Author: Marj

Today, I had the good fortune to plan to have lunch with my good friend and computer guru (he can absolutely solve the problems that I throw at him regarding the computer – and, often, other things, too). Because of this restrictive diet that I’m forced to follow, I asked if we could go to Denny’s because I know that I can eat what is on their menu. Truth-be-told, I don’t even look at the menu. I just tell the wait staff what I can eat, and they put it together – and, it always good.

Earlier in the day, I’d been at a medical office for an annual test, produced my ID and insurance info as requested, and placed my wallet where it is kept back into my black purse. Getting to the medical office was a bit of a chore because when I pulled into one of the Swedish Hospital parking lots at what I thought was the correct location, it was not. I pulled back onto the street and traveled the two blocks to get to the correct parking lot, walked across the pedestrian bridge, and into the building that I assumed was 701, and I was arriving at Suite 100 on time.

But, getting out of the elevator and walking into Suite 100, I was redirected down the hall to the west. I was in building 799. Oh, good! So off I went, leaning heavily on the cane that accompanies me everywhere, until I saw another human being. Knowing that I was still lost, I asked for directions and was kindly walked to the location where I was expected. Everyone in the office was extremely kind – I think that may come because of the cane. I’m never really sure.

As I said, I provided the necessary documentation to prove that I was me and that I do indeed have the required insurance. I was forthwith ushered into the testing area, put my purse and some clothing into the locker and had the medical test. When finished, I did the reverse – dressed and walked out with purse in hand using the cane, walked to the parking lot, and drove home.

My computer guru picked me up right at noon with Denny’s as our destination. Our waitress was charming and, as usual, helped me order just the right meal. I stressed that this was my turn to pay; when we’d finished our meal, I took the check to the cashier and looked for my wallet that was not where I had put it. Or, at least, where I thought I had put it.

I was very embarrassed because my friend had to pay what should have been my bill. I checked all around our table to be sure that the wallet was not there. When we left the restaurant, I checked the floor of his car to see if the wallet was there. It was not. Arriving home and while my computer was being adjusted, I looked in and around my car in the garage to see if the lost might be found there. It could not.

When I was alone, I determined what needed to be done to protect myself. My wallet contains my life. Credit card. Debit card. ID. And, all manner of things one does not want to lose – family photographs, money (albeit, not much), and nitro, just in case, I should have another heart attack (it’s never happened). Even those gift cards that were given to me for whatever reason have some value!

I decided that I should cancel the cards that could be canceled and, then, hope for the best. The rest of this tale is in the e-mail that I wrote to my friend a short time later. It is below.

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Dear RB,

The lost is found.

The wallet was, of course, not in the place where it is usually stored in my purse. The purse has five places to put things. The two at the front are not large enough for the wallet – only for things the size of my phone.

The other three are, two inside the “lid” of the purse, and one on the “back” side of the purse where I stash papers. Papers with questions that I want to ask docs, etc., my smaller booklets that I use to write poetry when I’m waiting for something – you know, a sort of “catch all.”

The two in the middle of the purse are for things like sun glasses in a case, a medihaler, batteries for my hearing aides, and other stuff that I don’t want to have falling out of the purse. And, of course, there is a “lid” that is secured with two magnet closures to keep all of that safe. That is where the wallet belongs – in the middle. Sometimes, if I don’t close the lid, things do fall out, and that’s what I thought had happened, today.

When I got home I called the Sally Jobe imaging place – the wallet wasn’t there, but she would be sure to notify me if it was found. I know that is the last place I remember having my hands on the wallet because my ID stuff and insurance stuff was needed. I remember putting those items back into the wallet; I thought I had surely put the wallet back into its place in my purse. I called the Swedish Hospital folks and talked to someone about “lost and found” and was told that nothing had been turned in today. But, she would call me if the wallet came in.

I called my bank to cancel (she said block) any purchases on my debit card. Nothing had been charged up to that point. I’ll get my new debit card within a week or so. The person with whom I talked gave me the number to call for my credit card through the bank.

Before canceling that card, I thought I would go back to the parking garage and see if it had dropped out and was on the concrete floor. So, I was picked up my black purse that felt as heavy as I thought it should with everything that I keep in it. I looked, again, in the two spaces inside of the purse – no wallet. Then, and it was just a sort of fluke, I looked in that back pocket where papers are to be kept.

And, there it was, in the WRONG space. I NEVER put my wallet in that space. Well, except that, today, I had put it there. So, I guess the “catch all” caught it!

More later.

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My late sister always told me, “You need a keeper.” I’ve talked about that before, but it may really be “coming home” that I REALLY DO NEED A KEEPER!

Time will tell.
Be safe and be well.
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are always appreciated.

If you’ve been reading this blog for some time, you may realize that I love to write. Write about anything, actually. Write for children. Write letters. Write articles for this blog. And, maybe, the most pleasant for me is writing poetry.

I came into poetry writing “through the back door.” I never really studied poetry – the reading or the writing in my college days. Well, I did take one class in poetry writing as a masters student. And, the very first poem we studied before beginning to write gave me such a bad taste for metaphor that I now hate metaphor! Poets are supposed to work with metaphor. It is a trademark of a poet. Not me. I’m not much of a “shoulda, coulda, woulda” person.When I write about a tree, it’s because I’m writing about a tree! Or, a chair. Or, any other things that I write about. I’m not putting some secret meaning into that writing.

Everyone who knows me, personally, knows that my hands-down, favorite poet is Ted Kooser – who lives in the Middle Earth of Nebraska. His poetry speaks volumes to me. I understand it. It is about real people, real happenings, real feelings. He told me once that when beginning a poem, he always starts with a metaphor. I don’t see it. I see the people and situations that he’s writing about. I understand those things.

I have a friend who says that he doesn’t like poetry, that it makes little sense to him. I tell him that is because he’s never read any of Ted’s poetry that is completely understandable. Ted has the distinction of being a U.S. Poet Laureate (twice; one of the first poets laureate from the Great Plains), a Pulitzer Prize winner, winning the Pulitzer Prize in Poetry in 2005, as well as other notable achievements. Given the opportunity, I would be a “female” Ted Kooser. I accept this fact – that is never going to happen!

I am pleased to have the opportunity to work with the owners of an on-line, Canadian organization devoted to helping writers of all kinds (novels, short story, poetry, etc.) gain experience and strength in their writing. The owners, Caitlin and Jacob Jans, plan incredibly worthwhile workshops, arrange for speakers for those workshops, and are available to help those of us who are not particularly computer-savvy when needed for the zoom activities.

Their company, Authors Publish, has world-wide participation in their 24-Hours Poetry Marathon every year – 24 hours of writing a poem an hour, to an hourly prompt every hour on the hour, if participants choose. Or, the participants are free to write about their own topics. Every spring and autumn, they have a month-long poetry workshop that is well worth the time and effort of the participant, also worldwide in participation. If you are a writer of any kind, I certainly do recommend getting to know these folks.

For my own poetry, I want my readers to understand what I write. I want them to feel what I feel. I want them to relate what I’m saying to their own, very personal lives.

I particularly like to write haiku, senryu, and haibun. I also write what most people call free verse. I like acrostic. I do not rhyme. What I’ve decided to do with this blog is to share some of my poetry with you. I hope you enjoy this diversion into “my literature.”

For some of the poems, I’ve indicated when and why they were written.

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The Girl I’m Going To Marry

In the college library, needing
some help. He’d been there before,
no help was given, or even offered.

This person was different,
never saw her before,
behind the checkout desk.

How can I help you?
I need help finding
some books.

Let’s check the catalog and get
the numbers from the cards. What do
you know about the Dewey Decimal
system? Nothing? Okay, I can help.

Into the stacks, row after row,
book after book. Here they are,
the books you need.

Check them out. Go to the
student union. Meet friends there.
Guys, I just met the woman

I’m going to marry.
He did.

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2026 AP POETRY MARATHON, JUNE 14, AM 02
Prompt: Write a poem where every line has six words
in it.

Death Cleaning

I learned while working in Texas,
that “Death Cleaning” is really hard.
We looked at so many things
that belonged to my little sister.
I touched things I gave her
so many years in the past.
A political book she really wanted.
A necklace of black and white
with curled snakes at the bottom.
Spools and spools of colored thread.
And, three Bernina sewing machines,
machines for sewing quilt pieces together.
Quilter extraordinaire, she made her own-
and quilted those of many others.
Colors that one can only imagine.
I miss her every single day
that “crusty” little sister of mine.

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Time

Second by second
Minute by minute
Hour by hour
Day by day
Week by week
Month by month
Year by year
Decade by decade
Done

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2026 AP POETRY MARATHON, JUNE 13, PM 08
Prompt: Write a poem involving noodles. 

Postal Service Solutions – Not Just About Letters

There they sit on the shelf, not getting green with rot,
spiral egg noodles don’t rot, they just sit there looking
back at me when I open the cupboard door. How long
have they been there? Good intentions say, “I’ll make
those some day – soon.” But, time goes by and they are
still there in their red and clear Tuppeware container,
waiting. House helper Rita doesn’t want them, “We
don’t eat that kind of noodle.” Daughter doesn’t want
them, “I have plenty.” To unclutter the cupboard, they
have to go somewhere. The card comes on Saturday, it
proclaims, “We’ll pick up food for the food bank. Put
everything into a paper bag, we’ll pick it up during our
delivery.

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2026 AP POETRY MARATHON, JUNE 13, 7 AM
Prompt:  Choose an object (bed for me) and write three things about it

Double Bed

The bed was only double, not king or queen like today,
sleeping with my little sister was all we ever knew, even
when we lived in the house that was ours, completely
ours on East 12^th Street, it was the last bed I ever slept
in before going away to college, to turn my life in one
completely different direction, because my parents
thought I’d be going into business like my older sisters
did when they left home, but not for me – I was
determined to be a teacher, a teacher in a country
school just like the one I saw when going with mom
and dad and little sister for a fishing weekend, a country school
with a place to live next door, so off
to college I went to become an educator and teach in
the one-teacher school with eight grades the first
year and six grades the second, getting to do what
I’d dreamed about in that double bed many years ago.

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Morning View

Early this morning from my sixth-floor hospital room,
I could see the distant mountains with snow glistening
in the dawn’s light. Mountains that I know so well.
From here to those peaks, the city spreads out – churches,
skyscrapers, homes, nothing keeping these old friends
from me knowing they are there. I can see reflections
of car lights in the windows of the building next door.
Looking again, the mountains are gone, fog steadily
advancing across the land, pulling an opaque curtain,
shutting out my view of those beloved mountains.
The fog comes closer, taking away the skyscrapers,
the cars, trees and bushes. It shutters the glass
of the windows next door. I can’t tell if cars still ply
the streets headed for the center of town. The trees close
by disappear along with the cars in the windows. The fog
is drifting against the window of my hospital room. I surely
know that the sun is shining somewhere, but not for me.

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Enjoy your week!
Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are greatly appreciated.

Before delving into my series on words, I’d like to take a detour into the idea that a double number age, like 88 – my new age – is thought to carry with it some special, incredibly auspicious, and powerful sign – if one believes that sort of thing. And, well – why not!
But, back to the words at hand …
Food seems foremost in my mind since I’ve been on this gastroparesis diet beginning last January, so that’s our first topic about words. And, I promised to introduce you to “smoozies.” When I was a kid so many years ago (now that I just turned eighty-eight, a really long, long time ago, we had a special treat that we called smoozies. This was the name my father always called these ice cream bars. They came in some kind of package (today, they would come in a narrow, plastic-like covering, but not plastic); they were on a stick that had been embedded into the ice cream. AND, they were covered with chocolate! Glorious chocolate! We didn’t have much chocolate at my house; chocolate cake made with cocoa, once in a while. But, never chocolate like what covered those bars.
Well … at Christmas, we also had a candy made by my mother that was covered with chocolate; melted chocolate chips. Maybe, I’ll tell you how to make that in December. Anyway, that was it. For the entire year. When summer came, we could look forward to the smoozies. Being somewhat curious, even then, I did want to know where they came from, and how they got their name. Not too curious, though, to actually find the answers to those questions.
Growing up, ice cream on a stick coated with chocolate was an occasional treat. I always called them smoozies – that’s what they were. Others called them ice cream bars – BORING NAME! I still wondered, as an adult, where did that name, smoozies, really come from. Until this blog about words.
Thinking that smoozies was a name invented by my father, I searched the web for smoozies. Surprise! There is was – an AI report about smoozies being the invention of an ice cream company called Dreyer’s Grand Ice Cream from Pueblo, Colorado, the town where I lived as a child and teenager.
So, it turns out that my father was calling them the right name. I was calling them the right name – although, there has been a name change since the “smoozie” era to some name that includes “ice cream” bar – STILL A BORING NAME!
Kumquat is an interesting word. Have you ever eaten a kumquat? Have you ever seen one in a grocery store? I don’t remember any.
Described as similar to an orange, a sliced kumquat seems to have four sections and is the size of a large olive. Native to China, they are grown in Japan and Southeast Asia. Where I live, it gets cold in the winter – well, it usually gets cold in the winter. Not this past winter, though, with only a few days of really cold temperatures.
Never having tasted a kumquat nor even seen one, I am left with wondering, what good are they? Apparently, they have a covering like that of an orange – so I’m guessing that they must have to be peeled. Being the size of a large olive with a peel that has to be removed, there can’t be much edible fruit inside. Maybe, the next time I go select groceries, I’ll look harder in the produce section to see if there are kumquats there. Or, I’ll ask the store employee working that area.
Never having tasted a kumquat, I have eaten mulligatawny stew – or, at least, my mother’s recipe of that stew. Mulligatawny is a stand-alone word, but my head needs to add “stew” to the label. As a kid, I lived maybe six-to-seven blocks from the elementary school I attended. And, I walked home for lunch, ate my lunch, and walked back to school. Everyday – even when there was snow on the ground. One day, my mother prepared this stew for lunch. It had parsnips in it. I hate parsnips!
According to my research, mulligatawny stew does not have parsnips. Other stews do. However, I’ve always thought of that soup, that kept me from getting back to school on time, as mulligatawny stew. After tasting the stew that my mother made, one taste only, I stopped eating. Now, my mother was not one to accept a “no,” when she had spent time at her wood cookstove, preparing food. The final results was that I did eat that stew; then only when I had eaten my mother’s stew was I allowed to return to school – of course, I was late. I have never attempted to eat anything called mulligatawny stew – ever!
I do love eating at a smörgasbord. Now, there is a word that just “rolls off the tongue!” Sweden in origin, we use it, today, in our every day English language. We think of a any buffet as a smorgasbord. Lots of foods; great variety. I like to visit a buffet because it allows me to select those foods I’m allowed to eat. Yet, I don’t visit any buffet because I simply am not allowed to eat in the same fashion as in the past. Small amounts, four-to-six times a day, no fiber (that means no fresh fruits and vegetables – nothing with high fiber that hasn’t been chewed up by a smoothie blender). So, along with most of my favorite foods, the smörgasbord is out of my life.
Last of the foods I’ve chosen with unique names is the turducken. A turducken being a dish of de-boned chicken stuffed into a de-boned duck stuffed into a de-boned turkey – sounds like WAY TOO MUCH WORK for me. Just give me the chicken, straight. Or, the turkey, roasted. And, the duck – no thanks.
Here I am, once more, at the maximum number of words that I choose to use in a blog. So, look for “Words Worth Knowing, Part 4” soon.
Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are always welcome.

I’ve talked with you before about the book, Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson. While in Texas, I came to understand the exact meaning of that book. Following the author’s suggestions, I participated in the process for my sister’s estate. After a meaningful Celebration of her life on Saturday, her son, Daughter #1, and I began what I think was thoughtful decision-making to determine whether her possessions would be gifted, sold, or kept by family members. I know that Eric had already been working on this difficult process for his mom since September, last.
Clara moved from New Mexico to Texas to be a caregiver for her newborn grandson and spent her life in Texas a quilter extraordinaire. She had three Bernina sewing machines, one long- arm quilting sewing machine, and hundreds of spools of thread in all colors (including white and black). There were also scissors of every kind – scissors safe enough for children that will go to my Daughter #3 for her special youth church programs; scissors for cutting quilting material, scissors for cutting any kind of fabric. Buttonhole scissors. Scissors – scissors – scissors, everywhere!
Bernina sergers (2). Special irons used by quilters for pressing seams. Tables for cutting and holding those sewing machines, Bookshelves, file cabinets, pantographs (special patterns used for keeping quilting stitching correct on a long-arm machine). Her supply of materials, books, quilt patterns,abd equipment might possibly have been a great start for someone wanting to get into the business of having a store for quilters.
At Eric’s encouragement, I selected several of her possessions to bring home. Now, remember that I have a rule – something has to leave my house every day and never come back. And, here I was, adding to my ever-present collection of things. But, I rationalized, these are things that belonged to my sister, things that she touched and used during her life – I would take and treasure them.
I remember a time several year ago when I was visiting Clara and family. I’d driven there (it takes two days by car when driving alone); I always had to have Clara talk me to her house when I reached the edge of Cedar Park. Clara was in the process of creating a new quilt from scratch, cutting each piece, sewing all of the pieces together in a specific pattern, pressing all of the seams – just so – to the point that there was the top of the quilt in all of its glory. I complimented her achievement although, truth-be-told, I really didn’t like the quilt. First of all, it’s predominant color was GREEN! Anyone who has read this blog knows that there are two basic colors that I don’t enjoy. White is one, but GREEN is much worse! Of course, I only “suggested” that I would like it better if it was a different color; say, blue – one of my favorites.
I returned home, resumed my life happenings, and forgot about the quilt. Within a couple of years, Clara had occasion to travel to be at my home for a vacation. She carried a box into my house and pulled out that green quilt. By that time, the quilt was finished. It had it’s pieced top, batting in the middle, and bottom (or backing) all quilted together with a beautiful design (the design Clara did, guided along the pantograph). And, it had a binding around the quilt – of course, GREEN! It really was a beautiful quilt – green color and all. This time, I was able to give great compliments to the quilter for her quilt.
Clara, then, pulled out another quilt. Unfolding it, the blue and white pieces dazzled. Quilted with a blue binding! This time, I knew that I was “gushing” about the quilt being so beautiful. Clara said, “So, you like this one, huh?” To which I, of course, again extolled its virtues – being the same blues found in my house. She said, “Good, because it is yours.” Today, that quilt sits on the deacon’s bench in my living room, never having been put on top of a bed. It adds so much to the “country French” atmosphere that I want in my home.
Clara showed me a photograph of a quilt she had made for her granddaughter; the pattern being a Dresden Plate pattern, made with oriental fabrics. I asked Clara to make this patterned quilt in blue for me, using oriental fabrics. She did. When it arrived, it went over the back of my loveseat in the living room – never to see a bed in my house! People sit on beds. If they sit on a quilt on that bed, it is possible to break the quilting threads; so, no beds for any quilts that belong to me. I use plain, old blankets for warmth.
I can tell you that the “Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning” wasn’t so gentle for me. I knew this had to happen. I remembered. I hurt. I cried. I think I embraced the event. Only time will tell.
And, yet, I still don’t have a sister to talk with every day.
Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are greatly appreciated
A note: My Dresden Plate quilt was made with oriental fabric – a fabric that is, apparently, a superior fabric for quilting. If you would like to see what this quilt pattern is like on a finished quilt, just use our friend the Web and look it up.

As promised, this blog will again be about words – words that I find interesting. Words that are unique. Words that are fun. Words that are weird. And, palindromes. Let’s start with words designated as unique. This is, of course, only a very small sampling of the words in the computer’s list. If you care to pursue “Words” further, I’ve placed the link where I gained most of my information below.

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When we get to this ripe old age of 87, we feels as though there are things that have been learned that we can pass on to the young. Things that may – perhaps – help those younger than we forego some of the trials and tribulations we have experienced.

If you have the good fortune to purchase a house and, if it is a house and not an apartment (I know nothing about apartment living), and IF the house is located in a place where snow will fall on the house – DO NOT, under any circumstances, purchase a house that faces north!

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You all probably know that I love  – LOVE – words. Words that I know. Words that I don’t know. Words, in general. Today, I want to talk about some of those words. Old-fashioned words. Words that came into fashion long before I was born, more than eighty-seven years ago. Words that may be on their way to becoming used by everyone in the world – not just my community or my country.

Today, one of my favorite words is – WONKY! It just seems to “roll off the tongue” into our speech. And, it can mean so many things. I thought it was a “new” word; imagine my surprise when I learned from AI on the Web – always our little helper – that the first use of the word, wonky, occurred around 1910. It started out as an adjective probably an alteration of a Old English word, “wanked,” morphing into  “wankle,” as Middle English took over.

Today, this favorite word of mine describes people, places, or things that are just NOT QUITE RIGHT! For example, this morning my laptop computer was WONKY, sitting on my nephew’s dining room table. Having traveled two days to get to his home in Texas, my e-mail should have been filled with dozens of e-mails (the laptop and my home computer are synced to share information). There were only e-mails in the laptop computer from May 17 – the day I actually left home. And, not very many of them – perhaps, just the ones that had arrived before I turned off the computer to place it in its carrying bag to go to Texas.

So, of course, what happens next is that I sent a text (bless the texting inventors) to Roger, my computer hero/guru, and begged him to get into the computer AND FIX IT! Understand that I’m in the central time zone, and he’s in the mountain time zone, so my 7:30 AM request arrived in his phone at 6:30 AM with me forgetting the difference in time. But, Roger – bless him, called a very short time later and started working on the computer. Isn’t it a wonderful thing that can happen that Roger can be in Colorado and I can be in Texas, and he can still access my computer. I remember working with a brilliant man at HP who was at the forefront of this kind of happening – but, that’s another  story.

Roger’s computer began to talk to my computer, I kept my hands off of the mouse and watched. On the laptop desktop, I saw Roger’s work as he moved through stuff (what do I know about “stuff”?) and slowly, but surely the e-mails appeared with dates / times of the last two days – those days of my travel to Texas. If anything at all in my life can appear to be magic, it is that. The computer in one place and the computer magician 899 miles west. And, my computer being fixed – now, that’s magic!

Returning to my word, “wonky,” here is a bit more info about it. Somewhere during the 1970s and the 1980s, wonky became more commonly used. I don’t remember hearing or using the word during that time. Probably, I was not running in circles where that word would used – I was busy teaching school, having a family (husband and three great daughters),  going to church, buying groceries and, in general, attempting to “make ends meet” on two salaries,

Wonky became what it means today, something, someone, or some activity that is unsteady or unreliable. Today, as with my laptop, I would certainly say that it was off-kilter, rickety, or not working properly. (But, Roger fixed that.) Wonky also evolved to mean something that was studious or overly detailed. For me, that doesn’t apply to wonky – if that something is studious or very detailed, then, that’s what it is – studios or very detailed. Definitely not wonky – for me! Again, for me, if a person is deeply focused on technical details, they are not wonky – they are the kind of person I would want working on a project with me.

And, now I’ve used up words for this blog by talking about my computer and my new, favorite word – Wonky. So, I’ll close this blog and plan to talk about other words in a couple of weeks (or so) because I do want to talk about many of these unusual words that are unique, funny. Imaginative, as well as some palindromes – words that I also love to play with. On this trip, my odometer turned into a palindrome of 120,021 – it is always fun to watch for that in the car.

So, next time – Words That I Like – Part 2

Be Safe and Be Well.
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are always appreciated.

Late last year (or early this year – I can’t remember), I wrote friends and relatives asking for their input into my question. I said, “I want to create a blog about wishes. I was thinking about wishes and here is what I thought: If I had one wish that I knew would be granted – only one, what would I wish for?” I also said, “I’m hoping this is not an imposition for anyone!” I also asked random people in the grocery store. Many of you responded to my request. Here for our perusal is what was said.

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If you have been reading this blog for some time, you may remember that my younger sister, the last of my immediate family, died in September of last year. Her sons decided that, although she had said there should be no memorial for her, that there would be one anyway. Their discretion.

Daughter #1 and I will travel for the celebration of her life. It is, therefore, appropriate for us to remember her at this time. I miss her every day.

We talked everyday by phone. So many times, I will see something on TV, hear a story, or simply think about her and realize that she is no longer there. Or, an ache or a pain will cause me to think, she has the same situation. So, I talk to her, anyway. And, that makes me feel a little better about how much I miss her.

Just how much an older sister can learn from a sister, younger than she. I can tell you that I learned a lot from her. She was a reader. She was a sewer of clothing, table cloths, and quilts. She quilted for others on her long-arm machine. I was the recipient of more than one of those magnificent quilts.

So, it is fitting to remember her at this time. We miss you, dear sister. If only I could hear your voice again!

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Once in a while, I get a thump on the head. It happens at the most unexpected times. like the one two days ago.

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