Monday, January 4, 2016

Awards


I'm very proud to announce that I've been presented with a distinguished blogging award. 

TOP BLOG BY A MATURE BLOGGER

Janice Blawat for "Cosumne Girl"

Having only recently crossed the line into maturity,
Ms James-Blawat continues to display a youthful enthusiasm
for life in her well-expressed and well-illustrated blog.
The Awards Committee referred to her as a feisty blogger with
strong opinions on a range of subjects but also a patient
country woman who shows great expertise as a 
poultry enthusiast and cat lover.
............................


I suspect there was a bit of rule bending to make this award so. Mr. Pudding, who is in charge of the award process, is a retired teacher and published author who has very high standards that include skills in writing and photography. He is one of those rare bloggers who contributes a new post almost daily, and I think he appreciates that in other blogs. I haven't been a very reliable blogger this past year.

Many of the blogs I used to follow are dead now. Their keepers appear to have moved on to Facebook, where profound thought is not required. Indeed, profound thought is usually punished there. But it's a good way to keep track of what your younger relatives are doing.

I can't promise to be a better blogger this year. My life is pretty dull between poultry shows. I don't mind that, dull means there are no problems I can't handle. I have plenty of chores, but they would be boring to write about every day.

I can't promise to be a blogger who is in more control of this media, either. I've had a terrible time today trying to get type to center and other basic things most 10 years old know how to do. For example, what's the arrow up in the headline? I didn't put it there.

I also have other awards that I want to share with you, so I added them over on the side. They are from the Dominique Club of America and they reflect all the hours I've spent with my birds over the past few years. 



Posted by at 2 comments:

Friday, January 1, 2016

Things Are Not What They Seem

I spent last evening at the Laughing Horse Tavern in Orlando, Florida, hoping to celebrate New Year's eve with my blogging friends and hear the winners announced for the coveted Laughing Horse Awards for 2015.

Like everything else in Florida, nothing followed the plan. We were supposed to have the tavern to ourselves. Like other events involving writers and other literary-minded folks, I figured we'd have taken all our clever selfies by 10 p.m. so we could each waddle back to our own room and snore off to sleep into the new year.

But a motorcycle gang fouled those plans. We could hear them as they pulled in, the noisy racket of their cycles announcing their intentions. It was intimidating, but at least they were white guys with guns and knives, not foreign terrorists. The tavern owner tried to get them off to a separate corner, to leave us to our ceremonies. I saw her lean into the leader and whisper into his ear, "...just wait over there, this bunch will all be passed out in an hour and you can have the whole place to yourselves, and I'll have a pretty penny from selling them watered-down drinks."

But the "Angels" were having none of that, it would have been an affront to their masculinity to take back seat to a bunch of writers.

It wasn't long before the ladies in the group were leaving, each with her preferred biker. I could see Yorkie taking notes, the gossip monger, knowing he'd be spilling the beans in his blog. So I slid my hand through the arm of a big guy whose leather vest bore the outline of a golden cock* and said "Let's blow this candy store, dude."

Outside we passed several rough-looking cycles and made our way to a flashy red machine at the far side of the parking lot, where it wouldn't get scratched.**


"What kind of fake Hell's Angel are you?" I asked.

That's when I found out that Rooster's real name is Darryl. He is a retired lawyer who lives in Tampa with his wife and 3 poodles. If I'd seen the hand-crocheted drink holder by the passenger seat, I might have been forewarned.

Rooster said, "I'm diabetic, my night vision isn't very good, usually I just follow behind Gnasher on the way home." I said, "No problem, Dude, I can drive this thing."

He tapped the GPS on the dashboard. "Just follow the directions to Tampa, I feel drowsy, I'm gonna snooze on the way home."

There I was. Almost 70 years old, left in charge of a very cool machine, and the guy wanted me to take it to a town that was named after women's sanitary products? No way.

Instead of taking Hwy. 4 west to Tampa, I headed the big bike south down 441. So here I sit this morning, blogging from Yeehaw Junction. Rooster is still asleep (or maybe it's a diabetic coma). I dragged him into the booth here at Rosie's Café, where I'm enjoying a great breakfast of bacon. Only bacon, no eggs. Pretty soon I'll need to get back to Orlando, though, I'm still eager to hear who won the Yorkshire Pudding awards.

*You forgot that I show poultry and use the proper professional terminology, didn't you?
**Photo taken in the parking lot at Rosie's, I thought it was funny when the Honda truck pulled in there and the driver got out to eat breakfast, too.
***Go to Yorkshire Pudding's blog (listed to the right) if you're wondering what's up.

Posted by at 4 comments:
Subscribe to: Comments (Atom)