Two Posts Ahoy!

Look! Two posts in one week - this may be a new record!
Just as saying "well I guess I better go" on a phone call makes you think of all kinds of things to talk about with the other person, apparently saying "I can't think of anything to blog about" makes you think of stuff too.

First of all, where is Cate's blog?! It has done the thing that Farmwife's did for a while. What's up with that?!

Secondly - Avast ye maties, I would like to wish you all a very happy national "Talk Like A Pirate" Day.
Arrrrrr!

Captain Zann Bonney's log 06-09-18: This be the tale of the search for the lost cinnamon roll - hense forth known as the "booty" (cause that's what it would make larger anyway). Arrr yesterday, aye was pillaging the break room for some caffeinated grog when I came across a fine treasure buried in the snack machine. I was pleased with me find but left the treasure thar with hopes that I could return later in the day to claim it. Part of me hoped I could withstand the sweet treasures call and lead a life on the straight and narrrow. But alas as I set sail back at me desk, the curse of the cinnamon roll haunted me. I could almost taste it's sweet cake. It called to me from the depths of the 2nd floor. Finally, I gathered me pense and dropped anchor back to the second floor. But some scallewag had already claimed me treasure. It told meself, it were destiny - that I were not meant to have such a fine treasure to add to me booty.

But aye, today me hopes were renewed, I set sail for CVS with me shipmate. Surely, there be cinnamon treasure thar. But alas it aluded me once more. We then pulled along side the quiki mart and came aboard, even though we had seen the booty there before, their stores too were empty. I'm beginning to think the booty I saw with me patched eye yesterday were but an illusion. And if not, the scurvy dog that fills the snack machine should be keel hauled for tempting a hord of newsy pirates with just one of that type of confection.

Arrrrrr.

I appologize for my absence. I'm reading. I just haven't been in the blogging spirit recently. A lot has been going on, but yet I can't think of anything to blog about. Some stuff seems too personal.. other stuff the people involved wouldn't want the world knowing about and other stuff is well..... just kinda boring. The other day while mowing I came up with all sorts of things but had no time to type them out. Now they seem too far in the distance to blog about. I've been working on the same post about Cryptozoology in draft form for over a week now. Maybe one day I'll finish and post it. There is just too much going on I think.

I got my hair cut a about a week ago. I like it okay, I guess. It is shorter than I've ever had it. And the curl is very healthy now. However, yesterday I felt like I looked a bit like carrot-top with brown hair. So I'm not sure if I'm still feeling the hair love or not.

I've been doing plenty of freelance work, which is great on the pocketbook but not on the freetime. And we are getting really close to the Intimate Issues conference at church, so there is a lot to be done for it. Not to mention our church is going through a bit of a transition period so there is a bit of upheavel with the other teams I work on as well.

I make it sound like such a chore, but I really do enjoy being involved with all of it. It is just when things start getting busy, the tasks start to seem a bit daunting. That is one thing I'm so dissappointed in the church (in the collective sense as in THE Church) is that everyone wants to reap the benefits, but no one wants to volunteer to do the work. We have such a small number of volunteers committed to some of the teams I'm on, that I'm reluctant to take a break because there is no one lined up to jump in to take care of the task. That is the "Martha" in me talking I realize. But sometimes I get a bit frustrated with it. It is not that we don't have a lot of volunteers and people serving - we do... but with the church the size of ours there really should be a lot more, and taking time off shouldn't be such a struggle. I don't suppose I can really talk. I was right there with them a couple of years ago. Not volunteering, not becoming a "part" of the church, not serving anywhere. But then I felt compelled one Sunday to sign up for the "Media team" and it was all down hill from there. I guess I should just pray for God to compell a few others. Or maybe there is a lesson in this. I'm hoping so, there's that theme of patience again. Just as many have been writing about recently.

There are some days when I wonder why I started a blog at all. Peer pressure is always my answer ;). I don't really have a lot to say to the outside world. I feel like I struggle to come up with stuff that doesn't give away too much of our personal life to make me a victim of identity theft or that would be remotely interesting. I struggle with being "real" here. I want to impress you... but I don't know why. I'm not really like that in "real" life. I don't try to keep up with the Jones or anything like that. But, I think it is because it is writing that I struggle with it. I'm always tempted to take on a "columnist" persona. I was the high school newspaper editor after all - sure that was over 10 years ago... but the temptation to write that way is still there.
And like many a writer, I struggle with endings. I start writing blog posts and then can't figure out how to end them. Sometimes I lose interest in my post before I ever get done with it. So maybe it's an ADD thing. (I've never officially been diagnosed with that but since my neice has it and she is a great deal like me... we tease that I probably have it too and just never knew it).

So I will end this here because a gazzillion different things are calling my name to get done. And I'm afraid my short attention span has run ...................

After Dragon*Con

What an experience last weekend was. We had a fine time. Didn't get into any arguments or annoyances with our roomates/friends. Except for one time when my vivid imagination and lack of knowledge of how CPap machines work caused me and Jay to wake them up at 3AM to make sure a noise was normal and nothing malfunctioning to the point of being harmful. But they were really cool about it and didn't get mad or anything.

The costumes were incredible. Imagine the best costume party you've ever been to and then multipy that a few times.

We went to many interesting panels, rubbed shoulders with some celebrities (GhostHunters and Mythbusters, and some guy who played in the Mummy). I went to some panels that were like a big book club. It was fun to discuss the differences between the recent movies and their books.

There were a few annoyances for me. I certainly was not in my comfort zone, but we had a really good time.

While mowing yesterday (mowing gives me time to think and a good workout to boot) I started thinking about all I could blog about that I've thought of over the days since we got back, mostly inspired by things witnessed there. And I want you to know that I've written them down. So hopefully I'll get around to it before I forget what the note is for. But until then.. I will leave you with pictures of some of the incredible costumes.

For Cate my fellow "Nightmare" fan:


Did I ever mention that Spiderman was my pretend friend when I was little?


"Shhhhhhppp! Message for you sir!" "That's no ordinary rabbit!"


Just plain creative-


Of course there were tons of others, but that's all I'm going to post for now. If you do a search on flickr for Dragon*Con 2006 you can see tons more.. but I warn you they aren't all family friendly.. but I'll get into that in another blog entry.

I've been Tagged.

First things first Cate I never got your email that you mentioned. The best way to reach me (and see some of my other work) is to go through my website Next Door Design that way the email will make it through my spam filter. We had so many messages when I returned home that I just emptied the SPAM file without even looking to see if anything had gotten in there by mistake this weekend.

We've arrived home safely from Dragon*Con. We had a good time. And I will blog about it later this week when I have some pictures uploaded to post with it. I will say the costumes were amazing, the place was really crowded, I listened to some interesting panels, saw some celebrities and had a good time. Don't know that I'll go back any time soon... but it was a really fun experience.

