Wednesday, October 22, 2008
THE SCREAMER
The other day, I this woman I know had a very tear my hair out frustrating day. I She was so fraught with worms in my brain anxiety that there was a chance that spontaneous combustion or exploding into billions of pieces was a real possibility--and that might even have been more desirable than the worms anxiety . I This woman was driving when all of a sudden a scream erupted from my worm infested brain her throat. A blood chilling, honest to goodness screeching scream. It was so satisfying I she did it again. Five times. it is a highly recommended activity especially if the windows are rolled up all the way and the radio is on, Loud. To the soundtrack of Mamma Mia.
Ah, the joy of a good blood curdling scream. Better--and cheaper--than therapy and far better than baldness.
Ah, the joy of a good blood curdling scream. Better--and cheaper--than therapy and far better than baldness.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
THE CHICKEN COOP AND THE MATTRESS FACTORY
This came to me today in an email from Tut:
"Most don't stop to think, Lynne, but both having money and not having money make fantastic adventures possible that would not otherwise be possible.
Same for having, and not having, anything else.
Everyone's a winner in time and space - The Universe"
I was driving home from my critique group the other day and took a little side road, getting lost in the process, but look what I found!
A chicken coop almost exactly like the one that used to be on the back property where I grew up, except ours was longer. In one side of our chicken coop my birth dad built what has been called for sixty-five years, a mattress factory. In the mattress factory he built...well, mattresses. That is, until he crashed in a private airplane in a snow storm and died. Then the mattress factory ceased to function.
"Most don't stop to think, Lynne, but both having money and not having money make fantastic adventures possible that would not otherwise be possible.
Same for having, and not having, anything else.
Everyone's a winner in time and space - The Universe"
I was driving home from my critique group the other day and took a little side road, getting lost in the process, but look what I found!
A chicken coop almost exactly like the one that used to be on the back property where I grew up, except ours was longer. In one side of our chicken coop my birth dad built what has been called for sixty-five years, a mattress factory. In the mattress factory he built...well, mattresses. That is, until he crashed in a private airplane in a snow storm and died. Then the mattress factory ceased to function. This is what I wrote this week in my manuscript about the mattress factory. You realize, of course, that I don't have "rotten sisters." This manuscript is a work of fiction, worked from scenes plucked from my real life. I have always felt cheated that my dad died before I was old enough to know him and this chapter is heavy with that regret. Here's a bit of it:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I whirled around and left her standing in the strawberry patch. I went where I always go, to the mattress factory. I was supposed to set the table for dinner but they could eat right out of their hands for all I cared.
"I sat on the sofa that my dad built and laid my head down on the arm. It smelled like dust. Pat and Julie probably watched him make the sofa when the frame smelled like new wood and the fabric was bright. They knew what the mattress factory looked like when it wasn’t laced with spider webs, so thick with dust that they looked like twine. They had watched Dad feed mattress ticking into the sewing machine when it wasn’t pocked with rust spots and the belts weren’t cracked. They probably sat on the big table and swung their legs and watched him use the huge scissors that are so rusted they won’t even open. They have clean, sharp memories. All I have are imaginary ghosts.
"I pulled the notebook out from under the middle cushion and wrote about my rotten sisters. I wrote that Mom said I was compassionate which was as bad as saying you have nice feet when everyone else is being praised for looking like Miss America.
"I stayed in the mattress factory until I was sure dinner was over and the dishes were done. When I heard the screech of the mattress factory door I shoved the notebook under the cushion and looked up to see Mom picking her way around a pile of bed springs, carrying a tray with a dishtowel over it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, you can see why I loved the chicken coop when I saw it. It almost made me cry, it was so beautiful. And it's certainly not something people "with money" would have in their back yard. But, it brought me a whole soul full of joy and I'd give almost anything to have it in my back yard.
And then further down the road, where I was lost, I saw this marvelous tree and it gave me happiness again with it's ungainly beauty.
So, I think I was not lost at all. I think the angels sent me on a detour. I thank them.
Monday, October 20, 2008
ALIEN ABDUCTION FAILURE
The sky-vacuum's power had to be diminished because of the noise and they couldn't get liftoff. It only fluffed her hair.
"I love feeling the wind in my hair." she said, smiling at the friendly photographer. "I adore fall, don't you?"
If you had been vacuumed properly, I would, he thought. I would have gotten some spectacular photos of your ascension.
