tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62751080666882693302024-03-08T14:21:07.503-05:00Things I'll Forget By TomorrowDarlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.comBlogger312125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-65230625888425337052015-12-24T08:25:00.001-05:002015-12-24T08:25:16.805-05:00Confused or Considerate?Here it is, Christmas Eve Day. In Ohio, we are enjoying a balmy 55 degree day with not a snowflake in sight. The wood burner is dark, I'm sitting here sweating, and thinking about opening the windows. (However, I'm sure that within the next few minutes I will be feeling a little chilly, so the windows will stay closed. At least for now.) Yes, it will be a Green Christmas this year. No complaints here.<br />
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My opening paragraph is completely off-topic, because I'm really going to write about chickens and cats. We have two cats. They are supposed to be outside cats, but one, Rascal, is working her way to becoming an inside cat. OK, she's practically an inside cat. Our other cat, Lutrell, is an outside cat. Hubby made them some very nice boxes, stacked one upon the other, which sit on our deck. Lutrell, our yellow cat, makes the most use out of them. Rascal is usually inside, or finding herself locked in the garage (which was the case last night.) <br />
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We also have about a dozen chickens. They were fenced in, but after we got some hogs, and after the hogs rooted all around the fence line, they made a way for the chickens to escape. When the chickens get up in the morning, usually around 7:00 or so, they make a bee-line to my flower patch where there just happens to be a bird feeder, and scratch and dig for all the fallen sunflower seeds. They eventually make their way to the deck and find the cat food dish, and peck away at any remaining food that has been left there by Lutrell. (Chickens LOVE cat food!) When I get up in the morning, usually around 6:00, I feed Lutrell, so he can eat, unmolested, before the chickens arrive.<br />
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The other morning, as I opened the door to the deck to feed Lutrell, I couldn't believe it. There was a chicken. I call her "Little Red", short for Little Red Hen. I asked her what she was doing up so early, but she just clucked at me. I told Hubby, "The chickens are up already. It's still dark outside." He was amazed, too. So, I let Lutrell come inside, just to eat. Otherwise, the chickens scare him away and eat his food.<br />
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Yesterday morning, while going through the same routine, I heard a rustling noise as I started to feed Lutrell. I looked in the direction of the noise, and saw Little Red emerging from the cat box! (You have got to be kidding me!) So again, Lutrell got to eat his breakfast inside. Later on, as I was getting ready for work, I glanced outside, and this sight caught me eye:<br />
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Wait. What? Oh my goodness! Crazy chicken! Then my eyes were directed to the lower box. At a quick glance, I thought it was Lutrell, sleeping. But, upon closer inspection I saw this:<br />
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What in the world is going on?? And, for how long?? (This explains our recent low egg count.) Apparently, for a week! And, Lutrell has been doing his part being a surrogate father, by keeping the eggs warm...if only we had a rooster!<br />
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Ever since the time change, the chickens have been going into their coop to roost, usually around 4::00, as soon as it starts getting a little dark outside. Last night, before going to bed, I decided to check the box to see if Little Red was spending the night on the deck. Nope, both boxes were clear. I felt around for an egg just to be sure. Nothing. Good. Maybe she was done with venturing down to the cat boxes. Au contrair. This morning, as I went to feed Lutrell, who popped out, but Little Red! And yes, she left another egg!<br />
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While I appreciate her thoughtfulness and consideration on making egg gathering easier, all the chickens will have to pay for Little Red's crazy adventure. They will have to stay locked up in the chicken coop for a few days until she remembers the proper place to lay her eggs.<br />
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Wishing you a Very Merry Christmas!<br />
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Darlene<br />
<br />Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-30604397746142134212015-12-18T09:35:00.000-05:002015-12-18T09:35:22.519-05:00A Pity Party<br />
I know we're in the Christmas season and thoughts are to be centered on the reason for Christmas, which in fact is the birth of Christ the Savior, and not gifts, but I need a few moments, only a few, to give myself a little pity party. <br />
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Why I feel the need to put this on my blog, I'm not entirely sure. But, sometimes, ya just need to write something down, and my blog posting has been so random this past year, I'm fairly certain it won't be read by too many. <br />
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So, here's my sorry story...I was passed up, again, for a full time position at my place of employment. I've been there for just over three years working part-time. I will say that I work in a great department, and the competition is fierce. But, I do have seniority by at least six months over everyone else, which obviously has no merit. I tried very hard to assume I would not get the position, which is pretty much what I am already doing now. But, naturally, I kept thinking how nice it would be to be making twice my current income, and have the benefits of insurance. Then I would shake it out of my head, saying, "You won't get the job". But the sneaky little "Yes you will" kept creeping in. Sigh.<br />
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When my manager called me in to tell me, she said it was a very difficult decision, but no, it wasn't me. She said I interviewed well, she could tell I was being honest in my answers...blah blah blah. It wasn't anything I did or didn't do blah blah blah. So sorry. I went back to what I was doing, then about 10 minutes later she called me back into her office. Curious. (Did she change her mind? No, that's ridiculous.) She decided to give me some helpful hints for next time. I'm just paraphrasing, but apparently I'm not assertive or confident enough when dealing with confrontational patrons. Which is somewhat true because I've never been told exactly how far we are permitted to go to appease grumpy patrons before we get the manager involved. But, I guess I'll work on that, and see if I get in trouble on the other side. We had a very nice little chat, which lasted for a good 15-20 minutes. It was something that she didn't have to do, and I appreciated it.<br />
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However, this is what Hubby and I think it is...I turned 60 (eek I hate to see that on paper!) last month. I would be willing to bet that that is 90-99% of the reason why I was passed over. Who wants to work full-time after 60, for Pete's sake? Who wants to hire someone 60 years old full-time? Even though I'm probably healthier than most who are working there. That's just a guess on my part. I am on zero medications, do yoga, and do other various physical jobs working around our little farm. But of course, my age could never be an official reason for not getting the job. It's funny how, at a certain point, age is no longer considered for experience, but instead, seen as a detriment.<br />
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At this point, I don't know who got the job, but I have narrowed it down, in my own mind, to two. One is in her 30's, the other in her 20's. I'm OK with the previous one, but I will be so annoyed (nervous giggle) if it's the latter one. Simply because she is such a know-it-all. Which is probably the exact qualifications they are looking for, come to think of it!<br />
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OH WELL. Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be. So, tomorrow when I go in to work, I will give her sincere congratulations, (alright, it might be through gritted teeth and a forced smile), but I will say it, none-the-less. I will not be consumed by resentment and disappointment. <br />
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And, I know that when I get home from work, my granddaughter, Sweetie Pie, will possibly have arrived to spend Christmas with us. I still have my wonderful Hubby, my awesome kids, and my precious Sweetie Pie, and they are my world.<br />
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But, for right now, for the next 10 seconds, I'm going to give myself a pitiful little pity party. If you are still with me, and care to join in, feel free.<br />
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Ready? One, two, three, all together now! Awwwwwwwwwww.<br />
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Thank you. I feel so much better now. On with life!<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-25861406312998444092015-08-11T08:22:00.002-04:002015-08-11T08:23:54.834-04:00In One WeekThings have been a little busy around here. Hubby had a week off of work, so he built a garage. His first one ever. All by himself. It's still undecided if my contributions were helpful or a hindrance. If he told me to go up, I'd go down. If he said go to the right, I'd go to the left. I don't do it on purpose, it's just that our brains think in totally opposite ways. I do try.<br />