Now... until I get around to that I will do this.

A Wandering Heart Tagged me with this. I always find this sort of thing interesting. Feel free to play along either in the comments or in your own journal.

1. One book that changed your life:
The Daily Walk Bible - Because it was the first Bible that I understood what it was saying, and put things into context, and divided the Bible in a way that made it easy for me to do daily devotions.

2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
There aren't many. I'm a one time reader for the most part. But there are a few that I read over and over Hamlet, He Still Moves Stones by Max Lucado, Sara Teasdale Book of Poetry, lots of kids books.

3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
my Bible, and probably something really long and complicated to keep me amused.

4. One book that made you laugh:
The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchet

5. One book that made you cry:
Cure for the Common Life, Intimate Issues

6. One book that you wish had been written:
Man/Woman translation dictionary

7. One book you wish had never been written:
After this weekend? Most stuff by Lovecraft

8. One book you’re currently reading: Witches Abroad by Terry Pratchet

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
Marley & Me, The Bromeliad Trilogy, Facing Your Giants, The rest of the Junie B. Jones books

10. Now tag five people:
Farmwife
Art
Did
Cate
Inkling
And anyone else who would like to give it a whirl.

Rocks and Hard places

I may become a rock hound. I have one in my pocket that I have named my "thinking rock".

We had a beautiful service at church today. For a long time our church and its leaders have been praying about expanding and in the past few months we have taken steps prayerfully toward that. I am so grateful for our church but that is another story for another day and if anyone wants to read more about the expansion effort and all that it encompasses (it is far more than just a building) you can go here but that too is not the point of my ramblings today. I mentioned it because we were starting on the foundation of the new building projects today. We were each given a rock and Sharpie, and we were told to write out whatever prayer was on our hearts. The pastor specifically mentioned to write down friends and loved ones that we knew have not experienced the grace and mercy that can be found in fellowship with Christ. Of course there were other prayers he mentioned that could be written down too but I didn't hear those because the first bit seemed so directed to me. We were to write them down as these prayers are the reason for this expansion. When I started writing only the first names of dear friends who have blatantly told me they don't believe in God, don't believe in the church, don't believe in Christ or just don't care - my spirit was just crushed. I had too many names for my rock. These are people I dearly love. You can't go through art school or pass time in theater without acquiring friends who don't believe like you do. I'm not sure why the arts and nonbelieving seem to go hand-in-hand anymore. To me it would seem like it should be the exact opposite, but yet I find it to be that I am often in the minority of belief when with a group of creative types. Perhaps it's that way all around though, and those are just the groups I'm most with so that is where I notice it.

Most of the friends names that I wrote down won't even talk of faith. You can watch them brissle at the very mention of the word "church", you can see the hurt and anger in their eyes. They immediately think you are going to judge them so they sometimes judge you first. It is such a delicate thing. So many have been burned badly by churches and church people, that they are automatically on the defense when they learn you are "one of them". I don't keep my own faith hidden, but I know better than to try to push them toward it. I don't want to push them further away. It is not that I don't want to share it with them, but it is hard to share something when the other party won't receive it. So I just love them. It is all that I can do and do well. My thought is, that if I am the only part of the church they will go near then I want it to be a good experience. Maybe they can feel the peace, love, and feelings that I have no words for through me. It is a hard place to be, not knowing how to reach without pushing. The two actions have a lot of the same motions. In one your palm is open and facing up and the other the palm is forward and fingers closed. Interesting symbolism there, if you think about it.

So when we had written down our prayers we went outside to continue the service of prayer and dedication. We placed our stones on a make-shift alter, handing them over to God. Then we were given a small smooth stone to carry around as a reminder of our foundation and refuge.

For me, placing that stone upon the alter gave me hope. And in the moments that followed I could hear the words of a Newsboys song Miracle Child in my head:
we lose hope
we mumble our prayers
we seal off the stairs
and never dare believe your reach
can pass through stone
can lead a child home
can make the dead start blinking

And then my mind went to stones and how much God has showed us with them.
God made water come from a rock for Moses and the children of Israel to prove He cared.
He helped David kill the most large and feared warrior with a stone.
Jerico's wall became a pile of stones
Jesus saved a woman from being stoned to death by daring the whoever was without sin to throw the first one.
He rolled the large stone from his own tomb away.
And if cease to praise then the very rocks will cry out.

Even the very make up of rock is incredible. Just think who may have walked on the rock outside your house. What pieces of history are in that sediment that composed the sedimentary rock that I wrote those names on? I may not know, but God does. And He uses rocks. His reach can go beyond stone and hard places, even hardened hearts.

My rock will remind me of that. The stone in my pocket will help me think of the firm foundation of hope. Remind me of my Rock. It will hopefully help me to remember not to throw stones.

I encourage you to pick up a rock. It's amazing how talkative they can be.

Treasure Boxes

Over the weekend DH and I started cleaning out the office to make way for brand new "grown-up" desks to replace our old hand-me-down desks and folding table that we have been using as office furniture since we got married. It is an exciting change and an end of an era (well not quite the rest of our house is still furnished in hand-me-down furniture but it is a start).

What we have discovered other than the fact that we have a whole lot of stuff crammed into that little room - is that we had something neither of us knew the other had. Stuffed away at the back of each of our desks, we both had treasure boxes.

I've always heard that you will always be learning new stuff about each other throughout marriage, but somehow it always amazes and tickles me whenever it happens. You start to assume you know him better than anyone else and he knows you better than everyone else and while that may be true you still don't know each other inside and out like you think you do. When marriage or a relationship is new, you are all the time discovering things you didn't realize about your partner before - good things and bad. Odd habits, funny stories, unusual expressions, ect... ect... but as time wears on they all become rather familiar and the noticing of new stuff becomes less frequent. So after 7 years together we have reached the land of less frequency. But still, like yesterday, we discover something new about one another.

I'm now of the mind that if DH and I had met in elementary school we would have become fast friends. However, that would have been impossible because 1. He lived in Indiana and I lived in TN, 2. He was two years ahead of me in school and grades don't tend to mix until you reach JR. High/High School and 3. We were both so shy in our youth that we never would have spoken to each other anyway. I didn't find my voice until I reached my freshmen year of high school and started hanging out with people who taught me how to find. DH still is a sometimes overwhelmingly quiet man. But still, if the circumstances had allowed we would have gotten along well. Over the years we have discovered that we had many shared interests as youths. We both loved history, both wanted to be archaeologists and held expeditions in our back yards, and both loved animals and art. As we grew up our interests changed and varied more widely, we still have a lot in common, but not nearly as exactingly so as when we were small but didn't know each other. We have evidence of this in our treasure boxes that we found yesterday.

