tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11273239150196272722024-02-19T08:54:29.249-06:00Humor and DoingsLiving life one day at a time and looking for humor where I can find it.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.comBlogger381125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-11403348012623412652012-07-20T04:31:00.001-05:002012-07-20T04:38:41.675-05:00Barely six weeks after I turned in Mr. for a happier life, still in the recovery phase of all the doings that had led to my marital folly and perhaps needing just a bit of downtime, I-Needa did this!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCXmkYANB6XlBTsd33LDUD8rAL-TLC9T-kKD_j2maXJKn7n0YsZxLzMzruyNYDsuZ7faJL6n8aa4OcPxURKlz9dy0zTXKd-cyBEpuq9YBGZ5jYv72iY4GGo_xKRGcOWr-pD8QQQ8i6qt7/s1600/Gown+shopping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCXmkYANB6XlBTsd33LDUD8rAL-TLC9T-kKD_j2maXJKn7n0YsZxLzMzruyNYDsuZ7faJL6n8aa4OcPxURKlz9dy0zTXKd-cyBEpuq9YBGZ5jYv72iY4GGo_xKRGcOWr-pD8QQQ8i6qt7/s400/Gown+shopping.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
I-Needa, my number one and only daughter. Great gal. She's had that name for my blog as we have both gone through phases of starting sentences with "I need a ..." I thought it the perfect alias for her.<br />
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Yes, that is I-Needa looking rather joyful in the bridal shop getting ready to search for the perfect dress. It was a happy occasion, being engaged and planning for the happy event, a little something that would last all of us for a year. <br />
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I am tempted at this point to use planning a wedding as an excuse for dropping from sight on my blog. I think anyone who has spent a year planning a wedding would find it a reasonable excuse. So, I'll just go with that. It may not be entirely truthful, but I'll go with it anyway.<br />
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So here I am in the middle of a hot summer's night... awake... thinking about a blog I haven't touched for over a year. I probably should click on photo booth and load a picture of me doing this, but I'm going to spare all of us. It probably isn't pretty. <br />
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So here we are, one month and four days past the culmination of a year of planning and a day of celebrating. I have one less thing to think about, and I'm in hibernation mode for the summer. Perhaps it is a good time to get back in the swing of things. Writing is good exercise. It just may be a tad therapeutic too and will get the old creative juices flowing. <br />
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I do hope if you stop by that you will come again and even participate in a little feedback. Linda!! Love you for all the times you did that! <br />
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<br />CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-69384858140279846802011-05-24T13:19:00.000-05:002011-05-24T13:19:58.295-05:00A Country Scene<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I always enjoy a trip to the country to Ms. M's place. It makes me so thankful to live in a small community where the country is just a few minutes away. I get most distressed to even think of living in a large city (Metropolitan style). I like the look of nature without a sea of concrete and steel. I've said it before, and visiting Ms. M's only makes me say it again. It's peaceful!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwAYTwEI3gzBGM0pkxjWBsa-pPhFQpSxFSpswyFpCr5N_XxAGplg7hMQNG1iL1AcebmMPYbC0RtcYKdb2DOhRMe93M8TJZXztly4sP5jrRdj1eQG_1Qy-ZurrrxPtbsmcz4Q5bFM0vN07/s1600/country1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwAYTwEI3gzBGM0pkxjWBsa-pPhFQpSxFSpswyFpCr5N_XxAGplg7hMQNG1iL1AcebmMPYbC0RtcYKdb2DOhRMe93M8TJZXztly4sP5jrRdj1eQG_1Qy-ZurrrxPtbsmcz4Q5bFM0vN07/s320/country1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> I love the look of the barn. I know it has recently been redone. It looks like a very elegant barn, if a barn could ever be considered elegant. It certainly is an upgrade from some barns I've seen. I will admit that an old run down barn has 'character', but I do think this one is fine to look at. Yes, it is used for real animals.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZsYN4hxTI8XKJXsGs3uKoGs1aAi4S7FrKmEUGnvZE_8ayQYub2eutJDRLuo3roDxAcsWGEKTGDAO_PjqXDPc7sGjSUlCjBzd4T5gQiQSDMuAv825fYhCbbgVmEIJogRt5DlrUMsL4ocyx/s1600/critters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZsYN4hxTI8XKJXsGs3uKoGs1aAi4S7FrKmEUGnvZE_8ayQYub2eutJDRLuo3roDxAcsWGEKTGDAO_PjqXDPc7sGjSUlCjBzd4T5gQiQSDMuAv825fYhCbbgVmEIJogRt5DlrUMsL4ocyx/s320/critters.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> On the drive to the house, Snappy couldn't resist these cute little critters. Ms. M has quite a soft heart for critters, and they can be found in many forms. I rolled down the car window for Snappy to get a picture, and it didn't seem to bother them at all.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZPjAB4pBjG4EgGNANGbqJSNC-VhXaTyPx3s7VOz4x0EqUjo9eolCJDd6rdpdLHyQhoSw2rutm31aDEiPQuJRYFojelHEaMcZ_rUaRH5wI8yWS5uaZ0zUvtF6889Jr1U-f43zcwNzwdbw/s1600/country2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZPjAB4pBjG4EgGNANGbqJSNC-VhXaTyPx3s7VOz4x0EqUjo9eolCJDd6rdpdLHyQhoSw2rutm31aDEiPQuJRYFojelHEaMcZ_rUaRH5wI8yWS5uaZ0zUvtF6889Jr1U-f43zcwNzwdbw/s320/country2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I drove away from the beauty of Ms. M's place, I drove very slowly. Snappy was really in the mood to take some photographs, so I drove very slowly. Yes, this is the road. It doesn't look like New York City. It is a little road across the creek. When it rains, the water sometimes covers the road, and Ms. M has to drive across the pastures rather than use this super highway. It had been raining a little the day before, so water was on the 'road', but it wasn't deep. We were using it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZPjAB4pBjG4EgGNANGbqJSNC-VhXaTyPx3s7VOz4x0EqUjo9eolCJDd6rdpdLHyQhoSw2rutm31aDEiPQuJRYFojelHEaMcZ_rUaRH5wI8yWS5uaZ0zUvtF6889Jr1U-f43zcwNzwdbw/s1600/country2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkckHwyPgctUS1ZQ9qk7EaDBEHdo1AGgw3t-JB3N0NSYByzWCD2qLy5juIe1tUq-70Arbyv4LQoPPaefz7uIw_89g-eU3opn-glwcJI2s0o3_Hpzg4jQIPmuZPBKhAYjFw3uiTXo1dEj37/s1600/country3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkckHwyPgctUS1ZQ9qk7EaDBEHdo1AGgw3t-JB3N0NSYByzWCD2qLy5juIe1tUq-70Arbyv4LQoPPaefz7uIw_89g-eU3opn-glwcJI2s0o3_Hpzg4jQIPmuZPBKhAYjFw3uiTXo1dEj37/s320/country3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Continuing on the road, we stopped again for a lovely shot with many shades of green. I would love to have gotten out and sat here for a long time. Something Ms. M had said as I left made me a bit cautious. She mentioned that I might see the bobcat that was around. I didn't think Snappy would like that at all, at least not up close and too personal. Besides, this is a one lane road. Someone else might want to use it. I decided to stay in the car and enjoy the view from there. I suppose the truth is, when thinking about bobcats, I really am a city girl... small city girl. They would totally ruin my idea of peace in the country.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-773188425238356842011-05-06T16:39:00.000-05:002011-05-06T16:39:52.087-05:00Cyber WaitingI made up my mind this morning to do some yard work. I don't really like yard work, but there are pesky weeds lurking between things, and someone needs to pull them. I woke with a plan. Today was weed pulling day. <br />
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However, I first needed to check e-mail and have a little eye opening caffein loaded coffee. I love that part of the day. I'd do that first, then head to the yard. <br />
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I noticed in my e-mail that there were lots of ads coming through to my inbox that weren't addressed to me. Not me at all... someone else's e-mail address.. not mine. It's like a postman who drops letters for your neighbor off at your house. Wrong house... not my mail.... wrong e-mail address... not my mail.<br />
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Now, is that difficult to understand? I didn't think so. However, I had noticed that yesterday as well and wondered if anyone out there in Cyberspace was noticing it. Considering the amount I had this morning, I decided to tell someone. Who? <br />
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I found a little 'Live Chat' button on my e-mail page, so clicked on that. I was number 214 in queue. Not good... big number... I'd wait a little while and see. I had a notice every little bit about how many minutes I had to wait. It was never more than three. After fifteen such notices, I thought I'd just hang in there and it wouldn't be much longer. I had a total of thirty-three notices. <br />
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I guess, on the bright side, it gave me a little time to practice patience while I waited in line in cyberspace. I kept wondering why I was really doing that. I just sat there minute after minute waiting. I couldn't give up. It was a little frustrating. <br />
