friday morning.  Margery was not at work. Arthur said she had phoned in saying she was unwell.  I went to visit the chairwoman of the Woman’s Association at the church and we organised for the flowers and tea. Then I went home and even though it was only 3 in the afternoon I poured myself a glass, a small glass, of Dennis’s best Scotch. I didn’t really like the taste much, but I felt somewhat better after it.

Day 3: Margery has told me she will stay on at the Law firm until Dennis’s affairs are sorted out, and meanwhile she will assist me doing monthly payments etc. She looks very upset. It must be the shock of finding Dennis dead. She went with me to find a good black dress and coat for the funeral. We ended up buying one for her as well. I wonder if Arthur will find two outfits a bit extravagant, as we put them on the business account.  Do all law firms have dress accounts for their female staff? I suppose it is to ensure they keep up the standards.

Day 4: Friday and the funeral was held this morning. The church looked fine, and the service was well attended. Dennis was respected by everyone in the village where we live. Many of the townspeople, especially the leading ones also came. I was glad I had bought a decent outfit. Oddly Margery came and stood with me, she cried as much or more than I did. It was good of her to take on some of the mourning duties.

Day 5: I tidied out Dennis’s clothes and packed them for donation to the church efforts for the poor.  I found a few slips from the jeweller in town in some pockets, so I tidied them into the pile for Margery and I to sort out next week. I had some more of Dennis’s scotch. It really is rather dreadful. I poured myself a pink gin afterwards and was delighted to find a large one tastes even better than the small one he used to say was quite enough for a lady.

Day 6: This morning at church everyone was so nice to me. I did wonder though at Mrs Parsons comment about how Margery shouldn’t have done so much crying at the funeral. After all as Mrs Parsons said “It wasn’t as though Dennis was her husband”. Margery was looking rather tired, her eyes very red-rimmed.

Day 8:  I went into the town, catching the 9.30 bus. When I went to the jeweller I discovered they had not yet started altering the ring and bracelet Dennis had bought. I asked to see them and really they fitted me quite well enough without any alterations. The necklace they were just keeping until Dennis came to fetch it all together, was of really good quality pearls, although Dennis knows I have a really good single-strand necklace. I suppose he felt I could do with a better string for our anniversary. That would have been in 2 weeks time. I left with them all in my bag. After all a new widow can’t start flashing new jewels all over immediately, now can she?

Day 9: I went to the office as Arthur requested. He read the will. Only Mrs Harris our housekeeper, Mr Peters, the gardener and I were invited.  The bequests for the others were not very large, just a token of thanks really. The cottage was a surprise. I gather Margery has been living in it.

Day 10: Arthur phoned me about the dress shop bill. It seems the practice did not run an account there, it was a private one Dennis had set up. As I don’t usually shop there I asked him to settle the amount and close the account.  I wonder why he had an account there. Maybe he used it to buy the occasional gift for his aunt Hyacinth who lives in the old age home in town?

Day 11: The inquest was a surprise. I assumed there did not need to be one. The outcome was that he had died from unaccustomed exercise. No fault for anyone. I did wonder; had he been moving furniture in the office at lunch time?

Day 14: When doing the accounts with Margery, I discovered on the local grocer’s account quite a few things I hadn’t purchased. I kept it aside as I was certainly not going to let that ride. I do all the shopping for the house. As I said to Mr Brownlee, now Dennis has gone there is no need for his previous secretary to buy him treats, now is there?

Day 15: In the post today was something else. Tickets for a round the world cruise for Mr and Mrs Dennis Peters. I smiled to think he was planning all of this for our anniversary. After all 25 years of marriage is something to celebrate. In the package as well were two passports with many visas. I locked them in the safe and phoned the travel agency. They assured me there would be no difficulty in changing the ticket and arranging new visas.

Day 16: I collected the other passport, and with a copy of Dennis’s death certificate visited the travel agency in the city. I also visited a rental agency and put down a deposit on an attractive flat in a fairly fashionable area.

Day 17. A frank conversation with Arthur about the need for Margery’s services. I am quite capable of dealing with my own affairs.  Both the house and cottage will be put up for sale. I am moving back to the city. 25 years in a country village is quite enough for anyone to deserve some life before she is too old.

Day 20: Margery came to see me. Quite unexpectedly as I was packing up the kitchen. The only things I am taking are all the new stuff I have bought recently. The rest is going to the auctioneers. Her eyes were very red, most unbecoming. She said something rather surprising about Dennis wanting children and how she was sure he would have made provision for them. I told her sharply that I had never wanted any and Dennis and I had made sure of that by only giving in to his carnal needs when we were sure it was safe. Of course he had no children.  She also asked to stay on at the cottage, but I told her it was being sold so she has till the end of the month to leave it.  Really Margery is looking worse and worse, her eyes always red, and she is beginning to put on weight, she will never get another job as a secretary unless she smartens herself up.

