Word Twists....I LOVE stuff like this! Thanks, Lizzee...

And we Americans think we have a hard time understanding foreign languages!

English can be awfully confusing, even for us.

Try these:

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.

2) The farm was used to produce produce.

3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.

4) We must polish the Polish furniture.

5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.

6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.

7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.

8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.

9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.

10) I did not object to the object.

11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.

12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row

13) They were too close to the door to close it.

14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.

15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.

16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.

17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.

18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.

19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.

20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

"A house once loved can never be lost. Never. Sold, yes. Moved out of. But not left behind. The house builds itself somehow into your tissues. It's floor plan, the color of it's walls, it's smell of fir and candied orange peel at Christmas, the summer light banding the kitchen floor, the chill of September that strokes its way up under your nightgown when you throw back the covers, etch themselves into the whorls of your brain. It belongs to you in a sense no title can confer. You have metabolized it. It lives in your bones."

-- Nancy Mairs from "Bone House" --

After reading my post yesterday Linda left this in a comment she wrote to me. I think it's just beautiful and wanted to share it with you, too.

Thank you, Linda!

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right. - Maya Angelou

Home


Originally written January 16, 2007

I was watching an episode of "Buy Me" on HGTV this afternoon, one I'd taped on our DVR recently. This particular episode dealt with an elderly couple, both of them 84 years old, who were trying to sell the house they'd lived in since 1953. That's the year I was born, 1953. They'd raised their five children in that house and the mental struggle the wife went thru as she sifted and sorted thru all the memories and bits and pieces of her life was very bittersweet. The pain in her eyes, her indecisiveness of what to keep, what to get rid of, is something I think every woman of every age goes thru at different stages in life. It seems like we're always saying goodbye to something...our girlhood, our youth, our children...and, if we're blessed to be together as long as this woman and her husband have been...sometimes even our beloved spouse.

I've lived in many houses in my lifetime so far. One in the town I was born in, five in my hometown. Three in Vancouver, Washington, before I was married, and seven others with my Dear Hubby before finally settling here in the house we live in now, where we've been for close to 25 years. This, by far, has been the happiest home I've ever lived in. It's a Craftsman style bungalow built in 1912 and is in an old urban neighborhood that's a mixture of houses built anywhere from the late 1800s to a skinny little house down the street, 14 feet wide, that was built on a narrow vacant lot over the past few months. We're within walking distance of every school my children attended, and many of our neighbors have been here even longer than we have. We've watched each others' kids and even grandkids grow up. We're a close bunch, but never intrusive. Somehow, we've managed to co-exist very peacefully all of these years. A good thing, since most of our houses are so close to each other we can reach out a window and almost touch the house next to us.

What makes a home? Is it the creaky old fir wood floors that have been scuffed with countless feet over the past 94 years? The old lathe and plaster walls that are cracked and warped in places? The kitchen cabinets that needed an updating 20 years ago, and will get done when we get to them? The groanings and creakings of the old gas furnace in the basement every time it comes to life? Is it the envelope we found tucked in a wall, postdated in 1941, during a remodel job 23 years ago? No. It's the ghostly shouts and laughter drifting in thru the windows on a summer day, of endless games of Capture the Flag all the neighborhood children played together. It's finding a couple of little boys building a fort in the huge laurel that borders our back yard boundary and feeding them popsicles. It's digging in my flower beds and unearthing an old Fisher Price toy fireman buried under the dirt for who knows how many years. It's going searching back in a dark corner of the basement for something and coming across my daughter's wooden stove and sink set, unused for 25 years and covered in dust. It's looking for the cedar waxwings each early-Autumn, never knowing if they'll show up in the huge holly tree out back and hoping with all my heart they do...being thrilled beyond words when I spot their beautiful yellow wings flickering among the branches. It is cradling my little grandson in my arms for his first ride on my front porch glider. It is coming here, a young mother of 28 and, most probably, never leaving until the day I die. So, yes...I can relate to the pain in that older woman's eyes. I can see myself sorting thru the boxes and bins that store my life and not knowing which to toss, which to pass on to my children. Are they going to want my old paper dolls, my useless bits of jewelry from my childhood that mean nothing to them but transport me to certain moments, certain friends and people, who've passed thru my years here on earth, every time I hold them in my hands? Are they going to want this blog journal? Do they care that much about how I lived, what I thought, what I felt? What I dreamed? The woman that I truly am here within me?

I agree with Maya Angelou. We never do leave home. Every house we've ever lived in has helped form us into who we are, has followed along with us every step of the way. It's the ghostly whispers, the quiet moments, the tears and grief, the joy and love, the celebrations we celebrated in each and every one of them that make up our dwellingplace, the inner heart of us. Home is not walls and a roof, no. It's the structure that houses the very essence of who we are.

It IS a small world after all....

There are a couple of things I want to write about and I hope I'm not repeating myself on either one. I happened to notice yesterday that I've written 697 posts so far on this blog. There had been several more but when I 'housecleaned' a couple of weeks ago I got rid of a lot of the 'fluff stuff' that will never mean anything to anybody in my family if they ever read this once I'm long gone. I lose track about what I've written about. Truth be told, I lose track of what day of the week it is. I wake up quite often not even knowing if it's a weekday or the weekend. Then reality sets in and it's ups-a-daisy. Time to get the show on the road. With that said, I might've written about these stories before. Maybe not. But they seem familiar to me. Maybe I've just commented about them on others' blogs when they've written about similar experiences. But bear with me. I think they're interesting enough they're worth repeating. If I am repeating. Which I don't know. But whatever....

On my last post yesterday I wrote about this being a small world and I got a couple of comments from Betty and Donna telling me about their small world experiences. Very interesting, especially Betty's. And Donna's...well, one of the reasons I freaked out a while back on Facebook is I began typing in some names from my past -- parts of my past I don't care to remember -- and I found some of them. I figured if I could find them, they could find me so I deactivated my account. But then I got brave and reactivated it...with a bunch of privacy limits on it. Fear and repulsion will not rule my life.

This is one of my favorite small world stories. I've recounted it so many times I think that's why I feel like I've written about it here before. If I have I apologize ahead of time to my long-time readers but I have always been amazed by it so I'll share it yet again since I've become aware of the fact I have some new regular readers. This first story is related to Betty's comment about being seated next to someone on a plane flight and finding out they knew her best friends in Canada:

My younger brother and his wife are world travellers. They love to bird-watch and my brother has become an amazing wildlife photographer with scores of photos from all over the globe. One of their high school friends had married a man who is an engineer who sets up water systems in Third World countries and while they were living in Zimbabwe a decade or so ago - at least I believe that was the time period, the years zip by so fast - they invited my brother and his wife to come visit. Eric and his wife jumped at the chance and flew to Harare to spend some time there. They took a canoe expedition down the Zambezi River, their canoe almost capsizing because of a herd of wild hippos in the water. They travelled into Zambia to see Victoria Falls. And one day as they rode in a taxi cab thru the city the cab driver asked them where they came from. Since Zimbabwe is something like 90% black and not the most politically stable country Eric said seeing white people was pretty rare. They told the cab driver they came from Vancouver, Washington, and went on to explain to him that it's across the Columbia River from Portland, Oregon, hoping the man's grasp of geography could picture where that might be. The man lit up like a light bulb! "Portland, Oregon?! Why, that is where my church is headquartered! It is my life dream to go to Portland, Oregon!" My brother is not a religious man but out of politeness he asked the driver, "What church do you belong to?" and the driver told him. Then it was my brother's turn to be astonished. "Why, my sister goes to that church!" And when the driver began rattling off some of the names of pastors, missionaries, etc, who've visited Zimbabwe and several other countries in Africa my brother was shocked to realize he'd heard me mention some of them, too, in the many years I've attended my church! When Eric got home and told me this story I was simply bowled over by just how small this world is.