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Finally, I thought I'd hit pay-dirt when typing appeared and I was welcomed to the Live Chat session. I let them know what was going on. Then I got the little notice that they didn't support sbcglobal.net customers. What!! I was instructed to go to att. Lovely. Bye.<br />
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Off to ATT. I could go on their website, perhaps, and chat. I opted to try for a real live genuine person. It took awhile, but I got one. Once again, more practice in patience. Yep... One hour later I got off the phone. Worn slick! Slick! Slick! <br />
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What did I find out from all that waiting in line in cyberspace? Well... it seems that all that mail probably had hidden addresses. O-k-a-y? So? It looks like the mail is only for someone else. BUT... my address might be there, although it is invisible to me. Uh-huh. <br />
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I hung up. Worn Slick! I believe I said that. I went to the yard, wondering why I hadn't gone there in the first place. It certainly would be easier than all that support I got over e-mail. <br />
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I spent a little while in the yard, pulled a few weeds, got my sense of humor going again, and came in for a little lunch. I sat down in my chair, put my feet up and went to sleep. I think I needed it. The yard will have to wait until tomorrow. I'll not call anyone anymore about anything to do with e-mail. I have that nice little mouse that I can use to simply click 'Delete'. CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-54157663818036398772011-05-04T11:19:00.001-05:002011-05-04T11:20:59.384-05:00TroubleshootingI have to admit that my teeth have been grinding together a bit the last few days. When e-mail would arrive it was often addressed to my old name, not my new name. I've managed name changing in many places, yet here came that pesky e-mail with the name I didn't want. <br />
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That's when I began troubleshooting. I looked into about every file on my computer and could find nothing to fix the problem. <br />
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Now here is the spooky part. I wrote a note to one of the tech support places for mail I receive and told them about the problem. I pled with them to fix it... make it STOP. I had a nice note back from them today telling me that they had my new name on everything and couldn't figure out why it came in with my older name. They suggested that if it happened again that I was to forward their mail back to them. <br />
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Well... There it was! That old name right at the top of the page where it says TO:<br />
So.... I decided to copy that whole thing and put it in mail right back to them. <br />
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Magic! When I pasted it into the e-mail, my name changed. More head scratching on my part. <br />
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Okay... the problem has to be me. Like I said, I'd been through so many places trying to figure out what the heck was wrong... and I was getting frustrated... a little on the madly miffed side. It was beating me, and I didn't like it.<br />
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I tried to remain calm and think. Then it dawned on me! I have a lovely little address book on my iMac and I hadn't changed my own contact information there. I don't know why, but it puts me in there automatically with a cute little icon of me. Strange, but that's what happens I edited all the information there and 'presto' everything is right now. <br />
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I'm a very happy camper now as don't have to be irritated to death with mail addressed to the old me and not the new me. I'm feeling fine. It just takes some persistence once in awhile and a little focus on troubleshooting. Tah Dah Oh, if you don't understand a thing I've said... Sorry. Really. Not everyone gets so wrapped up in this kind of doings.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-36808799953014808712011-05-01T07:27:00.001-05:002011-05-01T07:33:03.624-05:00One Must-Know WebsiteA friend asked me if I had any suggestions about the best organization to contribute to for disaster relief. My first thought was to refer to a little tool I've bookmarked and use when I want to give to any organization. If I'm moved to donate my money to a cause, I want it to go to that cause as much as possible. There are charitable organizations everywhere. While an organization may have good intentions, I also want it to be thrifty with my money.<br />
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Therefore, I'm going to share this little link with you and hope you bookmark it and use it yourself. It uses tax filings from every organization and gives a detailed account of where every penny goes... and shows graphs to break down percentages spent in different areas...<br />
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My gift to you today...<br />
Click here, then bookmark this little jewel! <a href="http://www.charitynavigator.org/">Charity Navigator</a>CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-37593751240631405622011-04-28T10:54:00.000-05:002011-04-28T10:54:29.629-05:00Scary WeatherI've been on and off Facebook, a place I visit on occasion only. I've been searching for information on one of my friends who lives in Alabama. Thankfully, she has posted that all her family are okay and all their houses standing. She posted from her cell phone as their power is out.<br />
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I've also spent some time looking at the devastation being broadcast on the TV stations. It is absolutely mind boggling to see it. I'm sure we only see a little of the real deal. Living in Tornado Alley can, at times, be a frightening thing. It is a given that we will have severe weather with wind, hail, and the dreaded rotation associated with tornados.<br />
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With our advancing technology, we are made more aware of what is going on in every part of our state and country. We are told days in advance what the potential might be. <br />
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I have to admit to being almost worn out at times with the stress of knowing what might be. I'm probably like a lot of others who live a little on the emotional edge during this time of year when a change in temperature might well bring out the worst possible scenario. <br />
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I also have to talk to myself about not living in fear. My faith tells me that we aren't suppose to go around all the time allowing fear into our lives. So, I pray. I pray a lot about storms and protection. I think about the power of the Word and the fact that Jesus calmed the storm with his command to 'Be still'. I think about that a lot and try to apply it to the storms we have now... both physical and emotional. <br />
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I'm always thankful when the storms have passed and I know that we are okay for awhile. Thankfully, I've never been in a tornado, and I pray I'll never come near one. I'm a chicken. My mind has a hard time grasping the concept that there are some who actually get an adrenaline rush from going out and chasing these storms. Right Back is one of those. <br />
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I can remember times when I was praying fervently that everyone would be protected and safely in from the storm. Then I would talk with Right Back and he would be heading straight for the storm. That was more in his day of working with emergency management. He would always sound so delighted and pumped about heading for the storm. I guess it takes all kinds, both chickens and crazies. I know, that's an opinion only.<br />
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I will report that Juju finally made it to her home after two nights in an airport motel and lots of hours in the airport. I told her that I wanted a full report and warned her that anything she says might be copied to this blog. I haven't heard much from her yet. We will see. Tah Dah!CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-43291932135418528642011-04-27T05:15:00.001-05:002011-04-27T05:15:00.454-05:00Rain Is What's Happening<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6j9_AOKVseAkq7S-LN4_bE-D_iy2uo7aAUehdNuchyj9Js6E6b1WvGhfRWwRlRtmT_Auj78Xxv2HZgeckKXTkjPT4DuRzno_RFlQ7VXI1MzPzny-OpoYT2OuVk172ASHHqOgWD6qExSSA/s1600/robins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6j9_AOKVseAkq7S-LN4_bE-D_iy2uo7aAUehdNuchyj9Js6E6b1WvGhfRWwRlRtmT_Auj78Xxv2HZgeckKXTkjPT4DuRzno_RFlQ7VXI1MzPzny-OpoYT2OuVk172ASHHqOgWD6qExSSA/s320/robins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's spring. I was glad to see this happy sign of spring one day not long ago. It was raining, and I was left to my own devices inside the house. I happened to look out the back window and saw robins... ahhhh. I've always thought they were a real sign of spring. They were happy with a nice puddle of water that had collected by a back fence. I grabbed Snappy and put on his longer lens. I had to take this through my window screen, but Snappy was determined to take a picture that provided some hope for greener days.<br />
