| Humor Non-Fiction posted September 4, 2024 |
  |
A Gift For All Of You To Enjoy
It's My Birthday
by Begin Again
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!
Was that too loud?
I forgot — (which is easy to do these days) — it's early!
I'll try to tone my excitement down, but it's such a joyous occasion, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather celebrate with than all of you.
I woke up this morning — (a blessing in itself)
And though I can't say I felt like a spring chicken (which, by the way, I have no idea how one would feel) I didn't lay there wondering if I could get out of bed.
Instead, I sat up (on the first try), leaned over, said good morning to the pups (without falling headfirst onto the floor), and then shuffled into the bathroom. As I passed the mirror (something I tend to ignore as much as possible) this morning, I stopped and took a look, and I didn't scream, but —
You aren't going to believe what I saw —
Scene 1: The Mystery-Loving Granny
There I was - (or I thought it was me) a seventy-six-year-old woman staring back at me saying Happy Birthday. I was in a cozy room filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a grandfather clock ticking softly in the background. In the center of the room, a plump armchair (note that's the armchair we are calling plump, not me — though, truth be told, I'm not far behind). Sorry, my chain of thought got derailed for a moment. I thought of plump, followed by a vision of chocolate cake, and everything spiraled downhill from there.
As I was saying, a sweet, white-haired grandma with a twinkle in her eye was smiling back at me. (I leave no room for any other conflicting descriptions of me.)
She knitted a never-ending scarf while her scruffy pup, Snickers, curled on her lap. But wait — what's that under the afghan? A gleaming revolver, tucked away just in case the mailman turned out to be a secret agent! (It must be the mailman because no one else comes here.) This granny may look sweet, but she's ready to solve a mystery at a moment's notice.
But hold on — false teeth and knitting needles? Nope — that girl's an imposter.
REWIND —
That can't be me, except for the sweet part, of course. And while we're talking sweet, can I have a squirt of whipped cream on my coffee? No comments! It's my birthday!
Let's try this again —
You aren't going to believe what I saw in the mirror —
Scene 2: The Undercover Ghost
There I was, dressed in a vintage, ghostly gown, drifting through the shadows of a grand old mansion. A true spectral sleuth! I floated silently from room to room, eavesdropping on conversations and piecing together clues to crack the latest cold case. (Of course, I giggled in someone's ear once or twice, sending chills down their spine.)
My favorite partner-in-crime was right by my side, slipping through walls and offering her sage advice — because who better to solve a mystery than Eleanor with all eternity on her hands?
Wait!
Donatelli set down that glass of bourbon and save me — I'm still very much among the living. (I know because I pinched myself and said ouch.)
I could blame this nonsense on my muse, but not many of you would fall for that. Let's take one more look into that foggy mirror. (I know it wasn't foggy before, but I got so intent on looking for our Cowboy that my breath got a little heavy.) I know a few of you will understand what I am talking about!
There!
I wiped it clean so these weary eyes could get a better look.
Here goes —
You aren't going to believe what I saw in the mirror —
Scene 3: The Noir Detective
I was sitting in a smoke-filled room, with a fedora tipped low over my eyes and a glass of whiskey in my hand.
(A fedora and a glass of whiskey? I might be old, but we've already established I am not dead or a man.)
Action and begin again — (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)
I was standing on a grand spiral staircase, bathed in the soft glow of a crystal chandelier. Dressed in a sultry red evening gown that clung to my curves (no snarky laughter, please) and a sparkling tiara nestled in my flowing blonde locks. I felt like the queen of a bygone era.
The room was alive with the low murmur of jazz and the clink of champagne glasses. As I descended the stairs with an air of elegance, I cast a sidelong glance over the edge, my gaze sharp and knowing. Below, a group of well-dressed guests mingled (that's YOU, my readers), unaware that their evening was about to take a thrilling turn. (After all, it is a party!)
Just then, the door to the ballroom creaked open, and in walked my favorite FBI Agent—a figure of undeniable charisma. His sharp and discerning eyes locked with mine across the room, and time stood still as we shared a knowing look, a silent exchange that spoke of secrets and untold stories. He made his way toward me, his presence commanding attention, and I could feel the tension crackling between us like static electricity.
With a mischievous smile, I awaited his approach, knowing this encounter would set the stage for a night full of intrigue and excitement. As I reached for my glass of champagne, I knew that this moment was far from ordinary. He tipped his Stetson, blocking our lips from view, and —
Cut! Stop the cameras! (Reality just set in.)