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Last summer we put in the foundation for our garage. We did hire someone to dig the foundation and lay the block. We scheduled the cement truck to come, which turned out to be on the same morning as his aunt's funeral. The funeral started at 11:00, the cement truck came at 8:00. The goal was to have the cement truck guy take his attachment and go around the foundation, filling in the openings on the top of the blocks. But this guy was a bit of a butt, and said he couldn't do that. He wasn't too willing to let us fill up our five-gallon buckets and hand pour it all into the blocks. He said it couldn't be done. He had seen a crew of three men unable to do it. Well, he had not seen us work. Hubby told him to start it up, time's a wastin'. We had a funeral to get to. (And, now, we had a point to prove!) We carried bucket after bucket after bucket, barely stopping for breath. When I faltered a little, my job was to smooth off the tops, and scrape off the sides. Hubby just kept going. The guy had to be impressed, seeing two old people run around like that. And, yeah, we finished, showered, and got to the funeral with just a few minutes to spare.<br />
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We intentionally let the foundation sit all year, so the ground could settle. Friends have asked us if we were ever going to build the garage. We have a plan, people! The inspector was out last month just to check in on our progress. I told him we planned to build it in August. He said he'd check back next year. Oh ye of little faith!<br />
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So, this is what we have been up to:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 1 - Framing</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hubby in action</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 1 = Framing complete</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 2 - Rafters</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry for the blurriness</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 3 - Roof and sides getting covered</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 3 - Windows, doors, and headers added</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 4 - All covered, shingles delivered, ready for inspection.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 5 - Windows installed, all wrapped, and ready to leave for a family gathering</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjFH-Eyf6ux41aLM9FkJR3w2tTbgv7ulZ08LTMmqFeKNRfmbFk52FgV_ulhPSBV-MH_zmD5VbqQJdQzNXcydJBF6cNClcliYEqKiREhMQmwFl34fjiLAh2IQTrXtMekVFYd3om_adv7Y/s1600/Garage+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjFH-Eyf6ux41aLM9FkJR3w2tTbgv7ulZ08LTMmqFeKNRfmbFk52FgV_ulhPSBV-MH_zmD5VbqQJdQzNXcydJBF6cNClcliYEqKiREhMQmwFl34fjiLAh2IQTrXtMekVFYd3om_adv7Y/s400/Garage+012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 6 - Roofing</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6JVrVEg4uEhJIEFdLg-92sGwZJ0uFJique9uaeZ-LjneVWEMUET1XkK9ah2xwgLFYPlBWWqB1dwO4YXhuqzu3AQF10L4pVDnFnLwW9qdHggAyMr99Y6JypBUj1NfuDELS3Dc5jwEQpg/s1600/Garage+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6JVrVEg4uEhJIEFdLg-92sGwZJ0uFJique9uaeZ-LjneVWEMUET1XkK9ah2xwgLFYPlBWWqB1dwO4YXhuqzu3AQF10L4pVDnFnLwW9qdHggAyMr99Y6JypBUj1NfuDELS3Dc5jwEQpg/s400/Garage+016.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 7 - Roofing complete</td></tr>
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The next goal is to lay gravel, and pour cement. That will probably happen next week.<br />
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I hope you are reaching your goals. <br />
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Till next time,<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-87391924317888897932015-07-20T07:37:00.000-04:002015-07-20T07:38:27.663-04:00Happy National Hammock DayDid you even know we had a "National Hammock Day"? Honestly, who comes up with all these "National-something-ridiculous-to-celebrate Day"? Maybe it's just someone desperate to come up with blogging material! Although, I have no problem with National Donut Day or National Ice Cream Day. Just sayin'.<br />
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This is how my hammock looks this morning. Wet and soggy. Our rainy days have out-numbered our sunny days this summer. (However, someone told me that our June was the hottest June on record. I think they're lying!) The last beautiful day I remember was July 4, which was perfection. We had rain before that, and, it seems, it has rained every day since. But, I digress. It's National Hammock Day, not National Complain About the Rain Day.<br />
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<li><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JwmgvJHcWOJdyjcaxTZLvH5z69i_L6k4MQtkOspqV7YuD_kUslGeKFSSpsw3o5q9MhM8FZbAzm6pFDaMtWEShgNBq1tHZoh4nbTm4_yPTK5mGm8ok8ip-766Ap2eiZZEy1aCkaJdcME/s1600/garden+july+2015+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JwmgvJHcWOJdyjcaxTZLvH5z69i_L6k4MQtkOspqV7YuD_kUslGeKFSSpsw3o5q9MhM8FZbAzm6pFDaMtWEShgNBq1tHZoh4nbTm4_yPTK5mGm8ok8ip-766Ap2eiZZEy1aCkaJdcME/s400/garden+july+2015+022.JPG" width="400" /></a></li>
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I have been able to use my hammock a few days this summer, and, let me tell you, it is glorious. The other day our daughter was enjoying our hammock. She comes over more to use the hammock than to see us I think. She said, "When you and Dad die, can I have the hammock?" Uhh, sure! But, I hope we out live the hammock!<br />
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Anyway, if you are fortunate to have a hammock, I hope the weather will cooperate and allow you to enjoy the awesome feeling of being suspended in the air, gently rocking back and forth, with a lovely breeze, and....um....birds.....chirp...zzzzzzzzzzzz snort zzzzzzzzzz<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-40377526851751424362015-06-25T20:35:00.000-04:002015-06-25T20:35:50.151-04:00Life at the Library:You are a Treasure #1I've been told that if you ever visit Disneyland/World, and you are told that you are a treasured guest, don't put a feather in your cap, because it is not a good thing! So, I am going to borrow their verbiage and apply it to some of our more "special" patrons, I mean, treasured, patrons.<br />
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Our library has four different departments: Genealogy, Reference/Adult Services, Children's, and Circulation. Reference/Adult Services is located upstairs, and is where you will find the real librarians, those with an actual degree. The librarians are the only ones who are allowed to look up books on the computer to see if they are available in our library, or any of the 30 libraries in our system.<br />
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I work in the Circulation Department. When we are in the workroom, we discharge all the items that have been returned and put them back on the shelves. When we work "on the desk" out front, we assist patrons wishing to check out their items. And, by "assist" I mean that we spend most of our time showing them how to use the self-check out machines. We also issue library cards and collect fines. Most times, it keeps us hoppin' at a pretty good clip. When we are not assisting patrons, we are cleaning and checking all the dvds and cds that have been returned. Sometimes patrons will forget to put the dvd back in the case and return an empty case. Sometimes the dvds look as if they had been used as coasters, or for serving plates for children. Sometimes I simply do not want to know what the dried up, sticky, unidentified glob is that is stuck to the dvd. So, that is a very basic description of what my job entails.<br />
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The other day, two women came up to the Circulation Desk, ready to check out their items. They had several dvds, and I was taking them out of the security cases. I noticed that one woman had chosen two "express" aka new release movies, which are 53 cents each. I told her it would be $1.07 for both movies. She looked at me, horrified, and exclaimed that she did not bring any money. So I explained that we sometimes have other copies in the free movie section, which is upstairs. Then she said, "Well, can you look it up for me?" <br />
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I explained that no, I was sorry, but she would have to ask the librarians upstairs to do it. She just looked at me and said, "Well, what do you do?" My "Sarcastic Self" wanted to say, sweetly of course, "Why nothing. Absolutely nothing!" But, my "Professional Side" (and the side that wanted to stay employed) said, sweetly of course, "This is the Circulation Department. Upstairs is Reference. We have elevators."<br />
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In the meantime, her friend walks over and says, "Since you don't have any chairs around here, I'm just gonna sit on your desk!" (Hey, I can't make this stuff up!) As she's plopping her big behind on the desk, I'm motioning, speechless, at all the empty chairs that are located all around the library. She responds with, "Those are all too far away. There's all this empty space right here!"<br />
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Oh. You mean this area for foot traffic? Yeah, let's just put a chair right there. The first woman managed to get her one free movie checked out, while her friend managed to get herself off the desk. Then they left. I'm pretty sure they were thinking that I was lazy and the library was inconsiderate with the chair placement. You are a treasure, ladies! Bless your heart, and have a nice day.<br />
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As I write this, I'm getting ready for my son and granddaughter's visit. I'm getting a little panicky thinking about everything that I have to get done before their arrival on Saturday. My Sweetie Pie will be here for two weeks, so it's highly unlikely that I will have time to blog during that time. She keeps me pretty busy, but I love every minute of it .Hopefully, I will be a little more regular at blogging and visiting. Bear with me until I get back into the blogging groove! <br />
<br />Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-83894960915641180092015-06-14T08:10:00.000-04:002015-06-14T08:10:14.587-04:00The Stars and Stripes Forever <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/a-7XWhyvIpE" width="480"></iframe><br />
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Today is Flag Day. June 14, 1777 was the day the Stars and Stripes was adopted as our National Flag. In 1916, President Wilson issued a proclamation making June 14 Flag Day, and in 1949, an act of Congress made June 14 National Flag Day.<br />
