Share Your World — Well, Sort Of

This week Melanie, at Sparks From a Combustible Mind, has a special Valentine’s Day edition of Share Your World. She’s calling it “Share Your Heartfelt World,” and, as she said, “This week, instead of gratitude/thankful for question(s), I’m asking romantic, squishy booby hug, possibly sappy and overly sugary QUESTIONS about love.”

Truth be told, I’m not really the romantic, squishy booby hug, sappy, and overly sugary type. I’m more of a practical, pragmatic kind of a guy. Hence, I’m going to opt out of her “heartfelt” questions and stick with her “matter of fact” ones. But if you’re interested in seeing her sappy, Valentine’s Day questions, click HERE.

So with that said….

What’s your favorite way to spend a weekend?

As a retiree, my weekends last seven days. That said, our two grown kids are not retired and both work during the week. So weekends are the opportunity we have to spend some time with them, whether it’s heading to their respective neighborhoods or them coming to visit us.

Who do you admire most in the world?

Hmm. These days I don’t find too many truly admirable people. That said, I think that as a class of people, I’d have to focus on teachers. They are overworked and underpaid and are expected to shape the minds of our most precious possessions, our children. They should be much more admired — and valued — than they are.

 What do you regret not doing?

Not winning the Powerball or Mega Millions lottery.026DE52E-7C07-4F0E-8ED9-46794C3A2D68

If you see a puddle on the ground, do you walk around it or over/in it?

It depends upon what kind of footwear, if any, I have on. If I’m barefoot or wearing rain boots, I’ll definitely step in. Otherwise, I’ll step over or around it.

SoCS — Are You Talking To Me?

For this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt from Linda G. Hill, the challenge is to write a post starting with “psst,” or any other attention-getting noise or word.


I looked around and saw a shady looking guy standing in the shadows.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked.

He motioned to me to come over to him. Against my better judgment, I moved toward him. I could smell him even before I got close enough to see his face clearly in the dimness.

“What?” I asked.

“Dude, I’m in a bad way,” he said. “Fallen on some hard times, you know. I could use some cash.” He reached a skinny arm out toward me, a small piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the paper he was holding.

“It’s a Powerball ticket, dude. It fell outta some dude’s pocket. It’s for tonight’s drawing. Could be worth a lot of dough,” he said. “It’s got ten picks on it. Cost you twenty at the liquor store. But gimme five bucks and it’s yours.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I played the lottery, but this was too good a deal to pass up. He and I made the exchange, his Powerball ticket for my fiver.

“Good luck, dude,” the guy said as he slinked back into the shadows.

When I got back to my place, I threw my keys and the Powerball ticket on the sidebar in our foyer and greeted my wife, who was fixing dinner in the kitchen. I told her about giving some creepy homeless guy five dollars in exchange for the lottery ticket. “You’re nuts,” she said. “You know he’s just going to use it to get booze or drugs.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” I said. “But you never know. We might have a winning Powerball ticket.”

My wife woke me up the next morning, whispering into my ear, “Psst, I just checked the Powerball ticket.”

“And?” I asked.