What I really saw in that mirror was —
Scene 4: THE BIRTHDAY GIRL
I'm just your fellow writer, typing away at my computer, surrounded by half-written manuscripts and far too many cups of coffee. I'm not a knitting grandma with a hidden revolver, a ghostly detective, or a noir hero with a penchant for danger — though I do have a soft spot for all things mysterious and thrilling.
I'm here with you, my endearing friends, on FanStory. It is an incredible community that inspires me with its plots, characters, cunning twists, and, let's not forget, the out-of-this-world poems.
A simple thank you seems too bland for this story. Your support, friendship, and encouragement are why I can continue doing what I love — writing and sharing my stories with you.
Since returning to FanStory, I have discovered a new me and experienced a new burst of creativity that has surprised me. Each morning, I sit at my desk and am greeted by messages, replies, and reviews that often overwhelm me with their generosity. It's humbling to realize that others (besides me, the dogs, and my muse) enjoy my writing.
I need to thank the Lord for all my experiences in the past year, for blessing me with the ability to write and share what I create with my friends, for lifting me up when I have fallen, and for understanding when I lose sight of all my blessings. Without my faith and the Lord by my side, I never would have opened my eyes to the blessings He had in store for me.
On my birthday, I want to open my heart, letting my love spill over onto everyone I touch. In return, I pray their love will flow back to me. When I blow out my birthday candle (no jokes about hot air, please), I wish for all of us to find peace, joy, happiness, love, and the ability to remember to share it with everyone.
I send a basket of my shiniest smiles, my tightest hugs, a sky full of twinkling stars to brighten your nights, and rainbows to bless your day.
Now the candle is lit, so let's all sing:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY...... HAPPY BIRTHDAY,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME....
Miraculously, the dogs and I sang in the same key! Out of tune!
Here's to another year of writing, plotting, and solving mysteries together! Thank you for celebrating with me and letting me Begin Again.
Smiles and hugs, Carol
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!
Was that too loud?
Was that too loud?
I forgot — (which is easy to do these days) — it's early!
I'll try to tone my excitement down, but it's such a joyous occasion, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather celebrate with than all of you.
I woke up this morning — (a blessing in itself)
I'll try to tone my excitement down, but it's such a joyous occasion, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather celebrate with than all of you.
I woke up this morning — (a blessing in itself)
And though I can't say I felt like a spring chicken (which, by the way, I have no idea how one would feel) I didn't lay there wondering if I could get out of bed.
Instead, I sat up (on the first try), leaned over, said good morning to the pups (without falling headfirst onto the floor), and then shuffled into the bathroom. As I passed the mirror (something I tend to ignore as much as possible) this morning, I stopped and took a look, and I didn't scream, but —
You aren't going to believe what I saw —
Scene 1: The Mystery-Loving Granny
There I was - (or I thought it was me) a seventy-six-year-old woman staring back at me saying Happy Birthday. I was in a cozy room filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a grandfather clock ticking softly in the background. In the center of the room, a plump armchair (note that's the armchair we are calling plump, not me — though, truth be told, I'm not far behind). Sorry, my chain of thought got derailed for a moment. I thought of plump, followed by a vision of chocolate cake, and everything spiraled downhill from there.
As I was saying, a sweet, white-haired grandma with a twinkle in her eye was smiling back at me. (I leave no room for any other conflicting descriptions of me.)
She knitted a never-ending scarf while her scruffy pup, Snickers, curled on her lap. But wait — what's that under the afghan? A gleaming revolver, tucked away just in case the mailman turned out to be a secret agent! (It must be the mailman because no one else comes here.) This granny may look sweet, but she's ready to solve a mystery at a moment's notice.
But hold on — false teeth and knitting needles? Nope — that girl's an imposter.
REWIND —
Instead, I sat up (on the first try), leaned over, said good morning to the pups (without falling headfirst onto the floor), and then shuffled into the bathroom. As I passed the mirror (something I tend to ignore as much as possible) this morning, I stopped and took a look, and I didn't scream, but —
You aren't going to believe what I saw —
Scene 1: The Mystery-Loving Granny
There I was - (or I thought it was me) a seventy-six-year-old woman staring back at me saying Happy Birthday. I was in a cozy room filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a grandfather clock ticking softly in the background. In the center of the room, a plump armchair (note that's the armchair we are calling plump, not me — though, truth be told, I'm not far behind). Sorry, my chain of thought got derailed for a moment. I thought of plump, followed by a vision of chocolate cake, and everything spiraled downhill from there.
As I was saying, a sweet, white-haired grandma with a twinkle in her eye was smiling back at me. (I leave no room for any other conflicting descriptions of me.)