Now...in relation to Donna's comment about just typing in names on Facebook and never knowing what might pop up, I have a story for that, too. Years ago - in fact, until the internet and email took over - one of my favorite hobbies was letter writing. I got my first pen pal thru a project at school when I was 8 years old. I even remember the girl's name...Cathy...and she lived in Buffalo, New York. My little world was so limited that the idea of communicating with people from all over thrilled me to no end when I was a child. Just as in real life, many of those friendships came and went thru the years. One has lasted for over 30 years without any gaps in between, with the mother of my childhood best friend. One evening as I was browsing around Facebook I got the wild idea of trying to find one of my long-lost pen pals, one I'd had for several years that I'd also become acquainted with thru a school project when I was 14. Her name was Robin and she was 13 at the time. I lived here. She lived in Red Wing, Minnesota. We exchanged photos. We wrote steadily for years. Before the invent of cell phones she'd come out here to visit family in Gresham, I believe it was, and even tho we didn't have the opportunity to meet then she was allowed to call me and we had a phone conversation. When I was 19 I had the chance to visit a friend of mine in Minneapolis and since Red Wing is only 50 miles or so from the Twin Cities, my friend LuAnn told me she'd take me to meet Robin. We set out on a cold, cold day and drove to the fast food restaurant - or was it a dry cleaners' or something? Forgive me...this was close to 40 years ago! - where Robin had an after-school job. As soon as we established we were who we were, we began chatting like we'd known each other forever which, in a way, we had. My friend LuAnn told me later she couldn't get over it, how it was like we'd picked up from nowhere and took off as if we'd just spoken to each other yesterday. I went back home. I got married. Robin got married. We had children...me, 2 and her, 5. We got busy. And busier. Our letters stretched out further and further until they just...stopped. But thru the years I never forgot her. I often thought about her and wondered how life had ended up treating her. Then came Facebook. I still remembered her married name, a rather unusual one, so I typed it in with "Minnesota" in my search and right before my eyes was a photo of someone with that last name who looked remarkably similar to what Robin had 30-odd years ago! And by the young woman's name I was 99% sure she was one of her daughters. So I wrote this young lady a message and I believe it was the very next day I got the confirmation back...yes, she was Robin's daughter and she was so excited! She'd let her mom know I'd 'found' her! To make a long story short...Robin doesn't care to use email or the computer much so guess who is my letter-writing pen pal once again? Yup! She doesn't seem to mind the fact that my letters are typed out because of lack of time and arthritis in my fingers. Time has taken its toll on me that way but as I look at envelopes and letter pages with her hand writing on them I am amazed to think we've been able to pick up where we left off all those years ago. Like there hasn't been that 30 year gap in between.

Like it was just yesterday.

There's been a town showing up regularly on my Feedjit thingy the past few months: Fallbrook, California. I don't think that reader, whoever they may be, has ever commented. Which is perfectly fine. Most of my readers don't comment and never have. I spend my time writing to myself on here for the most part, or so it feels, haha! But the reason I'm mentioning Fallbrook is the fact I'd never heard of it and had no idea what part of the state it was in. This afternoon I was watching an episode of "Clean House" I'd taped on the DVR and the family it featured was from....GASP!...Fallbrook, California! It's somewhere down near San Diego! Who knows! Maybe the lady featured on there is my mystery reader!

Small world.

Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music.

~ William Stafford ~

I am SO loving my new CD...

Absolutely beautiful

Broadening our horizons....

I love my little Feedjit gadget. It's fun to glance down it to see where everyone's coming from. The only thing is, the world's geography has changed so much since I learned a lot about it in the 4th grade...why my 4th grade teacher focused on it so much, I dunno but it sure gave me a good handle on where in the world everything was for a lot of years. Until the Berlin Wall came down and the Soviet Union broke up into about a bazillion little countries and Burma became Myanmar -- I think -- and Sri Lanka became...well...whatever Sri Lanka became. So now, unless I recognize the country flags like Canada's Oak Leaf or the UK's Union Jack, I'm pretty lost when it comes to one listed as "Zaventem, Brabant". I recognize cities such as Paris and know that it's in France - DUH! - but it'd be nice if Feedjit would provide the country name - or at least a recognizable country name - for those of us who are geographically-challenged dinosaurs like me.

Which reminds me of something that happened to me years ago. The church I belong to has an International convention every year with people coming globally to participate. One year Dear Hubby and I had been invited to dinner at his aunt's house and she'd also invited a visitor from Finland. As I sat talking to her and she told me she was from Finland I asked if she lived in Helsinki. With a rather astonished look on her face she told me yes, she was. "What's it like living so close to the USSR?" I asked, because it still was the USSR back then. She said, "You actually know where Finland is located?" I think I looked back at her with a very quizzical expression on my face when I answered, "Yes, I do." She told me, "You'd be amazed...no one seems to know where Finland is, of those who I've spoken to who live here in the United States."

How sad.

Thank you, Mrs. Maesner, for planting the knowledge of the world so deeply in my mind. Now, if it could've only stayed the way I learned it.

A day well spent.....

Poor Dear Hubby! He ate too much. I think he and this cat are feeling the pain.

So how was your Thanksgiving? This was the most laid-back Thanksgiving I've had in the past 35 years. Dear Hubby had the alarm set for 5 but I came to, wide awake, at 4. I'd slept for hours, deeply. And I needed to go to the bathroom. Once I was up I thought why go back to bed? I didn't have any timetable to follow...the house was peaceful. So I turned on the coffee maker and had my bagel and coffee while I watched Tuesday's episode of "The Biggest Loser". Because she's been voicing the feelings, fears, and emotions of most of us Midlife Mamas I'm rooting for Liz

We drove out to the archery range in Carlton this morning before sunrise. There was literally no traffic on the road...just a 'greasy' rain smearing the windshield. No matter how fast the wipers swiped back and forth, nothing seemed to clear the glass. The further west we went the lighter it rained and by the time we'd passed thru Sherwood it had softened to a drizzle. The fields and vineyards that dot the rolling hills were lying hushed and slumbering in the cool damp of the early morning. Mist clung in the clefts of the draws. Most of the houses along the rural roads were still dark. Some had a light or two on, smoke drifting up slow and heavy as syrup into the blanket of cloud. Mostly a monochrome of varying shades of gray but here and there a slash of crimson or gold would blaze out from the trees. Rain-torn remnants of Autumn's splendor. Dear Hubby parked the truck under a stand of dripping fir trees and as he wandered off to walk thru the target course I hunkered down under a blanket and read 100 pages as I relaxed there. A heavy downpour shattered the peace for a while but I closed my eyes and absorbed the sound of the raindrops pelting the roof of the cab. He looked like a drowned rat when he got back to the truck, drops of water trickling off the brim of his hat, but the 40 targets had refreshed him and relaxed him and we enjoyed a quiet, companionable ride home.