"Yes," he said. "I love all the seasons."
"Me too," she said. "Me too."
"I love feeling the wind in my hair." she said, smiling at the friendly photographer. "I adore fall, don't you?"
If you had been vacuumed properly, I would, he thought. I would have gotten some spectacular photos of your ascension.
"Yes," he said. "I love all the seasons."
"Me too," she said. "Me too."
Sunday, October 19, 2008
A BUM STORY WITH A MORAL
I have a funny friend. I am going to call her "Mrs. Bird" because someone once said of her, "She's so dingy that if she were a bird she would fly into a window." She's not really "dingy." It's a game she plays with the world. She's really bright and her funniness enriches my life.
Mrs Bird came to see me tonight. She sat with me for an hour and told me stories. She's a great story teller and all of her outrageous stories are true. For the rest of us life happens in black and white and sometimes not even "talkies," but for Mrs. Bird life happens in 3-D.
One of the stories she told me was about a bout of diarrhea she had last week. She plays the piano for the Primary every other week and she was was supposed to play last week. Her tummy was still rumbling at noon and church starts at 1:00. She had taken Pepto Bismo for two days and thought that surely there wasn't anything left inside but, just in case, she made herself a little pad of absorbent fabric and put it--well, she put it--ah--in her--well, she put it in her crack-part.
She told her husband what she had done--she discusses EVERYTHING with her husband.
He said, "How are you going to keep your--ah--the, ah--well, you know, how are you going to keep it from falling out?"
"You're going to tape me shut," she said and handed him the masking tape.
So he said, "Bend over," and he proceeded to tape across her bottom with strips of masking tape about every two inches. "There", he said. "That ought to hold you."
And it did. And then, after Sacrament meeting, when she got to Primary she found out it wasn't even her turn to play the piano and so she got all taped up for nothing.
The moral: Prepare for the worst and sometimes you are pleasantly surprised to find out you don't even need your bum taped.
Mrs Bird came to see me tonight. She sat with me for an hour and told me stories. She's a great story teller and all of her outrageous stories are true. For the rest of us life happens in black and white and sometimes not even "talkies," but for Mrs. Bird life happens in 3-D.
One of the stories she told me was about a bout of diarrhea she had last week. She plays the piano for the Primary every other week and she was was supposed to play last week. Her tummy was still rumbling at noon and church starts at 1:00. She had taken Pepto Bismo for two days and thought that surely there wasn't anything left inside but, just in case, she made herself a little pad of absorbent fabric and put it--well, she put it--ah--in her--well, she put it in her crack-part.
She told her husband what she had done--she discusses EVERYTHING with her husband.
He said, "How are you going to keep your--ah--the, ah--well, you know, how are you going to keep it from falling out?"
"You're going to tape me shut," she said and handed him the masking tape.
So he said, "Bend over," and he proceeded to tape across her bottom with strips of masking tape about every two inches. "There", he said. "That ought to hold you."
And it did. And then, after Sacrament meeting, when she got to Primary she found out it wasn't even her turn to play the piano and so she got all taped up for nothing.
The moral: Prepare for the worst and sometimes you are pleasantly surprised to find out you don't even need your bum taped.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
I'M BORROWING PHOTOS TODAY
All of these photos were taken by people and submitted to KSL.com in the hopes of winning the monthly contest and then being in the annual KSL Calendar. Some are from this year and some from previous years. They show the beauty of Utah in the fall.
Big Cottonwood Canyon near Doughnut Falls, Photo by Shaun Hammer
Photo by Marilyn Matthews
Twin Ponds-Gooseberry-Fishlake National Forest 908 - Photo Submitted by Kreig Rasmussen
Bridal Veil Falls, by Jaynann Wendt
Photo by Pamela Stubbs
Willow Creek, Big Cottonwood Canyon photo by Darren Balls.
Big Cottonwood Canyon near Doughnut Falls, Photo by Shaun Hammer
Photo by Marilyn Matthews
Twin Ponds-Gooseberry-Fishlake National Forest 908 - Photo Submitted by Kreig Rasmussen
Bridal Veil Falls, by Jaynann Wendt
Photo by Pamela Stubbs
Willow Creek, Big Cottonwood Canyon photo by Darren Balls.
Friday, October 17, 2008
A STORY FOR TUESDAY
Today, Gilmore Girl, Tuesday and I played. Gilmore Girl had a couple of quick errands to run. 
