That is Priceless by Steve Melcher for August 16, 2022

Susan may have been a muse for her father, but she wasn’t doing anything to inspire herself.

/// Susan Walker Morse stares into space

with a far away look on her face.

Her Pa, the inventor,

here chose to present her

as The Muse of revise and erase.

/// Thus, this lovely young girl holds a pad

made for sketches an artist would add.

But the pages seem bare.

If there’s anything there,

it’s in code. (Dits and Dahs from her Dad.)

“It was a dark and stormy night…” well, not yet, but Susan was sure that it would end up as such. And she was permitted some poetic license, after all.

It was really hard finding good subjects to draw when Daddy wouldn’t let boys come up to her room.

Sherie was drawing a blank.

The original laptop…

Morse’s daughter in the throes of translating the Bible into her father’s Code!

Her hand had mechanically scrawled across the pages. After several minutes she realized she couldn’t remember a thing that she wrote.

With my hair cut short like this

And dressing like a Miss

I might not be

What you think you see

But let’s find out – give’s a kiss!

Susan writes:

Dear Diary,

My Father and Mother know I probably keep a private journal, but if they ever found how large and full of “adventures” it is, they’d FREAK OUT!

“Maybe I should start smaller… perhaps a post-it note.”

Autobiography in Morse code.

Here I sit, broken hearted … yes, that has a nice ring to it.

Julianne was in deep thought. She’d been desperately trying to figure out a way not to go to Tuft’s University and study medicine, for she knew in her heart of hearts she was longing to go to East Carolina and party with The Pirates!

Impromptu Improper Lamericks

Sweet Susan sat on the veranda, musing

About today, on the River Cam cruising

With the young, rich Thomas Arbuthnot

Who tried what a nice girl should allow not —

His right eye was quite black with the bruising.

.

It was not something she had encouraged,

(And she hoped Tom was not really discouraged).

He remarked the many layers in her dress

When he sought her bottom without demure-age.

.

It was all rather tense and exciting

Having brothers, Susan knew about fighting

But where on her Thomas she hit

She laid a soft soothing kiss on it —

Along with a lot of contriting.

.

[Dear Diary:]

“I’ll ride with Sweet Tom in his carriage

And no more will his motives disparage

We may even hold each other’s hands

As we survey his ancestral lands

And (dare I hope), talk impending marriage…”

100000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 characters remaining

Dear Diary: while today is differentiated, sadly the $it remaineth the same.

She’s only a morsel of Morse/

Though he is her paternal source/

She’s a “physical” chick/

And she’s sick of this shtick !/

When she’d rather be out on her horse.

Her skin is as white as milk/

And she’s swaddled in layers of silk/

She’s athletic and agile/

Yet they act like she’s fragile/

When she simply is not of that ilk…

She gathered everything she needed to write her great novel, and then it dawned on her, she couldn’t read nor write. On to the next hobby, sewing sounds perfectly wonderful and exciting.

I wish someone would hurry up and invent that Dominos Pizza mind-ordering app.

If you’re a writer, then you know this fear, / Imparting on paper what to you is so clear. / It’s a terrible penance / To compose that first sentence. / Get that and the rest will follow, never fear.

Not being picky, but Susan’s knees seem to be very far away from her hips.

I know that look.

Dear Diary, I am a little confused. Lawrence asked out on a date. He said dress as youlike just come commando?

She was going to write about her sexual exploits, but realized she didn’t have any.

“I thought they said these stays would give me a push-up effect”.

Her mind is as empty as her page.

“Dear Diary, Today I realized that perhaps the drapes were NOT the best choice to make my new dress with.”

Emily would spend hours filling up her diary with “Mrs Emily Clooney”.

Hmmm, Ode to A Roman Urn…Nope. Ode to a Funeral Urn…Nope.

Apparently, not all early American classrooms were simple log cabin affairs outfitted with uncomfortable wooden benches. Little House On The Prairie was total BS!

Susan Walker Morse (The Muse): 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Susan_Walker_Morse_(The_Muse)_MET_DT69.jpg 

has info and links that point to more info about this roughly lifesize painting.

Again, a larger strip image is shown by (Ctrl- or right-) clicking the image in Mr. Melcher’s MASTERPIECE #2978 (August 16, 2022) blog entry, accessible by the Check out the blog! box after the last comment, and using the dropdown menu (even larger if you trim what’s after .png from the URL). I have added a comment there pointing to info about this artist I used to point to here. First work by this artist used here.

♫Western UnionDit, da dit, da ditDit, da dit, da ditDit, da dit, da ditDit, da dit, da ditDit, da dit, da ditDit, da dit, da ditDit, da dit, da ditDit, da dit, da dit ♫

One time … at band camp …

Americans cheered themselves hoarse/

At the latest invention from Morse/

They could now get the news/

without having to cruise/

To the news’s original source///

The world had grown suddenly smaller/

And she trembled at what might befall ‘er/

For they didn’t impeach/

And this lengthened the reach/

Of the scumbags at “Daily Caller”…

She still has occasional flashes/

Of brilliance, when batting her lashes/

And her message is clear/

To those few of us here:

Who are able to read dots and dashes …

I am so glad paper was invented; I was tired of writing on my hands just got too many phone numbers.

The complete works of Biden’s good ideas

Daddy told me to take this paper and make paper airplanes out of them.

Wait … what’s an airplane?