Giraffes and People Eat at the Same Hotel!

I recently heard of a giraffe hotel or manor where guests can eat with the giraffes, while seated at a beautifully-set table. I’m not kidding!

A couple giraffes stop by and stick their long necks through two, open windows and join the guests who are seated at the same table. The giraffes eat from two place settings on one side of the table that they can reach through the open windows.

My husband knows that I like giraffes and sent me the link. I immediately thought, “I’d like to go there!” until I realized it was in another country, on another continent… in Africa, in fact.

Oh well, it was fun to see the pictures and realize that this establishment was created to maintain and preserve a particular type of giraffe from becoming extinct. In fact, a new baby giraffe was born just this month.

Apparently, the man who knows each giraffe by name and is known as a “giraffe whisperer,” much like Monty Roberts, “the horse whisperer,” is also the hotel chef.

All in all, it sounds like a wonderful idea and something fun and novel, at the same time. If I’m ever in the area, I would definitely love to go there and share a meal with the giraffes.

Written during my Practice Writing Group. The word chosen was camel and I chose to write about giraffes, for seven minutes.

See also the link to the article with pictures about these giraffes: http://www.grindtv.com/outdoor/nature/post/giraffes-join-guests-for-breakfast-and-dinner-at-iconic-giraffe-manor/

Goody Two-Shoes

"GoodyTwo-Shoes, do what you need to do so you won't get in trouble with your parents…get good grades, be nice, don't wear dirty clothes or clothes with spots or tears in them!" That's what I grew up with… seeking perfection. Oh, if only it were possible. I never quite made it. Something was always wrong when it came to the parents, with one of us kids. Now, I seem to be the black sheep in the family, for something I did over three decades ago.

I'm just beginning to think that perfection is overrated. Sure, it's important to have a car that runs well and doesn't break down on you every other day. It's great to have an oven that works and gas or water pipes that don't leak, but when it comes to people, well, we can do our best but it will always be a far cry from perfect when compared to someone who can cook, sew, teach, paint, drive, write, sing, invent, perform surgery, etc. better than you.

I'm beginning to think perfection is some sort of false image or false hope that really isn't worth aiming for.

If there are no two snowflakes alike and if there are no two people alike and if handmade items are unique… then who wants to be a perfect replica of anything or anyone else?

I'm tired of trying to be perfect! How about you?

Let's join the non-perfects and just be ourselves… unusual, different, unique… sometimes bland and boring, sometimes, extremely fun, invigorating, and always unusually different! Maybe you're already there!

I wonder what it's like living comfortably in a non-perfect world with non-perfect people and away from the constant barrage of negative comments of those who think they're perfect and you aren’t. I hope to find out.

Precious Linda, c. 2012-2013

Originally written during my Practice Writing Group with the random word of: perfection, for 10 minutes.

The Motorcycle Rider (Previously: Motorcycle)

Joe's red bandana kept some of his long, blond hair from blowing in his face, as the breeze went by. His unshaven face matched his wrinkled, tattered t-shirt worn inside out with the sleeves cut off. The muscles of his arms were well-developed and his bronze skin reflected hours spent in the sun. His bony knees showed through his worn and faded jeans with grease and dirt swiped on the areas of his thighs. His boots were well-used with evidence of cow pies stuck on the soles and sides.

Joe’s mind raced, as did his pulse. He was fuming inside, wishing there were some other way. He revved the engine of his motorcycle and headed for the setting sun. He would never go back home… ever.

Precious Linda, c. 2012

Note: This was written during my Practice Writing Group with a randomly chosen word of: motorcycle, for 10 minutes.

Mrs. Claus

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” and “Hee! Hee! Hee!”

Santa couldn't find his Viking’s jersey

The one for a boy named, Tommy LeRoy

Who thought it was better than a brand new toy.

He knew who to ask, when he was stumped;

His beautiful wife was such a trump!

Mrs. Claus was always jovial like he

And graced his presence with cookies and glee.

Yes, the two were certainly quite a pair

Living on cookies and delightful sweets to share.

They weren't too fond of venison, you know,

‘Cause Rudolph and the others would take that as a blow.