What is a treasure box? You might be asking. For DH and I they are little containers filled with odds and ends of collected stuff from our youth. Things that had meaning to us when we were small and still hold too much sentimental value that we just can't let go of them. They don't represent our whole life, and the collections have not been added to since either of us were probably more than 12 years old.. but they act like tiny time capsules reminding us of what we were and where we came from.

My treasure box

Is in a plastic jar with a purple lid. It contains, old coin replicas that I got when I visited Michigan for the first time; two Civil War bullets; A penny from the Bahamas that someone gave me; a Mule Day pin that my mother made; a bracelet sent to me by my sister's Nigerian pen pal when my sister got married; my dad's name tag from when he worked at the A&P when he was a teenager; a quilt piece from my brother-in-law's family that my sister didn't know what to do with but thought I might like because the quilt dated back to the 1800's; the first cross I ever received - I believe I got it at my first VBS, it's plastic and at one time glowed in the dark ; and my first archaeological find from our back yard - a little china plate.

DH's treasure box

is kept in a little Indiana National Bank safe bank and contained a pouch that reads "Trust God"; several coin replicas; a series of coins from the year he was born; a couple of bullets from the Civil War era; some of his dad's old marbles; a couple of old locks; a train flattened penny; a corkscrewed penny; and two of his first archaeological finds from his back yard - a piece of a pipe and 1932 Buffalo Nickel.

We have other strange things that lead us to believe that we have always been meant for one another, but that it just took us 24-26 years, several heartbreaks, many life-changing experiences, and the uninhibiting force of the internet to find each other. Sometimes I forget about the evidence, sometimes I the heartbreaks still make me cry, sometimes I get so focused on all the stuff in our rooms that I miss the evidence. Sometimes I'm really happy we both held on to some little junk in our lives to remind us, how well suited we are to each other.

A quickie

Another girl at work has gotten me involved in "Illustration Friday". I originally found the site I believe through Cate's blog but only took a passing interest and never participated until encouraged by my friend at work. It has been a wonderful creative exercise on Friday's, drawing a quick picture to match the the topic of the week.

Should anyone want to keep up with the work you can go here to the place I post most of my Illustration Friday work, or Illustration Friday itself to view my work and my co-worker's work. She goes by "Tammy" on the site.

All the Small Things

My mom has always been full of great wisdom. She reads alot and retains alot. She has notebooks full of quotations that she has used with my sister and I for years. So much so that many are engrained in our minds. One day I may make a list of the ones that come immediately to mind, but that will be a post for another day.

Today I will only list one. "It is not the mountain ahead but the pebble in your shoe that keeps you down" - translation- It's not the big stuff, but the small stuff that brings you down.

I had week like that last week. A good bit of it could be attributed to female trouble but mainly it was a bunch of little things that just brought my spirits down considerably. I'm always amazed by how people can so easily be torn down brick by brick. But what is wonderful is that if we focus on the other little things we can just as easily be built back up. The problem is finding that kind of focus.

But that's not what this post is about either. That is just a way to explain why I didn't post last week. I was just too down in the dumps and had the cries to feel like doing it. But never fear, I refocused and am back to normal now.

So now I will focus on other little things.
Not the little things that necessarily make me happy, but the random little bits that I've thought about blogging about but that don't seem to warrant a blog post of their own.

Like this flower for instance.

It is a passion flower so I've been told. I want to grow them next year. For no other reason, than that they look like something directly from Dr. Seuss.

Or my kitchen - after reading Not Martha about her small kitchen and her small kitchen solutions, I showed DH and his reaction was: "well at least she has two exits" This is true. I showed him the page because we too have a very small kitchen. I related to the girl because we too have had be creative with solutions. It sincerely helped having the dishwasher installed rather than continuing the use the roll-and-hook-up one that came with the house. But that caused us to lose considerable cabinet space, so we added a baker's rack to create more counter/storage space. And then there are the utinsils. While the rack took care of many, we still had a lot left over. Being the ever clumsy person that I am I knew containers holding multiple items would not work for me as I would pull one and all would come with it. So we went with hooks. Hooks on a bathroom storage caddy that I found at a yardsale. No one knows it is suppose to be a bathroom caddy. Let's let that be our little secret.
See it doesn't look so bad


The reason for Jay's reaction to the other girl's blog is that we do only have one entry/exit to the kitchen, and it works okay as long as there is only one person. Get both of us unloading groceries, for instance, and obsticles appear from everywhere. Particulary the ever-curious dog, and the refrigerator door. As you can see here: our kitchen as taken from the dining room

and here:

One of us is constantly getting trapped by the other, or has trouble maneuvering around the other with hot things. I love our house, but if I could change just two things it would be make the kitchen and the master bath bigger (and give the master bath an outlet). If anyone knows of a good (FREE) makeover show that wants to redo either of those things in TN. Let me know. I'll apply in a heartbeat.

And finally does anyone need any tomatoes? My brown thumb has a hint of green afterall because we now have an over abundance of tomatoes for just two people, one of which doesn't particularly care for them except in salads. And unfortunately everyone else seems to be growing their own as well, so I'm having trouble giving them away. Next year I will only plant one plant. One plant is plenty. Maybe it can grow next to the passion flower. Wonder if that would cause any weird cross polinating stories.

In Martha Mode

Martha as in the crazy lady on tv.
I've been quite crafty and culinary recently. I've surprised even myself. I have my hat about ready for Dragon*Con I am going as the main character from Terry Pratchett's youth lit book The Wee Free Men and will even have some NacMacFeegle on top of my hat. I may post a pic in Nudge Nudge whenever I get it completely completed.

I've started on this year's Christmas card design!

I've also been trying new recipes recently. I have a goal of adding at least 4 new quick, easy, few ingredients needed and also quite tasty recipes to my everyday collection before the end of the year. So far out of all I've tried only two have met all of those criteria - Yum Getti and Teriaki Chicken Packets.

Day before yesterday, I made use of the bananas that hadn't been eaten as quickly as we had anticipated by making Banana Nut muffins.. and (and this is the kicker with me) I even tried substituting ingredients! They are made with Splenda rather than sugar and have almonds instead of walnuts! This may not seem like a big deal to some of you out there. But I'm a by the book kinda girl when it comes to cooking because frankly I'm not very good at it and going "off book" can have disastrous results. But this time it turned out well. The substitution of nuts is due to my rather odd development of an allergy to walnuts and pecans over the past couple of years. Which is just terribly unfortunate to me as I absolutely love both walnuts and pecans.