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Hubby and I have plans to install a flag pole on our property, sometime, hopefully <strike>before we die</strike> in the near future, so we can see Old Glory flying every day.<br />
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For your viewing pleasure, here are some pictures from the past, and for your listening pleasure, you may enjoy the great John Phillip Sousa March, "Stars and Stripes Forever", played so wonderfully by the U.S. Marine Band. It should stir your patriotic heart, and get your toes a tappin'. And, for an extra tidbit of information, "The Stars and Stripes" is our National March.<br />
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Twenty minutes later...I guess you will have to enjoy the music without the pictures. I can't figure out how to get the pictures from my little thingy-ma-jiggy...the stick thing, whose official name I can never remember...they showed up where I could view them, but when I needed to download them, they are no where to be found. This is a cry for help to my Official Blog Adviser! I know, I can hear you now..."Oh Mother!"<br />
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Anyway, it's Flag Day, so show your colors!<br />
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<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-47227909527086257472015-06-07T21:27:00.000-04:002015-06-08T07:04:11.818-04:00This Will Never Happen Again!<br />
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I know the rule is never say never, BUT, I'm quite confident that this particular event will never happen again. In fact, I'm quite surprised that it even happened at all! So, what is this momentous, once-in-a-lifetime event, you ask? Well, let me tell you.<br />
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Back story:<br />
Hubby and I have a little six acre mini-farm. We are raising our own beef, and chickens, (for the eggs), and now we have added pigs to our little e-i-e-i-o farm. Two nights ago, we picked up two Berkshire feeder pigs. By definition, a feeder pig is generally 40 to 50 pounds. When we arrived at the farm, the farmer was plowing his field. He jumped off his tractor, greeted us, then pointed out the direction to drive. We offered to give him a ride on the tailgate of the truck, but he declined, saying he had been sitting on the tractor all day, and he would just meet us there. By the time we arrived at the barn, I turned to see four more people following him, which turned out to be his wife and three daughters. We picked out the two pigs we wanted, and the girls grabbed them and put them in our make-shift pig transporting cage. Hubby joked about making it out of pallets, but the farmer just replied, "Hey, that works just fine". Later, I noticed that he had done the same thing with his pallets. Great minds!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXuGIByf9oBkIbq7kEqzjPMUd9jUf58dZbnSCVyeG2wVSRbF_QTwKUtCOTT78V2_fYrOVNRocE5An1ZhcqV7Z5AG1zip2XxEBUeYgkU7_HKdedDx0ydTyd2K-IV-mctDgw8loVMRDEDQA/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXuGIByf9oBkIbq7kEqzjPMUd9jUf58dZbnSCVyeG2wVSRbF_QTwKUtCOTT78V2_fYrOVNRocE5An1ZhcqV7Z5AG1zip2XxEBUeYgkU7_HKdedDx0ydTyd2K-IV-mctDgw8loVMRDEDQA/s400/005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wood pallet pig transporter cage</td></tr>
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We got to talking to him, and were happy to discover that he farms by the<a href="http://www.polyfacefarms.com/" target="_blank"> Joel Salatin method</a>. He then gave us a quick little tour of his farm and showed us the turkeys his daughter is raising. One daughter is studying to be a herbalist, another daughter is working on breeding Heritage breeds, especially chickens and turkeys. (Not sure about the third daughter.) Anyway, he showed us the turkeys. Red Bourbon turkeys. I'm not a huge turkey fan, especially eating, and I've not paid too much attention to the different kinds of turkeys, but, let me tell you, the Red Bourbon male is one beautiful bird! I wished I had my camera with me, but then again, I wasn't sure if they would want me to take its picture. But, I couldn't take me eyes off of it. I told Hubby that I would like to have one of those around just to look at it. <br />
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So, after our nice visit, (He even offered to help us when butchering time comes around, yes, we plan to eat our pigs), we left with our two pigs, and more knowledge.<br />
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When we got home, we drove them into the front pasture, with the intention of keeping them separate from the cows and chickens, for now. First, we gave them their little earrings, then we set them down out of the truck. Piggy Number 1, who shall be named Bacon, hightailed it to the back corner of the field, with Piggy Number 2, who shall be named Porky, close behind him. The cows quickly came running down to see what all the ruckus was about, and they had some cute moments getting to know each other. The pigs continued running the fence line back and forth, together (key word), saying "hi" to the cows, then running away from them. The chickens were unimpressed. We made sure they had bedding, feed, and water, then said "goodnight" while they continued snorting and grunting around. All was well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioF_Gnkcaof-t2ClM3GoEuV_tcc8x3wLhx4N_QxOZIEYkIo487inLEhM-0TPE0sjCQLvn8_3cAWpJnntBjOy52FWkI1NzUzvhrbWvlNTSSxwGa_T86XRr_39lQW3X52jrIC9-2nerhtO4/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioF_Gnkcaof-t2ClM3GoEuV_tcc8x3wLhx4N_QxOZIEYkIo487inLEhM-0TPE0sjCQLvn8_3cAWpJnntBjOy52FWkI1NzUzvhrbWvlNTSSxwGa_T86XRr_39lQW3X52jrIC9-2nerhtO4/s400/007.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pigs have about two weeks of cuteness in their lives</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQf7UlNZj2g9jrU1oWV4TWEy2BnBAlH90g_k_U9zKxS28ekd6Ozfx2g-ZbfnzFKndD048x-OaQJxAVpw85qjylsfer907zPBIS1_CxCmZ96ldma3ygi_73O_RcHZWaFDjbJRua20ZHNpo/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQf7UlNZj2g9jrU1oWV4TWEy2BnBAlH90g_k_U9zKxS28ekd6Ozfx2g-ZbfnzFKndD048x-OaQJxAVpw85qjylsfer907zPBIS1_CxCmZ96ldma3ygi_73O_RcHZWaFDjbJRua20ZHNpo/s400/017.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at those cute little tails!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1kumZrAXJnzfIysY9Wsq0CAgODkuNRBAxrKHpcBUDT_2DO39Cc2-2a2dmWAPESP_DuR4et96xmqemUtQHIEuRLYk5xUHyLcqLyV5Pz1TYOlf8eVUhRaDsPbtsMWSztMJDhWBhnkFaKE/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1kumZrAXJnzfIysY9Wsq0CAgODkuNRBAxrKHpcBUDT_2DO39Cc2-2a2dmWAPESP_DuR4et96xmqemUtQHIEuRLYk5xUHyLcqLyV5Pz1TYOlf8eVUhRaDsPbtsMWSztMJDhWBhnkFaKE/s400/015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who are those intruders??</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCFhCTpI5kf5LsHy6RMvXN2OHZg_Hfr-qROUau-gAyGh4kt5vQoxluXd4MdbQQ3kalgHBac1NuJBrCDnk-lhGRLipESobT0fy-GeO8D7NgEDhsZsUW3WIOEv4KsUzJfmSwIxGw6oSZz8/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCFhCTpI5kf5LsHy6RMvXN2OHZg_Hfr-qROUau-gAyGh4kt5vQoxluXd4MdbQQ3kalgHBac1NuJBrCDnk-lhGRLipESobT0fy-GeO8D7NgEDhsZsUW3WIOEv4KsUzJfmSwIxGw6oSZz8/s400/019.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit blurry, but wearing their earrings</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1yxA41ELMebZiw6XksTpQKHLn8fEIdqkcE7ViirCGqYqZrzUjt0zA8StfeEaegQZiG764M9zs-W5INXGfejy_7Ri3j10ft2F6dIqHNA8ohrZTx_Ujx3dHwLa-Bau3JBunM609hsPp4Q/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1yxA41ELMebZiw6XksTpQKHLn8fEIdqkcE7ViirCGqYqZrzUjt0zA8StfeEaegQZiG764M9zs-W5INXGfejy_7Ri3j10ft2F6dIqHNA8ohrZTx_Ujx3dHwLa-Bau3JBunM609hsPp4Q/s400/009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Berkshires</td></tr>
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So far, no disaster, which is a bit miraculous.<br />
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The next morning, Saturday, began at the ridiculously early hour of 5:30. Ugh. I know! But, we've kinda gotten used to that early hour. Maybe because we're usually in bed by 9:30. It's a vicious cycle.<br />
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We had two more pigs to pick up from someone else. These pigs are mule hoofs, another Heritage breed. Hubby left by 6:30 to go get those little piggies. This time I stayed home because I had to leave for work by 9:00. Remember my definition of feeder pigs? Yeah, well, these little piggies are no where near that weight. They truly are little piggies, maybe, 20 pounds. Tiny. (But, cute.) Hubby was back home by 7:30 a bit <strike>irritated</strike> disappointed that the pigs were so small. Not only will it take longer to reach the desired weight of about 300 pounds, but we weren't entirely confidant that our fencing, which was designed for larger animals, would keep them in.. We also decided to wait till they grew a little before they got their earring, which was about the same size as their ears. Did I mention that they are cute?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAJUIdY8j28EQ7AKNgmh30p2RpCjWvyw3k7aU_j0QG_k_7Aj4oB3LIo048djJ9y7F045kt5su77CX27pYSdR5JoFaZWQ_5UgwlmT4t0gDnCFc1V33yXKrDUT511Zm2kTIhUDkCe71MYI/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAJUIdY8j28EQ7AKNgmh30p2RpCjWvyw3k7aU_j0QG_k_7Aj4oB3LIo048djJ9y7F045kt5su77CX27pYSdR5JoFaZWQ_5UgwlmT4t0gDnCFc1V33yXKrDUT511Zm2kTIhUDkCe71MYI/s400/020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trouble is coming...</td></tr>
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I grabbed one, which was an armful of squealy, squirmy bundle of pork. I put him down, and he took off running. Fast. Hubby put the second one down, and he took off running in the opposite direction. Fast. They did not stick together at all! We watched them for a few minutes, admiring how cute they were, then it was time for Hubby to drive out of the pasture.<br />
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I am the official gate opener/closer, whichever is needed at the time. As Hubby drove towards the gate, I ran to open it, keeping an eye on the one pig that was closer to the gate than I wanted him to be, but I did not think it would be a problem. I thought wrong. (Here is where the disaster part kicks in, just in case you were wondering.)<br />
