THE MEAN MACHINES

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Books by Micki Peluso

THE MEAN MACHINES
by Micki Peluso 
Monday, September 29, 2008 

Rated “PG13” by the Author.

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     This is a hysterical story, ala “Bombeck” style o0f a woman who just can’t handle electrical appliances–they seem to really hate her!!

Love is a Pretty Girl with a Cape to Share Your Dreams With by Bob Boze

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THE MEAN MACHINES

It is a fact of life that all the mechanical lemons of the world end up in my home. I have reason to believe that there is a collective intelligence among electrical appliances that prey on unobtrusive women like myself.

I became suspicious of deliberate sabotage after moving into my first home, with all its modern conveniences. The vacuum cleaner, for instance, only ran in reverse. I never complained, until the day I vacuumed myself out the front door, which had an automatic lock. Three hours later, my husband came home from work and let me in. He tried to convince me the belt was on backwards, but I was reluctant to believe him.

The kitchen appliances were hardest on me, perhaps because I relied on them the most. The blender had twenty-five speeds, and all of them did the same thing – mixed everything together and spewed it across the kitchen. The coffee maker was particularly cruel. I set the timer for 7 A.M. and never got my coffee until 7 P.M. I was impressed with the pot-scrubbing dishwasher, until I realized that it washed only what it felt I needed, grinding the rest into an unrecognizable mess. My sixteen piece china setting was reduced to four in that many weeks. Fortunately, I gave small dinner parties. I gave up completely on the electric can opener. If I wasn’t a fresh food faddist, I might have starved to death.


The microwave oven sat smugly on the counter, daring me to try it. The first and only time I used it to defrost a bagel, it flashed HI at me. I never knew what that meant, but it seemed an obvious ploy to intimidate me, reminding me of my neighbor’s talking refrigerator. Every time she broke her diet, it told her husband. They’re divorced now.


My well-meaning husband bought me a miniature vacuum, knowing my problems with the upright. It ignored the crumbs on the rug, but greedily sucked up the freshwater pearls that hung from my neck before it coughed and died. I considered getting an outside job in self-defense. I don’t want to tell you what my electric toothbrush did. It was too horrible for words.


I also owned one of the notorious sock-eating washing machines. Mine returned the socks, but only after I threw the survivors away. The machine was a rogue, bent on vibrating itself out of the laundry room, and dragging the hot water tank with it. I had no idea where it planned on going.


When my mother-in-law gave me a whirlpool for my bathtub, I screamed in terror, ran into to my bedroom and hid. The woman never forgave me for marrying her son. I wasn’t safe, even there. The air-conditioner tried to freeze me to death in my sleep.


Only my faithful sheepdog shared my aversion to appliances. My husband brought home a set of electric dog grooming scissors, which didn’t please either the dog or myself. When I turned them on, they jumped out of my hands and attacked the poor animal, who howled, took off down the street and spent the next two days with neighbors.


Even the iron turned on me, spitting every time I tried to fill it with water, giving me a healthy jolt when I shook it to make it stop. It scorched two out of every three shirts, getting especially steamed up over silk.


I thought that eventually my friends and family would accept the fact that appliances despised me. But no, they just kept buying me more. I threw the electric eyebrow tweezers away as soon as I unwrapped it. The possibilities of the pain it could have inflicted were limitless. I didn’t particularly appreciate the weed trimmer I received for Easter, either. It tore across my once lush, green lawn with a mind of its own. After ripping up six feet of sod, it headed for the flower bed, where it neatly decapitated my tulips, roses, and the little ceramic elf that was supposed to bring good luck. In a final splurge of fury, it wrapped around my Dogwood stripling, and strangled itself to death. I sighed and walked back into the house, ignoring the startled looks of my overly inquisitive neighbors.


Don’t try and tell me that my appliances weren’t vicious. The electric garage door slammed down on me when I was half way into the garage. I swear I never touched the remote control button. Even my car had it in for me. It was a new model with a lot of buttons; entirely too many buttons. All I needed or wanted was OFF and ON. The first time I drove it, windshield wipers danced wildly on a sunny day. The temperature inside the car had to be over a hundred degrees, and messages flashed all around me; fasten seatbelt, close door, get gas, water, oil, etc. I never was able to figure out how to get into the trunk of that car. It suffered a major nervous breakdown on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and had to be towed away; supposedly because I poured water into the hole where the oil went.


It was rumored from time to time that I was abusive to my appliances. There was absolutely no truth to that. If the vacuum hadn’t rebelliously pulled away from me, it wouldn’t have fallen down the stairs. And if the food processor hadn’t choked on a carrot, I wouldn’t have stuck the wooden spatula between the blades and…well, you get the picture. I certainly had nothing to do with the washer’s escape attempts. The manual stated quite clearly that the machine could handle two king size pillows, which should equal six regular size pillows. The only time I may have been a touch abusive was when I kicked the refrigerator to make it stop humming. And it worked, although the automatic ice-maker spurted fifty pounds of ice cubes at me in retalliation. No, it wasn’t me that was abusive. Appliances hated me.


Initially, I harbored no animosity towards modern conveniences. After generations of roughing it, the human race deserved a little help. I just resented mechanisms that tried to outsmart me.


The computer was good at that. It chewed up discs like fourteen year old boys at a pizza party. To humble me, it flashed SYNTAX ERROR, STOP, and DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING, refusing me access to any of my programs. Eventually, I discovered the secret of control–and unplugged it.


The most recent present I received was an digital calculator. It not only added, subtracted and did calculus, it also called the IRS. I knew then, my days were numbered.