Tuesday and I didn't want to go so I stayed in the car with her and told her stories. Here's one:
Tuesday and I didn't want to go so I stayed in the car with her and told her stories. Here's one:There was once a little girl ladybug who was different. She had an orange body with blue spots.
She didn't go to preschool because she was afraid the other ladybug children would laugh at her. She didn't go out to play because she was afraid children would laugh at her. She wore a coat to church on Sunday, even in the summer, because she was afraid people would laugh at her.
Soon she was old enough for school and her mother said she had to go. The little ladybug with an orange body and blue spots said she was not going to go to school. She cried and threw a tantrum--several tantrums--and then she sulked.
The Friday before school started her mother got a whole stack of paper, two dozen markers and a pot of glitter. She worked late into the night. When she was finished she left the house and stapled the papers on trees. She stapled the papers on bulletin boards. She taped the papers on the windows of grocery stores and on the door to the school and outside the city hall. When she came home she kissed her little orange girl with the blue spots and went to bed.
On Monday morning the little girl threw a tantrum--several tantrums--and then she sulked but her mother would not change her mind. She ate a breakfast of aphids and put on her coat and said she was ready. Her mom made her take off her coat and said, "You don't need that. So what if you aren't like everyone else? Be brave and show others who you really are." And then she took her daughter's hand and they left for school.
The little ladybug kept her head down and so she didn't see the people on the street curtsy when she passed. When they got to school the Principal curtsied and welcomed her, calling her, "Your Princess-ness."
The little ladybug looked up. Her eyes showed the white all around--that is if ladybugs have white all around.
When they got to the classroom the teacher curtsied and said, "Welcome, your Majesty."
The children all stood up. The girls curtsied and the boys bowed at the waist--that is if ladybug children have waists.
The mother smiled and pushed the little ladybug a bit and then everyone crowded around the little ladybug with the orange body and the blue spots and said, "Will you be my friend?" And of course she would.
When the momma ladybug left the school she took the paper off the door of the school and off trees, grocery stores, and the city hall. She stuffed them in the garbage can and put the lid on top. One paper fluttered to the ground. It said:
"Of Royal Birth." There was a glittery picture of a king and queen ladybug with orange bodies and blue spots.
The paper said, "Everyone is of Royal Birth. Some are more easily recognized than others."
And so it is true. All the ladybugs, men and women ladybugs, children ladybugs and baby ladybugs were or royal birth, just like you are, Tuesday. You are of Royal Birth because of your Father in Heaven. Everyone born on earth is of royal birth. They may look different but they are all Heavenly Father's children and should know how wonderful they really are.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then I heard a little voice from the back seat that said, "That's good, Grandma."
And she's right. It is.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
IF YOU WOULD JUST DO WHAT I TELL YOU TO, I WOULDN'T HAVE TO BE SO BOSSY
I'm not bossy. I call it "persuasive."
I have been trying to get Gilmore Girl to start a blog. She doesn't speak English much, I don't know what it is, but it's funny. I think she was Aunt Pat's child, just born to me. Aunt Pat said funny things, too. They didn't have "roast beef" at Aunt Pat's house, they had "roast beast." She is the one who took the word "interesting" to a whole new level. If she told you someone was interesting you were looking for clues about why they were not normal.
I have nagged Gilmore Girl and asked nicely and blackmailed--"If you don't start a blog I will start one for you and put whatever I want and people will think it's you." And yet, she bloggeth not. Until now.
THE SILLY THINGS WE DO....
Success! It is mine.
PS She says she's doing it because she didn't journal enough--or hardly at all--but the real reason is she honors her mother. Translation: She's tired of hearing the same old argument. When I open my mouth and the word "blog" comes out all she hears is, "Blog, blah, blah, blah," and she's sick of the blah's. So, she blogs.
I have been trying to get Gilmore Girl to start a blog. She doesn't speak English much, I don't know what it is, but it's funny. I think she was Aunt Pat's child, just born to me. Aunt Pat said funny things, too. They didn't have "roast beef" at Aunt Pat's house, they had "roast beast." She is the one who took the word "interesting" to a whole new level. If she told you someone was interesting you were looking for clues about why they were not normal.
I have nagged Gilmore Girl and asked nicely and blackmailed--"If you don't start a blog I will start one for you and put whatever I want and people will think it's you." And yet, she bloggeth not. Until now.
