OK Boomer: How to Stop Being So Uncool

You may not be aware of this, but you are out of touch.

If you are between the ages of 57-75 (born 1946-1964), you are known as a Boomer. Maybe you think this is cute; a sweet shortening of the phrase ‘Baby Boomer.’ Well, I’m also here to tell you that being a Boomer is not cute. It’s not a good thing. It is, actually, uncool.

Photo by Cup of Couple on Pexels.com

You are the butt of jokes about being not-hip. Can you believe that? What is the world coming to these days? This generation has no respect.

You’re right, but we’re going to move past those age-old clichés and instead give you a short tutorial on how to not be such a drag. Here it is:

How To Not Be a Boomer

  1. Stop complaining; and, especially, stop blaming.
    Did it rain? Don’t tell me the weatherman said it wouldn’t. How about your grocery store’s not having grapefruit in? I sure as heck don’t think it was anyone’s fault but the weatherman’s.
  2. Figure out that phone/app/filter/program.
    Computers have been around for several decades now. Cell phones have for a couple. Apps for at least one. You’re running out of excuses for not texting or following your grandchildren on Instagram at this point. If you’re sick of staring at that tiny screen, many have zoom-in options or text-to-speech.
    A last note, though: don’t sign your name after comments.
    Oh, and don’t agree to any fishy offers from unknown numbers.
  3. Abandon security and embrace convenience.
    A sure sign that you’re old is pulling out a credit card to pay for things. Wanna fit in? Swipe your phone. Ditch your paper statements you get in the mail. It’s a digital world, baby.
  4. Stop reading.
    No one reads anymore. If they do, they would’ve stopped reading these tips long before now.
  5. Do not talk Gen-Z like a foreign exchange student.
    I saw some painted rocks on a recent walk. One said, “Have a great day,” while another read, “Slay.” Other current slang for awesomeness includes: bussin’, drip, fire, and vibe (check). It’s a Newspeak world out there; where rizz means one has charisma and sus is something suspicious.
  6. Dress down. Nope; further.
    I took my teen shopping when he entered high school and all he wanted for pants were joggers. Look around: comfort is where it’s at. Threads are now fit. Want to accessorize? Add a fox tail.
  7. Get an earbud.
    No, not two. Just one. Wear it liberally.
  8. Stop talking.
    Haven’t you noticed? Everyone’s on seashells earbuds. If you wanna connect, see #2.
  9. Understand inflation (also, don’t compare it to your day).
    Did you notice a candy bar isn’t a dime anymore? A house isn’t less than $300K? These poor teens and young ‘adults’ do. They’re going to be lucky to get a house at eighty years old and don’t like your pointing out how cheaply you bought yours for (and what you got for selling it).
  10. Complain and blame.
    Yep, this is just like #1 -except you need to complain and blame about the ‘right’ things: Boomers. Life’s about avoiding adulthood and knowing it’s all the fault of those Boomers (and greedy capitalists). Sorry.
Photo by SHVETS production on Pexels.com

Hey, pops. Don’t flip your lid. Just chill and be groovy with it. Now you know the lingo, things’ll slide right along. Dig, man?


Here’s what I wrote since last noting what I wrote:
Wednesday, May 24: “The Edge of Obsolete.”

Friday, May 26: Friday Photo. Watch out for local wildlife in Florida.

Saturday, May 27: Announced the winners of the Terrible Poetry Contest: Deb and seahorse!

Sunday, May 28: Newspaper clipping and quote by Jenkins Lloyd Jones.

Tuesday, May 29: Continued writing about my journey from atheism to theism.

Wednesday, May 30: This post.

©2023 Chel Owens

The Edge of Obsolete

Most of my life, I’ve been told, “Oh; you’re so young!”

This hasn’t been said in a good way, ironically. The tone and implication has been, “Oh; you couldn’t know what you’re talking about because of your physical age.” This is invariably accompanied by my being treated differently.

I, too, sit in an excessive amount of makeup and look sexy. (Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com)

As irritating as those comments have been, I’m facing a new challenge in recent years.

At stores, the clerk is saying, “Ma’am.” To my children’s peers, I’m “So-and-so’s MOM.” When one employee refers to another, I hear, “That lady…”

Part of this is my interaction’s being in a younger crowd these days. I still hear plenty of the, “but you’re so young” from the generation just above mine. Yet, this shift in titles has outlined an important, inevitable life milestone: ageing.

