This writer can find no words in the universe to explain her excitement about this:
She dreamed of one day returning to Capri. She wanted to be in a boat all day and swim in the clear blue water. And so she did. However, it wasn’t the millionaire version–in a yacht parked off shore while she sunbathed and swam for as long as she dared to dream. She came on a day-long tour, with the boat stopping twice for a few moments of swim time. It was more the Wal-Mart version of her dream.
But as she floated in the clear blue water under the hot June sun, it was still a dream come true.
She’s been out of the limelight for awhile. Work, trips, too much TV…so many things to keep her away. But when she saw them out on that stage, under the bright lights, making music and sowing creativity, she knew she had to return.
She’s glad to be back on stage.
I made a mark in the sand. The coarse wet grains pressed up against my skin and oozed through my toes. I carefully lifted up, heel first then one toe at a time. The shape was one of many, yet so very different. A deeper heel than the one to its right and a thicker arch than the one just ahead. From far away, it’d be lost among so many footprints. But I’d made my mark on this earth.
In the very next moment, the wave washed it away.
“Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis. “~Jack Handey, “Deep Thoughts,” Saturday Night Live
Laughter is the best! So this is one Top Ten Tuesday (brought to you by The Broke and the Bookish) that I couldn’t pass up. I especially love books that make me laugh. I love when I’m laughing out in public and people stare at me. I love when I’m laughing in the peace and quiet of my own home. And I love when I have to put down the book for a moment because the tears are getting in the way of my eyes being able to read the words on the page.
If you love to laugh, check out some of these hilarious books…
TOP TEN FUNNIEST BOOKS IN THE WHOLE WORLD (or at least ten books that should make you laugh a little and also there may be more than 10. Just an FYI)
(Hover over the picture for my scintillating commentary about each book. Or just go directly to the bookstore and buy it. Wait, did I date myself by saying ‘bookstore’? Er, I meant, use the app on your iPhone 90 and one-click buy it!)
Like a missile or a crashing plane, the pigeon dive-bombed my patio. I carefully crept to the sliding glass door and saw the gray bird stone still. I banged on the glass. Nothing. I sprayed it with water. Nothing. Was it dead? Did pigeons die with their eyes open? How does one get rid of a stone-still, possibly-living pigeon trapped on one’s patio? A calico cat tried to pounce, but I shooed it away. Not out of love but out of fear of blood and guts. Moments later, a blink. I couldn’t help but be disappointed that the pigeon was still alive. It complicated things. My friend came to the rescue (mine and the pigeon’s) and gathered the pigeon into a box. She set it atop a high bush outside.
With a hole pecked into its back, all signs pointed to a slow and painful death for the pigeon. And I was late to dinner.
The whole thing was for the birds.
I do not hear American singing, only lonely cries I hear,
Those of the retiree, forced to work as a cashier at Home Depot, not as it should be,
exhausted and demeaned,
The small business owner crying as he closes his front office door forever,
The middle-aged father crying as he makes ready his resume, one of thousands of unemployed,
The young family crying about a home that now belongs to the bank, the mother crying as she works two jobs, works two jobs,
The single girl crying as she sits alone on Friday night, that girl crying because the Social Network has taken the socializing out of life,
The professor’s cries, the teacher’s as their students arrive dressed in apathy, spend the hour complaining about hard work, and leave their learning on their desks like unwanted trash.
The terrible crying of the corporations, or of the manufacturers, sending jobs overseas where ludicrous governmental restrictions don’t hinder the American dream,
No one singing what belongs to him or her and to no one else,
The days belonging to a selfish and lazy culture–at night, the solitude of older fellows, beaten and exhausted,
Crying with reddened eyes their sad melancholic cries.
(*inspired by Walt Whitman’s I Hear America Singing. Read that poem here.)