THE SILLY THINGS WE DO....
Success! It is mine.PS She says she's doing it because she didn't journal enough--or hardly at all--but the real reason is she honors her mother. Translation: She's tired of hearing the same old argument. When I open my mouth and the word "blog" comes out all she hears is, "Blog, blah, blah, blah," and she's sick of the blah's. So, she blogs.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
THINNING FINGERNAIL POLISH
"You Make Me Vroom," nail polish. 
What is it with fingernail polish, anyway? You use one third of the bottle and it becomes so thick that it's unusable. I asked Gilmore Girl for the solution. She's my "all-things-girlie-guru."
"Mix some fingernail polish remover in the polish to thin it," she said.
Now I ask you, does this make sense? Polish and polish remover. Opposites, right? Polish to coat the nail. Remover to take the polish off.
Puzzling.
Left: Nail polish before adding polish remover--thick and clumpy. Right: After adding polish remover--thinner, easier to use.
PS And my polish isn't even called polish. It's called "Nail Lacquer." I wouldn't mind being polished, but lacquered? I'm not sure. Then again, I don't particularly want to be removed either. It's a puzzle.
And these are the weighty things on my mind. Yes, I know it was the Presidential Debate tonight. I watched it, while fiddling with my fingernail polish. It seems the candidates are so concerned with being polished themselves that they forget about the remover. Perhaps the remover will be in the American hearts. I wonder what it would be like to send the whole lot of them to an empty island in the great blue ocean, dump about a thousand random people there, and let the candidates figure out how to run things, starting with nothing? I'd like to see the island economy in about a year or so.
What is it with fingernail polish, anyway? You use one third of the bottle and it becomes so thick that it's unusable. I asked Gilmore Girl for the solution. She's my "all-things-girlie-guru." "Mix some fingernail polish remover in the polish to thin it," she said.
Now I ask you, does this make sense? Polish and polish remover. Opposites, right? Polish to coat the nail. Remover to take the polish off.
Puzzling.
Left: Nail polish before adding polish remover--thick and clumpy. Right: After adding polish remover--thinner, easier to use.
PS And my polish isn't even called polish. It's called "Nail Lacquer." I wouldn't mind being polished, but lacquered? I'm not sure. Then again, I don't particularly want to be removed either. It's a puzzle.And these are the weighty things on my mind. Yes, I know it was the Presidential Debate tonight. I watched it, while fiddling with my fingernail polish. It seems the candidates are so concerned with being polished themselves that they forget about the remover. Perhaps the remover will be in the American hearts. I wonder what it would be like to send the whole lot of them to an empty island in the great blue ocean, dump about a thousand random people there, and let the candidates figure out how to run things, starting with nothing? I'd like to see the island economy in about a year or so.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
THE ABC'S OF GRATITUDE--L
L--I am grateful for love. Grateful I was born into a family who loved me.
My dad was killed in a plane crash before I was two and I have always missed the love he had for me. the chapter I am writing this week has all the emotion I have always had about being raised without him. It's been hard to write because I have been so angry and feel so cheated.
Mom remarried and Daddy loved me. Even when I was a dirty-rotten-stinker. I adored him. He was a marvelous man. I am a better person for being raised by him and I love him with all my heart.
The love I have for my Mom cannot be described. She loved me totally and I loved her back. I miss her so much that some days I sneak away to the bathroom and cry. She was the ideal mother, fixing tea parties for Holly and me, grinning and bearing my teenage hysterics, adoring my babies and my teenagers, loving Phil as if he were her own son, and always, always, loving me.
I had two amazing sisters. Each was different and unique. Who I am is in some part because of how they treated me when I was growing up. They loved me and I loved them but there was all that sibling stuff going on. My book is full of that sibling stuff. It may be hard for my sister to read--then again maybe she will never have to. I hope she will understand that without all that sibling stuff I would be a weak, easily wounded sissy and that she helped make me strong. My other sister died way to early and when I am crying--in the bathroom for my mom--I cry for her, too.
I have been in love maybe three times in my life. I was lucky that the man I loved the most, Phil, loved me back. He's loved me when I was grumpy, depressed, angry--I threw water on him once from the second story balcony because I was so angry--actually that time we ended up laughing. He's loved me through good times, the birth of our children, the funny, laugh out loud times. He knows me better than anyone else and loves me anyway. He is my strength. He is strong in the gospel and loves the Lord and tries to do what is right. I love him for his commitment and his goodness. I love him for a hundred different reasons.