Sure, I knew I would get older. I’ve been waiting for it my entire life! What I didn’t know was that I would literally lose the interest and attention of others when it happened.

I’ve tried very hard to be accepted for my intellect, talents, opinions, and friendship. But as more eyes slip over my face without glance and fewer strangers smile, I’m realizing that was all a load of fermented Botox. I think of my experiences as The Edge of Obsolete, when youth is slipping away and so is my accompanying social power.

I’m getting there. Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’m miffed, frankly.

On an attractiveness scale, I consistently pull an average number. Maybe if I dolled myself up, I’d hit higher scores -but, since I do not value beauty (supposedly), I’ve tried to live in a modest way and treat everyone by my mythical standards. I speak kindly to most and encourage thinking. I preach against starving yourself and caking on makeup. My nose wrinkles at a picture filter so heavy you’re not sure if the original subject was human.

Yet, I’d have to be blind to not notice the disinterest. I’d be ignorant to cling to my ideals, like that last bit of muscle tone clinging to my backside…

We’re giving too much power to beauty. And to those young’uns. -You know, the ones tramping all over my lawn. Kids these days.

A candid photo if I ever saw one…. Photo by Nothing Ahead on Pexels.com

I’m sure we’ll return to this subject another day. In the meantime: How about you? Have you experienced The Edge of Obsolete? What are your thoughts on it?


Here’s what I wrote since last noting what I wrote:
Wednesday, May 10: “Movies and Cultural Literacy

Friday, May 12: Friday Photo. Peace out, man.

Saturday, May 13: “Mommy, dear.” Ah, motherhood.

Sunday, May 14: A quote by Joseph Campbell that’s often attributed to Carl Jung.

Friday, May 19: Friday Photo of what happens when trampolines fly.

Sunday, May 21: Hilarious quote by Joe E. Lewis.

Monday, May 22: A continuation, somewhat on my series on atheism.

Tuesday, May 23: Shared DA Whittam’s poem.

Wednesday, May 24: This post.

If you haven’t, enter the Terrible Poetry Contest for this month!!! The deadline is this week.

©2023 Chel Owens

Movies and Cultural Literacy

Which films would you say are necessary to watch?

I propose to you an interesting dilemma: a friend who has closely guarded her offsprings’ viewing materials feels she’s done them a disservice now that they’re nearing adulthood. That is, the other teens talk a talk (and meme a meme) that she isn’t sure her teens can follow.

Cue: Family Movie Night.

Also cue: asking her friends which movies we thought were necessary.

We’re trying not to go crazy, but have started a list of ideas… and may have texted the instant a new one came to mind.

It’s a rare opportunity, really. I feel like I’ve been handed Tarzan from the jungle. It’s a Mormon Rumspringa* of viewing; nostalgia of youth; study of art; excuse to eat popcorn.

So, the question of today is an easy one: which movies do you think are a must to view in one’s life? Which do you love/hate/want your money back from? What would you add to the list?


Here’s what I wrote for the past week:
Wednesday, May 3: Asked why you blog.

Thursday, May 4: Announced the Terrible Poetry Contest! We’re limerick-ing about Vermont cheddar cheese!

Friday, May 5: Friday Photo. Poor piano.

Saturday, May 6: A poem. Sort-of.

Sunday, May 7: Shared Stuart Perkin’s quote from his interview.

Monday, May 8: Atheist to Theist. I’ll probably re-work this one.

Tuesday, May 9: Responded to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Wednesday, May 10: This post.

©2023 Chel Owens

*I’d like to note that Rumspringa isn’t a wild glut of abandonment as is popularly-depicted, but worked as an analogy even at its tamest definition for use in this blog post.

Why Do You Blog? …Again

I’m certain I’ve asked this before, but it bears repeating: why do you blog?

Specifically, why oh why did you open a WordPress account and start spilling your guts? Are you:

  1. An aspiring writer, out to publish the next bestseller?
  2. A poet sharing his/her/its wares to the wandering world?
  3. An influencer grasping for attention and money?
  4. A robot? (If so, please select all the traffic lights, bicycles, and busses you see pictured.)

Of course, maybe you’re just Option 5: Bored. Or, Option 6: Lonely.

