A to Z Blogging Challenge · collage

Finish My Limerick — A

There once was a woman named Annie
Whose sense of smell was uncanny
One day she was frantic –
What she smelled was GIGANTIC
(__here’s where you write your line____)


For those just stopping in, allow me to explain. For 2023, I’ve tried to post 23 words – exactly 23 words – every day. However, Saturdays have become blather-days when I write an unlimited amount of words. It’s like being on a diet and giving yourself one free day each week.

Also on Saturdays, I try to use the Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness prompt, which this week is “‘antic.’ Use it as a word or find a word that contains it.

AND, for April, I’m doing the A-to-Z Challenge. I plan to write the first four lines of a limerick every day and leave the last one for the readers to finish.

Lastly, I hope to post a collage that may or may not go with the limerick. You decide.

Whew! That feels like a lot to fit into one post! Blather, antic, limerick (today’s letter: A), and a collage.

I read a post yesterday from someone else participating in the A-to-Z Challenge. She had nearly finished all her posts for the month! So impressive. So not me. I’ve written seven limericks, but even the one for today I had to edit to fit in -antic words.

I’ve also done a few collages ahead of time. That Matisse quote from the other day is one I need to frame. I ordered this collage magazine called Kolaj and leafed through it. My collages in no way look like the collages in the magazine.

I feel like many of the collage artists are trying to make a statement. Their art is edgy. I often refer to mine as kitschy, but maybe whimsical is a better word.

Is kitsch art? I suppose. It’s just not considered good art — which in my head I translate into “real” art.

Other poets considered poetry by Robert W. Service (author of The Cremation of Sam McGee and a gazillion other entertaining story-poems) to be doggerel. (Doggerel definition from Merriam Webster: loosely styled and irregular in measure especially for burlesque or comic effect. also marked by triviality or inferiority). Doggerel is the poetry equivalent of kitsch.

I happen to love story poems AND Robert W. Service poems. I’ve written poetry like that.

So my poetry is doggerel and my art is kitsch.

Meh. If I like it, does it really matter?

Now help me out — go finish my limerick for me!

Blather · Life

The Last Thing I Emptied

That’s the prompt — the last thing I emptied.

Well, it wasn’t the plastic container under the kitchen sink, although I’ve been emptying it fairly often.

The kitchen sink has been dripping. I watched a Youtube video on how to fix it and bought the parts I needed. I was almost successful, but needed a little help.

But then it got worse.

A lot worse.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Now I turn the water off completely to the sink when I don’t need to use it. When I do need it, I turn it on and hear the dripping.

When I turn it off again, I empty the container.


My two youngest daughters were home on spring break this week. I hardly saw them, though. Full-time job, you know, plus I had something every day after work:

  • Monday: appointment
  • Tuesday: church meeting
  • Wednesday: Gave a talk to one of the local historical societies
  • Thursday: Sign language class at the library
  • Friday: Different sign language class via Zoom

I still fit in several walks with one daughter.

I made some favorite dinners: baked ziti, broccoli cavatelli, and a chili-like dish called Turkey Taco Quinoa Skillet.

When I was making that last one, I found that I had run out of quinoa. I told the girls that I was doing a slight variation on that dish.

“What are you doing?” one asked.

“Skipping the quinoa,” I replied. I threw in handful of barley and hoped for the best. It was fine.

This morning, I said good-bye to one daughter who was driving herself back to school. Then I drove the other daughter to stay with her oldest sister before she flies back to college tomorrow. It was another long day for me.

The last thing I’ve emptied is me. My energy is gone.

I tip my hat to all you working women who for years and years have been working 40 hours a week outside the home. I’ve been a mostly stay-at-home mom. I know, I know — that’s work, too.

There’s something to be said, though, about getting up and dressed in the morning, and leaving the house every day.

There’s something to be said for working 8-9 hours away from home.

There’s something to be said for coming home to a dripping faucet.

On Friday when I got home, my daughters said, “The microwave is broken.” Sure enough, it wasn’t working.

I looked to see if the GFI had tripped on the outlet for the microwave. No GFI on that outlet.

I went to the basement to look at the breaker box. Everything looked okay. I flipped some switches back and forth, hoping that would do the trick. It didn’t.

I called the electrician.

Mind you, the last time I had called him it was because of a flickering light. I live in an old farm house and was sure something had nibbled the wires. He changed the lightbulb and solved the problem. He explained to me the likely cause for the flickering. I was embarrassed.

You can understand why I was reluctant to call, but I did. Our wi-fi was also on the same circuit as the microwave.

“Hi, this is Sally,” I said to his voicemail. After leaving him my phone number and address, I continued, “I don’t need you to change a light bulb today, but I’ve lost electricity to some things in my house –”

He picked up and cut me off. “I’m going to tell you what to do and I want you to follow these instructions. If it doesn’t work, you can call me back and I’ll come tomorrow.” He gave me some specific instructions and told me to call him back either way.

Suffice it to say, it worked. The microwave worked. The wifi worked. Everything worked.

I called the electrician back.

“Good job,” he said. “I’ll be sending your Junior Electrician certificate in the mail.”

“You really need to send me a bill,” I said. He wouldn’t let me pay him when he changed the lightbulb either.

He laughed. “No, I’m glad you got it. Call me, though, if you have more problems.”

I guess I’m really not empty. I’m full — with family and kind people in my life.

Do you think the plumber will be this nice if I call him?