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trash can potatoes

How to grow potatoes in a trash can

Leave it to the Old Farmer’s Almanac to answer the question from my earlier post, how to grow potatoes in Ballston Spa, New  York.  Next research question: are baby potatoes simply baby potatoes, or are they more accurately a special kind of potato that matures more quickly, and doesn’t get big.

I can do this. I just need to find some [expletive deleted] sun.


short fiction – a welcome

Short short fiction: write about a welcome

A Welcome 
By Laurie Freehafer

“What the hell happened!??”

“Son, you caught your death.
You picked at it and it never got well.
You put your eye out.
You stuck something in your ear smaller than your elbow.
You went outside with a wet head.
You squeezed your pimples and cracked your knuckles.
Your face froze that way.
Your eyes stayed crossed.
You made your parents pay to heat the outdoors.
You sat too close to the television.
You tripped over your toys and broke your neck.
‘Everyone else’ jumped off a cliff and you did too.
You thought your folks were made of money.
You made her turn the car around.
She counted to three but you still didn’t go to bed.
You went out dressed like that.
You didn’t have anything nice to say but you said something at all.
You made her come over there.
You made her call your father.
You had an answer for everything. In the end, you didn’t have clean underwear on and there was an accident. A bad one, son.”

“What ever happened to presumed innocent?”

“Oh, we already know you’re guilty. We’ve been watching you not listening to
your mother since you were born.”

“CHRIST! This is so bizzare!
Oh shit, my mother always said if I took the Lord’s name in vain I’d be
catching the next train to hades. Is this the gates of hell? Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am, and no, you’re not in trouble. We don’t take
sending people to hell lightly around here, you know.

What happened was this: You didn’t listen to your mother, so you died.  We see a lot of this around here. To be frank, your mother seemed a little smug at your funeral. And she’s blue in the face, you know. From all the warning.”

“But , like, where am I? I don’t know what’s ahead for me, um, if there is anything ahead for me, and I have no idea YIKES!!! I’m fucking FLYING! What the hell! Wheeeeeeeee!”

“Welcome to Afterlife, son.”


Kindly do not share without attribution.


Sri Lanka Stories-Part 1

a bit about the evolving technology in Sri Lanka

Me on the beach in Maggona, Sri Lanka

Not a cell tower in sight!


In 1975 I was an AFS exchange student, one of 24 – better known as “The Fearless 24” — in the AFS Americans Abroad program. Our stay was just for the summer, which, for a small third-world Island, was actually a quite  satisfactory length of time. Being an AFS exchange student to Sri Lanka changed, or at least solidified, a huge part of who I am. It brought focus to my principles at the exact right age.

In December 2014, and dipping into the new year, I returned to the island where I reunited with friends and family to celebrate my host mother,  Yvonne Theabold’s 80th birthday. Guests came from far and wide, and for me it was a dream I never thought I would realize. I’ll be posting some stories from these incredible two weeks.

Part 1. Technology

Continue reading


life lessons from dad

42 things i learned from my dad

how to eat a meal: “a bite of meat, a bite of potatoes, a bite of vegetable.”

courtesy K. Jehriohow to eat ice cream: “turn and lick. turn and lick.”

essential foot hygiene: “dry between your toes.”

why not take a bath: “you’re sitting in your own ick.”

how to sleep: “think of bunnies going lippity lippity lip.”

turkey choices: “white meat, dark meat, or both meat?”

cure for upset stomach: “nibble a cracker.”

Continue reading


posting the first post

villa velmarie, maggona sri lanka

villa velmarie, maggona sri lanka

now, i will be taking a break from messing around with the css and fussing with the h2s and hex codes, and finally add some content, both meaningful and meaningless to readers, or meaningful or amusing to me.

to be genuine, i have to write as if i will be the only one reading the blog. un-self-conscious. in the moment. free from fear of judgment. let the self-importance come as it may without attaching any particular emotion to it. free from capitalization. it’s my blog and i’ll be as lazy as i want. Continue reading


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