Great-great Uncle Adolph Russell Thompson’s World War I draft registration card
All fingers on right hand off at or near wrist. That’s what it says. I don’t know what it means, but that’s what it says.
So, I’ve been making up scenarios in my head for how he lost his fingers (or, rather, HAND). NaNoWriMo is just around the corner, y’all, and I need plot ideas. May as well mine weird family history for them, right?
A coworker gave me some plants a few years back. She swore one of them was coleus, which should only grow a few inches tall. It was not coleus. It was giant, mutant, evil basil. I do not like basil. I can’t stand the smell or the taste. Even pulling the babies in the spring grosses me out. This stuff is, I kid you not, 4-5 feet tall. And now it’s flowering, which I KNOW, I KNOW means it will just spread more. But in order to pull it, I have to smell it, which I’m not willing to do. Someday it will take over so thoroughly that I will be forced to move.
The bees like it, though.
She was so fat and juicy and revolting that I had to get out the big camera, so I could get a decent photo of her.
red paper boat 