I love the children. They come as babies and we are charmed. By the time they get interesting it's too late and we are hooked. And they were interesting in unnumbered ways. We waited them out and soon they became interesting in milder ways and now we are friends. I am madly in love with each of them. I love who they have chosen to love and spend their lives with. They have given us grandchildren and the grandchildren are charismatic and we are as hooked on them as we are about our children. Some of them just have dogs and so we love the dogs while we are being patient for the charismatic grandchildren.
And I can't talk about love without mentioning my "goodest," daily, life-changing-for-the-better friends. They know me almost as well as Phil does and maybe even better than the kids. Some are email buddies, some are "spittin' distance" ones and some are not seen often but are friends to the end.
And I've saved the best for last. I love Heavenly Father and Jesus. I am so grateful I had the chance to come to earth and receive a body and find Phil and be allowed to bear Heavenly Father's children. I am in love with the fact that Father trusts me. I let him down and what does he do? Trusts me again. He must love me a lot to let me make all these mistakes and let me decide when I am going to make things better. And he sent Jesus to atone for me and for all His children and then, if that weren't enough, he sent the Holy Ghost to warn, comfort and guide.
I am blessed to have loved and been loved.
My dad was killed in a plane crash before I was two and I have always missed the love he had for me. the chapter I am writing this week has all the emotion I have always had about being raised without him. It's been hard to write because I have been so angry and feel so cheated.
Mom remarried and Daddy loved me. Even when I was a dirty-rotten-stinker. I adored him. He was a marvelous man. I am a better person for being raised by him and I love him with all my heart.
The love I have for my Mom cannot be described. She loved me totally and I loved her back. I miss her so much that some days I sneak away to the bathroom and cry. She was the ideal mother, fixing tea parties for Holly and me, grinning and bearing my teenage hysterics, adoring my babies and my teenagers, loving Phil as if he were her own son, and always, always, loving me.
I had two amazing sisters. Each was different and unique. Who I am is in some part because of how they treated me when I was growing up. They loved me and I loved them but there was all that sibling stuff going on. My book is full of that sibling stuff. It may be hard for my sister to read--then again maybe she will never have to. I hope she will understand that without all that sibling stuff I would be a weak, easily wounded sissy and that she helped make me strong. My other sister died way to early and when I am crying--in the bathroom for my mom--I cry for her, too.
I have been in love maybe three times in my life. I was lucky that the man I loved the most, Phil, loved me back. He's loved me when I was grumpy, depressed, angry--I threw water on him once from the second story balcony because I was so angry--actually that time we ended up laughing. He's loved me through good times, the birth of our children, the funny, laugh out loud times. He knows me better than anyone else and loves me anyway. He is my strength. He is strong in the gospel and loves the Lord and tries to do what is right. I love him for his commitment and his goodness. I love him for a hundred different reasons.
I love the children. They come as babies and we are charmed. By the time they get interesting it's too late and we are hooked. And they were interesting in unnumbered ways. We waited them out and soon they became interesting in milder ways and now we are friends. I am madly in love with each of them. I love who they have chosen to love and spend their lives with. They have given us grandchildren and the grandchildren are charismatic and we are as hooked on them as we are about our children. Some of them just have dogs and so we love the dogs while we are being patient for the charismatic grandchildren.
And I can't talk about love without mentioning my "goodest," daily, life-changing-for-the-better friends. They know me almost as well as Phil does and maybe even better than the kids. Some are email buddies, some are "spittin' distance" ones and some are not seen often but are friends to the end.
And I've saved the best for last. I love Heavenly Father and Jesus. I am so grateful I had the chance to come to earth and receive a body and find Phil and be allowed to bear Heavenly Father's children. I am in love with the fact that Father trusts me. I let him down and what does he do? Trusts me again. He must love me a lot to let me make all these mistakes and let me decide when I am going to make things better. And he sent Jesus to atone for me and for all His children and then, if that weren't enough, he sent the Holy Ghost to warn, comfort and guide.
I am blessed to have loved and been loved.
Monday, October 13, 2008
THE PRAYER CAT
Pika has an uncanny ability to know exactly when I will open the bedroom door in the morning. I have never opened it yet and not found here sitting there, waiting for me.
She also knows when I am coming home. I open the door and there she is. Curling around my feet, waiting to be told she is pretty and hoping for a scratch on the back.