I’ve been reflecting on my reason for blogging of late. Life’s overfull for me. I’ve got to simplify, simplify, simplify. And sleep. So, I’ve looked over where I spend my time and if that time’s worth spending. Up till now, blogging’s made the cut since it’s waaaaay behind Dishes and Laundry in importance.

The main problem with it is that blogging has become my Unfinished Business.

Unlike the Dishes and Laundry, I blogged because I had an end in mind: publishing. Naïve Chelsea Owens, bolstered by published authors and by friends’ encouraging compliments, thought to publish a book.

I was writing on motherhood and I was going to have it all done within a year.

Then, I actually tried writing.

Then, I actually read about the steps to writing books.

Then, I worked on my book and burned out on the massive word count.

Then then then then then …people don’t read. Women don’t want to make babies. Everyone knows motherhood sucks and I missed lampooning that boat by a decade or so.

Not to mention my crippling procrastination, perfectionism, and anxiety. *sigh*

But; slowly, slowly I kept improving as I kept blogging. I met and meet wonderful people. I read fascinating posts. I engage in pun battles the likes of which I never had before… So, it’s been more than worth my time and well-being. As always, thank you.

Still; The Blog may be one to go if I don’t actually deliver on my goal to publish. How about you? Again, why do you blog? What got you started? Will you keep going?

Photo by Liza Summer on Pexels.com


It’s been a whole two days of posts so far! Here’s what I wrote:
Monday, May 1: Our usual Mormon Monday took a turn toward atheism.

Tuesday, May 2: Responded to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Wednesday, May 3: This post.

©2023 Chel Owens

Humor. No -Seriously, Folks.

I love humor. It’s my favorite genre.

Photo by Vlada Karpovich on Pexels.com (I could find stock photos of people laughing, but chose this one…)

Contrary to what some might think, I’m not drawn to this topic because I’m a happy person. I come from a foundation of depression. I need levity, literally.

And, contrary to my counselor’s concerns, I do NOT laugh inappropriately. I’m very secure in my odd sense of humor -one not defined as ‘odd’ by other wry sorts (you know who you are).

On that note, I grew excited when my friend, John, wrote several pieces about humor for The Story Empire Blog. His latest, on funny books, really made me think:

  1. These posts on humor are not that funny (he admits AI wrote it).
  2. What is funny, really, and how could I write in a way that’s funnier?
  3. Lists of three things look more official.

So… first. Not only is the post (sorry, John) not that funny; this post that you’re reading scores very low on the laugh index. It needs a little something -or, a lot something. My favorite writers are those able to write informatively but also in an engaging (preferably entertaining) way.

Take a serious article I read recently, about misguided online advertisers. The author outlines trends, cites evidence, includes examples, and sprinkles us with random phrases to maintain interest. My favorite quote:

However, the truth is that while the emperor that is native advertising might not be naked, he’s almost certainly only wearing a thong.

What You Think You Know About the Web Is Wrong,” Tony Haile, Time Magazine

This leads us, less funnily, to my second point: what is the definition of humor. What is funny?

Kevin, my husband, has told me that humor is the unexpected. We laugh when reading a common phrase that ends with an uncommon word. We quote the clever parody. We share comics portraying everyday situations in a different light.


Common with uncommon:

“We finish each other’s sandwiches.”


The song is a parody; the video parodies the original music video as well, besides parodying other elements.

Absurd Comics:

©Gary Larson. I still see these shared, today.

After actually reading (boring) stuff online, I’ve learned we can split humor into at least nine types: slapstick, self-deprecating, improvisational, surreal, wordplay (wit), topical, observational, bodily, and dark. While I am familiar with many of these, I see the core element to be that unexpected surprise.

I mean, when’s the last time you laughed because the thermoregulatory hypothesis shows that an increase in the size of winglets aids in body temperature elevation by absorbing solar radiation to increase body temperature more quickly. Warming occurs in pockets of air beneath winglets, increasing temperatures of leg muscles, enabling winged insects to forage longer and further, and increasing response rates to aid in escape from predators. It is likely that these advantages also led to increased dispersal of the species. Basking in the sun is a common means of thermoregulation for winged insects. Butterflies and moths, which are broad winged insects, are believed to have arisen during the Triassic period from the Stonefly (Douglas, 1989).*

Am I right? What do you think about humor?


Look! It’s last week’s stuff:
Friday, March 24: Friday Photo. Aren’t I cute?

