Tag Archives: lenanorth

Friday’s ramble: How many Tolkien quotes can you find?

Yesterday I let go of my own stories for a while and like so often before, I turned to someone who was much more skilled in the art of wordsmithing than I’ll ever be – Mr. Tolkien. Then I geeked out a little…

How many Tolkien quotes can you find in the below?
(actual quotes from LOTR and the Hobbit, not *gasp* the movies)

I’m sure someone will know, or else I’ll put an answer up here eventually so don’t spend the whole weekend trying to figure it out… relax and hang out with your family and friends instead – I know I will!

Preparations for a dinner party (aka ‘Someone’s being more of a Tolkien-nerd than usual’)
Last week we were having a long-expected party and, as usual, we were late with our preparations. Since we obviously needed to provide dinner, priority one was going to the supermarket.

“I’ll take the narrow back roads, they’ll be quicker!” I called out, running toward my tiny car.

“I’ll be right behind you, so don’t go where I can’t follow,” my husband shouted quickly from his huge pick-up truck, which was unexpected from my usually slow-speaking hubby who’d never say anything unless it’s worth taking a long time to say.

Since I planned to make Italian risotto, we started out by searching the isles for Arborio rice and balsamic vinegar. This proved to be harder than I thought and I was on the verge of deciding to go for mashed potatoes instead when I stumbled upon a tiny, old lady who directed me to my goal, proving yet again that even the smallest person can change the course of the future.

I thanked the woman profusely, thinking that there’s nothing like looking, if you want to find something. And you certainly usually find something if you look, but it’s not always quite the something you were after, unfortunately. To my horror, the best vinegar was sold out, which of course put me firmly on the road to disaster, but spine and also courage is found in unlikely places. I promptly picked up a bottle of the cheap stuff, met the hubby at the check-out where we spent the time waiting in line arguing about who’d go to the home store to buy scented candles for the table.

“A man like me does not simply walk into the home improvement store,” my husband rumbled and dangled the keys to his truck right in front of me.

This was true, but the noise from the key ring irritated me, so I snatched them out of his hand.

“I will take the ring,” he said, “though I don’t know the way to make risotto so you’d better not stay in that place for freaking ever.”

Then he left with a relieved grin, and I proceeded forward in the infuriatingly slow line.

As I put the bags into the trunk of my car I noticed a man passing me. He was walking slowly and, to my horror, there were tears in his eyes, so I took a quick step toward him, reaching for my phone to call for help.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Got shit in my left eye, though.”

“Sorry, I thought you were crying,” I said, feeling like a fool, assuming that he’d been staggering around in confusion on the parking lot outside our local Whole Foods, but not all those who wander are lost, of course.

“Nah, I do not weep, for not all tears are an evil and in my case, they’re a blessing. Should flush the dust out just right.”

I nodded to him, bid my goodbyes and made my way home with my groceries, at last. Oh my, precious little time to prepare before the guests would arrive, I thought.

As I drove, I thought about who we’d invited. There was my buddy Morris, of course, and his joked always entertained. Although, he usually paused for a long time before the actual punch line, and letting someone else always have to carry on the story was annoying. Our other friends never seemed to mind, though, and I felt convinced we’d have a fantastic time like we always did.

When I got home, the table was set, the grill was prepared, and as I closed the door, my husband called out to me, “Everything is set, honey, and all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. Do you want to shower first or should I?”

“What have I got in my pocket?” I murmured to myself and pulled out a quarter.

“I’ll flip you for it!” I replied.

Friday’s ramble: the great mysteries in life

People sometimes ask how I come up with the stories I write, and I usually answer quite honestly that I have no clue. Secretly, I find the questions a bit baffling because to me, everyday life is full of mysteries and I just write some of them down.

Take my dogs, for example. How can they poop more than what we actually feed them? The number of bags we buy to clean up after them is so embarrassing that I alternate stores to get them from, to avoid the raised eyebrows I get from the clerks if I don’t.

How can it be that my teenage daughters are absolutely exhausted every time it’s time to wash up after dinner when they can walk around a shopping mall for hours?

Where do half of all socks I put in the washing machine go? Is there a separate universe for odd socks somewhere? Who lives there? A bunch of one-legged aliens?

Why does my left foot twitch slightly when I get an itch on the back of my right shoulder? And why does it always start to itch there just when I painted the nails on my left hand? Is there perhaps a deity somewhere who enjoys watching me as I’m twisting into a pretzel, trying futilely to scratch?

If my car is low on gas – why is that always when I’m late for a meeting?

Sometimes emails just disappear, never to be seen again, but where do they go? Is there a universal mailbox for randomly lost emails, and does someone monitor that? Who works there? Is it perhaps the one-legged aliens?

When I’m running, why will my shoe laces never come loose when I’m exhausted and need a short break? Why does it always happen when I have a good run, feeling strong and fast?

How can it be that we all like honey when, in reality, it’s partially digested bee-vomit?

Why is yawning contagious? It also seems that it’s not only spreading to other humans because my dogs yawn when I do. Does that then mean that it’s contagious to other animals? Could I make frogs yawn? Or fish?

Why do I always open my mouth when I put on mascara?

I could go on forever, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll go back to my desk and continue re-writing and correcting ‘Wilder’ because – yay! – first draft is done!

Have a nice weekend y’all!