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That winter grass tells you that I didn't take this yesterday. Now it is green, but the rain is still around. Now we have storms, which I guess is another thing that must happen in the spring. The weather reports seem more frequent and we have evening programming of weather maps. Occasionally regular programming breaks out and we see something more entertaining.<br />
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Mind you, I'm not complaining. No... just stating a fact. Living in Tornado Alley is a fact of life. That means you know what... They are hard to ignore. I hope that I never see one up too close and personal. I pray for those who have been in the path and suffered because of it.<br />
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Storms can also be a tad inconvenient for those who travel. I was grateful for a break to take my cousin back to the airport this past Saturday. I didn't want either of us to have to deal with bad weather. <br />
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As I write this, my friend, Juju, is sitting at an airport trying to get home after a visit over Easter weekend. She was to fly home Monday evening, but ran into more than one cancelled flight. I've called her and tried to give her a little pep talk. She is doing well and still hopeful of someday arriving at her own abode again. I laughed with her and told her that she needs to write her adventure for my blog. We will see how convincing I can be. I'd probably have to edit some of her tale. That's her words, not mine.<br />
I hope that by the time this is posted that she will be safely home. <br />
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I think we are promised a little sunshine soon. I've told Snappy about that. I think he will probably run to see about capturing a little of that for you. In the meantime, remember that we are promised some sunshine after the rain. I think the robins know that too.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-62824719176118420512011-04-22T07:41:00.000-05:002011-04-22T07:41:22.350-05:00Play TimeI haven't dropped off the face of the Earth again. I've been having a good time with my company. I have a wonderful cousin from Seattle who has been here since Tuesday. We are seeing the sights and having a fabulous time. <br />
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We went to Nearby City on Wednesday and spent almost two hours in Hobby Lobby. We looked at almost every item in the store. I probably exaggerate on that one, but we did see a lot. We thought up all kinds of little projects to do 'in the future'. Those creative juices were flowing like crazy. <br />
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After two hours, we exited the check-out with four items... all Cousin Pam's. Me? I have so much to do that I resisted until a future date.<br />
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Today we plan to head to downtown Big P. We have lots of local shops to play in and practice our sales resistance. It should be fun. Tomorrow Cousin Pam heads back to her real life, so we will make the most of today and all that brings.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-6343780489291774072011-04-19T09:24:00.001-05:002011-04-19T09:28:32.885-05:00Happy Plates<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYG-lrTvfB20i7KMEsGBNbB3-qAGnz4iBo2G0av36zhc89wXNYI4UPE3vu72eB1kgWlfDDnykCkM-MTz3u26ok3dNV7SXR8KE7plsyvJQ2CVLjrd5Bzwv-DldeCWZpCOoyOvN8sno8EVwU/s1600/happyplates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYG-lrTvfB20i7KMEsGBNbB3-qAGnz4iBo2G0av36zhc89wXNYI4UPE3vu72eB1kgWlfDDnykCkM-MTz3u26ok3dNV7SXR8KE7plsyvJQ2CVLjrd5Bzwv-DldeCWZpCOoyOvN8sno8EVwU/s320/happyplates.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Some time ago, Daughter I-Needa decided that her new needs included happy plates. After many years of the same old thing, she was ready for change.<br />
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I can sympathize with her. I'd used the same china for thirty-five years. I realized one day that I wanted a little change in china. I started casting glances at pottery pieces in places such as Dillards and Kohls. I have to admit that I even went to some Home and Garden parties and parted with money for dishes. <br />
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I-Needa went through the same thing, only she didn't suffer for thirty-five years (not old enough yet) and decided to buy something happy. It was her way of changing up and changing out at the time. <br />
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With some 'gift' money, I-Needa headed for the store to purchase happy Fiestaware. She called me frequently to confess what she had done. That's the way we handle spending. We really are careful about what we buy... not to overdo, you know. However, once in awhile, a girl just has to spend a little. When that urgent need to spend strikes us, we call each other and confess what we are about to do, or what we have done. We have our reasons at the ready, and the other is quick to confirm that it was really a good buy and yes, it was probably a good thing to do. <br />
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I am happy to report that I-Needa is completely happy with her new sets of Fiestaware. Mix or match has become her thing. Select a color by mood. Give your guests their pick of an appealing color, even if it is on the bottom of the stack. No problem. Mugs are also available from the cabinet. Help yourself, she says. <br />
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I think this was a fine way to add a little color to life. If you are going to brighten up things, do something you will enjoy! Tah Dah for I-Needa!!CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-74664464606310484532011-04-18T05:10:00.014-05:002011-04-18T05:10:00.241-05:00My Thanks To Linda<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thank you to Linda for identifying the more proper name of the Awful Tree. I love Linda for leaving comments. Comments are encouraging! Although I don't know what is so sweet about the Sweet Gum Tree, I will take Linda's word for it. She should know... especially if she has five of them in her yard. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was feeling rather sorry for myself on yesterday's post. I have two of the Awful Trees (Sweet Gum) and thought that was really really bad. Then Linda announced that she has five of them. FIVE of them!! Now, that's AWFUL! </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I about fell off the computer chair when I read that they had hauled away three TRUCKLOADS of those spiny sticky things. Now I feel extremely sorry for Linda..... or whomever she got to haul all that away. I sure hope she has 'staff'. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Staff is important. I don't have any, but I think they would be important. Sometimes I get son Right Back to serve as 'Staff'. He does start outside tasks for me occasionally. The problem is that he leaves at some point and says that he will be right back. I do believe I've mentioned that before.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't think I'm going to get any 'staff' for this task of picking up the sticky spiky things. Perhaps I need to ask Linda how she got that job done. She might be more of a treasure trove of information that I know. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hey, Linda.... Want to help pick up those lovely little Sweet Gum droppings??? Oh? I thought not. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-33569429682224697122011-04-17T05:15:00.063-05:002011-04-17T05:15:00.414-05:00And God Created All Things Good<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4eYLJBwZxSw4MEkqKJ0KbZoOXjBWz5nhY5i0hk80w5F6nQRbZQ9-Pg9Zm03DtjUa1w58mNkPTLVdXMlMm5IBosy_1KyGZKUhrSC8d9sPLMj_KLqZSq6m2vzDi0DHUkIN1NkOEaQnER1D/s1600/seed1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4eYLJBwZxSw4MEkqKJ0KbZoOXjBWz5nhY5i0hk80w5F6nQRbZQ9-Pg9Zm03DtjUa1w58mNkPTLVdXMlMm5IBosy_1KyGZKUhrSC8d9sPLMj_KLqZSq6m2vzDi0DHUkIN1NkOEaQnER1D/s320/seed1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd like to go with the thought that all things were created 'good', but I'm a little skeptical. I've been puzzling about this spiny spiky seed thing. It, to me, may slip the good category and be better defined as a nuisance. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not questioning the fact that it is an inspired piece of work. I will even admit using a heaping collection of them to sprinkle with glitter and use as an art project back in the good old days of elementary school art.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The problem with this little hard ball of spiky things is the fact that it seems to lie in wait as I try to navigate across the lawn. Try to walk gracefully across a yard filled with these little jewels underfoot. It's almost an impossible task. I'm glad I have good balance as they roll under the foot. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6uKjta4n_Lcmc3Sjor0BvFEmI0amPIiWhSpoz-8bVNJE53JtAFdqONsD2uKzgmPf5X6vANdAvNtZZ67sX23v9lhH1VlLZagDN3yLVQWy1mB6dSuKyoUNwUi8Y_sD2Oo0NjhT9Y8-GSNV/s1600/seed3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6uKjta4n_Lcmc3Sjor0BvFEmI0amPIiWhSpoz-8bVNJE53JtAFdqONsD2uKzgmPf5X6vANdAvNtZZ67sX23v9lhH1VlLZagDN3yLVQWy1mB6dSuKyoUNwUi8Y_sD2Oo0NjhT9Y8-GSNV/s320/seed3.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Notice how like Easter eggs these lovely seeds lie nestled across the lawn. They are far reaching and love clinging to the grass. If you have one of these trees, you have TROUBLE. What kind of tree? I'll admit that I don't know. I call it simply the Awful Tree. </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuiFG9sGyHSeVCbVJSOEudEbpYOkphgyXFOfYfKLJwtYEoaw3kpWMobo90ozh_fD0EbslQK4EfBvx4meAiqiMnm71pITc51c9lD4YbZdr31ncKyj3NHEgKfpKiWgttDgLPy3shFgemEnuY/s1600/seed2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuiFG9sGyHSeVCbVJSOEudEbpYOkphgyXFOfYfKLJwtYEoaw3kpWMobo90ozh_fD0EbslQK4EfBvx4meAiqiMnm71pITc51c9lD4YbZdr31ncKyj3NHEgKfpKiWgttDgLPy3shFgemEnuY/s320/seed2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My assignment, whether I choose it or not, is to rake all these into a pile and bag them. The lawn-mowing service isn't wanting to put up with these either. Actually, Lawnmower Man didn't really say anything to me about them, but I felt obligated from the start to apologize for them. <br />
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I let him know right from the beginning that I'd do something about them. So far, I've not been out to do any more than that one tiny pile you see in the upper left hand corner of the picture. <br />
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I've strongly considered the possibility of removing the pesky trees from the front lawn. Yes, chop them down. Down, down, down. The only thing saving them is the beautiful leaf colors of fall. They are beautiful then. Other than that... pesky, pesky, pesky.<br />
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I'm sincerely sorry that these spiky things aren't valuable in some way. I'd like to put a sign in my yard offering them 'for free'. That's the optimistic part of me. It says, 'Go for it!' The more realistic side says, 'Better get to raking.' There is one more little voice that says, 'You can do it tomorrow!' Do I want door number 1, 2, or 3? Tah DahCShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-40241149562469989082011-04-16T08:30:00.000-05:002011-04-16T08:30:19.216-05:00Changing Up and Changing OutAfter a long long pause in posting (That's putting it mildly), I decided to try it again. I can't explain exactly why I'm stepping back into the ritual of a self imposed writing schedule, so let's just say I've either come to my senses or lost my mind. <br />
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Since the last post, life has been all about change. I'm not talking about little tiny changes. I'm talking BIG changes. I thought I'd been through the big changes, but I was wrong. After fourteen months of daily doings and trying to get with the program of a new life, I woke up one day to the realization that nothing, absolutely nothing, seemed humorous any more. I had a problem. It was big and needed a solution.<br />
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After much prayer, some Godly counsel, meditation, and considering the importance of life, I decided to change up and change out. The changing up meant stepping back into the life of the real me. That's the happy one. That's the confident one. That's the one that sees the present and future as a happy place. Unfortunately, the only way to get there was to change out. <br />
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Changing out meant cutting ties that were suppose to be strong, but weren't. Changing out meant eliminating the weights that seemed to be dragging me down rather than lifting me up. Changing out meant realizing that somewhere along the way I'd taken a path that was not my path.<br />
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The long and short of it is that I had to set Mr. free to do his thing so that I could do mine. Some decisions in life are sad and difficult. This was one of them for me. However, I'm now in a far far better place than before. The good times, even the green bean canning, will be remembered. The more difficult times I'll let go. <br />
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I'm back, and I hope to stay awhile. A blessed day to all! CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-37498417938292952342010-10-22T08:38:00.000-05:002010-10-22T08:38:12.244-05:00The Love OfferingYou would think from all Mr.'s proud carrying on about his wife (me) and bean canning that I'd given birth to his first male child, heir apparent to his kingdom. He seems to have a new lease on life, one that includes a future for his garden produce.<br />
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He has told the canning story to all of his friends, at least all of those he's seen in the last couple of days. He's bragged about me, which is nice. It seems I've attained some kind of special status in his world as a 'citified' woman who has now crossed over into the world of 'country'. That's so special. <br />
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I will admit that I've had a bit of personal satisfaction looking at those five quarts of beans which still decorate the top of my kitchen counter. I also realize, when trying to be realistic about this whole adventure, that more will be expected. It isn't something that I can call 'completed'. I may look at it as a small accomplishment in my life as it is certainly the first and only time that I've ever considered canning anything. However, I do believe Mr. sees it as crossing over and becoming the woman he wants to see decorating the kitchen... one who will continue what has been started into infinity.<br />
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So... all of this pride and all these kind and caring words have resulted in a love gift. Yes... Mr. brought me a present... really. I'll bet you have some idea of what it is. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words, so here it is...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkN7Js71KvEd0H42_9H45-asBb6s9eD3qODl6F8YBpjqmyuaSkU2c9KP8TwI0kdk1ttiYy9UsYrXXgr1kOkNVxL9YBzuLZBZiJ-uNbptOBLRCIjjXh12Gx7RASrIBaOkQVSRvvvhfWPVh/s1600/morebeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkN7Js71KvEd0H42_9H45-asBb6s9eD3qODl6F8YBpjqmyuaSkU2c9KP8TwI0kdk1ttiYy9UsYrXXgr1kOkNVxL9YBzuLZBZiJ-uNbptOBLRCIjjXh12Gx7RASrIBaOkQVSRvvvhfWPVh/s320/morebeans.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Ah, doesn't that give you a warm fuzzy feeling? I can dig that pressure cooker and all those supplies out and have another round of rip roaring fun. Tah Dah.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-41167527580650663072010-10-20T13:21:00.000-05:002010-10-20T13:21:33.728-05:00The Big Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ra4Y4kWAu9iXju-mS4U7kCaVpjCcyQALeICIWMSxlKAdlTsC53w3NQleEiivOxhzgwZd_NGs9YNhLUxw18zLvMiM3SQYvAyLYGeKqaFItJ1w70rnYaA1NAehpjcJA6QJJJUqdEqO95zO/s1600/mr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ra4Y4kWAu9iXju-mS4U7kCaVpjCcyQALeICIWMSxlKAdlTsC53w3NQleEiivOxhzgwZd_NGs9YNhLUxw18zLvMiM3SQYvAyLYGeKqaFItJ1w70rnYaA1NAehpjcJA6QJJJUqdEqO95zO/s320/mr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Mr. spent the morning around the house to give me a little help with the official start of my green bean canning career. I think he decided this day would never come as he had all the beans snapped and ready to go when I got home from a meeting last night. Ah, thanks Hubby! Sweet baby.<br />
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So... I did get busy this morning and get those beans underway. I got out the instructions that I'd gotten when attending the canning workshop last summer. I felt much better knowing that I'd been taught how to do this and had instructions to keep me on task and doing it right.<br />
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I did manage to get them all ready and the pressure cooker ready to go.<br />
At this point, Mr. left me on my own to deal with the pressure cooker. However, it wasn't long until I realized that something wasn't right. There was about as much steam coming from the handle area of the cooker as from the vent in the top. I really questioned what to do now. If I turned them off, then what would I do with them. I hated to go through all of that getting them ready and then have it not work.<br />
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I called Mr. on his cell and he returned. He's done this before, as I've heard many many times. At this point, I was glad to know that. <br />