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The next thing I knew, that little oinker had made a bee line through the gate at 80 miles an hour. The last thing I heard was Hubby yelling, "How could you let that pig get out?" Umm, he's faster than I am, and I wasn't expecting him to make a run for it? No, I did not say that. I don't think I said anything. Apparently, I did a funny little dance, then just took off running after that dumb idiot. He ran through our property lickety-split, then through the neighbor's corn field. Beyond the cornfield is a little woods, which I think he managed to veer around, then into a field of clover, which was about 24 inches high. Little Oinker is about 12 inches high. You see my problem? I kept envisioning my bacon running away, and Hubby killing me if that happened. Hubby saw a 100 dollar bill with wings on it. Not sure if he was envisioning killing me. I didn't ask.<br />
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Now, allow me to pause here, just to make this long story a little bit longer. I'm nearly 60 years old, and I haven't run since I gave birth to my last child 30-ish years ago. I've tried to run from time to time, but, well, I have this little embarrassing problem. I'm sure you can guess what it is. Don't make me say it! <br />
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So, I'm running like a madwoman, after this pig. No time to be embarrassed. No time to be vain. Meanwhile, my dignity is dribbling down my leg. I'm focused. Eyes on the pig. Eyes on the pig. I don't know what happened to Hubby, but suddenly I see him out of the corner of my eye. He's been behind me all the time. As the little escapee turns toward Hubby, Hubby tries to corral him back towards me. He's getting closer and closer, and I suddenly realize what I must do. I must hurl my poor, old body down on top of this pig. I've never been able to comprehend the idea of tackling in football, or sliding in baseball. How do you just make yourself hit the ground? I don't get it. But, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that is what I had to do. (And, here is the "this will never happen again" part.) So, I took a flying leap, didn't even have time to pray for a safe landing, and landed right on top of that football sized pig. I didn't stop to think of the possibility that I might have squashed it to death. I held onto that little trouble maker until Hubby came up to me, and grabbed him. Disaster was averted. My life would be spared. I had redeemed myself.<br />
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More than one person, okay, everyone who has heard this story, has expressed that they would love to see that on video. I am not among them. In my mind's eye, I looked very graceful as I stretched out and floated through the air, landing gently on the stupid idiot. I don't want my vision to be shattered.<br />
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Anyway, Hubby carried him by one leg, because they are squirmy little stinkers, and we didn't want to chase him again. And, do you know what? The nursery rhyme is true. He went "wee wee wee" all the way home.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17S4_IgTm-zNNV2N1I6YrIH4cVhVXXDt4iS1IbcTWY-JHfZMXFlCFGhDaR6KextG0nsngt8ldPppk0SCIb9qpe9nZKJ45zOVqiY55q5610D5SI7Agxb3Ymn8nhw1MVJoY1Ezb8h4E87k/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17S4_IgTm-zNNV2N1I6YrIH4cVhVXXDt4iS1IbcTWY-JHfZMXFlCFGhDaR6KextG0nsngt8ldPppk0SCIb9qpe9nZKJ45zOVqiY55q5610D5SI7Agxb3Ymn8nhw1MVJoY1Ezb8h4E87k/s400/022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mule Hoofs look like footballs with feet</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKixD1nKYBZ0tU8ERX0aM0RtAF6BvwqBJyzq5ExPL70zTAgmEx30TPffqzDQCTPhc0qt_1rNo8eTPk-Edl-dWYMbcfWv6LEO8Wg2cyutSSXG4yTQnXECT-t2eZ7u04tZ9mbe-qCNRp-T0/s1600/044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKixD1nKYBZ0tU8ERX0aM0RtAF6BvwqBJyzq5ExPL70zTAgmEx30TPffqzDQCTPhc0qt_1rNo8eTPk-Edl-dWYMbcfWv6LEO8Wg2cyutSSXG4yTQnXECT-t2eZ7u04tZ9mbe-qCNRp-T0/s400/044.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everybody getting acquainted</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqJXUgfyV_eam0c4sdcZq8AhAlskWCRGncrFWEy0OwsxwuHmuJr519Jv1XmDO7FZPBjjwpIxBaXV6rNYz1og2LV1bbxfc69u9tZUHsVP0gTFGKM0IgyhdKdJJRCX_viwR-AsYXkQIx8k/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqJXUgfyV_eam0c4sdcZq8AhAlskWCRGncrFWEy0OwsxwuHmuJr519Jv1XmDO7FZPBjjwpIxBaXV6rNYz1og2LV1bbxfc69u9tZUHsVP0gTFGKM0IgyhdKdJJRCX_viwR-AsYXkQIx8k/s400/043.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferdinand just wanted to say hello</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Q-0ITIg1xs5Aha972WqAIg1cbXTqNVx29aKoHM9tUkcSYgw6NJESQ0rQseacDs5h8-2fVBH28rfyZn1I1hyphenhyphen4F9I0pdR83jYhnAXeah4D5Gyru6XNAVNuliLn1-uQB_cRk_LOtPVPrEY/s1600/042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Q-0ITIg1xs5Aha972WqAIg1cbXTqNVx29aKoHM9tUkcSYgw6NJESQ0rQseacDs5h8-2fVBH28rfyZn1I1hyphenhyphen4F9I0pdR83jYhnAXeah4D5Gyru6XNAVNuliLn1-uQB_cRk_LOtPVPrEY/s400/042.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I see bacon and sausage and pork chops and pork loin and spare ribs and...</td></tr>
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Darlene (I accidently deleted my fancy signature, so I'll just have to type it in this time.)Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-36141673844857365812015-06-05T12:35:00.002-04:002015-06-05T12:35:32.787-04:00Brought to You by the Color PurpleToday I thought I share a little springtime with you. The weather can be kind of"iffy", ranging from frosty nights of 32 degrees to hot and humid days of 85 degrees. It's a great weather rollercoaster. But, on the lovely days, I walked around our property and took photos of everything purple.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJwCbJWqmyZUV8WFasv42_qqN8tSqV_j1HFP_6hlzi9w9rACNkaNETlXhqjEdGQe145c5b9tUN9WHoUmXPOlHFcINPS4CuQ_ncLlDmtnx-jmP_08Jei6StBMGpE_JQX7_dvdkpHE3ZrY/s1600/073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJwCbJWqmyZUV8WFasv42_qqN8tSqV_j1HFP_6hlzi9w9rACNkaNETlXhqjEdGQe145c5b9tUN9WHoUmXPOlHFcINPS4CuQ_ncLlDmtnx-jmP_08Jei6StBMGpE_JQX7_dvdkpHE3ZrY/s400/073.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This looks lovely to me!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZx142YnBsm7KrNR9dt5D-ondN_XzYix3sH4pQR00bU1F9b8vbrHZZ6QYNGivUmhmLPAwQpCQUNuaHNQxB_PfR5JraWDXDLzKzPvnbPciG0QwiT6WwcY7-W54gLdo1-HJGxGzMivq7lY/s1600/059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZx142YnBsm7KrNR9dt5D-ondN_XzYix3sH4pQR00bU1F9b8vbrHZZ6QYNGivUmhmLPAwQpCQUNuaHNQxB_PfR5JraWDXDLzKzPvnbPciG0QwiT6WwcY7-W54gLdo1-HJGxGzMivq7lY/s400/059.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does anything smell better than lilacs? I don't think so!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6A3BTfRR7V4gvEFN_uXjyZTws7m3VNUwn_Gha5Z7ZSSkEDVzylsU2NhVrFsEIrlMnw12PdVwOTVBr34igPX4YWamhUzx1S4u3P2uEDh45sTlu0CTI_llr24tJOAHgpexjWltFWF7QTwc/s1600/065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6A3BTfRR7V4gvEFN_uXjyZTws7m3VNUwn_Gha5Z7ZSSkEDVzylsU2NhVrFsEIrlMnw12PdVwOTVBr34igPX4YWamhUzx1S4u3P2uEDh45sTlu0CTI_llr24tJOAHgpexjWltFWF7QTwc/s400/065.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Violets always make me happy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAOpCL4vKJJgBaqlHXkNtqKs0ZKQIMnfLZMP_anQTlb2elauVuTiHdhcjdycM4D7O4q4xr_SYeAGbLDlzWQaU1e_daj9NSVXRaKhD5pdgaMTNFwYmCrBDaYSmllLv3d4hbi1vzCPRbyk/s1600/069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAOpCL4vKJJgBaqlHXkNtqKs0ZKQIMnfLZMP_anQTlb2elauVuTiHdhcjdycM4D7O4q4xr_SYeAGbLDlzWQaU1e_daj9NSVXRaKhD5pdgaMTNFwYmCrBDaYSmllLv3d4hbi1vzCPRbyk/s400/069.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These azaleas came with the house.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jCg0D3VeU3vYhnjITFLsJd_5JkkIAvYBVUQFB7Rfb9hZn9XhpABHF-LXlbhO24Lg7Q5K8_sQoz2I2EKEOUMg64UrTlMhcrfESsdLxYh2q2eXk6R84aT_lJO1BqPKml2OjrIw9EqMvSk/s1600/075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jCg0D3VeU3vYhnjITFLsJd_5JkkIAvYBVUQFB7Rfb9hZn9XhpABHF-LXlbhO24Lg7Q5K8_sQoz2I2EKEOUMg64UrTlMhcrfESsdLxYh2q2eXk6R84aT_lJO1BqPKml2OjrIw9EqMvSk/s400/075.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what I see when I look out of my bedroom window.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQhOntD8jGxTrcVn1jTZ-gxrQBbB5xcf69HrlV1UUc8lz09k6rwLB22psF-QkwJOtjQU5t0E5ZyN0E9l8XKHTxk3uPwo18dLMmV58Cka_RFKWuhl3r3iFrcNwPAYkTIMuxfByI7RKBIw/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQhOntD8jGxTrcVn1jTZ-gxrQBbB5xcf69HrlV1UUc8lz09k6rwLB22psF-QkwJOtjQU5t0E5ZyN0E9l8XKHTxk3uPwo18dLMmV58Cka_RFKWuhl3r3iFrcNwPAYkTIMuxfByI7RKBIw/s400/002.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I always think of my mom when the irises bloom, because they<br /> bloom close to her birthday.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPEbv8hBAKVe31JcKesft6cAlSE4DOKfjjOlO_2m4hLxJDBf59OKfD4z444kyxwumJacB_lZUSUavjvgu61Zlo7mR0U8Wzuhtm8Sr92LN1aDoaK5dvWOAf_4omwGEcBLfaYV8gbWTufs/s1600/072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPEbv8hBAKVe31JcKesft6cAlSE4DOKfjjOlO_2m4hLxJDBf59OKfD4z444kyxwumJacB_lZUSUavjvgu61Zlo7mR0U8Wzuhtm8Sr92LN1aDoaK5dvWOAf_4omwGEcBLfaYV8gbWTufs/s400/072.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our three steers: Rib Eye, T-Bone and Ferdinand</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihspfYchrppVW9JwsAy6KtIR_mh33t4dsiDI20Ui_ElF1QMcZs1nJ9lNLX1C0P-D23TWG85l-x4-_GAQfp_nXdTcBU8mVvhoTz-9sh58cY9_uD8TEEJxcTOeodF8LUTpFG969S89cfq7Q/s1600/064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihspfYchrppVW9JwsAy6KtIR_mh33t4dsiDI20Ui_ElF1QMcZs1nJ9lNLX1C0P-D23TWG85l-x4-_GAQfp_nXdTcBU8mVvhoTz-9sh58cY9_uD8TEEJxcTOeodF8LUTpFG969S89cfq7Q/s400/064.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red buds are my favorite, but think the winter was hard on them.<br />The blooms were a little sparse.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKpqKcIPWfkQXyX-A4GNFHDYhEKrObScG0JguC4HfhLcNxUrBaF-6KCgaZGqi1B6f1zAyOMdLMzbuEngaehIq8vAA66BBFh1dkZY1U1hxGteEvnWAW8nzmc6ZdlCzCi_g88ieTkyeQsU/s1600/070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKpqKcIPWfkQXyX-A4GNFHDYhEKrObScG0JguC4HfhLcNxUrBaF-6KCgaZGqi1B6f1zAyOMdLMzbuEngaehIq8vAA66BBFh1dkZY1U1hxGteEvnWAW8nzmc6ZdlCzCi_g88ieTkyeQsU/s400/070.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess I just like this view!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-7957478256248718492015-06-03T09:02:00.001-04:002015-06-03T09:02:11.246-04:00Date CheckI just need to double check my calendar to see if it is, indeed, June. Yep. That's what my calendar says. Then, why are my hands and toes freezing, and why am I wearing a stinkin' sweatshirt, for Pete's sake?? Oh yeah, this is Ohio, after all. <br />
