family

Belaboring A Point

cafc3a9-terrasse-dale-r

“Why did you invite your parents over on the most horrible night?” Harriet asked Clem. “It’s pouring!”

“When I was young,” he explained, “they forced me to visit their insane relatives who had perfect rooms no one was allowed to go into, and bowls of wax fruit. They drove me nuts. I wanted the last laugh. I’ll hide their umbrellas when they get here. Then when they ask what to do I’ll point to those fakes and say, ‘Sorry, those are all we have.’ This way maybe they’ll finally understand my point.”

She just shrugged and humored him.

Welcome back to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Read all about it on her blog. This week’s photograph has been supplied by Dale Rogerson . Click on Coqui the frog to add your link too.

Annunci

Beatles, kin, computer woes

Michael and Erin

On the weekend of my fifty~seventh birthday my nephew (and Godson) Michael, and Erin, got married. The wedding was at Nostrano Vineyards in Milton, New York.

The scenery was perfect. I got a chance to hobnob with our relatives and Erin’s.

I couldn’t help being smitten by the view. Milton was named after the seventeenth~century Jacobin poet, author of “Paradise Lost”.

the showers of blessing

daily post

my first 1000 photos

doris bolliger

the view from my window Laura

sue bee and kat

birthday girl at yankee stadium

This picture was taken on my sister’s birthday in 2014. She, her family, and I went to Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. I’ve never been a sports fan, and considering that I’m originally from Jackson Heights, I’ve always told people that I’m an honorary Met fan. I took the picture with my Canon digital camera. As good as that camera is though, I now take pictures exclusively with my Tracfone LG Android camera.

curve ~the daily post photo challenge

pinkpodster

superjangames

myfirst1000photos

undeniable and inexplicable order

Today is the ninety ninth anniversary of the birth of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, thirty fifth President of the United States. His younger brother and attorney general, Robert Francis Kennedy, was fatally shot on June 5, 1968. J.F.K. was assassinated on November 22, 1963, two days after R.F.K.’s thirty eighth birthday.

Over the past very many years I have always noticed that death has no respect for special occasions. People often die on, or close, to times like Christmas, Easter, and other milestones. My mother died exactly a week after my fifty fourth birthday. neral was on my father’s eightieth birthday.

So many things are like that. Between William Henry Harrison in 1840 and John F. Kennedy in 1963, each president elected at a twenty year interval died, either naturally or by assassination, while an incumbent. This has been attributed to the curse of Tippecanoe, dating back to Harrison’s questionable tactics in the Treaty of Fort Wayne with the Indians.

Another example of inexplicable coincidences can be found in the 1917 Our Lady of Fatima apparitions and events that are relevant to them. In 1517 the world was afflicted with the Protestant Revolution, the first of many evil milestones. In 1689 Luis XIV refused Jesus’ request to consecrate France to the Sacred Heart. During 1717 the Masons were founded. 1789 was the beginning of the French Revolution. The Russian Revolution occurred in 1917, and the Berlin Wall came down in 1989. There are so many other supposedly coincidental dates that are crucial to the circumstances surrounding Fatima. I’ve only skimmed the surface. These, and many other dates and milestones, fit a most undeniable pattern that cannot possibly be overlooked.

This kind of order, visible only in retrospect, has to be reckoned with. I have no idea of exactly what’s going on but it has always made me so insatiably curious.

daily post~:orderly

no order..haiku

a place for everything

orderly

ladies, form an orderly queue

orderly

you know my name (look up my number)

My Name Is Larry

My name is Larry. Officially I’m named Lawrence, after my mother’s father, who died in late August of 1959, slightly over two weeks before I was born. Although I never got a chance to get to know my grandfather, I grew up constantly in touch with my Uncle Larry and my cousin Larry, on my father’s side. Among my father’s relatives there have even been nine Joseph’s, and a bit too much repetition of other names too. Throughout the years, in order to differentiate from among us Larry’s, I was too often referred to as Little Larry, and even Baby Larry. My niece and nephews, knowing that my full name is Lawrence, have often asked if I have ever gotten any mileage out of that variation of my name. I remind them that under official circumstances it frequently comes up, in school, work, and anywhere else that may require me to be a bit formal. Sister Miriam Therese, of the Sisters of Charity, was my fifth grade teacher at St. Gabriel’s in East Elmhurst. It was in her class that I was first reminded constantly that my name was Lawrence. She was quite strict about each student’s always being addressed and referred to by his first name. Around the time of my twelfth birthday we moved from Jackson Heights to Lindenhurst. When kids in my new schools, Copiague Junior High School, and then Our Lady of Perpetual Help, asked me what my name was, I took a chance on introducing myself as Lawrence. The Copiague kids stuck with it for around the next three years. Somehow after that it faded away entirely. In my Catholic school, though, things were a bit different. The first kid I met there was Jerry Antonacci. He asked me my name. I introduced myself as Lawrence. He then asked if he may call me Larry. I said yes and that was the end of it. Unlike certain other names, such as Anthony, David, Michael, and Peter, the name Lawrence simply doesn’t strike people as that interesting as far as always calling somebody by his full name. I see no point in ever bothering to change it. There have been times over the course of my lifetimes when it has struck me as somewhat annoying. In general, though, it’s quite nice.

emotional fitness training

Sparks From A Combustible Mind

daily post

family thanksgiving

Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Filomena were preparing Thanksgiving dinner as always.

“Those Protestants think they’re such hot stuff,” moaned Aloysius.

“The first Thanksgiving, though, was really on September 8, 1565 in St. Augustine, Florida, before their time.”

Filomena happily humored him, knowing that he was harmless, as well as right.

“They beat those snooty Protestants by fifty six years.”

“Don Pedro Menendez proclaimed the New World for Philip II.”

“The second Thanksgiving,” he continued, “was in 1598”, and he proceeded to explain the details.

“The Indians and Spaniards were on friendly terms.”

Filomena continued listening, knowing it kept him happy.

Rochelle Wisoff~Fields is in charge of our weekly Friday Fictioneers, a hundred~word attempt at story telling. Sandra Crook has supplied this week’s photo prompt.