Mrs. Claus met Santa on his very first ride,

Trying out his new sleigh when it crashed into the side

Of a tree and a snow bank, causing Mrs. Claus to fall

Head over heels, looking like a snow ball.

Santa jumped quickly to save this young thing,

Thinking she was beautiful enough to sing:

“Oh, what a delight to my eyes you appear!

Will you marry me and become my Sweetheart, you dear?”

Mrs. Claus was shaken and quite a bit surprised.

Wiping snow from her face, she peered through her eyes.    

With surprise and delight and some mischief and fun,

She nodded to him and they became one.

A team of love to share with others, far and near,

On Christmas Day and every day, throughout the year.

If you travel up north, you will certainly find

Two of the most delightful people, of any kind.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Note: This was written at my Practice Writing Group, with a randomly chosen prompt of “Mrs. Claus” for 10 minutes.

The Rooster Crowed

The check bounced and we didn’t have no money for Bobby’s shoes. His toes were plumb stick’n out of the flapping soles. We tried using duct tape but that wore out, too. Bobby just couldn’t go barefoot no more with snow on the ground. His gramma made him wool socks… a pair to wear inside the shoes and a larger pair to wear outside the shoes to hold them on for just a little bit longer.

All I could do was run my hands through my hair, what little was left of it.  Ma said that’s why I was going bald early… thirty-three years old and hardly any hair and just a shopkeeper’s clerk job that don’t pay enough to feed a family of rats. Yeah, I know. I need to cover that hole in the side of the steps. Ma and Bobby are tired of chasing rats and mice in the house and we can’t even afford to keep a cat to do the exterminating job.

What time is it? 3 a.m.? Dang, I can’t sleep with all these things to worry about. The old Ford is rusting. We can’t even pay for gas anymore. Might as well sell it, Ma says.

We don’t have money for coal or gas. I’m sure glad my brother, George, helped cut wood last weekend. At least, we can stay warm by staying near the wood burning stove. Ah, I think I’ll just tip-toe back to bed on this darn-awful cold floor and see if I can get some shut-eye.

Hmmm… roll this way. Roll that way. Put on another blanket. Okay. Finally, maybe I can warm up and sleep.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” The rooster crowed.

Dang! What did we get that old rooster for anyway? Can’t he tell time?

Precious Linda, c. 2012

Note: This was written in my Practice Writing Group, with the randomly chosen phrase, “the rooster crowed” for 10 minutes.

  

Missing the Bus

My alarm didn’t go off. I later saw the cat had chewed through the electrical cord and, to my surprise, a fur-shaped outline was splattered against the wall and carpet. Oh well, I’m glad my cat has nine lives… one down and eight to go. I’ll tell ya about the other one, if you ask me sometime. If it weren’t for the cat jumping on my bed and licking my toes… yeah, they were hanging out of the covers…  I probably wouldn’t have awakened for another hour or so.

It had been such a long night, with my mother calling to say she’d slipped and fallen at the grocery store and broke her hip and was in the emergency room and could I please stop home to bring her a toothbrush and a comb for her hair… the one with ruby jewels on it from her grandkid. Oh, well! Then, there were all the forms to sign to admit her and say, if her insurance didn’t pay, then I would. Oh! It’s sure good I still have a job. Oh! I better get going!

I raced through the shower, almost without the water hitting my body, grabbed an apple and was out the door. Don’t worry; I put clothes on, first. My socks were mismatched, but it didn’t matter, since they wouldn’t show. I found one in the drawer of socks and one in the dirty clothes hamper. Oh well.

Oh! That looks like my bus! Did I miss it? I’ll drive to try to catch it at the next stop! Oh, this light is red for so long! Shall I run the red light? What’s this, the radio announcer said? “It’s a great weekend and it will be a high of 50 degrees today?”

What day is this? Saturday?

Oh, no! I could have slept!

Oh! I might as well go visit Mom. She won’t know what day it is either.

Precious Linda, c. 2012

  

Note: This was written in my Practice Writing Group, with a randomly chosen phrase, “missing the bus” for 10 minutes.