She also knows when the garage--or any--door is open. She has an open-door-policy and it demands that she check out every open door and try to escape.
And, oddest of all, she shows up for family prayer. Phil usually goes to bed first--I am almost always working on a post for this blog. He comes to me and says, "It's your turn," or "It's time for prayer," or simply, "I'm going to bed." Then I look at the calender to see whose turn it really is and somehow, no matter where Pika is, she comes.
Sometimes she meows while we are praying as if to say, "And I have something to say to Heavenly Father, too." This is from a cat who almost NEVER meows.
She even bows her head!
There aren't a whole lot of things that are a sure thing in life. Pika makes it her business to be a "for sure" girl. I'm sure she'll show up to greet me every day, to try to escape and to be present for family prayer.
Amen.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
THE FIRST SNOW or WHAT SHALL I DO ABOUT MY FLOWERS?
This morning I woke up to snow. Not a lot, but enough.
At church today one of our most faithful lawn swing visiting neighbors said, "What will we do now?" I don't know. I enjoy the friendships the lawn swings facilitate and the winter months find me lonely.
This hanging basket is just coming into its glory. In the last two weeks it was breathtaking and today it is wilting. In the morning it will be a limp bunch of faded blooms. I hate to see this one go as I planted it from scratch and I have loved watching it grow.
The basil and geraniums are frosty.
And my inpatients...they will be gone by morning.
But, I brought the hanging geranium baskets in. 
Pika, who follows me like a guard dog, came to admire herself in the mirror.
I hoping to take the geranium baskets to the dark basement and leave them, without light or water until February. That is if I can persuade Phil that they are worth saving. And if I can persuade him that we have room in the basement--the basement that I have STUFFED with "things." I only paid 79 cents for each geranium and there are about eight plants in each basket.
At church today one of our most faithful lawn swing visiting neighbors said, "What will we do now?" I don't know. I enjoy the friendships the lawn swings facilitate and the winter months find me lonely.
This hanging basket is just coming into its glory. In the last two weeks it was breathtaking and today it is wilting. In the morning it will be a limp bunch of faded blooms. I hate to see this one go as I planted it from scratch and I have loved watching it grow.
The basil and geraniums are frosty.
And my inpatients...they will be gone by morning.
But, I brought the hanging geranium baskets in. Pika, who follows me like a guard dog, came to admire herself in the mirror.
I hoping to take the geranium baskets to the dark basement and leave them, without light or water until February. That is if I can persuade Phil that they are worth saving. And if I can persuade him that we have room in the basement--the basement that I have STUFFED with "things." I only paid 79 cents for each geranium and there are about eight plants in each basket. Then I went downstairs to the family room, Pika, my faithful guard dog, came down, too. And Minkey, the lazy, heat-loving Burmese cat had never moved and still hasn't moved. As long as the fire is on he will stay right there. Which, as I think about it, isn't a bad idea.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
THE FROST IS COMING--THE GARDEN IS GOING
Last night we got a bit of frost, the tops of the zucchini and cucumber plants were wilted this morning. We knew it was coming so yesterday we picked all the tomatoes and today picked the beans. While I was picking beans it snowed. Okay, only about twenty flakes and the snow storm lasted about thirty seconds, but it was snow.
Some of the tomato plants. Phil makes trellis's for the tomato, bean and cucumber plants. He is Mr. Wonderful Gardener.
These are grape tomatoes. A wonderful tomato, they don't split as readily as cherry tomatoes and they ripen, ALL of the green ones. Year before last we ate tomatoes every single day on salads up to Christmas.
These will be sliced and go into the dehydrator as there are too many to eat.
All the ripe romas will also go into the dehydrator. 
The bean plants.
I got two bowls--my largest stainless steel bowl--this isn't it--full and HALF of them were too old. I could cry. All that work. They had to be picked, washed and then when I was snipping the ends off I could tell they were too old. I got only nine quarts of Dilly Beans and all the family loves them. It seems like I "bean;d" all the live long day.
This is my "cooking straw" photo. Actually I snip the dill and simmer it in the brine so I won't have dill in the bottles of beans. I put a little strainer in top of the jar and then pour the "straw brine" in. My daughter -in-law, The Yoga Empress supplied the dill. Her garden has a forest of dill. For some reason my dill did not reseed itself this year. Because of my bad bean harvest I didn't use all of the dill. Now I feel like a greedy-dill-taker. I will give her a jar of Dilly Beans as a thank-you.