My son and his family spent the day with my daughter-in-law's brother and his family in Chehalis so we had a very casual dinner-day here with just Dear Hubby, Daughter, and me. Fix-it-yourself deli sandwiches. A jell-o salad. Relish tray. Crock pot meatballs. Some chips. Pie for dessert. Dear Hubby and I watched a DVD I'd picked up at the library yesterday, "36 Hours" made in 1964 and starring James Garner and Eva Marie Saint. Daughter recently bought the "Anne of Green Gables" DVD collection and has been watching them in her room most of the day. I read a little more of my book.

It's been a perfect day.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with benefits,

even the God of our salvation.

Psalms 68:19

Ahhhhhhh....computers! We gotta love 'em....

Well, I won't even begin to tell you what an interesting experience I had last nite, finding the header section of my blog again. How I came to having this ultra-cool -- in my opinion, anyway -- new header painting that fits right in with my blog title. Or so I think. Me, me, me...oh well, it's my blog and I'm the only one I'm trying to satisfy. In all honesty I don't even know how I got that image to work. I'd gone to pimp-my-profile to browse thru the 18,000 templates they have that are compatible to Blogger. I found this. I lost this. Then, magically, when I 'found' my header again and removed an image of my house I had on there...when I clicked 'Save'...there was this image. "Hey, works for me!!!" said I. Like Dear Hubby's always saying, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." I don't care if I never 'redecorate' here again. Kind of like my house I live in. It's almost 100 years old and it looks it. But it's comfortable. It's home.

My mom used to have the perfect phrase for stuff like this: "By guess and by gory!" Aye, matey!

I am sitting here in my super-baggy orange nite shirt with a pair of Dear Hubby's old black socks on my feet. I am tired. My regular routine was thrown all out of whack this week and I think my grandboys were suffering from the same malady. They need routine. They thrive on routine. Routine keeps our lives running smoothly here during the day. When they know what to expect and when to expect it, Life runs like clockwork. Take that away from them and from me and we have a mish-mash sense of chaos happening here. Naps get disrupted if they get taken at all. Things don't work right. Tempers flare. Voices get whiney. By the end of the day we're all drooping. Between the shortness of the week and Dear Hubby being on vacation...which means he's coming and going at odd hours all day...I was more than happy to wave goodbye and blow kisses out the door as the little guys headed for home this afternoon.

Yesterday Dear Hubby decided to go to the archery range he's a member of and the plan was for Dylan to go with him. Dylan's gone several times and loves it...it's in the woods and it's safe and he can run and run and run without worrying about traffic or any other danger. There's a horse and a donkey pastured across the gravel road and we always make sure Dylan has carrots and apples to take along to feed them. He walks thru the target course with Dear Hubby and they're usually gone for a few hours. He went willingly enough yesterday but without the usual bouncing-off-the-wall excitement he shows for it and followed Papa out the front door in a rather subdued manner. I watched out the window as Dear Hubby got him settled into his booster seat...then off they went. Cooper and I went for a walk while they were gone, doing some nearby errands. Not too long after we got home, along comes Dear Hubby and Dylan. They didn't really have the best time. "Not a bad time," Dear Hubby reported. "But not a good time." He said Dylan was homesick and wanted to get home to me and "PooPoo" -- his nickname for his little brother. That's never happened before. And then Dylan wanted to go for a walk. It was such an incredibly beautiful November day I couldn't say no so we packed up the double stroller and away we went...again. To the fire station. To the streets where Dylan's 'worker dude' friends have been working on the sewer lines since summer. They see us coming and we're such a common site now they call out, "Hey, little buddies!" to the boys and come over to talk and make a big deal out of the little guys which thrills Dylan to no end. As we walked on along a busy street Dylan suddenly bolted from me and I set off on a mad chase behind him with the stroller yelling, "Stop! Stop!" Luckily he came to a dead stop next to a store window instead of doing what I thought he might do, which was dash out into the crosswalk at the intersection. I grabbed hold of him, whirled him around, and gave him a swat on the rear. "Don't you EVER do that again! You scared Grandma half to death!" He rarely ever gets a swat but I felt that one was definitely deserved. Until he pointed at the window and I saw Christmas decorations sitting there. He'd spotted them and all he was doing was running to see them. But I didn't know that beforehand. He started to cry and wrapped his arms around me and wailed, "I'm having a BAD day, Mommy. A really, really bad day!" I squatted down to his level and just held him. Soothed him. Explained why he'd scared me so badly. Told him how much I loved him. Felt like a heel.

(A deep sigh goes here)

Sometimes being a little kid really stinks, doesn't it?

Sometimes being an adult stinks, too.

Well, it ain't perfect.....

But it's a beginning!

At least my header came back....

whewwwwwwwwwwww!!

Site Overhaul.....

Just to let you know if I'm not around the next day or so

I'm doing some major housecleaning

on my site.

Taking Life a minute at a time.....

I'll look at it this way....

Maybe it was time for a change anyway.

EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeekkkk!

Something's gone dreadfully wrong!

I lost my template.

I lost my header.

I don't know

why.

No time to fiddle now.

Painful ponderings.....

I stepped out of my comfort zone the other day and I was stung.
I think.
Anyway, I've certainly regretted reaching out the way I did.
It's been eating at me ever since I got the response.
Sometimes the written word is so fickle.
We can't see the expression on the other person's face
as they're writing.
And, when we don't really know them to begin with
and don't know their writing style or personality well
if at all,
it sure can cause a lot of head-scratching on my part
to try to figure them out.

On the rare occasions I find some time to do any blog browsing out of the circle I regularly

visit I am sometimes dazzled by the amount of blogs people will list in their sidebars as the ones they follow. Sometimes those lists scroll down forever.

How on earth does anyone find the time to go read so many?!

How much time do we humans spend on

these machines?!?

Something cool to start out your day!

I don't have time to find the English version at the moment but I think this is a great idea!

Enjoy your day, every one!

Loneliness is a place that I know well. It's the distance between us, and the space inside ourselves...

And I've got a longin'

That's hard to find

Won't give me no peace of mind

Something that I've lived with all along

Days and weeks and months and years

Filling in the time my dear

Tryin' to find the place where I belong

--Annie Lennox "Loneliness" --

I'm almost 56 years old. You'd think at my age most people would have learned their life lessons by now, wouldn't you? Not so for me. I'm going to spill my guts once again so go grab a cup of coffee or cup of tea and settle in. I dunno how long-winded I'm going to get on this one.

Maybe it's from sitting on the couch with my daughter this morning and talking about friendships and self-images and others' perceptions of us. Maybe it comes from doing some more soul-searching lately. Whatever. But I've come to a painful realization of how I've limited my own life in years past. Me. My actions. My reservations about letting people in, letting them get to know me. My fears. My inadequacies, either real or imagined. Oh, this is so hard to admit to the world in general but especially to myself. It is so hard to peel back the layers of skin and see myself as I am, the time I've wasted. The opportunities missed.

