Question of the Day 5-31-2018

Please feel free to answer these questions on your blog or in the responses. If you leave me a link to your post, I will re-post it on my blog. You can also feel free to forward these questions to anybody who might be interested. Thank you to those who have already shared their thoughts.


What is your favorite part of your daily routine?

It is hard to decide the best part of my daily routine. Part of me wants to say waking up in the morning with a whole day ahead. Another part wants to say climbing into bed at night. I think, however, the best part of my routine is on those mornings when I don’t have to get up to the alarm clock. When I can snuggle down under the covers with my puppy or cat, drowsing between waking and sleeping.  Those forbidden moments before I have to get up and face the day, make decisions about real things in real time.

If only I had those moments more often!

Word of the Week 5-31-2018



necrological  – <!–

necrologist – <!–
\nə-ˈkrä-lə-jist, ne-\


A list of people who have died, especially in the recent past or during a specific period.

An obituary.


The first half begins with a necrology and calendar for the nuns, prioresses, and confessors of Maria Magdalena, as well as the General Masters of the Order based upon the Humbert prototype. –Sensual Encounters: Monastic Women and Spirituality in Medieval Germany 

Oh, and if I can include one other figure in this necrology, it was reported from London that the world’s oldest man, Henry Allingham, the last surviving World War I veteran, died at the very ripe age of 113. –Every Death Diminishes Me

This prompted Ted, who’s made necrology a specialty, to note that two prominent same-day deaths are rare. –David Finkle: The Breakfast Club Takes on Jackson, Fawcett, Sanford, Mrs. Madoff



New Latin necrologium, from necr- + -logium (as in Medieval Latin eulogium eulogy)

NEW! Time Traveler

First Known Use: 1799

Sunday Photo Fiction 5-30-2018

Sunday Photo Fiction

Dog &amp; Grave Headstone


Photo Credit:Susan Spaulding

 The Watcher

“Buddy is still watching over Grampa, isn’t he?”

Pa nodded, cupping the back of the boy’s head with his hand. “He sure is,” he said quietly, staring down at his Pa’s grave. Didn’t seem like no time since he was standing by Gramp’s grave with his Pa, his Pa’s hand cupping his head.

Funny how time worked like that. Used to be summers lasted forever. Now his boy was out of school and back in almost fore he turned around.

The boy knelt, petting Buddy as if he was real.

Buddy would of been there if the dog hadn’t died the hour after his Pa. Died of a broken heart, that dog. He hadn’t never seen nothing like it. Both of them buried right there, together until the end.

“Come on, boy,” he said, turning away, “time to go on home.”

The boy hesitated, petting Buddy once more, whispering something in the dog’s ear before following.

“Pa,” he asked as he took his Pa’s hand, “is Momma gonna watch over Gramps til you get there?”

For a moment, Pa was silent, eyes fixed on the grass, then he lifted his head, smiled at the boy. “She sure is, boy. Gonna have them a party when I get there.”