The finished product. In about a month they will be all dilled-up and ready to eat but do you think I will let anyone touch them? No way. They were too much work.
This reminds me of a story of my childhood friend. Years and years ago it was canning season and for some reason there was a sugar shortage. The cost of sugar was astronomical. My friend had to have some sugar so she bought a ten pound bag and then she couldn't bear to open it so they cut back on sugar. The price of sugar eventually returned to normal. She bought new sugar but could not bear to open the expensive bag. She used the new sugar up and bought more. This went on for at least a couple of years that I know about. The expensive sugar was not opened in all that time. I wonder if she ever opened it.
Friday, October 10, 2008
THAT'S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR
Today I went to my critique group. We are down to two members, Best Seller and me.
Best Seller writes beautifully. Her stories are fresh and edgy--just what publishers keep saying they want--"Give us 'fresh' stuff, 'edgy' stuff," they say. Her stories are so interesting that when you are reading them and you come to the end you say, "No!" You want more.
I have been stuck. We talked today for at least an hour about my book and when we were finished I had a whole page of ideas. Good ones. Fresh ideas with great details. Her mind works like a metal detector, burring over the subject and pulling out all the ideas and details that are interesting and valuable.
If you want to see what a great writer she really is go here. Scroll down to read My Father's Wallet, it is one of my favorite beautifully written stories. My very favorite story is about her mother. It was the winning essay in a contest. As soon as it has been published she will post it on her blog. Honestly, it is one of the finest pieces I have ever read. When she read it to our critique group we were speechless. That was the day that I knew she would be a best seller.
So, today I am grateful for my friend. My marvelous friend who saved my book from being chucked in the garbage. She is my treasured friend, and not because she helped me with my book. Just because she is. She is a valuable human being and I am so lucky to have her in my life.
Best Seller writes beautifully. Her stories are fresh and edgy--just what publishers keep saying they want--"Give us 'fresh' stuff, 'edgy' stuff," they say. Her stories are so interesting that when you are reading them and you come to the end you say, "No!" You want more.
I have been stuck. We talked today for at least an hour about my book and when we were finished I had a whole page of ideas. Good ones. Fresh ideas with great details. Her mind works like a metal detector, burring over the subject and pulling out all the ideas and details that are interesting and valuable.
If you want to see what a great writer she really is go here. Scroll down to read My Father's Wallet, it is one of my favorite beautifully written stories. My very favorite story is about her mother. It was the winning essay in a contest. As soon as it has been published she will post it on her blog. Honestly, it is one of the finest pieces I have ever read. When she read it to our critique group we were speechless. That was the day that I knew she would be a best seller.
So, today I am grateful for my friend. My marvelous friend who saved my book from being chucked in the garbage. She is my treasured friend, and not because she helped me with my book. Just because she is. She is a valuable human being and I am so lucky to have her in my life.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
HAVE PEACE IN YOUR HEARTS
I was not going to blog tonight, just go to bed and not worry about it but a friend is in distress and I must stay up and email her. There is nothing I can do to help. I will tell her I love her and am praying for her--which I did, right this very minute--and I hope she receives the peace I prayed for.
And that is my prayer for all tonight. Some are in situations that can't be helped or fixed. Some are in situations that will eventually be all right. But all are loved by their Father in Heaven and by the Savior. I hope all will be comforted and have peace in their hearts.
You are so very important to your Heavenly Father and the Savior. You are so very loved. Open yourself up to that love and be reassured.
And that is my prayer for all tonight. Some are in situations that can't be helped or fixed. Some are in situations that will eventually be all right. But all are loved by their Father in Heaven and by the Savior. I hope all will be comforted and have peace in their hearts.
You are so very important to your Heavenly Father and the Savior. You are so very loved. Open yourself up to that love and be reassured.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
THE ABC'S OF GRATITUDE--H THROUGH K
H--Holy Ghost. I am so grateful that I know He exists, that I know He will never fail. I have had so many "whisperings" that have been warnings, comfort, witnesses of truth, uneasiness at falseness, and even tiny little things like, "go check the soup" two minutes before it was going to boil over. His whispering once saved Gilmore Girl's life. His whispering once saved The Brown Dot from freezing cold in the middle of the night--maybe saved his life, too. He is involved in my life daily and I am grateful I have this knowledge.