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As a back-up plan, or perhaps the main plan, I picked up my phone and dialed the green bean canning emergency hotline. Yep... have one of those. I called Janice, my wonderful OSU Extension Educator. I knew she was the one who would have all the answers. After all, it was Hubby and her workshop that had gotten me into this mess. Now, it would be up to them to save me. Save me from a canning woe!!!<br />
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The calm cool voice of experience coming over the phone line gave me hope of salvaging all this hard work. She said that she would bring me a pressure cooker. She would BRING me a pressure cooker... a home call. Gotta love that!!! Here in the middle of my canning emergency, there was help coming to my door in the way of experienced help coming from the Division of Agricultural Sciences and Natural Resources. Come, Janice, come!!!<br />
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Now Mr. and Janice and I gathered around the pressure cooker, which now actually managed to pressurize. Behold, the jiggly thing jiggled. It was working!! I must admit that I felt much better having Janice in the kitchen as knew she had all the answers if things started going wrong again. <br />
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I'd love to show you a nice picture of Janice grinning at me, but she yelled when I snapped her picture, so will give her a break and not post it today. She was smiling and very patient with her new green bean canning student. <br />
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About the time Snappy took Janice's picture, he also decided to take Mr.'s picture. Now doesn't this man look happy with that pressure cooker. He is so proud of his wife and her venture into the world of doing something with all that garden stuff. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrJVA4Wq5ZAR9NB5N-GeXDDJh2WRMpxNtuNUyXUkBK6df4jbmbAFoHQGEtd248zMrmrfU7ABzMVUzMnS2QIL6Q6Ns4xtzMWMCoyNclBmp02eLP4mP7qgV-swsrlfcGILki37r_B9KMgY3/s1600/greenbeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrJVA4Wq5ZAR9NB5N-GeXDDJh2WRMpxNtuNUyXUkBK6df4jbmbAFoHQGEtd248zMrmrfU7ABzMVUzMnS2QIL6Q6Ns4xtzMWMCoyNclBmp02eLP4mP7qgV-swsrlfcGILki37r_B9KMgY3/s320/greenbeans.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At last the beans are cooling on the towels. I'm awaiting some popping sounds, but haven't heard any of those yet. They are still pretty hot, so I imagine it will be a bit before I hear the beautiful sealing sounds. I will say that I went to a lot of work for five quarts of beans. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mr. proudly told Janice that he was going to bring in more green beans tomorrow. 'Uh, Mr.!!! What did you say?? Tomorrow?!' Now let's not get carried away. I'll bet I can make it through the winter with just five quarts of green beans. Well, perhaps not. I sure hope canning gets easier as one gains experience. Tah Dah</div>CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-43019510403206307872010-10-17T14:52:00.000-05:002010-10-17T14:52:25.539-05:00Love My Men<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For a number of days I've been fighting another battle with pesky squirrels. I don't know why I seem to be blessed with critter problems every few years. This is one of those times. Son Right Back has been working on the problem. I really thought I knew where they were getting in, but he didn't agree. He did seal up one place I'd found along the bottom of the eaves, but that didn't seem to take care of the problem. Those pesky little things managed to get another place on the edge of the siding loose, and I could actually see their little heads peaking out from the guest bedroom window. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After church today, Mr. went outside to try to find another place where the squirrels could get in. He announced that he had found the place. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCfjoI-6ZAYb_2DIjJOloxLTma1ErQaNH0p-tLTCxll7kDln_RnJJ0v_SCRr4elKJj4tFTXsyPcDdXKdf7Ge_Yc8XjfKjYwyQTHXSqYuCbUy0vrr4sJvJTlGQfEwKcD_8pjNr5ppoHJMy/s1600/rightback+onladder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCfjoI-6ZAYb_2DIjJOloxLTma1ErQaNH0p-tLTCxll7kDln_RnJJ0v_SCRr4elKJj4tFTXsyPcDdXKdf7Ge_Yc8XjfKjYwyQTHXSqYuCbUy0vrr4sJvJTlGQfEwKcD_8pjNr5ppoHJMy/s320/rightback+onladder.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was almost perfect timing that had Right Back appearing on the scene to get a 'squirrel update'. I told him about what Mr. had found and set off to try to find it. Mr. quickly showed up on the scene and pointed out the offending hole. The decision was made to repair this place first, then they would move to the real problem. I ran inside for Snappy, my sweet little camera. We just had to get a picture of my men at work. Men working make fine pictures. Go, Right Back, go! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwJwOlpJbu6XKn9SvDP0Tuhv8OcHb1sxmsX5pGG5PW2NQCEEvNFYDp5hLBnaRRbLlf9GdEkjaS1jUDH3UUo5SQt-iM42Atz3OS_oslMY_fln1Y8kV_IJjlSmsWjjHj3dQYbNTYCTHQfD2/s1600/2+with+ladder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwJwOlpJbu6XKn9SvDP0Tuhv8OcHb1sxmsX5pGG5PW2NQCEEvNFYDp5hLBnaRRbLlf9GdEkjaS1jUDH3UUo5SQt-iM42Atz3OS_oslMY_fln1Y8kV_IJjlSmsWjjHj3dQYbNTYCTHQfD2/s320/2+with+ladder.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mr. decided that holding the ladder might be a good idea. No objections from Right Back were heard, so I headed down into the neighbor's yard for a little more of a distance picture... down the hill.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_h0ErLEqC_bxcPz0VOKtLwhhyamK02jXSvUh5O5CwuncmSUlFLmwvHUCjUM5kqay8JzicNwysEp6IJhCN6qY4_lutqi7X5GNM8Aq1ghNozAV7-RQs_8TqmGtSWmrrg6MHw7HvzWWzVnM/s1600/Thehand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_h0ErLEqC_bxcPz0VOKtLwhhyamK02jXSvUh5O5CwuncmSUlFLmwvHUCjUM5kqay8JzicNwysEp6IJhCN6qY4_lutqi7X5GNM8Aq1ghNozAV7-RQs_8TqmGtSWmrrg6MHw7HvzWWzVnM/s320/Thehand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Back up the hill I came and thought I'd pester Mr. a bit with the camera. I don't think he wanted me to take anymore pictures. It looks like he has been playing in the dirt. Okay, I get the message and will retreat with Snappy. I've done enough,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvjAKYHwM_r7k4vN6lsW910V2hUANHizC2RnZy3SYONSVZO5FTbLHOxzpphjpgbQDS-4zkOgr7d1M0H43OHxRnSX9HLDTAbxqM5VS_1VZ4mX_r3BZGqOioobfnbZhruwGk8Af_MhyfcEe/s1600/catman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvjAKYHwM_r7k4vN6lsW910V2hUANHizC2RnZy3SYONSVZO5FTbLHOxzpphjpgbQDS-4zkOgr7d1M0H43OHxRnSX9HLDTAbxqM5VS_1VZ4mX_r3BZGqOioobfnbZhruwGk8Af_MhyfcEe/s320/catman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Just so I don't leave any of my men out of the pictures, here is Man Cat Pumpkin. He's working too, I think. He must be on mouse patrol. We sure don't want any of those pesky critters either. Isn't he cute? He has been around for years. Sweet baby!CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-68978320164746670882010-10-14T08:25:00.002-05:002010-10-14T08:27:44.476-05:00Green Bean DevotionalI've been searching for a devotional to give at our retired teachers' meeting today. I normally am prepared and ready to go, but I just hadn't found the thing in my mind that seems right for today. I've been all over the Internet looking. I finally threw up my hands and mentioned to God that I was going to need a little help here and would just push back from the Internet and packaged devotionals to ask if He had any plan for me.<br />
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I was trying to get around and get dressed and letting my mind be open to His ideas. Then it hit me: My green bean struggle.<br />
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I thought about that huge box of beans still sitting in my kitchen floor. I cooked a big pot of them last night, and you can hardly tell that I even took any out. The bean box seems as big as ever. Also, Mr. announced last night that he had found the little jiggly thing for the pressure cooker. I have to tell you that I had a hard time smiling. I'm conflicted. I don't want to can, yet I do want to can. That's conflicted.<br />
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I also remember what Mr. said to me about all those beans. He said that he wanted me to tell him when I want to start on those beans. He also said that he has done this many times before and would help me with every step all the way though. Actually, I just smiled at him and considered if our marriage would survive him in the kitchen in my way while I try to can beans.<br />
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It hit me this morning that the big box of beans is rather like lots of other things in life. We are sailing along happily doing our own thing when some big issue is presented to us. It is something we have to deal with one way or the other. Usually, we don't like it very much. Those kind of things don't go away by themselves. They stay, uninvited and unappreciated.<br />
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Then I remembered all of God's promises to us that He will be with us in all our troubles. He says that He will get us through it, be with us all the way, and He knows what to do about everything. That's really all there is to say.<br />