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Several years ago, a friend who had just moved here from Alabama wanted to know when it was going to warm up. She asked this question in March! Hahahahahaha! I put on my "serious face". I started to say "April", but no, it still snows sometimes in April. Even though it's beautiful in April with all the trees blooming, and flowers are poking up their little heads to say, "We've survived the winter!" , and, even though we get a teaser week of 70 degrees, we cannot say for sure that warm weather has arrived.<br />
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Then, I started to say "May". Now, Hubby and I got married in May, and it was the most absolute perfectly beautiful day. However, one year later, it was so stinkin' cold, I had to pull out my big, heavy winter coat! May is also a beautiful month with the daffodils, tulips, irises,and lilacs (ohh, I love lilacs!) all blooming. The robins, hummingbirds, and golden finches are now a common sight. But, in one week the a/c is needed, and the next week you are vowing that you refuse to turn the furnace back on. I have taken my extra blanket off and put it back on our bed three times this spring!<br />
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Then I had to tell her, "Well, not May, but June. But, on second thought, sometimes it gets kinda cold in June, too. Definitely, July. You can count on it being warm, even hot, in July all the way through August! Unless we have a cold spell." She turned and walked away, looking a little depressed.<br />
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This is Ohio. "You get what you get", as my granddaughter likes to say. When it gets hot and humid, we forget how miserable we were in the winter, and complain about the heat. When it's freezing, and snowy, and blowy and blizzardy, and icy, and just all around yucky, we look longingly to those hot and humid days, and vow that we will never complain about the cold. Oh, we are a funny bunch of people.<br />
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Since this is Ohio, and the danger of frost is finally over, I plan on getting myself out in the garden today, and getting a few things planted, even if I have to wear a jacket.<br />
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I hope you are enjoying your day, no matter what kind of weather you are having.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-29382873984927920142015-05-27T22:11:00.001-04:002015-05-27T22:11:14.154-04:00In Memory of Betty: The Betty Files: Baby it's Cold InsideWe recently had a week where, it seemed, everybody was dying. (That's a sentence that should bring in the readers!) I kid you not! Every time we turned around, someone that we knew, knew someone who died. Among those who passed, were my mother-in-law, age 88; and a friend, Betty, age 76. They both had Alzheimer's and had strokes. They both also were faithful followers of their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. We are comforted knowing that we will indeed see them again one day.<br />
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So, in Betty's memory, I have decided to re-post a couple blogs affectionately called "The Betty Files". This is the first of two. I hope you enjoy it. She was quite a character.<br />
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After discussing several prospective blogging titles, I was assured by my personal blogger advisor, that I should definitely go with the one I am about to discuss. "Just make it funny", was the remainder of the advice. So, I will do my best.<br />
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My dear friend, Betty, is always cold. "Just look at my hands." She says this after saying "Just feel my hands", and placing her hands in mine, so I can, indeed feel how cold she is. She continues, "My hands, they look like white bones. Just look at them." She continues this conversation for several more minutes.<br />
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Maybe I should digress a little to explain exactly why she is here on a regular basis. She has lived much of her life in and around Wooster, so most of her family is here, namely her "little mother." Her mother is now in a local nursing home with Alzheimer's. Several years ago, her husband found work in Florida, so they moved there. He lost that job a few years ago, and now works in Wisconsin, but they still have their place in Florida. Anyway, maybe that was unnecessary information, but he flies her back here about every six weeks or so, in order for her to be with her mother. She usually stays with us.<br />
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Anyway, the last few times she has been here, she laid claim to my terry cloth robe. It's the shorter style, and has a hood on it, which she tells me, she likes to pull up over her head when she sleeps because it keeps her so much warmer. Now I just leave it back in "her room" so she can have ready access to it.<br />
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And now, a word about me. I am currently in the fun phase of my life, called menopause. Being in menopause makes your body do some weird stuff. For one thing, my internal temperature regulator has gone berserk! I am either freezing, or sweating. So, in order to stay somewhat comfortable, I have several sweaters lying around. Brrrrr, I'm cold. On goes the sweater. Arrrrggg. Man, is it HOT in here. Off goes the sweater. I don't even know how many times a day that occurs. So, I try never to be too far from my sweater.<br />
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The other day, I was wearing my yellow sweater, and Betty commented on what a nice sweater it was. "Yes, it's handy to have around," I say, pulling it off due to a hot flash, and draping it around the kitchen chair. "Oh, that is a very nice sweater", she repeats, while running her hand over it, and admiring it. We talk a little more, then get busy with other things. Later, in the evening, during a cold flash, I'm looking for my sweater, and can't find it. It's not completely unusual that I can't find something, but usually, after looking under blankets or coats, I can locate it. However, my yellow sweater was no where to be found, so I pulled out my black sweater.<br />
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The next morning when Betty walks into the kitchen, I notice she is wearing my(her) white robe, and around her shoulders is draped my yellow sweater. (Ohhhhhhh, that's where it got to, I say to myself.) She proceeds to tell me how warm she is, except for her "bone white hands". I'm glad she was able to stay warm, and mentally accept the fact that I will not be seeing my yellow sweater for the remainder of her visit.<br />
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The following day, as I was getting ready to leave the house and go grocery shopping, my black sweater appeared to be "missing". I left the house, did my shopping, and got back home. There was Betty, fully dressed, and wearing my black sweater, underneath another vest. She makes no apologies (none are needed), and says, "I just "found" this nice sweater. It goes with my outfit better, don't you think? (I assume she means, than the yellow sweater), and it's warm, too!" <br />
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She eventually discards my black sweater, and I nonchalantly pick it up and put it on. Luckily, I was having a well-timed cold flash!Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-28578463792880361022015-05-20T09:19:00.000-04:002015-05-20T09:19:04.185-04:00This feels a little scary, but I'm going to make another attempt to re-start blogging. The last time I made that statement was in 2013! Yikes! I'm feeling a little rusty, and know I will have to relearn everything I thought I knew about blogging. It's a frightening thought. (Especially since my official blog adviser doesn't live here anymore. I will have to actually figure everything out on my own!) Bear with me, please.<br />
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So, Hubby and I have recently celebrated 36 years of wedded bliss. Where did he take me, you ask? To a bar. An out-dated, old bar, out in the middle of nowhere. Why, for heaven's sake? Because on Fridays, they have the best "all you can eat" fried fish! And, normally, we don't even like fish. I suggested on Friday morning that we go out for fish after I got home from work that evening. He thought it was a good idea. (Secretly, I wanted to see if he would claim it for our anniversary dinner, knowing he would!) When we arrived, the place was packed. There were two empty chairs at the bar, so that's where we sat. When the guy sitting beside Hubby left, he passed over the TV control to Hubby. After surfing the channels and finding nothing appealing, he found "The Andy Griffith Show", and that's where it stayed. You won't find that show playing in too many bars!<br />
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Halfway through the meal, Hubby said, "By the way, Happy Anniversary!" And, I said, "I knew you would claim this for our anniversary! Happy Anniversary to you, too!" After we finished eating, we waddled ourselves out to the car, complained about eating too much all the way home, waddled into the house, plopped on the couch, and watched some more episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show" on Netflix. And, who says "romance is dead"? Not us!<br />