You know, shy people are selfish people. Really. We get so wrapped up in worrying about ourselves we forget about how the other person might be feeling in the same situation. We see only our needs, our wants, our yearnings. We don't even begin to think about how the other guy might be feeling the same emotions, the same self-doubts we're feeling as well. Maybe even tenfold compared to ourselves. And we freeze. And we don't reach out. And we go away disappointed. Over. And. Over. And. Over. Again. In ourselves. Ourselves.

I just looked at the calendar on my computer, down where Time is listed. I had a huge shock when I realized it's November 21 and it was 33 years ago today I became a Christian. Especially since I'm writing about the topic I'm writing about at the moment. Because it has been relationships with people within my church that I have limited myself from more than anywhere else in my life. 33 years. Oh, that is painful. Because it's just been lately where things have begun to open up for me. Well, in the past few years, anyway. First it was my friendship with Karen. Then going out to dinner with a couple we've known for 31 years. Then getting on Facebook and...tentatively...putting forth the effort to say hello to those within my church circle, to 'Friend' some of them. Sending notes and cards and emails to people I know. Showing myself friendly. Because, by setting so many limitations on myself these past 33 years I have not shown myself to be very friendly. And it hasn't been because I'm not friendly. It's because I've been afraid to be friendly. Dear Hubby, thru the many different areas he's been involved in thru the years, has gotten to know a lot more people than me. And when people have said to him, "You know, Kris is so nice but she's so quiet!!" he's always amazed by that. He tells them, "You don't know my wife! There isn't a shy bone in her body!" Maybe that's been true in every other venue of my life...but definitely not at church.

What is so humiliating about confessing all this is by looking at it in retrospect I can see these issues have been because of me. Because of my attitude. My building the castle walls of defense around me and blaming everyone around me. Never myself.

Because...you see...by letting myself begin to reach out tentatively and letting that armor crack, by opening myself and allowing myself to be vulnerable...something that is very, very hard for me to do...I'm finding that people in my church are responding to me like everyone else does. That they're finding me nice. And likable. And thoughtful. And funny. And interesting. That I'm not that lump of dough who's been occupying the same pew space for the past 33 years. That I have a voice. That I'm really and truly a person.

Middle-of-the-night Meme

I actually had time earlier this evening to do some browsing and posting. I went to bed at 8 and came to at 11:30 WIDE awake. After tossing and turning a while I gave up and here I am. Again. Lucky you. I wanted to do some more writing just to release whatever it is that compels me to write in the first place. Like an endorphin rush of some sort? I dunno. Whatever it is, getting rid of it will help me go back to sleep. I speak from a lot of experience here.

And so, I rely on my friend Betty in Paraguay once again for inspiration when I'm too tired to come up with anything of my own but feel the need to fill up my little posting box on here:

1. If you could master one sport, what would it be? Golf. Anyone who can hit a little ball with a stick and send it 450 yards or whatever and have it land in a little hole with only a few swings wins my adoration. And Tiger Woods has one of the sweetest swings I've ever seen. With a father who was an avid golfer -- he even caddied as a teen to make extra money and once caddied for Bob Hope and Bing Crosby at a tournament -- I grew up watching lots and lots and lots of golf. Lots.

2. When you make a major purchase, do you go with your gut instinct, or do you do research to make an informed decision? It varies. Major appliances? I go to the store owned by a fellow church member we've known for years and pick up something mid-price between cheapest and best. Nah...come to think of it, it's usually gut instinct.

3. There is an old kids' game that says you can find out what your movie star name would be by using your middle name as your first name and the name of the street you grew up on as your last. What is your movie star name? Ann Broadway.

4. Would you rather give up your favorite music or your favorite food? Without a doubt, my favorite food. Having no sense of taste kind of helps with that decision but even if I could taste, I couldn't exist without music.

5. There are two types of banana preferences. One is pristine yellow, almost to the point of being green; the other is spotty and more ripe. Which is your preference?The greenish one. I can not stand anything mooshy and slimey in my mouth. I can't stand cereal with milk on it, either. I have to have the cereal in a bowl with milk off to the side and eat it by hand like chips.

6. Your favorite tree is? Pink Dogwoods.

7. On a scale of 1-10, how tech savvy are you? Compared to when I first got my computer, I'm an Einstein now. For my age group. Compared to the younger generation probably -2.

8. Has H1N1 touched your family? No, thank the good Lord.

9. Are you an analytical person, or do you just accept things the way they are without questioning or scrutinizing? Well, I'm definitely a person with strong faith in God so I don't do much questioning about the major things in life. I figure He knows best of all in any situation and has gotten us thru some very tough times. I'm not sure I'd categorize myself as 'analytical'. I'm a thinker, a dweller...I keep things close to my chest and do a lot of delving in to myself, coming to conclusions about things that way. Maybe that is analytical. But not in the sense of scientific-analytical. More pyche-analytical.

10. Is your personality more like that of a dog, cat, or Koala? A dog. I'm loyal and friendly and eager to please.

11. Do you keep in touch with friends you made years ago? Yes, I do. But the list has been pared down a lot as time's gone on. In regards to the last question where I mentioned loyalty, I had a tendency to try to hold on to friendships even when they were no longer productive. I've come to the realization as I'm growing older that friendships seem to naturally ebb and flow. I know who my real friends are from the past and I've kept them. I love them dearly, too.

12. You are checking out at a grocery store. In the express lane, there are more people than the regular lanes, but of course, their load is less than those in the regular lanes. Which lane do you choose (assuming you qualify for the express lane) and why? No matter WHAT lane I end up choosing it's always the slowest. That's why I do my grocery shopping at 7 am on Saturdays. Hardly anyone is there.

Give yourself the gift of life on your birthday...get a mammogram!

Many women are afraid of their first mammogram, but there is no need to
worry. By taking a few minutes each day for a week preceding the exam
and doing the following exercises, you will be totally prepared for the
test and best of all, you can do these simple exercises right in and
around your home.

EXERCISE ONE
Open your refrigerator door and insert one breast in door. Shut the door
as hard as possible and lean on the door for good measure.
Hold that position for five seconds. Repeat again in case the first time
wasn't effective enough.

EXERCISE TWO
Visit your garage at 3AM when the temperature of the cement floor is
just perfect. Take off all your clothes and lie comfortably on the floor
with one breast wedged under the rear tire of the car. Ask a friend to
slowly back the car up until your breast is sufficiently flattened and
chilled. Turn over and repeat with the other breast.

EXERCISE THREE
Freeze two metal bookends overnight. Strip to the waist. Invite a
stranger into the room. Press the bookends against one of your breasts.
Smash the bookends together as hard as you can. Set up an appointment
with the stranger to meet next year and do it again.

YOU ARE TOTALLY PREPARED!

AND, just a thought for all the women out there........
MENtal illness, MENstrual cramps, MENtal breakdown,
MENopause............
Ever notice how all of women's problems start with men?.........And
when we have real trouble it's HISterectomy!!!!

A Friend Is Like A Good Bra....

Hard to Find, Supportive, Comfortable
Always Lifts You Up, Never Lets You Down or Leaves You Hanging
And Is Always Close To Your Heart!!!

(Sent to me by my friend Liz-in-California who I am SO THANKFUL is fine after some questionable results on hers! Love you, Liz!)

