Alexa, what is Commercial Real Estate?


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Alexa learning about CRE

T:  Alexa, what is the definition of Commercial Real Estate?


A: I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.


T: Alexa,….. What is the definition of Real Estate?


A: Real Estate, blah, blah, blah….

(She has an answer.)


T: What is the definition of Commercial?


A: Commercial has 3 meanings.

As an adjective

  1. Something, something, yadda, yadda Commercial Enterprise


T: (to self) Hmmmmm, that looks like it leads to what the “C” in “CRE” means.


(continue listening to other definitions.)


T: (to self) No, noooo? Adjective 1 is the CRE path of “Commercial.”


T: Alexa, what is the definition of Commercial Enterprise?


(I figure if she uses terms in her descriptions she must have something “in mind” for what that term means.)


And note to self:  Commercial Enterprise Real Estate Services


A: Commercial Enterprise has 2 meanings.


  1. Noun. An Enterprise connected with Commerce.
  2. The activities of providing goods and services involving financial and commercial and industrial aspects.


I ask Alexa again for a definition of Commercial Real Estate.


She now says she has found something from Wikipedia.


Commercial Property.


T:  Alexa, what is Commercial Property?


A: Commercial Property. Buildings or Land intended to profit either by Capital Gain or Rental Income


T: (to self) Investment RE


T: Alexa, what is the definition of Capital Gain?


A: Capital Gain – The amount by which the selling price of an asset exceeds the purchase price. The gain is realized when the asset is sold.


So again, I ask you…

T: Alexa, what is Commercial Real Estate

80s Big Hair Alternative


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Maze Walking

Photo Group Theme of the Week – Spirals

Spirals. Spirals.

Oh, Spirals!

Rummage through vanity.

Wow! I forgot I had so many.

Flashback to Late 80s…

When you had to create big hair by way of a tall ponytail because even though your hair was long, it was….


and baby fine,

and straight.
Hey Daddio!  So glad you had connections to a Spring Maker. Thanks!!!

Summer Road Trip from hometown Collinsville, Illinois (#justeastofthegatewaytothewest) up to Door County, Wisconsin with my “Little Sister” Barbi.

Family and Fun.

Driving my 1990 Red Geo PRISM, 5-speed, hatchback.

A tower of 6+ inches in color coordinated ponytail holders.

Ponytail through the opening of the sunroof.
Beastie Boys and Violent Femmes cycling in the cassette player.



Road Construction

Good Times

Any memories or thoughts spurred? Maze Walk with me. Share in comments below.


Hot Toddy with Rosemary in a Mason Jar


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Last Night was New Year’s Eve.

I decided to make a Hot Toddy.

I grew up making it with Honey, Lemon Juice, Whiskey / Bourbon and Hot Water.

I didn’t grow up knowing what the best Bourbon is.

I’m sure it makes a difference.

While recently in Seattle having a very special Family Gathering, I was introduced to a yummy Hot Toddy.

That one included a Cinnamon Stick and Whole Cloves.

As I said, it was yummy, and it was crafted by my “Little Sister” Barbi‘s beau as I was also introduced to him for the first time.

It was also made with Tequila at my sister’s suggestion, but that is not of matter here.

It is New Year’s Eve and my son just went out in the single digit cold to meet some friends.

So I decide I’m going to make a Hot Toddy for myself.

I scraped some crystallized honey from the bottle. It isn’t that old, but where it resides on the kitchen counter can get pretty chilly when it is so cold outside.

You should feel the air when I open the kitchen cabinets along the outer wall when it’s cold outside.

But I digress.


Water boiling.


I have a few cinnamon sticks but they are part of the decor in a very cool shaped bottle so I stoop to the powdered cinnamon I have in the cabinet.

I have also run out of Whole Cloves so Ground Cloves it is.

I do have some dried lemon zest, grated by my son during another culinary journey.

Note: I am not a foodie by any means. No. No culinary genius. I wish I was.

Because… Yum.

Add the hot water.

I’m missing the visual of the floating Cinnamon Stick.

Hmmmm. Rosemary.

Boots on. Scarf, over head, covering ears. Scissors. Flashlight.

Remember, it’s dark out.

Find the Rosemary and snip a sprig.

Snip another after quick consideration.

I didn’t want to have to bundle back up to get more.

Snip a couple sprigs of Thyme as I am walking back to get inside. (See one of my very first blogs, that happens to be about Thyme, here.)