Sunday, March 26: Shared a quote by Morgan Richard Olivier.

Monday, March 27: Mormon Monday: Listen to General Conference, tomorrow and Sunday!

Tuesday, March 28th-ish: Responded to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt. I couldn’t not, since reading The Giver and Gathering Blue

Wednesday, March 29th-ish: This post.


©2023 Chel Owens

*Okay; I lifted that from “The Life Cycle of Moths and Butterflies,” by Mary Walter. Bet you didn’t expect that.

Your Favorite: Updates!

I’m getting old.

No, really. Where, in the past, I folded the laundry at midnight then wrote the last week’s worth of blog posts at 5 a.m., I no longer can. I’ve gotten cranky without sleep. Most accurately, probably, is that I’ve gotten less sleep so I’m cranky.

Most most accurately, I’ve undertaken a lot more life. We’ve started a remodeling project on the house (finally). Hole-in-the-bucket-style, we now need to build a kitchenette and laundry room downstairs. We need candle-making stuff for the business shifted to make room for those…. etc.

And, of course, we need to run said business, keep our children alive and dressed, and ….you know, life.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

So, I’m sorry for flaking a lot during this month I’m meant to be ‘on.’ I’ll write when I can and read when I can’t.

I promise.


How’s your life? Anything exciting?


Look! It’s last week’s stuff:
Friday, March 10: Friday Photo! Just gross.

Saturday, March 11: Shared Mary Oliver‘s poem.

Sunday, March 12: Quoted Audrey Hepburn. Funny lady.

Monday, March 13ish: Mormon Monday: Financial responsibility, the first area of self-reliance I’ve ever discussed.

Tuesday, March 14th: Responded to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt with a poem.

Wednesday, March 15th: This post.

©2023 Chel Owens

Midjourney, Chat GPT, OpenAI, Murf, and Other Ways We’re Being Replaced By Artificial Intelligence

I remember reading futuristic books as a child.

©My Son, I guess.
(Created using Midjourney)

I read everything from doomsday predictions of war and wastelands to happy utopias and unity. Films were the same, of course. The Matrix is a personal favorite of mine, if not my favorite. In that film/anime/video game series, humanity lives in a computer-generated world but is unaware of this. Over time, the protagonists learn of a history where A.I. eventually took over and harvested people for their power source.

Oh, dear.

©My Younger Son, I guess.
(Created using Midjourney)

All that was a thing of the past, though. We humans (at least, the smarter coalition) have gone on to utilize ‘robots’ for many useful purposes: manufacturing, testing, and microwaving our TV dinners. Actually, depending where you draw the line, one could claim that robots are present in everything.

Artificial Intelligence is a little more specific than that, although also quite close to daily life. Think of search engines, your phone’s autocorrect adjusting to your lexicon, or …A.I. programs like Midjourney or Chat GPT.

©Kevin Owens, I guess
(This is to show there’s some error, in the process of refining the A.I.)

All of the art in this post has been created by Midjourney, a Discord-run artificial intelligence program in which the computer creates images. CREATES images! Simply put in a specific set of instructions and away it goes!

©Son #1 again, I guess

It’s not difficult. I mean, not for basic things. I’ve been watching Kevin and the boys play with it for months now. For more complicated works, Kevin pulls out his Photoshop wizardry -since the bot has trouble creating the correct number of fingers or a face that doesn’t resemble nightmares. As you see in the example above, however, it can handle things fairly well with the simple prompt ‘shrek eating a taco.’

All well and good. No one’s going to be bothered by Shrek and tacos, yes? There’s no war or wasteland from that.

Not necessarily, no.

But what about artists? Art copyrights? Meeka of acflory clued many in by posting about a competition in which the winner used A.I. “Is ‘art’ still art if an AI makes it?” she asks.

When I first read this article, my initial reaction was horror. How could a piece of software, no matter how sophisticated, produce something this…beautiful? But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that it was the parameters set by [the winning artist] Jason Allen that had created an image of great beauty, so in that sense, Midjourney was simply another tool.
I admit an AI is a bit more high tech than a paintbrush, but the creativity still came from Allen.
What do you think? The beginning of the end for artists? Or just one more tool?


Art or tool? Who draws the line?

From Google’s search page.