Pink Glove Dance for Breast Cancer Awareness

"Our employees put together this video to generate breast cancer awareness throughout our hospital system. We had a ton of fun putting this together and hope it inspires others to join in the cause."

The Staff of Providence St. Vincent Medical Center

Portland, Oregon

It's things like this that make me LOVE my city!

It is of course possible to dance a prayer. ~ Glade Byron Addams

Somewhere on the inside of this aging body is the soul of a dancer. I had a little friend named Annie when I was around four years old and her parents were Austrian immigrants. Her mother loved classical music and quite often when I'd go over to their house to play, she would have old 78s playing on the record player. My parents loved popular music of the day...Perry Como, Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Rosemary Clooney, Patty Page...but it was during the many hours of play at Annie's house that my love of classical music was born. Bach, Strauss, Beethoven...one of my favorites was "Swan Lake". I can remember Annie and me dressing in flouncy bouffant underslips that belonged to her older sisters and she and I would dance around their living room, pretending we were prima ballerinas. That is where my love of dance was born, too.

I spent my childhood dancing around our living room on top of my Dad's feet every Saturday night when "The Lawrence Welk" show would come on. At the close of every show, Mr. Welk would go down into the audience and ask ladies to dance with him...that was my signal it was time for me and my Daddy to dance so I'd hop on top of Dad's feet and away we'd go. My Dad was a very elegant dancer and I would feel as if I was transported into the TV, becoming a part of the swirling screen of dancers. I outgrew that when I got too big to stand on top of his feet.

I became a huge fan of "Where the Action Is", a teen music show that would come on TV in the afternoons after school. There were dancers on there called the "Action Kids" and I just loved one of the girls named Lesley. I wanted to grow up to be just like her some day...I was around 10-11 at the time. My childhood best friend Angie pretended she was another dancer named Jerilynn. We had HUGE crushes on Fang (me) and Harpo (Angie) of Paul Revere and the Raiders. We would take my transistor radio out into her back yard and turn it to KBKW radio in Aberdeen and we'd dance all over the grass, learning how to do all the footwork and hand-motions the Action Girls made while they danced, plus the fancy little steps the Raiders would do as they played their instruments. We thought we were so cool! And our vivid imaginations would transport us to another world...we believed we were those girls and that Fang and Harpo were our boyfriends.

I never took formal dance lessons of any sort. We didn't have the money and I don't think I would've ever conformed to something like that, anyway. I was such a free spirit. As I entered in to my teens, my way of escape thru some very hard years was to close myself off into my bedroom, turn on my stereo, and dance for hours on end. I was light as a feather on my feet, as fluid as molten metal...no one ever came to investigate because no one ever heard me. I would light candles and put on a stack of albums and dance until they were done...then I'd put on another stack and start all over again. My mind would drift away into the music, my body would take over. I could leave my misery for those blessed hours. And then I got married. And I stopped dancing. Except...every now and then when I was alone in our house or apartment and a song would come on that would deeply move me...I'd find myself disappearing into dance again. But not often. I had no reason to escape anymore.

Circumstances came along that changed my freedom to dance. It was a time in my life where a lot of my creative forces left me because they weren't encouraged. That quiet little spirit of light in my soul died way, way down to just a little flicker in the core of me. But it smoldered quietly there, patiently waiting to find its way back out to the light. When I would do silly little-kid dances with my children to "Music Box Dancer" or "Jungle Book" or "Sesame Street", that little ember would struggle to come out. But I'd push it back down, again and again. And then came a day when I couldn't live that way anymore. There was too much inside...my music, my books, my writing, my poetry...especially my dance...that was crying out for release. And I let it out....and at first it was a tentative trickle, kind of feeling its way and wondering if it would be dammed up again. Then I decided I didn't care who might disapprove or condemn me for it, as long as I didn't feel it was coming from the One who leads me along. For me, dancing is a type of worship. I feel close to God when I am letting the very essence of me guide my feet, when I am lost to the outside world around me.

There is something beautiful about being home alone and turning on the stereo...of a quiet house with no one to watch this older woman letting the music flow thru her, flow out of her. There is something beautiful about the peace it brings into this older woman's heart. Because inside the heart of this older woman, the soul of a dancer still lives.

You CAN teach an old dog a new trick....

(Illustration from PictureBook)

Jo Frost is my heroine. Because my years of parenthood are behind me and I know by the results of how my two children turned out that I did a very good job at it, thankyouverymuch -- and let's not forget Dear Hubby's contribution to it, too -- well, with that said I never thought about tuning in to "Supernanny". Then, a while back as I kind of channel-surfed out of boredom, I came across an episode of it and watched. I find Jo amazing. Truly. I have two very, very spirited grandsons and as I've stumbled and bumbled my way thru trying to find solutions to getting some of their behavior under control I hadn't found much to guide me. In all honesty, I hadn't even done any searches or reading about it...I have barely enough time thru my busy days to keep my head above water. But as I sat there watching "Supernanny" the cogs of my over-tired brain began to slowly grind to life and I thought to myself, "Why can't I use some of these techniquest on the grandboys?!" Considering they're with me about 90% of their waking hours, 90% of what they learn about human behavior and what's acceptable or not is coming from me.

I've initiated the Naughty Corner with House Rules listed. Cooper loves it...he'll even go sit on the little bench when he's not naughty. He'll 'pretend' pinch me or 'pretend' bite, then look at me expectantly and I'll say, "You need to go sit in the Naughty Corner, young man." He'll not his head, smile at me, and go sit himself down. A minute later he'll come back and kiss me, then pretend another offense and go back to sit down again. Then, back for a kiss. Another offense. And back to the bench again. This can go on until he runs out of 'naughty' things to do. But when he's truly naughty, it works wonders on him. Dylan, on the other hand, absolutely hates the Naughty Corner and, in all honesty, it doesn't work so well with him. But I do find if I get him off by himself for a minute, hunker down and have him make direct eye contact with me, and tell him why his behavior isn't acceptable he'll listen. We finish it with a big hug and then he's ok.

Another thing that is a great success is explaining to Dylan what behavior is expected of him when we're out in public. Again, down at his level and with eye contact. I ask him if he understands and he says "Yes" and away we go. A perfect example was at Walgreen's the other morning. He prefers to walk beside me now more than he likes riding in the stroller so he holds on to either side of the handlebar - whichever is away from traffic - and I've told him he needs to hold on to it in stores and the library, too. He is very, very good about that. In Walgreen's we'd gone down the aisle where the candy is to buy a couple packets of MnM's for him and Cooper and some yogurt raisins for me...I let him select the candy. In other stores, I let him pick out whatever items we need and place them in our basket -- that goes for selecting fruit or vegetables, too. He loves doing that. As we came up to the check out in Walgreen's a lovely lady who works there and is a grandma also and has 'known' my grandsons from the days of Dylan's infancy happened to be at the register. She's always thrilled to see the boys and is so sweet with them. I let Dylan swipe my Debit card and help punch in my PIN and she stood watching as he concentrated on what I was telling him to do. He behaved SO well and I was so proud of him. I smiled at her and said, "This is one of our good days!" She laughed because she's witnessed some of our bad days. She told Dylan, "You're so lucky, honey. You have such a sweet grandmother." I looked at her like she was out of her mind and said, "Oh no, not true." And she adamantly told me, "Yes, you are. Even on the bad days you handle them with so much love and patience and a lot of grace."

