My beloved grandmother passed away recently, and my mother and I have been going through old photos. We rediscovered photos my grandfather took while stationed in Africa during WWII. Here are some of my favorites.
*As far as I can tell, these were all taken by my grandfather. I’ve tried to verify the accuracy of the photos as best I can. These photos were snapped with my iPhone, hence the added fuzziness.
This is my grandfather Carl. He was an airplane mechanic in the Army Air Forces during the North African Campaign of WWII. During the war, he had a pet monkey named Jocko, he was stabbed and he contracted malaria. Those were the only things he shared with my mother. He died in 1974, before I was born.
This is him with one of his favorite planes, 1943. (Possibly a B-25?) *I* wonder why it was his favorite…?
Here he is in the beginning of the war with some of his Army mates.
Here’s another. Grandpa is in the lower left corner. 1945.
Army mate working on an A-20. (I think (more…)
First, let me get this out of the way: I’m not a financial advisor. I’m just a gal who started investing in cryptocurrency and has learned a thing or two.
In early 2017, when cryptocurrency began taking off, I decided to take the plunge. I got in when the values were already somewhat high but before they got redonkulously high.
Because of my investment early on, I’ve made a nice profit in six months that I’m really proud of.
Why am I proud?
Because I am not a money person.
It was only a couple years ago that I was able to start saving for my retirement. However, I don’t know squat about stocks and I have no large assets besides two X-files Barbie dolls and more pillows than any human could possibly need.
When I decided to start investing in cryptocurrency I told myself three things:
1.) Don’t invest more than you can afford to lose
2.) Understand that the bubble could burst tomorrow
3.) Don’t get all weird and sell your two X-files Barbie dolls and blankets to (more…)
Once in awhile, when darkness falls, I will sling my trusty hedge trimmers over my shoulder and march up and down my street looking for neighbors whose brush encroaches on the sidewalk. I will snip, snip, snip as fast as I can and scurry off to the next offender.
Before you think I’m that one weird-ass neighbor every has, let me explain.
A handful of my neighbors do not regard their lawn as something that deserves care or maintenance. Fine and dandy. It’s their property to do what they see fit. However, when their overgrowth overtakes the sidewalk, it’s a slap in the face of all neighbors. When elderly people and children are forced to walk in the street, it’s downright villainous. VILLAINOUS, I SAY!
But day after day, no neighbor comes forward to speak to the offenders and the growth continues to expand.
Except for me.
I’m coming forward, mother f’ers.
I realized that in order to take care of business, there were a couple avenues I could pursue:
1.) I knock (more…)
I have a friend.
His name is Tyrone.
Tyrone is homeless.
We’ve been buddies for years now, and we have each other’s backs.
Our favorite pastime is to hang on my front porch, chewing the fat on the troubles and joys of this beautiful and sometimes hateful world.
I could write a novel on our relationship — like when he and I pooled our resources to buy him a van to sleep out of, or when he wanted to heal the stye on my eyelid with a needle and whiskey — but I don’t feel it’s appropriate or necessary to write about it in a public way. Maybe one day.
However, there is one thing I want to share:
Two days ago, my boyfriend mentioned to Tyrone that I lost my job.
Yesterday Tyrone came by my house to gift me lunch.
Tyrone, who has no home, no steady employment and who struggles to find healthy and satiating meals on a daily basis, brought me lunch because I lost my job.
I love Tyrone.
And I’m thankful for his friendship.
(Note: I used Prisma to obscure Tyrone’s face to respect (more…)
I saw you walk into the diner with your husband.
Your back tired from years of living; your face pointed to the ground.
I saw you walk into the diner and I thought to myself I don’t want to get old.
I don’t want to sit across from my love and sit in silence because I cannot hear, I cannot see.
I saw the cataracts floating in your quiet eyes.
I saw your knuckles rising like mountains through the terrain of your hands.
I saw the permanent scowl you never asked for.
I daydreamed about your life, your marriage, about the emptiness you might feel right now.
I watched you from over my love’s shoulder, sitting in silence, staring at the table, lost in your own thoughts.
I also watched as you picked up your straw and blew the wrapper into your husband’s face.
And I watched as you clapped your hands and laughed until tears formed in your no longer quiet eyes.