Thoughts like this buzz in my head as I’ve watched Kevin and our boys play around with other A.I. tools, like Chat GPT. It’s a content-generator, and it’s not bad. In fact, I’ve wanted to write about A.I. replacing us for a while. I wanted to tell Chat GPT to ‘write me a blog post’ just to throw it all in our faces.

That extra step has delayed my writing about it since November, though. -Not that it’s difficult; I just couldn’t find justification for the extra time spent.

But, yes; we, too, are being taken over by robots. We being writers.

From Google’s search page.

I watched Kevin use it to write a children’s story. Our underage boys have started DND campaigns. A friend told it to write a treasure hunt for her children. Yes, we’ve had to edit the results. Having worked a bit in the cesspool of content-writing, though, I can say that this program is several English-Fluency-Test-Results higher than most of the writers one finds out there. As much as I disliked the dark recesses of what really creates content out there, I also know that many poor people in developing countries do it as their livelihood.

I’d love to end this post on a happy note. My inner child isn’t feeling it. She wanted to grow up to be an artist; later, a writer. Maybe she’d be a writer but also an artist? It’s just not worth it anymore…

©Kevin, I guess
(Too many fingers, but look at this art!)

What do you think about all this? Do you think using machines to create makes you the creator?


Want the week’s run-down? Here it is:
Friday, January 20: Friday Photo of some Sad Animals.

Saturday, January 21: “For You, John,” about my penchant to back-date. All in the name of Procrastination, yes?

Sunday, January 22: A quote from a good friend of mine.

Monday, January 23: Mormon Monday: Singing!

Tuesday, January 24: “A Couple Ten Miles and Other Phrases What Gang Aft Agley” in response to Doug’s prompt -although I missed the linkup.

Wednesday, January 25: This post. Yes, it’s on Wednesday.

Don’t forget to enter the Terrible Poetry Contest. No, I haven’t read the entries yet. I’m working on it!

©2023 Chel Owens

Yay! It’s Resolution Time!

What’s a new year without us all jumping on The Trend Bandwagon? If we do that and make resolutions, we’re in good shape already!

Or, not. New Year’s Resolutions seem increasingly unpopular. Perhaps we need a new approach…

Last new year (January of 2022), my blogging friend wrote that she was stating a WORD for the year. She had one for the previous year, and one for the upcoming year. Following suit, I chose complete for 2021 and control for 2022.

I wasn’t aiming to take over a bank. I didn’t wish to subvert my children’s free will. This control had to do with self-management and speaking up for my needs. I revisited my word in September; I’d completed some unstated goals. Reflecting again, at this point, I see I’ve become better at advocating for me.

Photo by Image Hunter on Pexels.com

But, what about 2023?

I need a word synonymous with resolution that doesn’t bring new year and failed diet to mind. -Because, I want this year to be one of finishing what has long been in process. I want the house project complete, our family size decided, a book made, balance restored, and to determine the ultimate fate of things like this blog. I want loose ends tied. In story terms, I seek conflict resolution…

Which, it turns out, has a term: dénouement.

Google translate suggests it means outcome. I find this funny, considering that dénoue means unravels. Perhaps we must come apart to bring things back together. Either way, I’m fond of the third definition dictionary.com suggests for dénouement: the outcome or resolution of a doubtful series of occurrences.

Isn’t that life?


Now, what about you? Do you have a word for last year? How about for this one?


Here’s everything I’ve written this year. Phew!:
Sunday, January 1: Shared a quote by Carol Siegler.

Friday, January 6: Friday Photo! Looks temperate out there.

Saturday, January 7: There’s a new Terrible Poetry Contest for this month!! Write a prime poem about climate change. Do it today!

Sunday, January 8: This ‘un’s a quote by someone, like Abraham Lincoln.

Monday, January 9: Mormon Monday: Marriage. It’s what brings us together, today.

Tuesday, January 10: “Hullo, Rabbit!” in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt.

Wednesday, January 11: This post.

©2023 Chel Owens


I sit, on the eve of my favorite holiday, wondering what to write.

Instead of capitulating and catapulting into a lengthy life story, I’ll retire slightly earlier. I’ll give you the same opportunity. After all, the focus of a holiday should be on what brings you true joy.

Happy Thanksgiving. I wish you well, whether you celebrate or not.

Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com

At least eat something delicious. You deserve it.


Last week, I wrote:
Wednesday, November 16: “Expert Parent, in the making.” We can’t all know what diapers are for.