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Now I'm going to have to revise my perspective on this whole green bean issue. First, I'm going to have to stop complaining about those beans and the fact that I'm going to have to take action to do something about them. I'm going to have to trust that Mr. can help get me through this and that the outcome will be pleasing. I'm going to have to look at the end as a goal and not the middle as a hurdle. I will not speak any more negative words into the situation, but trust that God will be with me in all this. He has already given me a bit of perspective and adjusted the idea of this little issue of green beans. I think it will work.<br />
Tah DahCShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-6864120597306381512010-10-13T07:32:00.000-05:002010-10-13T07:32:30.882-05:00The Green Bean Fairy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3Ci36-aGXlF-rhWvd14Xpv-RprOsXoz6383CJSQjAPUqXk1ho0Ng_ipDTiBdd-AAIoYLJn7svgO4IE-e4-01EzMj5JCr80RSEnweYOZvJigmtFfDo4iDjBxAVzFvMBEFikxsY79TggSA/s1600/beanbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3Ci36-aGXlF-rhWvd14Xpv-RprOsXoz6383CJSQjAPUqXk1ho0Ng_ipDTiBdd-AAIoYLJn7svgO4IE-e4-01EzMj5JCr80RSEnweYOZvJigmtFfDo4iDjBxAVzFvMBEFikxsY79TggSA/s320/beanbox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I had other plans for my blog this morning, and then this happened. It was the sight that met me when I returned home from a meeting yesterday evening. As you can plainly see, it is a box of freshly picked green beans. I want to state the obvious as want you to be sure and know that I consider it a BIG box of freshly picked green beans.<br />
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You may be getting near to the point of wishing I wouldn't even mention green beans. You know how I feel and that I thought I'd escaped the possibility of canning when Mr. announced that ice had gotten them and the garden was dead. He had told me that he could pick a few and would be bringing them in sometime. I'd expected a FEW. This, in my estimation, is far more than a few.<br />
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I hate to admit how I felt when I saw this box sitting on my kitchen floor. My mind grasped at one last straw... the little jiggly thing for the pressure cooker that Mr. still hasn't found. No jiggly thing, no canning. However, he announced that he was going to really have to get serious and look for that jiggly thing. I have a strong suspicion that I'm doomed. Really. <br />
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Mr. was so proud of this love offering. Oh, I know it isn't a love offering to me. It's a love of all the labor he has done and a kind of just reward thing. It's a pride and fuzzy warm feeling that he gets from seeing all that fruit of his labor. I can relate to that. Even picking them had to be tedious. I can imagine tedious. My wifely duty was to be awed and appropriately elated. I tried. Really.<br />
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My blog is about finding humor along the way. Life isn't always humorous. It is what it is, and sometimes it is difficult to find a little humor, especially when subjects get serious. This, however, is one of those times that laughing about what is going on may help me to escape with a shred of my current sanity. I'm sure I'll look back on this little adventure with some kind of smile. I hope, if Mr. finds that jiggly thing, that I can take a little bit of pride in the fact that we managed to can a few vegetables. At any rate, I imagine I'm in for another little adventure. Tah DahCShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-71138941873589620452010-10-09T11:48:00.000-05:002010-10-09T11:48:08.398-05:00Apple Pie and Hearts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4sVrSiJ2KGJLZDfcosnpaXxYpd6KGKSV_kDXlC5arxppJNAX5ZEzLhOqdUyEWOOkeOGiFe_By68SnOTiaCUJ_cry-60cMrzKL44Nlab4ZtP3aZaACZ39Xakry_3OKzjm1XcrzzAtDK8Y/s1600/applepie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4sVrSiJ2KGJLZDfcosnpaXxYpd6KGKSV_kDXlC5arxppJNAX5ZEzLhOqdUyEWOOkeOGiFe_By68SnOTiaCUJ_cry-60cMrzKL44Nlab4ZtP3aZaACZ39Xakry_3OKzjm1XcrzzAtDK8Y/s320/applepie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It may not be the most beautiful pie on the planet, but it has two things in its favor: It's made with apples from the ranch, and I made it with my own two little hands. Both gain points in my favor. The only thing that would make it better would be a homemade crust. Personally, I think Pillsbury and I did fine together. It's Mr. that is all about homemade crust, and I think he can forgive a little by just getting the pie.<br />
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I actually made two of these this past week. The first one brought such delight that I tried another one the following day. The first pie had to be cut into six pieces. That pretty much meant the plate was empty. No leftovers. Sad. So, what is a person to do but make another one? Trust me, that gained me more points with Mr. Pie makes his heart happy and his taste buds dance with joy. That's good.<br />
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Mr. is also starting to learn that using my oven is a sign of fall. When the summer heat goes down, the kitchen oven can go on. That means comfort food. All those wonderful items I've avoided cooking during the summer are now possibilities. Roast with all the trimmings! That's one. Pie! That's two. It doesn't get any better than that. The smells fill the house. Even when you begin not to notice them, someone (usually Mr.) comes in the door and says, 'Boy, the house sure smells good!' That's praise enough. It makes the heart sing. Perhaps I'm just easily amused, but I certainly do like it, and so does Mr. Tah Dah.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-20078167548616500882010-10-07T20:15:00.000-05:002010-10-07T20:15:48.700-05:00The Buzz Around TownBig things seem to be happening in our small town... right now. The word is out that a movie is being filmed here. Now that is a big something happening. Ben Affleck has been spotted. There has been a shoot at a local church, and another site is being readied for downtown tomorrow. <br />
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I wonder how many have wandered around hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the stars or perhaps even be nabbed for an extra in the movie. That might really be a fun thing to know that you had a little tiny part and to cling to hope that it wouldn't get cut.<br />
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I've asked around, but it seems the name of the movie is secret at this point. It is simply called 'Untitled'. <br />
I resisted the urge to go driving by the church today, but I may have to see about a little tour of town tomorrow, if that is even possible. I'm sure this is suppose to be exciting for everyone, and it is rather a fun thing to think that your town is going to be in the movie. It looks like only time will tell the specifics as to who, what, and the title of the movie. Sure! I'll go see it.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-79428662129876175992010-10-06T15:38:00.000-05:002010-10-06T15:38:43.637-05:00Mystery Taters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_SHTQfYfQ3XUxKlLChIcvwg5zMZ7_yBPCBs8zaEBYI_IoHQfv-qZG40TwJxAoLWZuJba4eEw3yhh2iXDECqjLXTsZ2zPW0SsjPirBAN_oO5M14iGPBS3IViB5Wac97zOSHL7kug6DRxZ/s1600/tater1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_SHTQfYfQ3XUxKlLChIcvwg5zMZ7_yBPCBs8zaEBYI_IoHQfv-qZG40TwJxAoLWZuJba4eEw3yhh2iXDECqjLXTsZ2zPW0SsjPirBAN_oO5M14iGPBS3IViB5Wac97zOSHL7kug6DRxZ/s320/tater1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mr. decided to dig some potatoes yesterday. He has been talking about that garden again. The green beans are not happy, but there are some potatoes that can be eaten, so Mr. happily brought them to the kitchen. We have guests, and a roast is in the making. Of course, potatoes go with roast.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjio_Q2ezM_m_aZWSquPaL93rOpwkE0axYS8DF0J_d_Vka1IiK5V0IdWczYPNy32xcOH6NmYO76y0bIPsoPUO8hIF2FgutBZv8VO8ydPY4Y__bTVHPaVpdsQWs83zkcIAt8qdavx2ly-EE-/s1600/tater2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjio_Q2ezM_m_aZWSquPaL93rOpwkE0axYS8DF0J_d_Vka1IiK5V0IdWczYPNy32xcOH6NmYO76y0bIPsoPUO8hIF2FgutBZv8VO8ydPY4Y__bTVHPaVpdsQWs83zkcIAt8qdavx2ly-EE-/s320/tater2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A few 'wows' came with the crazy looking potato that graced the center of the pile. I mentioned that I should get the camera and let everyone see these funny potatoes. It was suggested that I get a dollar bill out to use for size comparison as a dollar is about six inches I was told. I didn't measure it, but figured it was a good idea. MK and JR offered to help in the staging, so each took a corner to help you see.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OshyphenhyphenElrJAV45U6LNvfEsYFJuE-k1_u8OB2U9ZrEbIs5BkQJDQMZTXPSFYRPaURWTwY7dllDihj6Ik-0WrJF5Tf2nhQ6Orrj4VJlzSON7A9SGzzB0U-A4XtFV-tz3971wPMem8JyeA2Qz/s1600/tater3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OshyphenhyphenElrJAV45U6LNvfEsYFJuE-k1_u8OB2U9ZrEbIs5BkQJDQMZTXPSFYRPaURWTwY7dllDihj6Ik-0WrJF5Tf2nhQ6Orrj4VJlzSON7A9SGzzB0U-A4XtFV-tz3971wPMem8JyeA2Qz/s320/tater3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We aren't sure what this is, but it might qualify for some kind of suspended alien. It certainly looks like a very strange being. Thank you, MK, for your assistance. Don't let it get away!