She knitted a never-ending scarf while her scruffy pup, Snickers, curled on her lap. But wait — what's that under the afghan? A gleaming revolver, tucked away just in case the mailman turned out to be a secret agent! (It must be the mailman because no one else comes here.) This granny may look sweet, but she's ready to solve a mystery at a moment's notice.
But hold on — false teeth and knitting needles? Nope — that girl's an imposter.
REWIND —
That can't be me, except for the sweet part, of course. And while we're talking sweet, can I have a squirt of whipped cream on my coffee? No comments! It's my birthday!
Let's try this again —
Let's try this again —
You aren't going to believe what I saw in the mirror —
Scene 2: The Undercover Ghost
There I was, dressed in a vintage, ghostly gown, drifting through the shadows of a grand old mansion. A true spectral sleuth! I floated silently from room to room, eavesdropping on conversations and piecing together clues to crack the latest cold case. (Of course, I giggled in someone's ear once or twice, sending chills down their spine.)
My favorite partner-in-crime was right by my side, slipping through walls and offering her sage advice — because who better to solve a mystery than Eleanor with all eternity on her hands?
Wait!
Scene 2: The Undercover Ghost
There I was, dressed in a vintage, ghostly gown, drifting through the shadows of a grand old mansion. A true spectral sleuth! I floated silently from room to room, eavesdropping on conversations and piecing together clues to crack the latest cold case. (Of course, I giggled in someone's ear once or twice, sending chills down their spine.)
My favorite partner-in-crime was right by my side, slipping through walls and offering her sage advice — because who better to solve a mystery than Eleanor with all eternity on her hands?
Wait!
Donatelli set down that glass of bourbon and save me — I'm still very much among the living. (I know because I pinched myself and said ouch.)
I could blame this nonsense on my muse, but not many of you would fall for that. Let's take one more look into that foggy mirror. (I know it wasn't foggy before, but I got so intent on looking for our Cowboy that my breath got a little heavy.) I know a few of you will understand what I am talking about!
There!
I could blame this nonsense on my muse, but not many of you would fall for that. Let's take one more look into that foggy mirror. (I know it wasn't foggy before, but I got so intent on looking for our Cowboy that my breath got a little heavy.) I know a few of you will understand what I am talking about!
There!
I wiped it clean so these weary eyes could get a better look.
Here goes —
You aren't going to believe what I saw in the mirror —
Scene 3: The Noir Detective
I was sitting in a smoke-filled room, with a fedora tipped low over my eyes and a glass of whiskey in my hand.
(A fedora and a glass of whiskey? I might be old, but we've already established I am not dead or a man.)
Action and begin again — (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)
I was standing on a grand spiral staircase, bathed in the soft glow of a crystal chandelier. Dressed in a sultry red evening gown that clung to my curves (no snarky laughter, please) and a sparkling tiara nestled in my flowing blonde locks. I felt like the queen of a bygone era.
The room was alive with the low murmur of jazz and the clink of champagne glasses. As I descended the stairs with an air of elegance, I cast a sidelong glance over the edge, my gaze sharp and knowing. Below, a group of well-dressed guests mingled (that's YOU, my readers), unaware that their evening was about to take a thrilling turn. (After all, it is a party!)
Just then, the door to the ballroom creaked open, and in walked my favorite FBI Agent—a figure of undeniable charisma. His sharp and discerning eyes locked with mine across the room, and time stood still as we shared a knowing look, a silent exchange that spoke of secrets and untold stories. He made his way toward me, his presence commanding attention, and I could feel the tension crackling between us like static electricity.
With a mischievous smile, I awaited his approach, knowing this encounter would set the stage for a night full of intrigue and excitement. As I reached for my glass of champagne, I knew that this moment was far from ordinary. He tipped his Stetson, blocking our lips from view, and —
Scene 3: The Noir Detective
I was sitting in a smoke-filled room, with a fedora tipped low over my eyes and a glass of whiskey in my hand.
(A fedora and a glass of whiskey? I might be old, but we've already established I am not dead or a man.)
Action and begin again — (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)
I was standing on a grand spiral staircase, bathed in the soft glow of a crystal chandelier. Dressed in a sultry red evening gown that clung to my curves (no snarky laughter, please) and a sparkling tiara nestled in my flowing blonde locks. I felt like the queen of a bygone era.
The room was alive with the low murmur of jazz and the clink of champagne glasses. As I descended the stairs with an air of elegance, I cast a sidelong glance over the edge, my gaze sharp and knowing. Below, a group of well-dressed guests mingled (that's YOU, my readers), unaware that their evening was about to take a thrilling turn. (After all, it is a party!)