And tonight, would you believe it, I have continued in Martha mode to the benefit of my dog. I've always been fond of taking Sasha to the Natural Pet Supply store to buy her an ice cream, after a hot walk. But unfortunately for Sasha, the NPS is in JC and since we have discovered a closer and nicer walking trail in KPT we no longer are anywhere near the NPS. Plus $1.79 is just a bit much to buy your dog a treat. But worry no more about the Sasha Dog's lack of cooling treat after a hot walk, because I have found a cost effective alternative. Thanks to a wonderful website that I can no longer find, I found a recipe for Puppy Ice Cream.. and even better it is Peanut Butter flavored! Her favorite! So tonight I bought the $2 container of plain yogurt and brought it home, combined it with a cup full of melted peanut butter* and then poured that concoction into icecube trays and a couple of little plastic containers and froze it. You have never seen a happier pooch. And we are set with PupCream for weeks. If you have a hot dog on your hands during this squeltering summer, I suggest trying it.

* I did not know that you could melt peanut butter until tonight! This is dangerous information to come into my hands because not only am I lover of batters and doughs but I am also a lover of PB. I may be melting it and pouring it over various things now that I have this knowledge. Imagine it! Hershey bars with PB poured over the top. Decorated cracker cakes! Bananas laced in facinating patterns with melted PB! Muhahahahaha!

I don't know what has gotten into me. Is it my goal oriented nature pushing me toward finding those 4 new criteria fitting recipes that has me trying new and different things? Is it the books I've been reading? The blogs? (it very well could be Inkling she's been very Martha recently herself.) Whatever it is, I hope I get in Martha cleaning mode next because we could really use it.

Pondering of the Day: It's all about the dough

"Will work for dough"
That should be my sign.
I love dough. Yeah that green stuff that you can spend is nice, but I'm talking about the baked (or rather not-baked) stuff. My mother and husband fuss at me all the time & I realize it is not a healthy habit to eat stuff that is yet to be cooked. But oh I love it so. Cookie dough, biscuit dough, yeast dough.. you name it and if it is a dough, I probably like it.

Perhaps I was the Pop N' Fresh in a past life.

But it doesn't stop at doughs. I like batters too. I can take or leave the finished products but offer me dough or batter and I just can't resist. What is it about these confections that I like so well? Does the mischievousness that comes with sneaking bites of it play a role in how well it tastes? Or is it fond memories of licking beaters and cleaning bowls that give it an addictive quality?

Why don't I like things cooked? I like most vegetables better uncooked than cooked too, with the exception of squash. But carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, asparagus (yes I've eaten it straight out of the garden), even lima beans - I like better raw than cooked. Green beans I like better cooked but lima beans are just plane tasty raw. I like corn and potatoes better cooked too but I don't count them because they are starches. Fruits are no different - with the exception of blackberries - I don't like fruits cooked as well as I like them raw either. Give me a fresh apple and I'll chow down. Bake it and I'll still eat it, but not as readily. Give me a fresh tomato and I'll eat it with pleasure, but stew or cook it in any way and I'll turn up my nose. Could this persuasion toward raw food come from the walks with my grandfather in his garden, where we'd walk through the rows around time for harvest and he'd pick various produce and slice off a piece with his pocket knife and let me have a taste of the food fresh from the ground/vine/tree/or stalk? Does this inclination hail back to primitive man?

And why is it that I like so much that is raw but can't find a single kind of Sushi that I like?

What causes such an unusual taste? Is it my subconscious? A chemical imbalance? Or is it just one of the quirky things that make me - me? I'm sticking with the latter as my answer. I know a girl who eats Mustard on tuna...both of which I find disgusting. To me that is odd. What odd things do you eat?

And if you hadn't already guessed... I made cookies tonight. What else would bring about a whole blog entry on the wonders of dough

Summer Lessons

I appologize for not posting. I'm sure I am due for a good fussing at. But it has been busy.
And hot. We cannot forget to mention the heat.
But yet I have still spent a bit of time outside. I actually managed to grow vegetables which amazes me. Granted they were hybrid veggies because no one informed me until after the fact that one should not plant cucumbers right next to squash or they will cross polenate, creating the oddly shaped "squashcumbers" and "cucumquash". They still tasted good though, they were merely oddly shaped, and did not produce long.

We have been greatly blessed with summer beauty and lessons from the land this year. Some have been more welcome than others. The more welcome ones have been blackberries spontaneously growing along our fence row. I say spontaneously because I did not plant them. Aren't they pretty against the background of the green fields?

They are wild blackberries, you have to get pricked by them a bit to pick them, and you have to watch for snakes and ward off chiggers while you pick them, but once they've been in the oven they make a very sweet dessert. There is a lesson there somewhere, but I can't seem to verbalize it. All I know is that it gives me hope for my wild friends.

Another blessing has been the fireflies. Oh how I love sitting on the deck and watching them. They put on their own little fireworks show in the grove of trees down by our house. It's quiet an cooler at night and as long as you have citronella burning nearby you can ward off the squarms of mosquitos. Watch the lightening bugs blink morse code while kamakazi beetles throw themselves agains the patio door.

Then of course there are the not so wonderful things of summer, like ants.
I hate sugar ants and we have been fighting a long hard battle with them this year. We spray - they go away, but then they come back and each time they seem to be in greater quantities. We just keep finding places and plugging places where they could be coming in. I have confidence that at some point we will get them licked.

We also have bore witness to the evolutionary concept of "survival of the fittest". Unfortunately not all the offspring of our bird friends have been fittest against the maurading cats of the neighborhood. I wouldn't mind the cats exploring their natural side, if only they would eat the whole thing. Rather than eating the innards and leaving the carcus to become perfume for our dog. Why dogs find fowl (pardon the pun I couldn't resist) decaying birds particularly inticing to roll in I will never understand. But thanks to the number of nests we've spotted in our trees & bushes we've taken to doing sweeps of the yard when we take the dog out to make sure nothing is decaying nearby for her to roll in. It is not a pleasant job, but it is more pleasant than washing the dog after she has "perfumed" herself.

We've also encountered an object lesson in our yard. One that makes the Bible's lesson hit home. We have a grapevine in our tree. We did not grow it. It is the overgrown creation of our neighbors. To our knowledge the grapevine has never been pruned. From what we can tell it started on the arbor next door, overtook a tree, and is now growing in the tree's branches. Dropping sour grapes on our head as we walk through. I wouldn't mind them growing onto our property so much if they were grapes we could pick and enjoy. But just as the Bible warns us that we have to be puned to produce good fruit, so does a grapevine. It is no wonder it is used as an illustration. It does produce fruit. Big bunches of grapes hang from the limbs and bop us on the head every time we mow. But they never ripen. They never become good fruit, because they were never puned. They just turn brown and then make a mess. We've sinced trimmed them back so that they do not drop into our yard. But I thought I'd share the visual with you as well as a reminder. We should rejoice in being pruned, and not be sour. Because no one wants to fall off the vine and be squished by lawn mowers or dog feet. It's much better to be made into something sweet and tastey, even when you are in a jam.



the grapes up close but blurry


More later and hopefully sooner than last time.
Z

Picture Pages, Picture Pages..