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhM73gJ2qV3iX0LZuw-aRPnrnx8YRCEHrMZsLiEPgVJK9UWwuHiBwel4Tcg3DM1YLUe01vMHvKFK33lyKV5vJOI2Fp4hwsRiMUD3UFrzwXYilXfbJpfSY4J_H-Hx5QDQCFFVotW-hoqI5/s1600/tater4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhM73gJ2qV3iX0LZuw-aRPnrnx8YRCEHrMZsLiEPgVJK9UWwuHiBwel4Tcg3DM1YLUe01vMHvKFK33lyKV5vJOI2Fp4hwsRiMUD3UFrzwXYilXfbJpfSY4J_H-Hx5QDQCFFVotW-hoqI5/s320/tater4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, this one really looks like a little alien. Star Wars, perhaps. We aren't sure.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2kmFzxcI9E0mydKhW94q31zEikpOwK1ZfGmyrSBRn9u5aEQ_cV1Ks62wZtn_IcP0H8DQNV2_EHf3aSwKb0vX0HbrASFCir7iDrDltXgeSy-GM_EwHM4mYiy1z2OXMgJLCnFcrZxFkyBe/s1600/tater5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2kmFzxcI9E0mydKhW94q31zEikpOwK1ZfGmyrSBRn9u5aEQ_cV1Ks62wZtn_IcP0H8DQNV2_EHf3aSwKb0vX0HbrASFCir7iDrDltXgeSy-GM_EwHM4mYiy1z2OXMgJLCnFcrZxFkyBe/s320/tater5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ah, a little baby tater... perhaps a cheeping chicken... maybe. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicKLWh_RCyjqZHg1FuyrwCfjcqshWhPqGQ94V0fWilKJFpKlCmwE8R1npgD-GASl0sEwvMEQRbxj_Gyp4Vs3xXXVm80Mwc7x07_6jMofe060nQtq4e2SHldv-w1LvbhGwy6dMnXL_nwvx9/s1600/tater6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicKLWh_RCyjqZHg1FuyrwCfjcqshWhPqGQ94V0fWilKJFpKlCmwE8R1npgD-GASl0sEwvMEQRbxj_Gyp4Vs3xXXVm80Mwc7x07_6jMofe060nQtq4e2SHldv-w1LvbhGwy6dMnXL_nwvx9/s320/tater6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just in case you missed the first one, here it is again. Lovely, isn't it? I sure hope I haven't driven my readers to tater envy. They certainly are mystery taters.</div>CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-65455921477960871142010-10-04T10:48:00.002-05:002010-10-04T10:51:42.859-05:00Conflicting Thoughts and a Freeze<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was very happy with myself earlier this morning. You might say that I was basking in the successful feeling of getting a post ready for my blog. I was nearing the finish line when it happened: The dreaded blank white screen. Oh, no!!! Where is the edit button to undo? There is none. Gone is gone. GONE. What had I done? I didn’t mean to hit a delete button. I really don’t know what happened, but I do know that only blank space leered at me from my computer screen. I saw nothing. It was gone.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being at times a tenacious person, I am going to begin again. I know it won’t be the same, but I shall try my best to recreate the post I had going earlier in the morning. So, we begin.....</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I woke this morning to another chill in the house. I’d gotten up and was clutching my first cup of coffee, feeling its warmth. Mr. was rousing from his sleep and mumbling something about checking his windshield. It was a mystery to me why he would put that first on his ‘to do’ list, but he seemed quite anxious to see about it. I can’t say I saw any reason for such concern. The only time I remember worrying about the condition of my windshield was when I’d have to scrape it before going to work. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided it must be another one of his country ways. I know he believes in reading signs of things. I figured his windshield must somehow be related to something important. Actually, I think he has rubbed off on me a bit as I found myself listening to a persimmon report from one of his friends. It seems they had opened a persimmon and found a shovel image on the seed. Of course, a shovel would be needed if it was a bad winter with lots of snow. It’s a sign. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was then that Mr. came though the kitchen on his way to check out his windshield. He was on a mission. I could see those signs: purposeful walk, eyes forward, no hesitation, opening the back door, leaving it open....’Ah, close the door!’ I clutched my nice warm coffee and hoped the storm door would keep in the heat until Mr. returned. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wait wasn’t long. He faced me and made the announcement: There is ice on the windshield. ‘Ice?’, I said. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’ I knew better, but I’d said it anyway.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m sure there are times that Mr. must find me wanting in understanding this whole sign process. I don’t always connect the dots of realization as quickly as I might if I were a country girl. This city girl just didn’t get it. That’s when he made the second announcement: The garden is gone! </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With only one cup of coffee in me, I wonder in amazement how I was able to muster up the look of shock and horror followed by a deep sigh of distress at his news. I knew he had worked hard on that garden and was expecting a fresh fall crop of green beans in a few days. He’d mentioned them on more than one occasion. This expectant gardener had just seen his crop and all his hard work go down the drain, so to speak.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was feeling a little conflicted here. I really did feel sorry for him. It may even be a wifely duty to feel sorry for him and share his loss. On the other hand, I knew the hunt for the little jiggly thing for the pressure cooker could be put on hold. No jiggly thing equals no canning. No beans (Do you see where I’m going with this?) equals no canning. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this point, he put on the show of accepting what life and the weather brought his way. It’s just what happens sometimes. He just needed ten more days and those beans would have been ready to pick. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He left, but that conflicting feeling remained. I was a little sad for him, but I was perhaps a little relieved that I might not be spending hours in the kitchen trying to can those beans. I hate to admit it, but I was almost feeling a little blessed and perhaps a smidge smug.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s when It happened. I’d reread my lovely post thinking it was not a bad way to start the day. I was just a few words from the end when the screen went blank. As I lingered in the moment, I saw the sign. This time I didn’t need anyone to help me connect the dots. I’d not been really ‘feeling’ his moment as he watched his hard work rendered useless. Now it was gone, as was my hour of work on my post. Equally gone.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, Dear Reader, I leave you with that. Take it for what it is worth. I’ll bet you are smiling. I am too.</span></span></span></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-33768855343524994682010-10-03T07:22:00.000-05:002010-10-03T07:22:01.398-05:00First ChillThere is a definite chill in the air this morning. It is the thing that I can only dream about during the summer. <br />
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In a little act of celebration, I turned the central heat/air off the other day. It has remained a silent lifeless thing. I like that. It isn't spending my money, and I'm quite content with the whole idea of a day without that utility cost. It really isn't a big deal, just a little thought that makes me happy.<br />
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However, Mr. has complained that the house is cold. I checked the thermostat reading. He may be right as it is showing 66 degrees in the house. I call that good sleeping. A nice crisp temperature and a good warm bed make for a nice night. That's my thought on the matter. I did manage to knit my eyebrows together and give Mr. a look when he mentioned the cold house. I told him that I didn't think ranchers minded the cold. After all, what was all that ice chopping in the winter talk if they were at all concerned about cold. He assured me that he had given up early morning ice chopping and elected to do his work later in the day when the sun is out. I said that I was sorry I'd been so far off in my thinking. <br />
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The fact remains that I'm sitting here huddled up in my winter wooly robe. It isn't really wool, but I thought that little phrase sounded warm and cozy. I'm having to think warm thoughts as it is, I hate to admit, a tad chilly in the house. I suppose I'm going to have to consider moving the little switch on the thermostat from off to on. It is almost like giving up on a goal. I don't think I'm ready. I'm going to have to do a little mental preparation before I can do it. Either that, or I'm going to have to get colder.<br />
