100 Words - A Beautiful Life

Lookie lookie! Who's on time?

This is what happens when I catch up on much needed rest and alone time. I get things done. In fact the world is a much better place all around when I get much needed rest and alone time. I had to literally lock myself in a room this weekend after notifying all family members I was not to be disturbed. Then I put on some headphones and listened to music, caught up on some work stuff, and did some mindless goofing off.

It was good.

So good that I started fantasizing about the sign I plan to put up on the door for the next time I need to be left alone. Things like:

"Do NOT Disturb unless your hair is on fire. In case of hair-on-fire, see bucket-o-water below."


"Do not disturb. No, I don't know where your keys, your shoes, your glasses, or anything else is. Try where you left them. If you're wondering what's for dinner, whatever you're making. If you have a question, try Google. Or Wikipedia. They know far more than I do. If you need a ride, there are quarters in the change jar, take a bus."


"I have a squirt gun, and I'm not afraid to use it."

None of these have been made yet. But I'm collecting ideas for when I need them next.

For this week's pick I chose Purple Moose's "Morningstar's Crossing". Death is usually not a cheerful subject, but the verve and exuberance of the two cousins in this piece struck my mood just right.

“Mom hated obits saying, ‘So and so died peacefully in her sleep.’ ”

“Aunt Jane was a hoot! I loved when she changed her name insisting we call her Morningstar.”

The cousins laughed, huddling together in the unheated Customs shack. The crematorium prepared them for the border crossing. Taking Morningstar’s ashes from Alaska to Washington was as simple as showing proper credentials.


Morningstar fought death valiantly. Now guards were saying one piece of paper was missing. They couldn’t cross.

Instead, the cousins shook Morningstar into the wind laughing as she settled across two countries.

She would have liked that.

Now, let's see what Selected Prose of T.S. Eliot yields:


"Incidentally, it gives people a false sense of security in leading them to believe that books which are not suppressed are harmless. Whether there is such a thing as harmless book I am not sure: but there very likely are books so utterly unreadable as to be incapable of injuring anybody."