Well.

If that didn't make my day!

And at the library they were as quiet as mice and good as gold.

I think I'm on to something here.

Thank you, Jo.

If you're susceptible to ear worms DONT WATCH THIS VIDEO!

I am HOOKED on this...it's been going round 'n' round in my head all week.

But what a darling song it is....

You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. -- Christopher Robin to Pooh

This was sent to me by my friend Mary:

Exercise Your Brain Today

Be sure to stop at the end of each picture before scrolling further.

Read out loud the text in the triangle below:

More than likely you said, 'A bird in the bush,' and.......

If this IS what YOU said, then you failed to see that the word THE is repeated twice! Sorry, look again.

You may not see it at first but the white spaces spell 'optical' and the blue landscape spells 'illusion'. Look again! Can you see why this painting is called an optical illusion?

What do you see here? This one is quite tricky!

The word 'teach' reflects as 'learn'.

What do you see?


You probably read the word 'me' in brown, but when you look thru ME you will see YOU!

Need to look again?







Alzheimer's Eye Test



Count every "f" in the following text:



FINISHED FILES ARE THE RESULT OF YEARS

OF SCIENTIFIC STUDY COMBINED WITH THE EXPERIENCE OF YEARS.



How many?


WRONG...there are 6. No joke. READ IT AGAIN! Really, go back and try to find the 6 "f''s" before you scroll down. The reasoning behind is further down.



The brain cannot process "OF". Incredible or what? Go back and look again. Anyone who counts the 6 "f''s" the first time is a genius. Three is normal, four is rare.

This illustration is not working on my blog so if the lady isn't moving, just skip it unless you want to know what the results are.

Look at the spinning woman.

If she's spinning right, the right side of your brain is working.

If she is turning left, the left side of your brain is working.

If she turns both ways for you, then you have a 160 or better IQ.

Mercy...I guess I'm a genius, ha!

More Brain Stuff from Cambridge University....

Olny srmat poelpe can raed tihs. I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! if you can raed tihs psas it on!!

This is where your Great-Uncle Eric is from....

When I first read this I sat and stared at my computer screen and said a long, drawn-out, "Wow!" This is my baby brother. This is the history we shared. This knocked my socks off:

Where I'm From

I am from unorganized sports games that lasted all day, from Coke in glass bottles and Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots.

I am from a big white house on the corner with a haunted attic, from a towering walnut tree and an oft-neglected yard.

I am from Nightshade and cherry trees.

I am from Easter Bunny visits until I was eighteen and tall, loud people, from “Victor!” and Harold and “Cousin Ginger”.

I am from mild insanity and stubbornness.

I am from a parsnip truck and a “Good Time Charlie”.

I am from a complete lack of religiousness. It was not discussed, encouraged, or discouraged. It was a non-issue. My first memory of anything to do with religion was when I watched “Ben Hur” on TV with my mom when I was in my early teens.

I am from a tiny, drab, wet town on the Harbor. One of the landing spots of my somewhat nomadic parents before they finally settled in Vancouver. I am from “Chef Boyardee” spaghetti with hot dogs cut up in it (Yuck!) and Cheerios. I am the baby, the accident, who was so much younger than the rest of the kids that I have very vague memories of them.

I am from an alcoholic uncle who drank himself to death, and from his namesake who followed in his footsteps and died from choking on his own vomit in a jail cell.

I am from two or three boxes of black and white pictures, from a small pouch of antique coins, from my father’s medals from “the War”, from old postcards of England and New England. Mementos of an extended family that I never knew.

I am from old Fords and Ramblers that stunk heavily of stale cigarette smoke.

I am from a tense atmosphere where even though you knew you were loved it was never really shown.

I am from freedom. Freedom to roam from sun-up until sun-down, and often longer than that. Freedom that comes from often too-trusting parents who understood that life’s experiences were best encountered without constant adult supervision.

I am from “Stay tuned to ABC for Batman: In living color!”

I am from a refrigerator packed so full of food it could feed half of starving Africa, from a mother who was convinced that everything in that refrigerator had spoiled. “Victor, smell this!”

I am from psychedelia, from drugs, from bell bottoms and platform shoes. I am from perms for both men and women.

I am from the game of the week (usually the Yankees).

I am from The Jackson Five, The Osmonds, Jody Foster. It feels like we all grew up together.

I am from Goofy learning to drive, from Bugs Bunny and all sorts of politically incorrect cartoons.

Life Lessons

A blog entry Donna wrote the other day brought back memories of two children whose lives have crossed my path. I feel deeply blessed to have known them. I wrote this a few years ago on my original blog:

I worked as a lunch lady in a middle school for several years and I met thousands of kids during my ‘illustrious’ career. Many of them touched my heart but none of them touched it like Andrew and Ashley. I think by the time I'm done telling you about them, they'll have touched your hearts, too.

Andrew was a student the first year I worked at this particular school. He had so many disabilities his aide didn't know where to begin to list them all. He was in a wheelchair. His teeth were all disfigured. He had cerebral palsy. He'd had countless surgeries and shunts installed in his brain. He was a feisty little red-haired Scotsman who couldn't speak but he wasn't shy about letting anyone know if he was unhappy! He wouldn't focus or make eye contact with anyone but that didn't stop me from loving him and talking to him every day as his aide would bring him into the cafeteria. I'd hunker down by his wheelchair and take hold of his hand and talk to him like he was any other kid in the school. One day his aide brought him into the kitchen for a snack and asked if we had any yogurt. I told her sure, we had strawberry and blueberry...which kind did she think Andrew might like? She shrugged and said, "Oh, I don't know. Strawberry, I guess." I looked over at Andrew and I said, "How about if I ask Andrew what he'd like?" She looked at me like I was crazy because he never talked and she said rather flippantly, rolling her eyes, "Sure, go ahead and ask him." I did. I went over and crouched down in front of him and I MADE him look at me by sheer will power. As our eyes connected I asked, "Andrew, we have strawberry and blueberry yogurt. What kind would you like, sweetheart?" It took him a few moments but he spoke out: "Bloooooooooooooberry!!" I patted him on the knee and said, "Blueberry it is, buster," and stood up. Well, my co-worker and the aide were standing there staring at me open-mouthed from shock. I just smiled and said, "Has anyone ever asked Andrew what HE wanted before?" and I went and got his yogurt.

From that day on, Andrew was all mine, heart and soul. I taught him a simple song, an old ball-bouncing song I used to sing when I was a kid called "One, Two, Three, O'Leary". When I'd see him I'd call out, "There's my baby Andrew!” and he would smile from ear-to-ear and call out "Baby Krissy!" If I'd crouch down by his chair to talk to him, he'd reach out with his wobbly hand and pat me on the cheek. He'd tell me "I love you."

The last year I worked there, Andrew became critically ill. He spent most of that year in a children's hospital here in the city. He had a leg amputated, the foot on the other leg taken off, too. His mother cleared it for me to have security access to the ICU camera to Andrew’s room and nursing reports so I could check up on him online when I got home from work. I shed a lot of tears. I sent him cards and photos. I sent up a lot of prayers. And then at the end of that school year I lost my job. I lost contact with Andrew. And it grieved my heart.