Sprig of Rosemary in the jar.

I opted not to use the “thyme” this “time” in the Hot Toddy but instead use it for something else, though a few leaflets did drop into my drink.

The powdery spice and the semi congealed honey are settled at the bottom, slightly stirred by Rosemary sprig recently submerged which results in looking more like a specimen jar from a swamp or otherwise murky waters. hahaha

Hot Toddy w Rosemary on Cutting Board 01b

It tasted pretty darn good, though.

And then my son returns home, shivering and with painfully cold hands requiring a hot chocolate to warm both inside and out.

I just recently learned that what we call hot chocolate in the states is not truly hot chocolate.

I checked on Hot Toddy with Rosemary today.

I found this Yummy Recipe via Instructables.

Hot Toddy Recipe

It includes Ginger.

I’m out of Ginger.

Add to Shopping List:  Ginger Root.

Look further into Instructables. Looks promising.

Prompt: Write about something slow


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I read slow. Always have. It doesn’t matter what speed reading course taken or any other helpful advice anyone thinks they have. I read slow. Slow. Like a children’s story read at bedtime, or the stories heard on the radios of old. In fact, that is precisely how my mind takes in the written word. It does not just see the words, but hears…, if only in my mind. I stumble upon words I cannot make out in sound, slowing things up even further. But don’t get me wrong, I love to read, even though I will only skim the surface of the books I desire to explore in my lifetime. I read slow. Every pause. Every breath. Every perceived point of hesitation, or accentuation, tone and depth. My mind is a storyteller, with cast accompaniment. You do not rush the storyteller. To have the tongue of an auctioneer read a ghost story by the light of a campfire does not suffice. To the delight of my son as I bring the written words to his ears, I read slow.

What comes to mind when you think about something slow?  Feel free to share in the comments.

One December Morning


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The bear saunters out the front door as we stand somewhat confused in my living room as to why a bear was in my house in the first place. Moments later, your dog goes out the front door and my cat darts back in through the nearly closed passage. We try to regain an air of normalcy, though soon the notion occurs we don’t know where your dog was headed and we go check. Once more astonished, we see the dog curled on the porch, comfortably napping with his back against the furry black mass of bear also slumbering on the front porch. Thinking the dog curled up next to the already sleeping bear and not realizing the potential danger once the bear awakens, we both earnestly yet quietly try to wake your dog without disturbing the bear.

Your dog does awaken, but only at the start of the bear’s stirring. My heart beats faster. In continued amazed wonder, I see a tall red fox with long slender legs walking up to the porch, it’s fur wet as if it had been caught in the rain, though the day’s sky was blue. Following was a grown possum, with several young ones, too big to ride upon its tail or back, trailing behind.

A scuffle quickly ensued between them; the bear, the fox and the possums. Chaos on the porch, your dog may have been in the mix, but I am uncertain as the next thing I notice is the railing completely gone on one side of my porch, and then I see the bear carrying it in its mouth out into the middle of my yard, using it to push back the challengers.

Wondering about my porch and how I will manage to get it repaired, I suddenly can see, as the bear is succeeding in its clever use of the porch railing, that it wears upon its head a hat, and further has on a scarf, vest and pants.

As the fox and possums dash off in defeat, the bear strolls back towards the side of the house. Though unsure of the response, my heart is still racing and you are dumbfounded as I take a couple steps onto my porch towards the direction of the bear, and say, “I would really appreciate my porch being repaired.”

The bear turns its head towards me and then stands up to full height and says, “Yes, I would agree I should take care of that. I would appreciate it though, if you leave the burrow dug under the porch.”

I have dreams but maybe 2-3 times a year, at least of which I have any recall. That is what I woke to this morning. I don’t know who “you” are. I never see you. I only know you are there as ‘we’ see certain things and that the dog, something like a dark brown Setter, was yours and not mine.


Today in Life’s Journey


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November 4, 2016

Grabbing a bag, I step out to the front porch and begin to gather the several newspaper rolls accumulated.

“If anyone has any newspaper to spare, our hospital needs it! We are completely out. Thank you!”

That was the message I read last night on a post by a local animal hospital I follow on Facebook. I tell myself this must why I had been putting off placing those papers in the recycle bin these past few weeks.