The Cat Who Wanted A Dog by Micki Peluso

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Guthrie's Writing Cottage

True story of a cat who wants his own little dog but is in for a big surprise Hi boys and girls, I’m Toby, a handsome cat if I say so myself. I do whatever I want but Grandma and Grandpa think they own me! My favorite thing is to take Grandma’s shiny jewelry and hide it. Grandpa is still looking for his favorite pen. I have one friend, Casey, a wild cat who lives outside but she tells me through the screen door about the outside world. I was a happy, cool cat until—well, read what I wrote about the day Grandma invited the ‘Monster’ to visit. Yikes!
And Kids, please try to color in the lines when you color me. I am a bit fussy about my hair. When you read the book you’ll find out why!!!
Here’s what I look like in real life. I’m also a…

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MY MAINE “Winter Tales” (Haiku selections) from Bette A. Stevens’s WIP

Bette A. Stevens, Maine Author

This upcoming collection of haiku reflects the Maine I know and love. Here is a sampling of several stanzas from the section Winter Tales. I hope you enjoy them and would appreciate your comments. I plan to edit and format the collection during the holiday season, and hope to publish my first poetry book—MY MAINE, Haiku through the Seasons—early in 2019. ~Bette A. Stevens, Maine author 

Winter Tales

(Selected samples fromMY MAINE, Haiku Through the Seasons by Bette A. Stevens)

Winter genie waves
Its icy crystal scepter
Dawn’s magic appears

Silvery branches
Read a charmed folktale
A spellbound story

Pine cones and tassels
Mirrored in moonlight upon
White weighted branches

Chickadees dozing
Nestling, captive till
Morning sets them free

Shovels and snow plows
Storm’s ravings unraveled
Till the next arrives

Soups, stews and chowders
Stories told round the table
Favored winter fare

The sundial declares
Dwindling…

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A Little Dog Called Chicki

Something Furry to warm your heart>

Fauna Park Tales - An Illustrated Series

This friendly face belongs to Chicki – she is one of the favourite ones in the life of her human, Australian author, Margaret Lynette Sharp, who writes sweet romance novels, as well as Regency period dramas based on our favourite characters from “Pride and Prejudice”.

Margaret Lynette Sharp

Here is a link to her website:https://www.amazon.com/Margaret-Lynette-Sharp/e/B00834SYCQ as well as a link to one of her ‘Pride and Prejudice Variation’ Novels.

MarethMBotha

July 27, 2018

Format: Kindle Edition
I’ve enjoyed reading this collection – a gift from the author – of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy’s lives which become more entwined with her sister, Mary, and Mr Collins, when their son becomes infatuated with Emily Collins – Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s musical protege. Ms Sharp displays exceptional ability when using Regency English and natural, flowing dialogue. I last enjoyed Jane Austin Fiction this much when I read “Pride and…

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Smorgasbord Short Stories – What’s in a Name? – Anne – Favour and Grace by Sally Cronin

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

In the summer sale, I gave away several copies of my short story collection free… the reason I write is to be read, and as an indie author, and not tied to Kindle publishing, I can share my stories freely here on the blog. Over the last few months I have been working my way through my books, and now I would like to share the 16 stories in this first volume.

There are names that have been passed down through thousands of years which have powerful and deep-rooted meaning to their bearers. Other names have been adopted from other languages, cultures and from the big screen. They all have one thing in common. They are with us from birth until the grave and they are how we are known to everyone that we meet.

Anne…..Favour and Grace

Anne Fitzgerald was described by her rather aloof mother, to all who…

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A Monarch Butterfly Haiku by Bette A. Stevens

Bette A. Stevens, Maine Author

Royal Visitor MONARCH 2015 Haiku basI’ve only spotted a dozen monarchs here at the farmstead in Central Maine this summer. Recently, two delightful specimens danced around the garden where I encourage milkweed to grow alongside the flowers, herbs, fruits and vegetables that we harvest. I grabbed my camera just in time to capture one of our regal visitors pirouette upon the peppermint. ~ Bette A. Stevens

  • To find out how you can help protect monarch butterflies—one of our amazing pollinators— download your free poster here:

PROTECT MONARCH BUTTERFLIES free-poster

  • Find out how to tell a male monarch from a female monarch and discover other amazing monarch butterfly facts
  • Enjoy monarch crafts, games, gardening and discover so much more

WHERE?
Download Bette’s free pdf here:

FUN & LEARNING with MONARCHS (free pdf)

Fun&amp;LearningWith Amazing Monarchs! 2014

Maine author/illustrator Bette A. Stevens
“Inspired by nature and human nature.”

Bette Book Collage WHITE BORDER

Find all of Bette’s books atYOUR AMAZON.

[Bette’s Blog]

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RRBC Spotlight Author for July – Joyce Shaughnessy

This is a book you don’t want to miss.

MarethMB

Welcome to SPOTLIGHT Author’s Blog Tour, its first stop, here on my blog. Congratulations Joyce Shaughnessy! I’m happy and excited to be the first to host Joyce Shaughnessy, our Rave Reviews Book Club SPOTLIGHT Author for July. I’m sure that many of you would love to get to know Joyce and her work better. You’ll enjoy the experience very much!

Joyce Shaughnessy

Over to you Joyce:

When I Decided to Write a Book

I was watching a history channel production of “The American Dust Bowl.” It particularly interested me because I live in West Texas which is definitely a barren and dusty place. I remembered my parents telling stories about the time in the Twenties and Thirties when they lived on a family farm. Their stories were exactly what TV shows had portrayed. I was a literature major and had constantly read, so I was familiar with historical fiction literature. It was…

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