I remember the first day I laid eyes on Ashley. It was the first day of school and I was busy putting money on the kids' lunch accounts. I looked up to take money from the next student in line and I froze for a moment...then forced myself to smile and keep on talking. Ashley was the most horribly disfigured child I'd ever laid eyes on. She literally looked like a monster. I had seen a lot of things, working in schools, but nothing had ever prepared me for my first glimpse of Ashley. But she was so happy-go-lucky, so confident, so full of grit...I fell in love with her. We formed an instant bond.

She had been burned over the majority of her body as an infant when she was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace and a spark landed on her sleeper and set her on fire. Only the top of her head and her back up around the shoulder area hadn't been scarred. She hadn't been expected to live. But Ashley overcame the odds...what a fighter! Most kids would reel away in shock when they'd see her for the first time but that didn't stop her...she'd just march right up to anyone and talk their ear off.

She missed a lot of school in the 3 years I knew her. She had one surgery where some kind of synthetic hump was inserted under the skin on her back to stretch it out for more skin grafts. She looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The medication she took made her drool and slur and stagger around. But any day she could be at school she'd make a bee line for the kitchen and holler out "Krissy!" and come flying into my arms for a big hug and a smooch. And then I’d go off into the cooler to cry a bit and regain my composure.

Last days of school each year were always bittersweet. On Ashley’s last day as an 8th grader, all the 'graduates' were getting ready to head out to a nearby amusement park for a picnic and to spend the day on rides. Parents had volunteered to drive several of the Special Ed kids in their cars. I was standing with my co-worker in the doorway looking outside, enjoying the sunshine and the excitement of the kids. My co-worker spotted Ashley sitting in the back seat of one of the cars, craning her head toward us and waving frantically. Rhonda said, "Krissy, here she comes!" and Ashley popped out of that car and came racing across the parking lot and into my arms for the last time. I hugged that darling little girl with all my might. As she looked up at me and rested her chin on my chest, gazing into my eyes, I cupped that beautiful little face in my hands and kissed her on the forehead. I said, "I love you, Ashley." She said, "I know you do, Krissy, and I love you, too. I will never forget you!" One more hug, then she went dashing back to the car, whooping and laughing and ready to fly off into her future. I didn’t have a single doubt the world would ever be able to ignore that little spitfire.

House Cleaning

I've been browsing thru my old blog archives...all 896 entries of it. I started out with the intention of finding an entry I told my blog friend Donna about but I got sidetracked as I stumbled across several poems I'd written and posted on it. I've been thinking of gleaning thru my old entries, re-posting/rewriting them as I see fit, then deleting it. Dear Hubby, when I told him what I was doing -- or thinking of doing -- strongly disagreed with me. He said it's my history and I should leave it as is. I dunno. But I digress. As usual.

Those of you who've been reading my blog(s) since I began writing in April of 2005 -- and there are a few -- will probably recognize the ones that will follow here. These are the ones I found tonite and now I'm too tired to do any more brain straining and reliving in my blog past. I love my old blog. It's like visiting a friend you haven't seen in years. But it's also fraught with a lot of old memories, old history, that was purged and left behind when I began this one in December 2006. More poems will follow, I'm sure.

I think I said recently that I use poetry to express the things I can't express.

These things dwell in the center of my heart.

The Man You Are Now

In the man you are now

is still the boy you were then.

A seasoned version,

weathered by time,

mellowed by countless hours of peace and contentment

in each other's company.

Rivers and ribbons,

the ebb and flow of two lives

two hearts

so closely entwined

words are not

necessary.

In the man you are now

are the mysteries of a

Cherokee fire,

the embers of which I sensed

smoldering

beneath the surface on

that cold January night.

The eyes already seeing

the future

of what we were to

become.

One.

In the man you are now

is the man I knew you would be.

The father of my children.

The center of my universe.

The one who sees my strengths

but forgives me

my weaknesses.

The man who I can show my tears to

and not be ashamed.

My life.

My sanctuary.

--January 18, 2006

Written for the 32nd 'anniversary' of the day we met.

Infant Stars -- For Dylan As I'm Awaiting Your Arrival

Infant Stars

I can see your face there,

Floating in space.

It looks as if you’re

Gliding

Through eternity

To get here.
Where have you come from,

Little one?

The sky is liquid black.

There is no path.

You’re wrapped in a

Cocoon

Of an ocean of

Stars.
I am here awaiting your

Entry.

I am your grandmother….

And I, too,

Have traveled the same

Route

As those before me

And those

Yet to come.

We are space travelers,

Sojourners.

We come as a flicker of flame

Across the sky,

Just two in a multitude

Of shooting stars.

Infant stars.

Ancient as time.

-- February 3, 2006

My Mother's Hands

They were beautiful, your hands.

Fine-boned and classic.

Your one vanity.

They didn't reach out to

touch me often

but when they did, I knew it was a gesture

of your deepest

love.

Touching wasn't something

that came easily

to you

so when your fingers

stroked

my fevered brow

there was healing there

for me.

Not only did you soothe

my childish ills

but you eased

my childish

spirit.

I knew you loved me.

I did.

It was all there.

In your hands.

I looked down into the

dish water

the other day.

I saw your hands there

in my hands.

The same fine bones.

The same tapered fingers.

And where did they come from...

are they the hands of

your mother

or countless mothers

before us?

I don't know the answer to that.

But I do know

we travel on

from one generation

to another.

It's all there, the history.

It's in our hands.

-- March 5, 2006

My daily jolt has fizzled...

...down to my cup or two in the morning. Someone (I think it was Linda) either commented or emailed me when I was bemoaning my horrific nite sweats and told me by eliminating caffeine and chocolate from their diet it got rid of them for her. Stubborn Swede that I am, at first I balked. I mean, I am a diehard coffee addict! And even tho Menoquil had greatly reduced them to just one 'dewing' (I had a Home Ec teacher in 8th grade who told us we girls don't 'sweat', we 'dew' ) per nite, I wanted the sweats gone!!! So...reluctantly...I decided to give up my two cups per evening at dinner time. And voila`! The sweats are gone! Woooooooooooooo hoooooooooooooooo! So, thank you, Linda, or whoever the kind soul was who urged me to quit the coffee -- or in my case, reduce it.

Yesterday afternoon when Dear Hubby got home I bundled up Dylan and we took off to the library and Fred Meyer...I'd run out of chicken nuggets and ketchup, horrors!!! My grandson informed me at lunchtime, "You go buy more chicken nuggets and ho-ho (his word for ketchup because Santa Claus is red, go figure) at the store, Mommy." When we got there, Fox 12 news was stationed outside the door we went in. There was a devastating fire at an elementary school in our area and the station had set up a school supply drive to help replenish the kids' (something like 460 of them) and teachers' school room supplies. That caught Dylan's attention, as we walk by that school a lot and when he saw the TV van, the microwave antenna sprouting out of it, the cameras and hustle and bustle he wanted to know all about it. As we came back out, one of the reporters was standing there talking to his camera man and another gentleman and Dylan yelled out, "Hi, guys!" They all laughed and said, "Hi!" back. As the female anchor came out of the van with a cup of coffee in her hand, Dylan yelled out, "Hi!" and waved at her as well, practically under her nose. She laughed and bent down to him and said, "Well, hello to you, too!" Thankfully he didn't interrupt any broadcasting, haha! Well, it's my fault the kid doesn't know a stranger...we greet everyone we meet as we walk all over.