Just then, the door to the ballroom creaked open, and in walked my favorite FBI Agent—a figure of undeniable charisma. His sharp and discerning eyes locked with mine across the room, and time stood still as we shared a knowing look, a silent exchange that spoke of secrets and untold stories. He made his way toward me, his presence commanding attention, and I could feel the tension crackling between us like static electricity.
With a mischievous smile, I awaited his approach, knowing this encounter would set the stage for a night full of intrigue and excitement. As I reached for my glass of champagne, I knew that this moment was far from ordinary. He tipped his Stetson, blocking our lips from view, and —
Cut! Stop the cameras! (Reality just set in.)
What I really saw in that mirror was —
Scene 4: THE BIRTHDAY GIRL
I'm just your fellow writer, typing away at my computer, surrounded by half-written manuscripts and far too many cups of coffee. I'm not a knitting grandma with a hidden revolver, a ghostly detective, or a noir hero with a penchant for danger — though I do have a soft spot for all things mysterious and thrilling.
I'm here with you, my endearing friends, on FanStory. It is an incredible community that inspires me with its plots, characters, cunning twists, and, let's not forget, the out-of-this-world poems.
A simple thank you seems too bland for this story. Your support, friendship, and encouragement are why I can continue doing what I love — writing and sharing my stories with you.
Since returning to FanStory, I have discovered a new me and experienced a new burst of creativity that has surprised me. Each morning, I sit at my desk and am greeted by messages, replies, and reviews that often overwhelm me with their generosity. It's humbling to realize that others (besides me, the dogs, and my muse) enjoy my writing.
I need to thank the Lord for all my experiences in the past year, for blessing me with the ability to write and share what I create with my friends, for lifting me up when I have fallen, and for understanding when I lose sight of all my blessings. Without my faith and the Lord by my side, I never would have opened my eyes to the blessings He had in store for me.
On my birthday, I want to open my heart, letting my love spill over onto everyone I touch. In return, I pray their love will flow back to me. When I blow out my birthday candle (no jokes about hot air, please), I wish for all of us to find peace, joy, happiness, love, and the ability to remember to share it with everyone.
I send a basket of my shiniest smiles, my tightest hugs, a sky full of twinkling stars to brighten your nights, and rainbows to bless your day.
Now the candle is lit, so let's all sing:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY...... HAPPY BIRTHDAY,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME....
Miraculously, the dogs and I sang in the same key! Out of tune!
Here's to another year of writing, plotting, and solving mysteries together! Thank you for celebrating with me and letting me Begin Again.
Smiles and hugs, Carol
Scene 4: THE BIRTHDAY GIRL
I'm just your fellow writer, typing away at my computer, surrounded by half-written manuscripts and far too many cups of coffee. I'm not a knitting grandma with a hidden revolver, a ghostly detective, or a noir hero with a penchant for danger — though I do have a soft spot for all things mysterious and thrilling.
I'm here with you, my endearing friends, on FanStory. It is an incredible community that inspires me with its plots, characters, cunning twists, and, let's not forget, the out-of-this-world poems.
A simple thank you seems too bland for this story. Your support, friendship, and encouragement are why I can continue doing what I love — writing and sharing my stories with you.
Since returning to FanStory, I have discovered a new me and experienced a new burst of creativity that has surprised me. Each morning, I sit at my desk and am greeted by messages, replies, and reviews that often overwhelm me with their generosity. It's humbling to realize that others (besides me, the dogs, and my muse) enjoy my writing.
I need to thank the Lord for all my experiences in the past year, for blessing me with the ability to write and share what I create with my friends, for lifting me up when I have fallen, and for understanding when I lose sight of all my blessings. Without my faith and the Lord by my side, I never would have opened my eyes to the blessings He had in store for me.
On my birthday, I want to open my heart, letting my love spill over onto everyone I touch. In return, I pray their love will flow back to me. When I blow out my birthday candle (no jokes about hot air, please), I wish for all of us to find peace, joy, happiness, love, and the ability to remember to share it with everyone.
I send a basket of my shiniest smiles, my tightest hugs, a sky full of twinkling stars to brighten your nights, and rainbows to bless your day.
Now the candle is lit, so let's all sing:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY...... HAPPY BIRTHDAY,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME....
Miraculously, the dogs and I sang in the same key! Out of tune!
Here's to another year of writing, plotting, and solving mysteries together! Thank you for celebrating with me and letting me Begin Again.
Smiles and hugs, Carol
 Recognized |
#1 September 2024 |
A heartfelt thank you to each and every one of you for sharing my birthday with me. Please help yourself to a slice of cake and have a wonderful day. Without friends like you, there wouldn't be any sparkle in my life. I am blessed!
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Begin Again All rights reserved.
Begin Again has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