Picture Pages, Picture Pages
Time to get you Picture Pages
Time to get your crayons
And your Pencils!
Picture Pages, Picture Pages
Open up your Picture Pages
Time to let Bill Cosby do a Picture Page with you!

yeah... that's been going through my head for most of today. You see I have discovered that I have a problem. I am in love with pictures. That part isn't terribly surprising. I'm fairly sure none of you are sitting there in shock at that statement. I think it is fairly obvious that I'm a fairly visually oriented person. It is my secondary learning style. If I'm not learning kinetically (through doing) I'm learning visually by watching. I'm not the girl who reads instructions.. I'm the girl who looks at the diagrams and tries to figure it out on my own (which bless his heart, drives poor DH crazy). So it is not surprising that pictures have a powerful impact on me.

But oh what an impact they have.

Normally, I'm a fairly organized person. I don't typically keep clutter. I enjoy sorting and reorganizing. Clearing away the old to make way for the new. Clean Sweep has nothing on me, I've been doing that for years. I try not to build a bond between myself and things. Things can be replaced it is people that matter. But there are two areas in which I am a horrible pack rat. The first area is with letters - hand written, sincere forms of communication that I can't bear to part with because it is like I can hear the conversation over and over again word for word. I'm not terribly bad about letters. I only keep the ones that say something I want to remember. But my worst area of pack ratism (I may be developing my own word there, I do that some times if the ones that already exist don't suit me) is pictures, otherwise known as photographs.

I've worked in them all day, because once again my collection outside of the albums had grown to almost unmanageable size. I'm also usually good about putting them into albums as soon as I receive them... but a discovery of several deteriorating lost albums from my youth made my collection of unsorted, unlabeled photos grow by leaps and bounds. My albums are huge now. I have 5, you see. One filled with pictures of family - mine and DH's,One filled with our childhood pictures - through the time we got together, engaged and married, another with pictures of friends old and new and our get togethers with them, one of our life over the past 4 year post marriage, and of course the usual wedding/honeymoon album. I'm about to start a new album just of pictures of my best friend and her family.

I've worked all day and part of yesterday on it and I've still got a long way to go. I am slightly overwhelmed by pictures. And that is when I realized I have a problem. Why am I keeping all of these? I pondered. Who will care about these but me? I ask.
I don't look at my grandmother's old albums... but that's because I don't know who the people in the pictures are or how they related to her. But I do love looking at friends albums with them, and seeing pictures that other people post, because they are able to tell me what the pictures are of and what their significance is. I like knowing the stories behind pictures. And that answers it all right there. I keep the pictures because I care about the stories. All the people in my albums have stories. And I tell them through pictures and words. I've decided that if anyone picks up my albums they will know who the people are. Beside each set of pictures I write who they are, how I know them, what we've done together, what they've meant in my life and where (if I know) they are now. I don't know if anyone will care later on. But for now I care. I discovered in finding the old disintegrating albums that I have pictures of people I don't remember anymore. I don't want to forget the people that I have in my albums now. I don't want to forget their stories and why I chose to capture that moment in time.

If fascinates me how many of the stories intertwine. Say it is because I'm from a smallish town.. say it's because it's a small world but no matter what you say it is still fascinating. I have photos of friends who ran in the same circles in elementary school but no longer keep in touch with each other but keep in touch with me and are doing practically the same thing for a living. I have pictures of friends who didn't know each other when the photos were taken but who are now close friends. I have pictures taken when a friend was just a friend and now that friend is my sister's niece's step-father. I have pictures of Me and pictures of DH at the same Civil War reenactment more than 10 years before we met or lived anywhere near each other. I pictures of a group of friends who were all dating other people at the time the photo was taken but now two are married to each other and another two are in a serious relationship. It's really very interesting. Who knows if one day my nieces or perhaps even my future child will bring home a person with a familiar last name and I'll be able to say "I was friends with your ______ way back when" and have the photos to prove it.

I love being able show my godchild pictures of her mom and I when we were her age. To show her that we were just as silly, tried to be just as cool, and tried all sorts of crazy things too. I love giggling at what we were wearing and how our hair was. I love comparing people when they were small with pictures of their children. I love looking at pictures of me and my friends when we were young and doing some activity while knowing what they do for a living now. How prophetic pictures seem sometimes.

I use to have a photography professor who would get onto us for pointing at our people in our photos during critique and referring to them by name. He would say "That is not 'dad' or 'my sister' - that is silver on paper. You've got to look at it that way or else you will never be able to let go of your bad work and move on to make better works of art!" I remember those words of wisdom, but perhaps that is why I was never very good at photography. To me photography isn't art work.. it can be.. but for the most part for me photography is still magic more than medium. It is little moments frozen in time. I love freezing time. I don't live in the past but I like to glance back at it. I love the memories photographs trigger and how I can relive moments without altering the course of history by accident. To me photography is the best time machine! I love seeing objects long since gotten rid of and forgotten. I love seeing rooms in the background that are completely different than they use to be. I love having family members kept alive just as I remember them in a photograph... I may never see them again, but when I look at that photo all the memories of how they looked, smelled and sounded come right back. I treasure my pictures.

How could I ever through that stuff away. I did throw away the pictures of people I didn't remember, and the pictures I had duplicates of. And I try not to be too attached to my albums. I know deep down they are only silver on paper. But one day I may have a room full of shelves of photo albums. And if I do I hope that someone will enjoy them, but if they don't I hope they know what enjoyment they bring me.

Cate Saves the Day

I never realize how very vital internet access and my "friends" on here are to me until something like this happens. Cate (you can find her blog second from the top on that side bar over there) doesn't realize it yet, but she saved my hide this weekend.

I am a Sunday School teacher. Well... mostly I'm a Sunday School Helper. I work with two other adults in our 3-4 year old class. Mr. David, is the main teacher. He tells the story, and leads the kids in prayer before snack. Mrs. Pam usually does a craft with the kids. She's a mom of 6 grown children so she has a handle on herding them and settling disagreements. I mostly fix snack, play with the kids, help with the craft and take people potty. I'm the helper, usually. Occasionally though I become the craft lady. Mrs. Pam emailed me on Friday because she unexpectedly had to be out of town this weekend. So I had very little time to plan a craft that would rate up ther with the cool pasta necklaces she had been bringing to make and will bring next weekend. It didn't help that by the end of Friday I had forgotten about the email and only just remembered I needed something on Saturday night.

But this, thankfully, is where Cate comes in. Not long ago in Cate's blog she posted a link to a child friendly site Kiddley.com. There was craft on there Saturday that was just perfect for my class. And I must say they turned out great. There is just nothing like having 3 year olds prance out of class proudly displaying their hand-made "stained glass" suncatcher.

Oh the internet, how did I survive before it's invention?

What has happened to Farmwife's blog? I know she's been around... I had a reply from her. So I went to her blog and it's... it's.. blank! Completely and utterly blank!
This problem must be rectified!