Panning the neighborhood, I notice heavy dew on the car windows and dampness on the ground. The sun was beginning its assent of the day.  I confirm I have enough time to take the papers to the animal hospital before the graduation ceremony, as I didn’t want them to go without, first thing in the morning.  It dawns on me that it’s somewhat a coincidence that I am running this errand to help the business and its people that just so happens to be the place my daughter worked through the majority of her high school years – since late July of 2014. My daughter called me when she had gotten the job.  I was so very excited for her, and we agreed on a date when I would take her out to celebrate her success later that week. But before the moment arrived, our life paths diverged.

As I am heading out the door this morning, I pause, feeling I should go grab my camera, just in case.  Though I squeegeed the windows and outside mirrors on the car, foggy condensation filmed once more before I ever left my driveway.  The Interstate route I had planned to take seemed an unwise choice with the current construction causing merging havoc even under normal visual conditions. I therefore took an alternate route.

I’m sure there were many passing in cars and school buses, wondering about the woman standing near the side of the road with a camera.


Below the roadway fog hung low and converged over the Southern Illinois farmer’s field that butted against the Knights of Columbus parking lot on one side and a Rural Route and an Interstate on two others.  This moment seems to imprint – identifying where I am on this planet, on the morning my daughter is to graduate.

Navy Boot Camp.  My daughter graduated Navy Boot Camp today.  I’m not certain exactly how the weather felt, north of Chicago because I wasn’t there. That is not how our connective life’s journey has it at the moment.


But I am thankful that she was able to join the Navy. It’s a good division of the Service for her.  And I am thankful that I have a cousin (dear to me) who was able to help my daughter get started down that path.  I am thankful that my son, her brother, was able to go to the ceremony and be there for her on this noteworthy occasion.

I am also thankful that I was able to watch the ceremony via live-stream and share that moment with my parents, her grandparents, even as they live halfway across the country from me.


Where is she going next?  I couldn’t tell you.  That is not a part of the connective life’s journey between us at this time. But for right now, I cheer for my baby girl from where we each stand, and I find ways to be thankful for that.

Moments and Music [dot dot dot]


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Music plays in the background on the radio as I edit client files. Suddenly I feel as though I should be in a local watering hole or at some such gathering place among friends and like-hearted beings. My mind inserts what is naturally the common day lyrical accompaniment by those gathered, as I become consciously aware of, … “Sweeeeeeet Car-o-line…., [______! ______! ________________!], Good times never seemed so good.” [__________!], [__________!], [__________!]

An inward chuckle of amusement arose.  A warm smile lingered as I found myself continuing to listen and envisioning groups of my friends sharing in moments. A sense of comradeship.  Nice.  It finished out and I get back to work.

Next up on the radio.

Can you guess?

“Here she comes now sayin’ Mony Mony….”

Yeah. Really. But no, I did not have a lingering smile while envisioning shared moments then. No. Just…, no.

Losing Lester


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Many are not sad to see him gone. Lester, a cousin whose life moments shared left imprints of warm and cherished memories for me those of my immediate family came recently to the end of his journey here on Earth. I know that he was not even close to being a perfect man. None of us, I feel, can claim to have been the best example of a human being, and I heard from others hints of this man’s less than desirable salty, harsh and otherwise negative traits. I do not doubt that that was very likely true. And I am saddened and pained that others whom I love and care for have had to endure and manage life entangled with the darkness of this man.

Towards me there was always kindness, smiles and laughter. I could see a gleam is his eyes that was truly a tell of the fiery nature within yet somehow it managed to enhance the gift of light he shared with me and my immediate family. Yes, there was a charm about him.

Now reflecting on my own life’s journey, it was a similar charm that caught me off guard with the man who is my Ex-husband and the father of my children. And believe me when I tell you I have been in the deep dark shadows in life’s journey with this man and continue to be entangled as my children are still connective threads. Threads from his end used like that of a puppet master.

I know what it is like to have others whom I care about and love, continue to feel warm affection towards that man, to include another cousin who considers him to be the man’s man of a brother he never had. And yes, my children. My children know and have seen the beast of the man that is their father, but they are, too, charmed by the moments of kindness, smiles and laughter, and many times will transform their own natural inclinations to retain or regain that light from him and keep the beast at bay.

Others, like that other cousin of mine, have only had the warm and cherished kind of moments with him – my Ex. I accept that, because I can understand it, but it still hurts. As I am sure it hurts my other family and friends that I hold such fond memories of the man now recently departed.