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(And I even remembered how to add pictures! woo hoo!)<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-8757496536060880222013-06-27T09:39:00.001-04:002013-06-27T09:39:38.012-04:00Bloglovin'?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is it "Blog-lovin" or "Blo-glovin"? Ok. I know what it is, sorta, just tryin' a little humor. My intentions are to get back to blogging, hopefully before this decade is over. But, we shall see.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Opps. I almost forgot the reason for this blog:<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5374791/?claim=h78yyzcb6ha">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think that makes me official.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, I'm trying to stay ahead of the weeds in the garden. That's a big FAIL right there. I blame my little part-time job at the library for keeping me too busy. Son and Sweetie Pie will be coming soon to spend Independence Day Week with us. Can't wait for that!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope all is well with you. I'm missing you all, and hope to get my life in order soon, and get back to the wonderful world of blogging!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Take care,</span><br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-40456744803194132802013-04-20T11:53:00.000-04:002013-04-20T11:53:00.932-04:00Ricochet Rabbit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I may have to change the name of my blog to "Wow, I have an amazing memory". I was lying in bed this morning, racking my poor little brain, trying to come up with an "R" post. Suddenly, my brain pulled out, "boing, boing, boing, Ricochet Rabbit".</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">www.cartoonlair.com </td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I tried to download a free cartoon, but it was taking for-ev-er to load, so you will be spared. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looking at this picture has made me realize that a lot of cartoons from my generation revolved around "the Law." Ricochet Rabbit was a sheriff, and his deputy was (his name just left me...oh yeah,) Droop-a-long. Of course, complete opposites. Then there was, Deputy Dawg and his sidekick, Mr. Mole. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, we can't forget Sheriff Quick Draw McGraw. His deputy was a slow poke, too. Then, there was Yogi Bear and Boo Boo, too, always trying to outsmart Ranger Smith(?) and get pic-a-nic baskets. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My brain is a little tired after coming up with all these images from the past, so I'm going to boing! Boing! boing! Ricochet outta here!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-56497950406851985782013-04-19T08:07:00.000-04:002013-04-19T08:07:20.489-04:00QQQQQ<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had been dreading this post, until, miraculously, a word from my past, popped into my head. Now, there is some controversy about this word, but, it's not what you're thinking. How do I know that? Because I can read minds! Muwahha.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The word for today is "queep". I'm not surprised that you haven't heard of it, because I made it up. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back in the day, before the cursed political correctness ruled our lives, there was a perfectly great word, queer. In my dictionary (from 1975, it's an antique, I know), it was defined: 1)differing in some odd way from what is usual or normal, 2) eccentric, unconventional 3) mildly insane:touched...and finally,sexually deviate:homosexual. I had my own definition: weirdo. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I used that word a lot on my sister and brothers, yelling at them, "You're so queer, you weirdo!" Redundant, I know. But, I enjoyed the satisfaction of name calling. One day, my sister and I were fighting. Again. I think she threw me in the closet. But, I also think it was because I took some of her candy. Hey, it was chocolate! And, on the way in the closet, my arm scraped against a nail head that was sticking out. I still have the scar, but it's starting to blend in with my wrinkles. Blinded by the pain, my mind was racing, trying to come up with the perfect word to hurl at her. Creep or queer? But, my words got mixed up, and I screamed, "You, queep!" </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Queep? What's a queep? She mocked me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"You're a creep! You queer!" It was too late. My vocabulary blunder destroyed the effect. Instead we started laughing at the new word. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The controversy? My silly sister thinks that she came up with the word. How ridiculous is that? I just gave you the play by play account, (and my memory never fails me) so, if you should ever hear anyone say "queep", you will know the true story of its origination. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In case you are wondering, my sister and I do not throw each other in the closet anymore. However, we may still fight over chocolate!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-58008057708993861462013-04-18T09:37:00.000-04:002013-04-18T09:37:19.905-04:00P is for Pressure<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The pressure of this A-Z Blogging challenge is profound. Every day a new letter to ponder. This causes quite a predicament, because my psyche goes practically blank, with each letter. I sit at my computer, staring out into space, probing my mind on what starts with the letter "p". Such a perplexing plight I'm in.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I worry about what persnickety people (I'm not talking about you) might be thinking about my pitiful blog. I'm not a perfectionist, (n)or precise. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Please be patient while I persevere and persist. I may come up with something pertinent to write about.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, you may think, it's just a bunch of poppycock!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-51106841920829089692013-04-17T15:32:00.004-04:002013-04-17T15:41:29.147-04:00O, Oh, Ohhh!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Oh. My thoughts on "o". Here is a little story from days gone by, when my chillen's was little.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a Sunday afternoon, and we had just gotten home from church. I told my kids, ages 6,5,and 4, to change into play clothes before lunch. My 6 and 5 year old sons, were, for once, quite obedient, and they changed their clothes. My 4-year old daughter,(aka <a href="http://www.jenneethompsonblog.com/" target="_blank">Amazing Daughter</a>) on the other hand, decided that she did not want to change her clothes. I was in my room, and I could hear my 5-year old telling her to change her clothes. It went something like this:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5 year old: Mom said to change your clothes.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4 year old: I don't want to.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5 year old: But, Mom said to.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4 year old: I still don't want to and I'm not going to. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and there stood my 5 year old, looking very serious, and exasperated. He said, "I told her she had to change her clothes, but, she won't do it." And, then he said, rather matter-of-factly, "She's just being obstinate." And, he marched down the stairs, washing his hands of the matter, leaving me with my mouth hanging open, wondering, "where in the world did he learn that word"? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that was my introduction to the Letter People, Miss O is obstinate.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-47269722894260174462013-04-16T16:48:00.001-04:002013-04-16T16:48:43.311-04:00N is for New<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This month we have had a lot of new things. New kittens top the list. They (all 6!) are now starting to open their eyes. Oh my, they are so cute, especially now that they are starting to look more like kittens than rats. I'm sure I will post more photos in the near future.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another new thing this month is a washing machine. Our 13-year old machine went "ka-plu-ey" last week. Pricing new machines can be quite a shock to the old heart! There is a new top-loading style that has a very low thing-a-ma-jig in the center. I briefly thought about going that route, until I simulated getting laundry out of the 40 foot deep drum. Okay, that may be a little bit exaggerated, but it seemed about that deep. I felt as if I would topple over into the thing, and be stuck with my feet flaying about in the air. Not a pretty sight. So, I decided to stick with the front-loader style. We looked at all the different sizes - 3.3 cubic feet, 3.6 cubic feet, and 3.9 cubic feet. I wanted a large, heavy duty machine. As we tried to make a decision, Hubby asked which ones looked about the same size as the old one. I couldn't really tell. They all seemed to be the same size. We finally decided that the extra money for the 3.9 wasn't worth it, so we chose the 3.6. I hoped it was about the same size as my old machine. The delivery guys came and hooked up the machine the next day, then they left. I went to the basement with my son to check out the new addition. "Holy cow! That thing is HUGE!" We just started laughing. The door is about twice as big as the old one. And now, it looks like I really could crawl into the machine. I'll probably be able to get all my laundry done in two loads, and the machine will only be half full! That's just crazy. But, I think I will get used to it in a hurry. Less time spent doing laundry is a good thing!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And now, in honor of the word "new" here is a song, I think you might enjoy. (I enjoy it anyway!) The choral group I'm in will be singing this song at our concert coming up at the end of the month. I wish we would sound as good as these guys. (The King's Singers) (Fingers crossed I did this correctly! It's been awhile.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GeuVBc76jas" width="420"></iframe></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-403811018816621132013-04-15T11:25:00.000-04:002013-04-15T11:25:06.033-04:00Midnight Marauder Mystery <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The other day, Hubby and I were preparing to leave town for a couple days, to do a painting job. He was loading the pick-up truck before breakfast so we could get a good start. We always plan on getting a good start, but it never seems to happen. We just don't move as fast as we used to. I'm not sure why that is!