The problem with blogging for me is that I can't think how to end my blog posts. I get them started and then I stop in the middle of them because I can't think of a good way to end them. It's a bit like writer's block (blogger's block?). I know people don't require you to elloquent ways of closing a blog post, but I feel like one should at least be coherent. And sometime when I start one they end up as endless rambling with no real point. And I am not happy with rambling. I want to write good..ahem... well.

The thing is unless I write about emotions and gushy stuff, I don't really have much to write about. I could tell you about work, but that's boring.

I could tell you about the amazing $1 squeeky fish from Target that has lasted longer than almost any stuffed dog toy we've every had. Beating out some $4 petstore bought ones by 3 to four days.

I could tell you about the annoying sales guy who was sitting with DH at our kitchen table when I came home from work today. But really all there is to say about that is that I didn't like his approach, we didn't particularly need his product, and he dropped names so when DH and I took a moment to "discuss it" what we really discussed was who was going to tell him "no" and show him to the door. But that's really about the only excitement there was today.

I could tell you about the funny real estate ad I worked on this morning. Well I found it funny anyway. It read "In well established neighborhood. Original owners still present." Do they come with the house? Are they buried in the back yard? See- well written language is important or else people get the wrong ideas about stuff. That's my point!

Well... no... that's my excuse. That's why I don't blog much. yep. It all comes down to an affection for the written word. The feeling that a blog post should have a beginning, middle and an end. I frustrate myself in that I don't type in full sentences. I don't talk in full sentences, I guess, therefore I don't write in them. But most of all I can't come up with ends for my posts. I start off good, dwindle in the middle and then nothin. No ends meeting. No ends justifying means. There just is no end to there being no ends for me. I search and I search but I just can't seem to come up with an end for some blog posts.

wait! what's that down there? Could it be?


I think it is...


Yes! It's the end!

There are places I remember...

I remember hearing stories of when my sister was little and how after Christmas morning she would take all her gifts and rewrap them and put them back under the tree, unwilling to let the day end as it had to and return to everyday life. I always thought it was silly. But now with the reunion behind me I feel a bit the same. There was such a build up to it. Months of researching and looking for people, planning and arranging, chatting and communicating. And now, much like Christmas, the day has come with it's festivities and suprises and has passed as quickly as it came. You can't grasp days. You can't hold onto them. And much like Christmas, I'm relieved that it is over, because the stress has gone with it and I am utterly exhausted but yet at the same time I'm sad to see it go. It seems awfully quiet again.

Sunday night after we returned from the reunion and took much needed showers, ( it had been horribly hot) DH and I collapsed into our bed at my parents' house. Well my body collapsed... but my brain... my brain went 90 miles a minute for the rest of the night. Replaying and rewinding conversations and moments of the day, checking and rechecking that things had been done and packed, lamenting people who hadn't come who I had really wanted to see again, regretting things that I wanted to say but did not know how to put into words, wishing I had taken more photos. Feeling bad for a couple of friends who I wasn't able to accomodate their schedule well and they had to leave early to be at another event.. unfortunately they left before the group portrait. I'm going to try to photoshop them in using another picture I got of them there.. but I still feel like a schmuck for not thinking of taking it before they left. I don't think I slept well at all that night. I woke up exhausted and remain that way today.

We drove back yesterday. A long 5 1/2 hours back. DH and I agree that the trip home always seems so much longer than the trip there. We had good conversations though. We talked about the next big trip that we have planned, we talked about the future and where in between my family and his family we might could live. We chatted about the bathroom and Pedro's offer to help us fix it when next they come to visit. We chatted about the difference between Indiana corn fields and TN cornfields (he was raised a Hoosier). He watched/I listened to the movie "Robots" on his laptop. When we go home we unloaded and then went to pick up the dog from boarding and dinner from Wendy's. We spent the rest of the night trying to unpack. We still have a ways to go. How can going away for a long weekend cause such havoc on a house? I took several containers of cookies with me to work this morning. We are all munching away on reunion left overs. Tonight DH and I will have pork chops, the only thing I had in the house that goes well with left over cole slaw and biscuits.

I felt bad for Former. He had gotten food poisoning on the way down to the reunion from eating Subway. Food poisoning is never good to get, it is worse when you are riding a motorcycle. Did... I didn't think of it then, but that is probably why he looked so rough and worn down. He doesn't normally look so tired. I worried on the way down and the way back up about him on that stupid bike. I hate motorcycles. I've known too many people injured or killed on them. But I also know many who love them and who have never had any incidents... but still. It is not that I don't trust that he'd be careful on it, it's that I don't trust other people to see him. If people can run into the back of a big ol' Subaru that they "didn't notice was stopped" how much more could they miss a motorcycle. But I have to remind myself that he isn't mine to worry over any more. I just wish there was someone else in his life right now that I know would worry for me. I keep thinking I should set Former up with a girl I work with... but how do I go about doing that? "Hey, you wanna go out with a guy I dated about 7 years ago and am still close friends with?" ... yeah that would probably freak her out. I'm praying about it though. If God grants me an opportunity I will mention him to her, he has already agreed to let me set him up with someone if I ever come across any body... and swears he won't bear a grudge if it doesn't work out. And if God doesn't provide me an opportunity to set Former up with CoWorker, I hope He blesses Former with someone soon.

DH was a real trooper. Being the quiet, introverted man he is, he came to a reunion of many loud and extroverted people. But that wasn't the kicker. The kicker is that the reunion also contained 4 of my ex-boyfriends. 2 of which he already knew and gets along with pretty well and two he had never met. 3 of which played very significant roles in my life and lasted more than a week. May I just give kudos to my man for a moment. What a wonderful being he is to understand how much those relationships mean to me. To understand that I still love those guys but that they are no competition for him. He understands that they were gifts in my life that are a part of me and have made me the woman that I am. Or at least he seems to understand that. It is one thing for him to love me, but it is so much more to me that he can find it in his heart to also love those that I hold dear, even though he knows the ways that they hurt me or the mistakes I made with them. How many times has he bowed his head in prayer with me for a friend that he barely knows. God has truly blessed me with a wonderful and merciful man.

There is a Sara Teasdale poem that if you added in one extra love - would be the story of my life. It is actually called "Gifts"
It goes
I gave my first love laughter,
I gave my second tears,
I gave my third love silence
Thru all the years.

My first love gave me singing,
My second eyes to see,
But oh, it was my third love
Who gave my soul to me.

Now add in one more love amongst those and you'd have my history. I'd say I gave my first love laughter since we were really just kids when we "went out". I was in 7th and he was in 8th grade when we started "dating" and we "dated" until my 8th grade year. And he really did give me singing. In fact our first and really only date was to a "singing" at his church. He also was the first person to make me a mix tape. He was the first person I ever broke up with. He was getting too serious for me. I found out at the reunion that he though I left him for Former... I didn't start dating Former until 11th grade, I don't think I left him for anyone. But my memory isn't that good. Does anyone else find it concerning that I'm talking about "dating" starting in 7th or 8th grade? That means I started dating when I was 13. My godchild is 10. That worries me now.

I don't think I gave my second love tears. I think I gave him innocence. He was quite a bit older than I was. We started dating when I was 15. My mother was freaked by the age difference, but she and my dad came to the conclusion that it was better for them to allow it and be able to monitor things than to disallow it and end up with me sneaking around. A pretty wise move on their part looking back on it. As much as I respected them and tried to obeyed them... I was completely caught up in the adventure and romance and in my youthful ignorance I probably would have rebelled to keep it going. My second love was my first french kiss, my first realization that life continued after 10 pm, he made me feel brave and he was my first heartbreak. I'd have to add in a line that says, "I gave my second love innocense" and in the second stanza say "My second love gave me heart"

It was my third love that I gave tears too. This would be Former. I didn't give them to him in the beginning, but about our third year of dating my horomones went crazy and I dropped into depression. Then he got tears. I got straightened out with medication and then the stress of school and past issues attacked him and he fell to depression as well and he gave me tears. By the end of our 4th year together we gave each other plenty of tears. But he gave me so much more than that. He really did give me eyes to see. He introduced me to so much. His leaving forced me to face myself and stand on my own.

But oh, it was my fourth love that gave my soul to me. DH has given me plenty of silence. He is the quietest man I ever dated. He talks once you get to know him, but when you first meet him he is quiet. And if he is mad he puts forth a painful silence. . And if he doesn't know how to comfort you... he is quiet - but his actions say a lot. I was empty when he met me. Broken-hearted through and through. He was suppose to be a mindless fling to fill that empty space. But without a word he became so much more. He was there.

Of course it wasn't just my loves that gave me gifts. My other friends there could be counted as gifts too. They all gave me so much and don't realize it. I wouldn't have had a social life in high school without that group. I wouldn't have had the self-esteem or nerve that I have now. I wouldn't have faced the trials, or conquered my fears if I hadn't had them to hold me up. Each of them gave me something. Each opened my eyes in some way. And I can never repay them. And I couldn't figure out how to say that at the reunion. I feared being looked at like a crazy woman if I stood on the table and said "You all are such a gift to me. You- you there, Farmwife, you did this for me. And you, Did, you did this for me. And Art- Art to do you realize, and Rumplestilzkin do you know......." and so fourth.

They are my gifts. Part of me wants to wrap them back up and put them under the tree again. But the other half is ever so happy to just enjoy and let it all go, getting back into my normal routine and my normal life and we'll see what other gifts come my way.

BTW, Farmwife's Mom, I'll try to do better with the posting... but I warn you, I'm not terribly interesting.

Zann abhors a telephone

Contrary to popular belief I have not fallen off the world.
My telephone, however, is about to.
I have gotten myself into more messes than I can count since the "FunDip Incident" and they can all be traced back to a phone.

I don't know if I have mentioned my irrational fear of making telephone calls in this blog or not. But I have one. I don't know what happened in my childhood that traumatized me from dialing out but something did. I don't even call close friends or family without some amount of anxiety.

But this month, particularly this week and last, telephones seem to be exacting their revenge on me. Either that or the Good Lord is trying to help me conquer my fear. Last weekend a telephone call started it all. I was settling down to watch the season finale of one of my favorite tv shows, when the phone rings. I answer. The lady on the other end tells me she wants me to be the leader of prayer ministry. Leader? Me?! I had a bit of a Moses moment. I told her that I'm really not much of a leader and that I didn't think I'd be right for the job. She talks and gets me to back down from that excuse. She tells me the dates - I look at the calendar looking for some, any excuse to get out of it. There is nothing going on that time of that month. Disarmed of my excuses by Providence, I agreed to take the position. I felt confident that with God's help I could do the job set before me. Praying is second nature right? How hard could meeting with a group of women and praying for a conference be?

Then I got the packet of leadership materials. The prayer team has not even been formed yet.... which means *insert blood curdling shriek here* calling people! Not only that but I'm suppose to get two of those people to attend a model meeting with me this Sunday. For days I put it off. For days I prayed that God would provide me with email addresses or something so I wouldn't have to call. Finally, I forced myself to make calls tonight. I left several messages with answering machines, one with a child, and got a couple of "I'd love to help...but"s which I completely understand... and now I am completely drained.

Between all that, I received a phone call from yet another agency asking for donations. (TELEPHONE MESS EXHIBIT A:) I believe we've been called by every non-profit organization associated with fire, police, or veterans at least once every night since we've been married. Most of the time we politely turn them down. One of these days we are going to get caller ID. DH once made a vet very irate because he politely listened to his whole monologue and then turned him down. I got rather testy with the woman I spoke with tonight because she said we pledged money and then didn't send it. I told her I didn't remember any such thing. She argued that she had my name written down that we had. I took down and address and all, and then come to find out that DH had actually pledged to that one organization at the beginning of the month.

A few weeks ago, we went out for an evening to see a play and the plan was to join friends for dinner following it. We never made it to dinner. It was storming. One of the friends who was calling to see which restaurant we were going to accidentally called our land line. It was busy. She asked me if Sasha was using the phone. I knew that wasn't the case, but we hadn't used the phone either so it definitely wasn't off the hook. My vivid imagination conjured images of our house having burned to the ground due to lightning strike... or someone breaking in and ripping out the phone lines. We reluctantly went home to check on things at my request. And because home was a good 15 minute drive either way we missed dinner. None of those things were true of course, the power board had just accidentally broken our phone line while working on some other utilities up the street. The panic attack I had caused a nasty argument between DH and I, but it was quickly put to rest. But I deem it as yet another (Exhibit B) example of how the phone has gotten me into a mess lately.

Sunday we placed a classified ad to sell a few things that were cluttering up the garage. Monday I got a phone call from a sweet little old lady who was interested in one of the items. (Telephone mess exhibit C:) She says she is sending her son to purchase the item, not to sell it to anyone else. "Yipee! I sold it!" I thought. No...not so much. I stay home for several hours waiting for them to arrive and then what we are selling just isn't the model her son was looking for. On the bright side DH did manage to sell his old snare drum and a broken tv to a guy tonight (he told him up front that it was broken) by using the phone. I still haven't sold my gazelle. *sigh* So I guess phones aren't too bad.

Oh yeah! (Exhibit D:) Saturday, my one day to sleep in since we had yard work planned on Memorial Day... was ended early by someone calling my cell phone by mistake! At 6 AM! I wish I was one of those lucky people who can go back to sleep after being woken up. But I'm not. I tried, but the phone call had caused too much adrenaline to go coursing through my veins (no good phone calls ever come early in the morning or late at night... that seems to be prime time for bad news). So I finally just got up and started the day hours earlier than I had planned.

