Tag Archives: seeds we sow

Some babblings and a Vulgar Trifecta

Today’s Music: Lindsey Buckingham – Seeds We Sow
Days Til Spring: 14!!!

Yes, I got Freshly Pressed. Which means my fingertips are now killing me from answering comments.
Which doesn’t take away from how cool it was to get turned on in an instant to so many other blogs and points of view. It will probably take a while to poke through all of them, but I’m looking forward to it.
Something else about the FP – a notification was sent to me by WP to tell me it happened.
The title of the editor that sent me the email is Word Wrangler. Possibly the coolest job title I’ve ever seen.

So thank you, WP for the nod. Thanks to everyone that wandered over to check me out. And for those of you that hung around, hope you enjoy the madness that lurks in these parts!

So this week, Trifecta’s challenge was the third definition of the word “Vulgar”:

vulgar (adj) \ˈvəl-gər\
1: generally used, applied, or accepted
2: vernacular
3 a : of or relating to the common people : plebeian
b : generally current : public
c : of the usual, typical, or ordinary kind

You might also like the entries from Edward Hotspur, ODNT, and The Hobbler.

And check out all the entries linked from Trifecta. You might find yourself inspired to jump in!


The steward rose with the sun.
He toured the house, checking that all was pristine from the night before.
In his chambers, he made up the chore list for the day, all instructions neatly and clearly written.
He moved through the servants quarters gently waking the other employees of the Manor with his bell.
Without coaxing, they all moved to their positions, organizing themselves for the day.

Cooking, cleaning, sewing, tailoring, all tasks were completed smoothly, with a minimum of fuss.
By midmorning, the grounds crew were completing their tending of the yard greenery as the Lord watched, looking up from his luncheon on the veranda.

The crew carried baskets, carefully collecting their cuttings to leave no trace of their passing except a perfectly manicured garden.

The Lord spat a piece of gristle from his hamsteak onto the linen table cloth, wiping his mouth with a gilded, brocaded sleeve.
“Laborers” he spoke. “How vulgar”.
Replied the steward, “Yes, m’Lord”.