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He came in for breakfast, rather perplexed. He said, "Something has been out tearing up the yard. I also noticed that the blueberry bushes have been uprooted. Now what would do that? I don't think deer would do that. There must be a wild boar running around."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We ate breakfast, still trying to solve the mystery. After breakfast, we all decided to go out and survey the damage more closely.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You can see how much damage was done. <a href="http://www.jenneethompsonblog.com/" target="_blank">Amazing Daughter</a> took these photos of us. Honestly, it took a moment for me to register who that old man was helping Hubby! Sad, isn't it? During the surveying, I spotted a small pile of poop. And, I said, "Look! Here's some poop!" Hubby exclaimed, "That's pig poop! (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Only he didn't say "poop".)</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We quickly turned our attention to the pig pen. Are the pigs in there? On our quick, little walk to check, we are both mentally wondering how in the world we were going to find our pigs, if they have gone missing! Oh, the joys of farming!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we got closer, it was clear that they had, in fact, gotten out. I looked under the lean-to and saw two pigs for sure, but they were sleeping in a big pile, so I couldn't be sure. Hubby instructed me to pound on the roof to make them run. I pounded. No one moved a muscle! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Turns out they were all three back in the pen. While they had a wild night of it, they all had the good sense to come back! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hubby triple-secured the gate. We knew Amazing Daughter would not be happy if she had to chase pigs while we were gone!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-47426277458118026992013-04-15T06:57:00.001-04:002013-04-15T06:57:06.045-04:00Library Life<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">L is for library, and since I've managed to stay employed there for five months now, I thought I'd share a few stories. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After my kiddos grew up, I rarely visited the library, so I'm still amazed that, in our small town, there is a line of people at the door, waiting to be the first to come in as soon as we open. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was quite flustered and nervous those first few weeks, and unfortunately, I don't have the gift of hiding those flaws very well. Case in point: library card applications. Recently, a man was having trouble checking out items. He said his pin number wasn't working, while also explaining that this was the first time he had used his new card. So, I scanned his card, checked on the pin number (the last four numbers of their phone), and saw that numbers had been reversed. I quickly,(and may I say expertly?) made the change and handed him back his card. As he took his card, he mentioned that the lady that had given him his new card seemed pretty flustered. I'm going to rest in the thought that he didn't recognize me, because it was me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My next big flustery moment happened when a lady wanted to pay for her express movies (new releases - 53 cents). Then handed me a $10 bill. Then, as an afterthought, said to just put the rest on her fines. I was already in the computer cash register, and now the process was backwards as to how I should have done it. By that I mean, I was going to have to use my little brain to figure out the math in my head. I started to sweat and get that flustery feeling. Then I happened to glance up and see that my high school math teacher (of all people!) was waiting at the desk. Now, she wouldn't remember me from Eve, but still, knowing she taught math, made the sweat start rolling down my brow, my face felt red, a hot flash was coming on, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to do the math. I got out pencil and paper and started writing it all down. It turns out, she just did the math in her head and told me how much change she should be getting. "Oh, I said, laughing nervously and wiping sweat away, "you're one of those walking computers. I live with two of 'em!" She smiled sympathetically, with eyes that said, I'm sorry you're so dumb. After she left, I moved on the help my math teacher. I felt compelled to say, "I'm so embarrassed because you were my math teacher." She responded that she was embarrassed because she had fines to pay. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, life at the library is almost as entertaining as going to Wal-Mart. Surprisingly, the police have been called three times (that I know about) in the short time I've been there. We get some unruly patrons who like to be noisy and holler at no one in particular. Some people think that we are just adding fines onto their accounts for the fun of it. Some people make sure they have 99 items (the limit) checked out at all times. Some will check out 50 movies at a time. Seriously, who can watch 50 movies in a week? It is an interesting place to work.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-62319948578711464672013-04-12T07:47:00.000-04:002013-04-12T07:47:02.758-04:00Kittens Everywhere! <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last summer, while driving home from a job, Hubby spotted a sign in yard, "Cute Kittens". Coincidentally, we were thinking of getting a kitten just in time for Sweetie Pie's visit. We stopped in to see how cute those kittens were, and the sign was correct. They were very cute kittens. We spotted a little ball of fur in the garden. "Purrrrfect," we said. (Sorry, I couldn't contain myself. heehee) Then, the man asked, "Do you want two?" Before I could say, "No, one's enough", I heard Hubby say, "Sure!" I nearly had a heart attack right then and there. When the man left to go find the other kitten, I asked Hubby if he was crazy. Hubby assured me that he was not crazy, and that he was just thinking we could use an extra "mouser" on the farm. I was quite happy about the turn of events, because I do like cats. "Besides," Hubby continued, "Sweetie Pie will like them." Ohhh, now we're getting to the real reason. Trying to earn brownie points from the granddaughter! Of course, the plan kinda back-fired. When she arrived, the first words out of her mouth were, "Where are the kittens?" She really LOVES those kittens! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSc-Sv-1f_HkQsiLFf1m9CoAsy2DtoDJeHaYUuPfuIcWSXBACUWlpl0uqM94JYYPOFFlMQn-qUMwJ868xvFR5Y73v9V9bXMA0sjY-az053clf0sa_r8dfRJKhjyEOK0IFt59QtptFkJZQ/s1600/101_0692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSc-Sv-1f_HkQsiLFf1m9CoAsy2DtoDJeHaYUuPfuIcWSXBACUWlpl0uqM94JYYPOFFlMQn-qUMwJ868xvFR5Y73v9V9bXMA0sjY-az053clf0sa_r8dfRJKhjyEOK0IFt59QtptFkJZQ/s400/101_0692.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Her favorite is Prim</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Prim and Rascal</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4ueORaQjZZ8xmBy8TTtK-PFvz7W_3WT07xAcv9Jj3p6IxG2gXca7pxBgwks9YsUyXV_HtJ7tfA_9brkFZVCyLtEsA-420Xk_z-XpZuNeMM83so-lM1uPo_FSQpOoqztJGdUbmZ6wIMQ/s1600/101_0693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4ueORaQjZZ8xmBy8TTtK-PFvz7W_3WT07xAcv9Jj3p6IxG2gXca7pxBgwks9YsUyXV_HtJ7tfA_9brkFZVCyLtEsA-420Xk_z-XpZuNeMM83so-lM1uPo_FSQpOoqztJGdUbmZ6wIMQ/s400/101_0693.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Prim got the royal treatment</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The kittens grew up and do what cats do,and now we have...</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Prim and her new kitten</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rascal and her FIVE kittens</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">New born kittens</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nlRhW6td9TinHylB8cEzfxTNVIBgriwm1J3fZdpKfP2Ld6_2vy1EFaO67flGzYzWwocGZHkvfLrPSwXpPe79rwQu2SmP9huV4AEKIU6RW-kQQmJA8ZAbG3MPrpJinmmjVkGcBCEakxI/s1600/101_1431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nlRhW6td9TinHylB8cEzfxTNVIBgriwm1J3fZdpKfP2Ld6_2vy1EFaO67flGzYzWwocGZHkvfLrPSwXpPe79rwQu2SmP9huV4AEKIU6RW-kQQmJA8ZAbG3MPrpJinmmjVkGcBCEakxI/s400/101_1431.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They like to sit in the shade and watch me work.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I told Hubby it's time to start working on our sign..."Cute Kittens".</span>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-2768243424223074172013-04-11T12:37:00.004-04:002013-04-11T12:37:56.544-04:00Jingle Jangle(<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So apparently, even though I had scheduled my "I" post to show up yesterday, it rebelled against me and stayed in the draft file.) </span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh well, maybe it will work in my favor since today's post will be short. I was wasting time playing spider solitaire instead of blogging. Opps. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jingle jangle, screeeeeech, clunk, clunk. That sorta, somewhat resembles the noises I heard coming from my fairly new washing machine. At least, it seems like it's a fairly new washing machine, even though we have had to have it repaired two other times.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It turns out, we bought this machine in 2000. Well, that was just a few years ago, right? Yikes! That's 13 years ago! Thirteen, the bad luck number? I remember hearing commercials about Maytag washers that lasted 30 years! Remember that poor, old Maytag repair man who had nothing to do? Guess those days are over. I don't have a Maytag, but that's incidental. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday we took a quick look around to see about how much we would have to spend! That caused a heart attack. There's a new style that looks interesting. It's a top loader, but with no big thing-a-ma-jig in the center. The drawback to me is that the drum is extremely deep. I dig a quick acting out of emptying the machine, and felt like I was falling into the thing. While at the same time, the lid kind of plopped on my head. The sales guy quickly pulled it off me while apologizing. I said, "That's OK, it's probably what would happen at home." There's a good chance I'll stick with the front-loader style, after that little mishap.