Friday, November 18: Friday Photo. Holy mackerel.

Saturday, November 19: “A Poem on Living.” It’s a bittersweet one.

Sunday, November 20: Quote by G. K. Chesterton.

Monday, November 21: Talked about the LDS temples, and temple recommends.

Tuesday, November 22: Answered Carrot Ranch’s prompt with “Speak to Me Only With Thine Dementia.” For the record, I’m not fond of the title.

Wednesday, November 23: Today.

©2022 Chel Owens

Expert Parent, in the making

“Babe-eeeee, where are you going?” I say, in an effort to distract my contortionist one-year-old. All I want is to diaper the squirmy creature; so, in the words of my almost-three-year-old, he won’t have a “naked tush.” One hand grapples with legs, another with the body, another with setting a toy between Baby’s fists, and yet another reaches for the clean diaper.

We’re out. At least, we’re out of the handy pile I keep by the bed.

This means it’s time to tear open another oversized box from my home-away-from-home, Costco (seriously, I’m up to daily trips, now). I keep a running tab on how many of the 222 disposable landfill hazards are left, ready to up my trips to twice-daily if the stock’s too low.

I’ve 112, so we’re good -the large pile comforts me. My seeing it also reminds me of when I was expecting my very first baby:

Fifty years ago* and around 30 weeks, I’d had enough with pregnancy. Knowing the only way to extract the male parasite within, however, I crossed my legs and waited for nature to take its course.

And, I accepted the inevitable by accepting gifts from friends and relatives. I have many kind acquaintances who visited and gave us a lot of necessities.

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

The weeks sped closer to a supposed due date for Owens Boy #1; I surveyed my blue and green clothing, white burp cloths, pristine car seat, bumpered crib, and -yes- piles of diapers with satisfaction. I was set; I could do this. I would …eventually… get all our moving boxes out of the intended nursery and have it arranged for our offspring’s arrival.

I clearly had everything we needed.

Except, I didn’t.

I’m not sure if I realized my error whilst watching a friend change her baby’s bottom. I’m not certain if I saw the problem whilst shopping and traveling down the baby aisle. I’m not even positive if I was hit by Captain Obvious whilst attending a free class at the hospital on How to Change Your Baby.

Remember kids, we didn’t have YouTube in The Time of the Pager.

See, pregnancy is a funny thing. When sampling it; women may experience stupidity, ignorance, idiocy, and a generalized inability to think. (No, seriously: if someone tells me s/he told me important information in the past that I can’t recall, I’ve learned to ask, “Was I pregnant?”)

At some point that may have been AFTER pushing out Kevin jr.**, I noticed a number written on the boxes of diapers. I’m not referring to that old ‘222’ of how many fit in a box; I’m referring to ‘Size 3.’ Furthermore, I’m referring to a group of numbers under ‘Size 3’ that describe a weight range. While some might consider that to be a diaper’s maximum limit on retaining moisture; it is, in fact, a range in which your baby must fall in order to fit that size.

Up till this revelatory moment, I’d ignored that little range and that little word, ‘Size.’ I’d surveyed my derriere-dressings with pride, smugly confident that I had enough for my means. Unfortunately, I had Size 1, Size 2, and Size 3.

“Unfortunately” because the baby popped out a bit small, necessitating an unknown ‘Newborn’ level of coverage.

Photo by kelvin octa on Pexels.com (Not my baby, but still cute)

So…. did you know they give you diapers in the hospital? They also teach you which end to put it on.


Did you also know that diapers come in different sizes? What surprising yet simple idea have you learned in life, perhaps from an embarrassing lack of knowledge like my experience?


Last week, I wrote:
Wednesday, November 9: “You Don’t Have to Read This.” You don’t -nor any other posts you aren’t interested in.

Friday, November 11: Friday Photo. I hope no one eats these things for breakfast.

Sunday, November 13: Announced the Terrible Poetry Contest for November: a clean limerick on lost-and-found.
Also, shared a quote by Seth Godin.

Monday, November 14: Talked about callings in the LDS Church.

Tuesday, November 15: “Geneva Steele,” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Wednesday, November 16: Today. Sort-of.

©2022 Chel Owens

*I couldn’t have been pregnant fifty years ago. This is called an exaggeration, or hyperbole.

**None of our children is named after Kevin. The real name was changed to protect the infant.