Day 21: The movers arrived and I enjoyed showing them what to pack for the trip to the city. In the afternoon the auctioneer arrived and took the rest. Then I caught the 5.30 train. Leaving the village behind was such a relief. A long soak in the extra-large bath at the hotel revived me. Then out for dinner with my sister and her friend. I explained that Bryan, my friend would be joining us later. Something to do with some business deal. My sister will keep referring to Bryan as my ‘fancy man’. Makes him sound a bit shady. I am really lucky to have him, being a doctor and all, 10 years younger than I am. I still don’t understand all the fuss some council has made to stop him opening a new practice.

Day 22: Moving into my smart flat. Bryan came round for a drink after lunch and we spent the afternoon most pleasantly. Of course he, being a doctor has coped with my little emergency a few months ago, and now is making sure we don’t have another.

Day 23: Life in the city is so rewarding. Arthur came up for lunch, and asked me to join him. He told me Margery says she is pregnant, and asked if I would help her. I told him that if my husband’s ex-secretary was a slut there was no reason for me to aid and abet her in this. Arthur looked shocked. He said “I thought you knew”.

Day 24: I had a little celebratory fire at the flat. I burnt the passports that will no longer be needed, the divorce papers Dennis had given me the day before he died, and the letters I had found from Margery to him.  And of course the new copy of his will I had found in his briefcase, not yet witnessed.. The one thing that would have ruined my life.

Day 25: I tool Bryan out to collect the present I had organised for him, a new sports car. He took me for a spin, we laughed and had such fun.

Day 26: We collected our tickets and passports. On Monday we leave on the boat for that cruise. It was so good of Dennis to organise it.

Day 28: We boarded, drank champagne and danced the night away. Bryan really does understand how to give a woman a good time. But I must say I didn’t like the way he kept eyeing the young singer in the band. She was definitely flirting with him. That can’t be allowed to continue. I am so glad I brought that vial Bryan gave me last month.

Day 29: Poor Bryan is seasick. I have been nursing him. He was so grateful, but he did say the black tea I gave him tasted rather bitter. Dennis also said that. Now I must go for lunch, a long lunch that will last all afternoon. I know the room service will be in later to clean up. Let them find him. After all that is something I have never done before.


Weekend Theme

Friday evening and the theme isn’t posted yet. OOps!

Actually I’ve been battling to find one.

At last, something popped into my head.

So the theme this week is

Something I have never done before


The little girl was excited, her first CONCERT. Last year she had been in the audience with her parents, watching as all those girls danced. This year she was one of them, a fairy, with a real sparkly wand. She knew it was real, she had helped her dad make it, the stick, carefully painted silver like her ballet shoes, the two stars, each with one side having the silver paint, then the glitter glued over that. It had been quite messy but oh it was such fun. Then dad carefully joined the pieces together, and she had a wand! Her grandmother had made her fairy dress, pink and with a net skirt that stood out.

Her aunt and uncle had also come to watch the concert so she KNEW it was very important.

Nearly the end of the year, nearly her birthday. Then she would be 5 and could start at big school, not just playschool like this year.

Because her sister was already in the dancing class the teacher had let her join, even though she said “I don’t normally let them join too young”. A year of so many experiences, even the dancing teacher taking them into town to go and see Swan Lake at the same movie house where she had seen Dumbo with her aunt. That had been so exciting, if a little confusing. The prince was obviously a little stupid not to recognise his girlfriend just because she was wearing a different dress. She did wonder how they would cope when they were married. Maybe someone would have to introduce them every day?

She pranced up and down the passage, the family were getting ready to leave for the concert. Her uncle wryly commented “She holds that wand like a battleaxe”, but that didn’t worry her.


The concert was fun. She sat with her mum and dad until the interval. Then she had to go and sit backstage while the final groups danced. Then came the last dance – the one she was in! She led the dancers onto the stage, the smallest one. They danced around, making wonderful patterns. She skipped, she hopped, she twirled all exactly right for the dance. And then the grand finale, the fairies all standing in a beautiful pattern with her RIGHT AT THE FRONT!

The audience applauded, she was sure it was mostly for her, right there at the front. She could see the family, so she waved her wand happily.

Then as they had been told all the dancers waited while the curtain closed. Then they could all move away and be ready for the whole ballet school to line up on the stage.

The disaster happened. The curtain closed behind her, leaving her alone on the stage. For a few seconds she wondered when the curtain would close, then she turned around to discover she was the only one left.

Calmly she stood up, then bent over, lifted up the bottom of the curtain and crawled under it.

Safely backstage she ran to the teacher who gave her a big hug and told her how well she had danced.

Weekend Theme

Friday – tick

Morning – tick

not yet work time – tick

no theme yet – tick (oopsie)

The idea for this has been circling in my mind for a while. Indeed the picture has sat on my laptop screen for a while now, reminding me of many things.

The theme this week is Dancing, and the picture that started it all is



As usual to play along, create a post using the theme in whatever way it takes you. Then come back here and leave a message with a link to it so that others can wander around to read them. And of course when there are other posts, you too can follow the links to read those as well.

There is one rule, Have fun with it!


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 650 other followers

%d bloggers like this: