Mrs. Linklater's Rules for a Long and Happy Life

Sorry. I can't write about that. I'm laughing too damn hard. Like I would know about happy.

But since you're here and I've got this space to fill up, help me come up with a theme or themes for this journal. Mrs. Linklater hasn't been much of a guide to anyone's universe lately. I haven't even felt like making fun of the advice ladies over at my Ask Mrs. Linklater Blogspot blog. And that one actually has a theme.

A perusal of my recent entries here reveals an entirely too eclectic smattering of stuff. Coming here is like opening up the hatchback of my Jeep and having a full size folding chair, a spare tire cover, two rugs, four rolls of toilet paper, three plastic sweater boxes full of mail, and a bungee cord fall out. I feel your pain.

Those of you who show up one day thinking you've discovered a lunatic and come back just to see if I've been committed are sorely disappointed to find a recipe for fudge instead. That's just an example. I would never share my fudge recipe.

So help me with a theme. Or themes. Something I can write about for more than one entry. The Duke rants are an example, but I'm only writing about their lacrosse team because I went there. Otherwise I could care. I need fuel to fire up my anger and I'm running out of steam on that one. Did you see two of the players got arrested today.  And they're looking for a third guy. Just remember an indictment is not a conviction.

Jeff over at What the Hell? once asked everyone to submit words he could use as subjects for his entries. I sent him a bunch. But he hasn't posted an entry since last year, so that may not be such a good idea.

I would write about my daughters, but one of them has asked me to include her out. She's worried that people might put two and two together and realize I'm her mom. Nothing personal, but I could do some serious damage to her career apparently. That whole live long enough to become an embarrasment to your children thing sure is working for me. 

My other daughter lives so far out of town that I have to recover from jet lag when I see her. So the day to day family thing is out.

All the animals I used to have are croaked. I know, bad grammar. Work with me here. Having no living, breathing, furry creatures right now doesn't mean I haven't mined the lives and deaths of my old pets for entries here and there.

My private life is like watching grass grow. Only slower. Plus talking about getting old gets pretty old. Not that I couldn't regale you with tales of my latest infirmities. And what you have to do to accommodate certain things. Not going there.

Looking around my computer area just now, I realize I could use this space to sell off some of my cherished memorabilia [okay JUNK] and make some money for a plane ticket to get out of Dodge.

For instance, the teal blue lava lamp with the yellow ploppy stuff that floats inside is just sitting on my desk. It was a gift from two guys I'm really close to. But I haven't turned it on in three years.  It's yours for $30 plus the postage. Hey, it has hardly any mileage.

Then there's my old Polaroid camera, an SX70, just like the one Michael Going, the famous Polaroid photographer, uses. I keep thinking I'm going to manipulate film like he does so it looks like art. Yours for a mere $15. Okay, $10. Plus the postage thing.

And the small framed oil painting of The Tetons with the Snake River flowing in the foreground which I bought in Jackson Hole to remind me of my favorite view in Wyoming. Yours for $50.  And postage blah blah blah. [NO LONGER AVAILABLE]

Anybody need a Trojan horse left over from my younger daughter's fifth grade art project on Greece?  I'm thinking I might be on to something. But I better take some pictures first. And don't tell me to lower my prices; this isn't a yard sale.

Yet.