nonamedufus

I don't know how he does it or just what inspires him but P.J. over at a 'lilhoohaa runs a monthly  photo challenge and always comes up with interesting prompts to guide us through our 5 favourite photos of the month. August's theme is colorful (he's American, eh). A month too soon to capture the fall's turning leaves so what the heck can be colourful/colorful in August. Well, I went golfing with my brother Whitey and the language was colourful. I hosted #lostmyliverpalooza in August attended by bloggers Cheryl Duford - no slouch when it comes to photography - and Paula Larew Wooters , and her dog Henry. Paula has good posture. She's no slouch either. Look at Cheryl's colourful Jeff Gordon NASCAR jacket. I had to wear sunglasses near her. Mrs D prepared a colourful breakfast for my blogger friends of bacon, eggs, cheese and fruit. Nice, eh? Here's Paula sporting her colourful "caution" socks. She provided all of

This week the folks at Studio30Plus have taken a different approach to their writing prompt. Instead of a word or phrase they've used a picture to prompt participants.  Jack sat on the the front porch of his farmhouse, which had seen better days. He gazed out down his dirt lane towards the highway, absently picking his nose, his old straw hat pulled forward to provide his face with some shade. He was used to this weather. Hot, dry, windy and not a lick of rain. Last year he had been forced to sell his tractor and combine. He did not get a very good price for them. Indeed he didn't earn enough to pay off what he still owed on them. He had persevered the last few years, planting his crops in the fall in the hopes they'd sprout in the spring. But this ongoing drought for the last five years had taken it's toll. And not just out in the blighted and wind-swept fields. Two years ago his wife had left him. One morning she'd packed a couple of bags, picked up the

"This party's gone to the dogs." I started posting about it 15 days before it arrived and Facebook friends kept asking me that question. It was just a smart-alecky name we chose to refer to a gathering of several bloggers. Now, sadly, #lostmyliverpalooza has come and gone and with it the exits of Cheryl Duford and husband Rick, Paula Larew Wooters and my brother Whitey. We had planned to accommodate Nicky Eff but, alas, the poor woman was felled by pancreatic problems. Some people will go to any lengths just to avoid meeting us. "Lost my liver" quickly turned to "lost my liquor" as hardly any alcohol was imbibed but Paula from Rochester, Cheryl from Portsmith and Dufus from Aylmer, Quebec - not to mention outliers Whitey, Rick and Maryse - had a wonderful several days, despite the temperature dropping and it raining every day. But we all bundled up and sat out on the front porch so Cheryl could indulge in her little weakness - smoking. We la

He was early. He sat, ordered a draft and took a sip. His mind drifted back to those carefree days of their youth. They grew up together. And did what little boys did. They joined Cubs, each earning every badge there was. They played Little League. Best friends on the same team. Pitcher and Catcher. They destroyed the opposition. He smiled to himself over memories of Grade school together. They were a couple of holy terrors, inseparable and always getting into trouble. But they had lost touch, thought Bill. Stephen and his family had moved away to California, half a world away from Jersey. It might as well have been the moon. Sure they had written each other. But it seems each letter from Stephen got shorter until finally they had stopped altogether. But he couldn't blame him, thought Bill. "I was no Hemingway myself." And then, out of the blue, after all these years, a letter from Stephen. He was coming to town on business and thought it'd be great to meet up