Friday! The boys will be here soon...gotta scoot. Rain today.

Sigh....

Blame this on Betty....

I spend a lot of time at Betty's, HA! :

1. What was the last song you listened to? "Looking for a City" by the Chuck Wagon Gang, this afternoon just before the grandboys went home. They love to dance around the house to it.

2. Have you ever had “buyer’s remorse” over anything? Yes, for my digital camera. I'm glad I bought it for Dear Hubby's sake because he more or less took it over after I let it sit for months in my desk. I can't seem to get the hang of it and I found out I wasn't as interested in it as I thought I would be.

3. What is something in your life that you are thankful for now that you didn’t think you would be at the time of the event? (Something that seemed ill-timed, inconvenient or hurtful which turned out to be a good thing) The year 1999 was an absolutely AWFUL year for me in a lot of ways. Spiritually challenging, emotionally challenging, physically challenging. I was hospitalized that October with what was originally thought to be a heart attack...thankfully it wasn't...but those 4 days I spent in the hospital not knowing what was wrong with me really made me stop and do some serious re-prioritizing of my life. In retrospect, it was a year that probably saved my life.

4. Do you watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade every year? Nope. I think it's pretty corny, actually.

5. Share a quote, scripture, poem or lyric which has been an inspiration to you lately. "A day hemmed in by prayer rarely unravels."

6. This is meant to be a fun question, and this is a G-rated blog, but please share a “guilty pleasure,” something that you enjoy that’s probably not the most edifying, time-worthy or healthy thing you could be indulging in. Eating rice chips at the moment, just a few minutes before going to bed.

7. What Thanksgiving food are you looking forward to? Pumpkin mousse

8. What is your favorite book to read to children, or what was your favorite childhood book? It was a series of books by Maud Hart Lovelace called the "Betsy/Tacy" books. LOVED THEM!!!!!!

9. Do you collect anything? Outside of dust balls under the furniture, I collect angel items. Not so much now as I did in the past but I have a pretty good collection of them.

10. Gift bags or wrapping paper? I LOVE gift bags!!! I am L A Z Y when it comes to wrapping gifts...I think gift bags are some of the best creations ever.

11. Share an after-school memory from when you were younger. What was your routine like on an average day? I loved coming in from school, scrambling into my play clothes -- this was back in the day when girls had to wear dresses/skirts to school -- and running out to play, play, play until dinner time.

12. True story: Once, in a job interview, I was asked this question and told there would be no clarifying; I simply had to answer the question: “When you’re fishing, do you feel for the fish?” So what about you? When you're fishing, do you feel for the fish?? Not one bit.

Trick or Treat Memories...

Let Brotherly Love Continue...

And they tell me this is going to be fun...

Gotta build up some energy!

I'm not tired!

"And ME!!" either!

Take a look at THIS!

My best friend Lizzee sent me this most amazing story. I had to share it with you. If anyone has ever seen Daniel Day Lewis' amazing acting job in "My Left Foot" they'll understand the effort it must have taken this gentleman to create his art:

Pictures from a Typewriter

He lived at Rose Haven Nursing Home
( Roseburg, OR) for years. Paul Smith, the man with extraordinary talent was born in Philadelphia on September 21, 1921 with severe cerebral palsy. Not only had Paul beaten the odds of a life with spastic cerebral palsy, a disability that impeded his speech and mobility but also taught himself to become a master artist as well as a terrific chess player even after being devoid of a formal education as a child.
"When typing, Paul used his left hand to steady his right one. Since he couldn't press two keys at the same time, he almost always locked the shift key down and made his pictures using the symbols at the top of the number keys. In other words, his pictures were based on these characters ...... @ # $ % ^ & * ( ) _ .. Across seven decades, Paul created hundreds of pictures. He often gave the originals away. Sometimes, but not always, he kept or received a copy for his own records. As his mastery of the typewriter grew, he developed techniques to create shadings, colors, and textures that made his work resemble pencil or charcoal drawings.."
This great man passed away on June 25, 2007, but left behind a collection of his amazing artwork that will be an inspiration for many..

I've been critiqued!

I've been critiqued!

Tho I must admit it feels a little strange to be considered

ELDERLY!

Ha!

Second Act

First Act is below...here's Part II:

51. I bit my fingernails for over 40 years

52. I thumb thru magazines from the back cover to the front

53. I like to snow shoe

54. I hardly ever wear a coat in cold weather, unless I'm out walking for miles with the grandboys

55. I like to wear the color black

56. My hair is naturally curly when it's short but has only a bit of wave in it once it hits shoulder length

57. I am reading my Bible from cover to cover for the 8th or 9th time...lost track

58. If I drink any soda/fruit drink that has red or orange dye in it I feel like my heart is going to hammer its way out of my chest

59. I am allergic to nuts

60. And crab

61. I have issues about trusting people

62. My mother was only 61 when she died. That's not that far away for me now. Something to think about.

63. If I find anything belonging to someone else and there's ID in it I return it without a second thought

64. I am very thankful my parents moved out to the Pacific Northwest after WWII from New England. I can't imagine living anywhere else.

65. Beautiful music makes me cry

66. I can't hear Handel's "Hallelujah" chorus without crying like a baby, especially

67. I do a lot of left speak -- for any new readers, I am TOTALLY left-handed

68. I type 70-75 wpm, depending on if it's a good day or bad day

69. I'm basically very optimistic

70. I hate cruelty to animals

71. Ditto that for children

72. And ditto that for women

73. I can eat lemons without puckering

74. When I'm sick I like tomato soup with crackers

75. The first album I ever bought for myself was the Supremes "You Keep Me Hangin' On". I

was 13.

76. I can't swim well facedown in the water but I swim quite well on my back

77. I've had mononucleosis twice in my life

78. I climbed the Astoria Column three times in one day when I was a kid. I'm not sure how many stairs there are in it but there are a LOT!

79. I once hitchhiked and rode in a car with three guys I didn't know. I lived to tell about it and I wasn't raped!

80. I could buy my own liquor at the age of 17 without being asked for ID. Can you imagine ME doing that?! But I did, and regularly, too.

81. I keep a lot of memories to myself and have never shared them with anyone.

82. I never carry a purse. I don't even own one.

83. I have eaten rattlesnake

84. And moose

85. And antelope

86. And frogs legs

87. Poetry writing is the way I express the things I can't express

88. I love words

89. Rocking my grandboys in our big rocker recliner gives me the finest pleasure in my life right now

90. I am not afraid to age gracefully

91. I love very very deeply, even tho I'm not very good at showing it

92. I am getting better at it, but showing affection has never been easy for me

93. I am very fair

94. I am very open

95. I am very honest

96. I don't have patience for stupidity

97. I am very discreet and can keep secrets for life

98. I am very trusted

99. I can wiggle my ears

100. I have gone skinny dipping