Give me email and blogs any day. The moral of all this ranting you ask?

You know the old saying "Don't call us, we'll call you."? Well just reverse it in my case. Call me. I will never ever call you, because Zann abhors a telephone.
Give me email or hand written letter any day - heck! I'll even take telegraph, "dit dit dit da da da dit dit dit!" just please... don't make me make telephone calls anymore!

. -- .- .. .-.. .. ... -... . - - . .-.

Ponderment of the Day

Here is something to ponder for you.

Do you "hear" your own voice in your head when you think?

I had never really thought about it before until I lost my voice this week. Another round of sinus/ear infections and drainage caused by those has left me voiceless. I only just became voiceless as of yesterday. And I noticed as I stood cooking spaghetti and thinking to myself that I was "hearing" my voice in my head. Not my normal voice - no the icky, scratchy, squeaky voice that I currently have. I thought it was odd. And wondered if I always hear my current voice in my head, and of course then I wondered if other people "hear" their own voice in their heads when they think. I'm pretty sure I wasn't talking out loud to myself - I would have felt it if I was because at the moment speaking is quite an effort.

So now I'm curious do you think in your own voice?
Have you ever thought about it?

A bird in hand is worth one in the bush

You know how you've always heard that if you touch a baby bird, it's mother will abandon it? Well apparently that isn't true. Or at least not when the bird is covered with dog spit first.

The other day we were out in the back yard playing with the dog when she suddenly got distracted and headed around the side of the house. She was gone for a little bit and there was a Mama Robin squawking and going crazy on the fence nearby. DH and I looked at each other and as if in tandom said - oh no! she's got a baby bird! DH being the big strong man that he is and me being the crier over all creatures big and small... he got a head start on heading around the house to get the bird away from the dog. When I got around the corner fearing the worst (pile o feathers or limp little body) what I found instead was my husband cupping a baby bird in his hand. "It's okay he said, a little wet, but okay."

"Put it in the bush!" I exclaimed. We figured that was probably where it had come from in the first place, as there were no nests within eye-site and he was just at "trying to fly" stage. After he had put it in the bush and we discussed our hopes that the mother would not abandon it as we had so oft been told in childhood and how we hoped he would have no more run-ins with neighborhood dogs or cats, DH went on to tell me that the baby bird was not in our dog's mouth or anything when he found her. Instead the dog was just standing there staring at it. And had apparently given it a lick because it's little back was wet. Don't you get this mental picture of Selvester and Tweety bird. Where Selvester hears the little old lady coming and spits tweetie out real quick?

I then made Jay wash his hand thoroughly. They hypocondriac in me couldn't get past all the nasty little germ (bird flu!!!) that little guy could have been carrying. Pitty my future children people, if my hypochondria gets worse as I age.

Anyway, that was probably Thursday. Today (Sunday) I went out with the dog and she went straight to the fence, excitedly whining and running up and down, and looking over the fence like this:

She looks as though she is thinking "Come back baby robin... you need another bath!"

That's when I saw Winston sitting on our neighbor's back steps. I have decided to call our baby robin, Winston. I call him that because he looks like Winston Churchill to me. It is a blurry picture because I was unable to get close enough without climbing the fence for my less than wonderul digital camera's depth of field.

But here is little Winston - we assume it is the same bird. It certainly looks like it, and I'm going to tell myself that it is anyway. We do have other evidence that the "touch a bird the mother will abandon it" myth is untrue. My sister and her family had a family of cardinals nest outside their window. I do believe that her husband rescued a baby bird in the same manner and it's mother continued feeding it, right before their eyes. I think that's how the story went, and DH vaguely remembers it the same way... so I'm going to go with it. In my world that myth is busted. :P

In other bird news, I witnessed the most beautiful thing while I was outside today too. It was a bit of a bird ballet. I think they were swallows or marlins.. I'm not sure. I'm not much of a bird person. But I sincerely enjoyed watching them swoop and sore in and out of the field behind our house in beautiful synchranization sometimes and randomly at other times. It was breath taking. "Consider the birds"... my mind when directly to that bible passage when I saw it. I knew they were feeding on bugs and what not in the field, but it was almost as if they were dancing in praise as well. These are my dancing birds, though you can't really tell. They are the black spots over the field.

Which reminded me of my youngest neice. Last week I went home for a quick visit. While there, I went to church with my parents. My sister and her family came too. Her youngest goes to pre-school there, even though they attend a different church. Bug (I think that's what I've nick-named her for this blog) will be 5 in July. Her pre-school was singing for the church that day. After she finished her song she came back to sit with our family. She made me smile during the hymns. She has been taking ballet. And each hymn that we sang she was doing what I would call interpretive dance in the space between her mother and I. She used the pew in front of us as a ballet bar, and did pirouettes and pleaes for the Lord (pardon my spelling of the ballet terms, I'm spelling them like they sound). It was adorable. She had done that at Christmas too, while we sang carols around the tree, she got up and danced.

Is it any wonder that my mother called us "birds" when my sister and I were little and that she continues the tradition with my neices. As in "Come here my little birds and get your face washed" or whatever. I think for us it was because we always had our mouths open like little birds, but for my neice it seems likely that it is because she flits and dances around.

Of course, mom also called us "beans" and I've on occasion heard her call my neices that...but that just doesn't have the same imagery as birds, now does it?

Follow the Instructions Zann

I have learned a valuable lesson tonight.
Read the instructions. Now it isn't like I haven't learned this lesson many times in my lifetime but for some reason I seem to be convinced that my way is going to be better than what whomever wrote the instruction had thought of.

Case in Point: Fun Dip.
I had never had Fun Dip before. But DH won an Easter Basket at a get together we went to Easter weekend. And inside that basket were all kinds of retro and modern candies - including Fun Dip. Being the good husband he is, he split his bounty with me. I got sweettarts and M&Ms and he got the Laffy Taffy, and a few other treats. All that has been left was a pack of Fun Dip. He didn't particularly want it and in a moment of sugar craving tonight I decided I would take care of it.

I know how you are suppose to eat it. You are suppose to lick the little candy stick and stick it into the sugary goodness in the pouch and lick it off then repeat until your stick and sugary goodness are gone. Well that wasn't going fast enough for my liking. So I ate the stick. Then I just licked my finger to get the sugary goodness. It tastes just like the stuff in Pixi Stix! And I love me some Pixi Stix. So I dipped my finger in there several times. Apparently, there is a reason they give you a candy stick. It is because if you use your finger you end up with dyed finger.

Yup. I've got a green index finger right now. If only I had used my thumb. So far it is not coming off. But we will see. If I can't get it off - this will be an interesting thing to explain at work tomorrow.