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It looks like Hubby and I will be out shopping for a new washer. Hopefully, soon, or we'll have to be shopping in the nude. And, nobody wants that to happen! EEEEEEEK!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-32934083754359250302013-04-10T00:00:00.000-04:002013-04-11T12:21:50.104-04:00Ice Cream <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First of all, I have to say that my favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip. And, it has to be the big, thick chocolate chips, not the shaved sprinkling of chocolate. Nine times out of ten, I will choose mint chocolate chip ice cream. I wish I had a big bowl in front of me. Yummmm.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Second, I hope it won't be considered cheating if I post a picture that I intended to post the other day. In case you missed my delicious dessert from the "d" day, you can see how delectable this ice cream dessert is. First, make a crust with Oreos and melted butter. Then spread softened vanilla ice cream over the cooled crust. On top of the ice cream, pour a jar of hot fudge sauce, and a jar of caramel sauce. Spanish peanuts are next, then cover it all with a tub of Cool Whip. Put it back in the freezer until ready to eat, but let it soften a little before serving. One bite, and you will be singing, "heaven, I'm in heaven..." </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-cWBwUaw8QPIr4W0hde5h0gtmJtd38xnZlbaa6nUVlGjAG5VihUq9qhl2fChEfsunu3dRhF2LRIMhhyzgSo4Kv5RXNWhb2jbadyBXILYd_amdfsuUOwl0g6BKA6vnrPSXzQRJ4dw5Ns/s1600/100_2644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-cWBwUaw8QPIr4W0hde5h0gtmJtd38xnZlbaa6nUVlGjAG5VihUq9qhl2fChEfsunu3dRhF2LRIMhhyzgSo4Kv5RXNWhb2jbadyBXILYd_amdfsuUOwl0g6BKA6vnrPSXzQRJ4dw5Ns/s320/100_2644.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It goes fast at our house!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-33128993822099671932013-04-08T22:59:00.000-04:002013-04-08T22:59:44.380-04:00Hogs on the Homestead<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too bad our last name isn't MacDonald. E-I-E-I-O. With an oink, oink here. We have recently acquired hogs, three, to be exact. We like to call them our three little pigs.</span><br />
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This won't be a very informative blog, because I don't even know the name of the breed. Well, I did know, but I've forgotten, and Hubby isn't here to ask. Although, truthfully, he might not remember either. Yes, it's a pretty scary state of affairs we find ourselves in. Not remembering. (For the record, I hate the grammar rule that states "Never end a sentence with a preposition." Is it still a rule? I break it all the time.)</span><br />
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Anyway, back to the hogs. I think they are a Heritage breed that originated in England, but that's all I know. They sleep a lot, eat a lot, and root a lot. I'm just waiting for the bacon.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When Hubby was growing up, he had a family friend who made the best whole hog sausage he ever tasted. Unfortunately, the man took his recipe with him to the grave. So Hubby has a goal to recreate this fabulous sausage. Time will tell if he is successful.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the meantime, here are some pictures of our three little pigs. I mean, hogs. Ha.Ha.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0_GPgxp8ha55WhGZ3Ff2RcyMhtBS8JX7WQ5bfz7qXNl0W7Nk88mQ_iyZU3REB2aP39BCuaLGQ_2EqaY08KJaSZBo1yoRwY9BMRyN-FdqacogYvdM0_cIf6HLckpWHVAhmonZw5XNWXw/s1600/100_2660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0_GPgxp8ha55WhGZ3Ff2RcyMhtBS8JX7WQ5bfz7qXNl0W7Nk88mQ_iyZU3REB2aP39BCuaLGQ_2EqaY08KJaSZBo1yoRwY9BMRyN-FdqacogYvdM0_cIf6HLckpWHVAhmonZw5XNWXw/s320/100_2660.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju65oB0IoKLtw3acjs3xcCY4dEeiF3LcQjqFGMSwCfFsdbO2lj-ItPpjeWXTF96r24Xl-1tEckAYgbIUfwGMCJvQdMF-vvVm7l8Vt3_DDBB0cyi4aMxxlTvj_uoNwE2qiTW0N0Hp9RbnQ/s1600/100_2659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju65oB0IoKLtw3acjs3xcCY4dEeiF3LcQjqFGMSwCfFsdbO2lj-ItPpjeWXTF96r24Xl-1tEckAYgbIUfwGMCJvQdMF-vvVm7l8Vt3_DDBB0cyi4aMxxlTvj_uoNwE2qiTW0N0Hp9RbnQ/s320/100_2659.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-7765537166699303172013-04-08T08:20:00.001-04:002013-04-08T08:20:39.763-04:00God<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is a big subject for a shallow mind, but it occurred to me that during my soapbox sessions and rantings and ravings (ohh, I could use those titles for "r" and "s"! but, I won't.) that I have been lax in sharing my world view. To be honest, that term kind of confused me when I first started hearing it. (Told ya I have a shallow mind.) But, this is how I viewed things before it was called "world view". </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">God is Creator. God is King. God in the flesh is Jesus Christ, Savior to those who will accept Him. God loves us so deeply, that He stopped at nothing in order to be in relationship with us. It's hard to comprehend the depth of that kind of love, but there it is. Seeing movies of the crucifixion, always made me wonder why Christ had to suffer such an unspeakably horrible death. But, then it became clear that the crucifixion is a picture of the horribleness of sin. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People have been turning their backs on God's grace and faithfulness since the beginning of time. So, I shouldn't be surprised that in this day and age, there is a concerted effort to declare God dead, and every mention of Him erased and removed from all our public buildings, while at the same time replacing the God of Heaven and Earth with the god of Saving the Planet, the god of Civil Rights, the god of Me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And this brings me to the mystery of the outcome of our past election. We had a clear choice. One who loves America and one who wants to transform America. One who serves God, and one who can quote the Koran with perfection. And, yet, more Christians stayed home this election than in 2008. I heard many say, "I just couldn't vote for a Mormon." How very religious of you. The one who said that we need to get back to God was rejected by those claim to proclaim God. I don't get it. My conclusion? We are under judgement. It sounds harsh, but I believe it to be true. We claim to be a Christian nation, but we don't live as a Christian nation. As a nation, we can kill our unborn children, but go to prison for killing or abusing an animal. As a nation, anyone who is against homosexual "marriage" is a hater. And so, God is giving us what we say we want. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">God has given us a choice between live and prosperity and death and destruction. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you live and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord you God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the Lord is you life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob." Deut. 30:19-20</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, that's how I view the world.</span><br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6275108066688269330.post-76305363823579558932013-04-06T10:41:00.002-04:002013-04-06T10:41:55.544-04:00Freedom, Farm and Fleas?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh yes, I had a few ideas rolling around in my head for the letter "f". I thought about elaborating, yet again, on the freedoms we are losing on a daily basis. I wish I could blame it all on the Obama administration, but I have only heard from a minute few Republicans, or I would be more correct in saying Conservatives,(dare I say Tea Party?) who are actually fighting the fight. It won't be long until the 2nd Amendment will be ripped out of the Constitution. No more guns for law-abiding citizens. I love how the GOP is standing up and fighting for the people they are supposed to represent. Whenever Hubby has called in to ask our Representative where he stands on the 2nd Amendment, do you know what the response is? "No, he hasn't made a decision yet." REALLY? He can't say, "Yes, I stand for the 2nd Amendment."? Do these people not take an oath to protect and defend the Constitution? I shall take a deep breath now.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My other idea was to tell you all about our little farm which is slowly transforming. Very slowly. It seems slow to us, but others say that we have really done a lot in the last year. We have a few chickens roaming the homestead, and we recently bought three little pigs. (They have done nothing to build their own homes yet. They don't know that Hubby is the big, bad wolf, and they are the ones who will end up in the pot!)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, now I come to the dreaded topic of fleas. Oh yes. <a href="http://www.jenneethompsonblog.com/" target="_blank">Amazing Daughter</a> is going to flip out when she reads this! (And, I'm not sure I can keep it a secret from Hubby, who will not only flip out, but ban the cats from ever coming into the house again!) Our one cat, Prim, had kittens the other day. Only one survived. They're supposed to be outside cats, but have inside privileges. Well, since it has been so cold out, we let mama Prim and her little kitten stay inside, in Amazing Daughter's room. All has been well, until today when I was giving little "Lutrell" some attention. I freaked out when I noticed some small things crawling in his fur. Ohhhhh, f-u-d-g-e! I immediately checked online to find a proper flea killer for kittens. It turns out lemon juice will get rid of the problem. So Prim and Lutrell abruptly found themselves outside. Poor Prim didn't know what to think. She has gotten quite comfortable with her inside birthing privileges. I can only hope that I caught it soon enough, and we won't have an infestation of fleas. Can I keep Hubby from finding out? I'm sure gonna try!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/366/F410843937FF4B5572D1D5979065D94D.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11428797675882725547noreply@blogger.com7