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I don't think I have much more to say on the subject. I was just sitting here thinking, you see. I was feeling that first chill of the fall and thinking how I would have enjoyed just a little taste of this in August. I guess it is true that we must wait for each thing in season. Ah, there might be a good thought in that.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-74587888099908787992010-10-01T10:08:00.001-05:002010-10-01T10:11:32.380-05:00Stepping Into The Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUt09zeUIl4PVI3Qr4CnbA51tEGd_DnsVbZqDOHq24XYiXc6jXK2d9XmV3-C3jso9BzA9ZGFl8Z8sG7bO9wJyN7YMllYMak46zDq9OMb1Hdt2YvKS5EfgTfxBAlApDKvAdP8E0S0Z4YlhU/s1600/Lauriston+J+&+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUt09zeUIl4PVI3Qr4CnbA51tEGd_DnsVbZqDOHq24XYiXc6jXK2d9XmV3-C3jso9BzA9ZGFl8Z8sG7bO9wJyN7YMllYMak46zDq9OMb1Hdt2YvKS5EfgTfxBAlApDKvAdP8E0S0Z4YlhU/s320/Lauriston+J+&+family.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It was 1904, and the family gathered in the studio to capture a moment in time. Portraits were a serious business, and no one would mention 'Say cheese!' to those gathered and looking appropriately serious for the occasion. Even the baby is sitting quite still and seeming to 'feel' the moment.<br />
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I can only guess at the home activities which preceded the trip. Getting three of the male species into suits, one girl into a dress, and the baby into his little outfit must have been interesting. The mother, of course, would be about making herself look fresh and ready for the picture too. I wonder how much ironing she had to do with the old fashioned non electric beast of an iron. I'm sure they were all excited at the prospect of having a family photo made. Perhaps I shouldn't speak for the young boys. They might not be as enthusiastic about donning those suits. <br />
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However, there they are, seated in the studio in 1904, respectfully clad in their finest. Perhaps a few pictures were taken to ensure there was one very good photo. Click, click, click, and the family is captured in living black and white.<br />
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I don't remember seeing this photo until recently. It is one of those treasures found during my new genealogy quest. I was absolutely thrilled to get it and find that the adults are my paternal grandparents. The baby is my father. It is almost an awesome feeling to look at the faces and realize that for one brief moment I can look at them all just as they were in that one moment in time. It's like meeting them. It's gathering with their little group and being thankful that they took the time to make their way to the studio for that family portrait. I'm also thankful that the picture was cared for through the years and that I can now have it. It's like stepping into the past and sharing something quite precious with my ancestors.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-286954650017883742010-09-27T17:35:00.000-05:002010-09-27T17:35:27.622-05:00Beware of Men With Gardens<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMGt0Hs5-vfRmUz_HzW7OCdM_Mi86XggdWdvNXgbwOjxbMry1N859pCejdNhyIbZ6fn1y8RRfqxSHz-C8U-Gw9DGU9Lqj-mVN-NDhyry4ylV8KaS9HIGycWWTx8ijXNe-utJTQ9xoksjT/s1600/water+canning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMGt0Hs5-vfRmUz_HzW7OCdM_Mi86XggdWdvNXgbwOjxbMry1N859pCejdNhyIbZ6fn1y8RRfqxSHz-C8U-Gw9DGU9Lqj-mVN-NDhyry4ylV8KaS9HIGycWWTx8ijXNe-utJTQ9xoksjT/s320/water+canning.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hope you look closely and see the steam rising from the hot water canner. This simple looking scene was far from simple. If you have canned, and I'm not sure if I should wish that on you or not, then you will appreciate the hours that happen before you can get to this point in the process.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't ever remember my parents telling me to beware of men with gardens. I do remember my father having a little garden in the country with a friend. They were both from farming backgrounds and loved to till the soil and bring home the vegetables. I remember both Mother and Dad getting into the whole canning scene. I thought it was nice, but looked like work to me. I knew our eating through the winter wasn't going to depend on what they canned, which perhaps made it more enjoyable to them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have to admit that I had a giant bout of guilt when I thought about all the apples on Mr.'s apple trees that were going to waste. Sin!!! I decided to do what I can about that and have canned four pints of apples and five pints of applesauce. The applesauce was today's adventure. As I sit here writing, I heard the last of the lids pop, so know they have all sealed. Yea!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will own up to the fact that I let Mr. know from the very onset of his canning suggestions that I was NOT going to be pressured into the kitchen. I had no intention then or now of spending my days chained to the stove. No, not me. I realize it sounds like a protest, but I've got to stand my ground for my own sanity. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will admit that it is nice to look at the finished product and envision having a nice bit of applesauce one of the days. It might also make the applesauce from the grocery store more enticing. I can look at the price and think how long it took me to make mine. I'll be able to figure out what I made per hour in canning these five, only five, pints. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVCWatkjHbRIHC_3zWvQ2TkD7yYMBLX8H3WDvpGBe9dcqGeptvV8w6P8S_HftpTyZS0P4dZMpTGGEA-GepmbNwjeqPpbhWE8r2QYQVWjbBZjBrzgh4t2_LjJ1_rDUVFWr9stT6gEPsmp6/s1600/jars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVCWatkjHbRIHC_3zWvQ2TkD7yYMBLX8H3WDvpGBe9dcqGeptvV8w6P8S_HftpTyZS0P4dZMpTGGEA-GepmbNwjeqPpbhWE8r2QYQVWjbBZjBrzgh4t2_LjJ1_rDUVFWr9stT6gEPsmp6/s320/jars.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I'm a little concerned that Mr. has planted more green beans. He announced that they should be ready in a couple of weeks. Oh, dear. I know what that means. I do love eating those nice fresh beans, but haven't tried canning them yet. So far, I've not been able to pressure cook anything as Mr. can't seem to remember to look for that little jiggly thing that goes on the top. He said he would look for it. I don't know if I should hope he finds it or not. All I know is that I sure wish someone had warned me about men with gardens! CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1127323915019627272.post-61629060061734299902010-09-25T17:50:00.000-05:002010-09-25T17:50:31.427-05:00Tired of the Choo ChooEveryday lately I think about posting. I know it has been awhile, and I've felt guilty once in awhile. I really have. Writing every day and having something to say is difficult. So far, I've managed to break every single rule of blogging. Perhaps saying 'every' rule is a bit of an overstatement, but I've managed to break the really big one about posting on a regular schedule. <br />
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I'm sure I've been busy. I know I've spent a few days working in the yard. I'm surprised someone hasn't sent a picture of my yard to the makeover show. Without a doubt, I should be in the running for a makeover. My yard was beyond desperate. I had a pile of bricks by the back retaining wall that has graced the yard for over a year. It was debris from one of the home repair items, and it was a mess. I guess no one knew what to do with it. Mr. took it away a couple of weeks ago. Bless Mr.! I was delighted, and it seemed to give me incentive to actually go out there in the yard and do something... anything.<br />
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I decided to set a goal. It had to be reasonable and doable. I opted for filling one yard bag a day. Anymore than that was optional. Just 1. I found myself filling more, but felt free to quit at any moment and come inside. By the end of the week, I'd collected twelve yard bags of weeds, stray vines, and shrubbery clippings. It was a sight to see.... the bags standing in a nice little row by the curb. I wondered if the City would take them away with the trash or leave me a pointed little note about my collection. Thankfully, they disappeared on trash pick-up day.<br />
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I decided to apply that same idea of goal setting to work I need to do inside the house. I've been working on cleaning. I do clean regularly, but had been involved in things that were more fun than cleaning. I kept telling myself that dust on the furniture was helping to preserve it. I knew better. Really.<br />
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I received a nice little e-mail the other day from friend Juju. She mentioned the blog. She came right out and said it. Yes, she did. She said, 'I'm a little tired of the Choo Choo. I think you should post something different.' Well, there you have it. I have to say that I understood and I imagine if you have stopped by at all that you are also tired, perhaps sick and tired, of the choo choo. <br />
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Happy weekend.CShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07294547380096101795noreply@blogger.com0