IQ, Beans, half a brain and MENSA

Do you remember those IQ tests they used to give when you were like in sixth grade? My brother ranked MENSA. I ranked about three points below MENSA. And, I am living proof that those stupid tests do not mean a hill of beans.

Just exactly what would you do with a “hill of beans” anyway? Oh, my gosh! An idea for PiBoIdMo. Hold on, gotta type it down.

Digression over: After I took the IQ test, I was moved into an “advanced” class. The teacher was wonderful, it was challenging, I did homework until midnight every night, I began falling asleep in class and I was only in sixth grade. And, my grades went from being straight ‘A’s’ to C’s. I did not recover until I went to college, some twenty-five years later.

The reason I say those tests mean nothing though, is that sometimes I can be so stupid.

Take, building my website. (Insert Groucho eyebrows and cigar here.) That’ll be two-forty for the site and do you want me to wrap it? Obviously, I am till sleep deprived.

First: If I would have just taken the time to learn CSS, I could have saved a ton of aggravation. I know just enough to know that my links, which I have to continually go in and change on each and every page, could have been done, all on one page.

Second: My status is: Twenty-four graphic pages down, six graphic pages to go and twelve text only pages done, with twelve text only pages to go and I make the bright decision to go ahead and start putting it up on the web. Then, I discover that I have continually forgotten to do the description and keywords and change the Title. All important for people finding you. Meaning, I am now on my third round of uploading all those corrected pages.

Third: I have just now figured out about the only way I can get my illustrations reduced to manageable size without degrading.

Yes, I am so bright, I did a lot of my own illustrations.

A true renaissance woman, with half a brain and three points from MENSA!!!!

A "Just for Fun" Post, and now I shall hide.

This is the first time I am posting an identical post on this blog and on my personal blog: Savanvleck’s Weblog

Master’s daughter always gives the greatest gifts. I have received a Japanese tea set, a miniature Stonehenge (we’re still waiting for a Scottish fellow to time travel through), a circular knitting sock kit, complete with a neat bag, and “The Aspiring Writer’s Journal.”

Too bad she can’t give me a better memory, because I know there are more neat gifts, but I cannot remember them at this moment. They are always a delight and a complete surprise, and will be again when I find what I have done with them.

So, my inspiration for today, (“Ahem! Ahem!” She cleared her throat, commanding attention.) is a page in the Writer’s Journal, she gave me.

The assignment is:— Make up a story beginning with the following quotation-
“When Sleeping Beauty wakes up, she is almost fifty years old.”

I have changed the opening line, but the premise is there.

(Okay, I cannot believe I am going to embarrass myself this way, but what the heck? Here it is, complete with errors in punctuation and dangling participles.)
~~~~~~~~~~~

Sleeping Beauty woke from her near eternal sleep and gasped for air. My, how tight my corset doth feel. Hands above her head, she stretched—and screamed.

“Spots! What are these spots! There are brown spots on my hands and arms?”

Blankets flew as she surged to the mirror, her body half bent over.

“Kricky!” she said, being a fan of British blogs. “Oh my aching back! Heads will roll for not removing the peas under my mattress and, speaking of pees, I do believeth I am damp. What, in blazes, goeth on?”

Lines stared back from the mirror. These were the final insult as Sleeping Beauty, who was all of eighteen when she fell into her near eternal sleep, ‘twas now fifty. She lay sobbing into her pillow, for no handsome Prince would search for a wrinkled Sleeping Beauty, she feared.

In a far distant land by the sea, gallant Lord Viggo, some years younger but no longer a youth, lived. He could feel her sorrow and confusion.

“Hark!” He called. “I shall scry for the sound of sorrow I hear.”

And, scry, he did.

“She ‘tis a vision of loveliness to me.” He said as he peered into the water. “A woman of wisdom and experience. No petulant youth need I put up with. And, her smile sets my heart free.”

‘Twas but a journey half way cross the land, to the woods where the beauty lay sleeping and where he dried her tears and they lay on the swing of her porch and watched the stars for a near eternal life.
THE END

I shall go and hideth my head under the pillow now.