I--Ice Cream. I'm grateful I don't like it much. One of the few calorie laden things I don't want to eat. Let's hear it for not wanting to eat ice cream!
J--Jesus. I don't understand how it was done but I know He atoned for my sins and the sins of every human being. As I love my parents--who are gone--how grateful I am for the knowledge that I will be reunited with them--as I love my husband and children, probably more than any of them will ever know, I know, without a shadow of a doubt that Jesus loves more than I ever can. He loves all, not just the good, the pretty, the smart, the ones with good fashion sense. He not only loves me--and everyone else--but he experienced all my fears, pains, disappointments, tragedies, sorrows, etc. He KNOWS how I feel and he is there to give me comfort and acceptance. What a great gift he offers. I'm takin' it, I can tell you.
K--Kids. Not the goat kind. The human kind. Without them this world would be so empty. I am grateful that Heavenly Father let me raise five of them. Each one was/is different. Each one is cherished by Phil and me. I love the sound of children's voices--well, except when they are screaming. Their sing-song-ing up and down voices, how unique that sound is. Some lisp and we are just a little bit sorry when they learn to speak properly. They say hilarious things, do hilarious things, love without motives, forgive almost instantly and throw themselves into life with joy. I wish I had the confidence I had when I was a little child. All children are born with confidence and then they learn fear. So, I'm grateful for kids and for their confidence and pure love and hope this world always has a plethora of them.
Also, it seem to me that when children are born with handicaps that they don't seem to feel sorry for themselves. Adults rant and rail if something happens to them to diminish their abilities but kids seem to take it in their stride. They must have special spirits to be given disabilities and to make the most of what they can do.
A friend of mine saw a child at a doctor's office that had the most debilitating handicap imaginable. He was cheerful and happy. I doubt that he will grow up to be bitter and sad. I think he will grow up to be a great human being and my friend will never forget him. She is a better person for observing his attitude and I am also, for simply hearing about him.
I--Ice Cream. I'm grateful I don't like it much. One of the few calorie laden things I don't want to eat. Let's hear it for not wanting to eat ice cream!
J--Jesus. I don't understand how it was done but I know He atoned for my sins and the sins of every human being. As I love my parents--who are gone--how grateful I am for the knowledge that I will be reunited with them--as I love my husband and children, probably more than any of them will ever know, I know, without a shadow of a doubt that Jesus loves more than I ever can. He loves all, not just the good, the pretty, the smart, the ones with good fashion sense. He not only loves me--and everyone else--but he experienced all my fears, pains, disappointments, tragedies, sorrows, etc. He KNOWS how I feel and he is there to give me comfort and acceptance. What a great gift he offers. I'm takin' it, I can tell you.
K--Kids. Not the goat kind. The human kind. Without them this world would be so empty. I am grateful that Heavenly Father let me raise five of them. Each one was/is different. Each one is cherished by Phil and me. I love the sound of children's voices--well, except when they are screaming. Their sing-song-ing up and down voices, how unique that sound is. Some lisp and we are just a little bit sorry when they learn to speak properly. They say hilarious things, do hilarious things, love without motives, forgive almost instantly and throw themselves into life with joy. I wish I had the confidence I had when I was a little child. All children are born with confidence and then they learn fear. So, I'm grateful for kids and for their confidence and pure love and hope this world always has a plethora of them.
Also, it seem to me that when children are born with handicaps that they don't seem to feel sorry for themselves. Adults rant and rail if something happens to them to diminish their abilities but kids seem to take it in their stride. They must have special spirits to be given disabilities and to make the most of what they can do.
A friend of mine saw a child at a doctor's office that had the most debilitating handicap imaginable. He was cheerful and happy. I doubt that he will grow up to be bitter and sad. I think he will grow up to be a great human being and my friend will never forget him. She is a better person for observing his attitude and I am also, for simply hearing about him.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
I HAVE BEEN BANNED FROM ORDERING NETFLIX MOVIES
We watched another one of my movies last night. As the credits were running Phil said, "Your Netflilx privileges have been revoked."
Now I ask you, what is wrong with watching movies no one has ever heard of before? Phil says there is good reason no one has ever heard of them. I think they are delightful--well, most of them.
So, because he hasn't added a movie in months, I helped him out and added four more today. Three of them are foreign films. If it weren't for me we wouldn't even HAVE a queue. He should be grateful that I am giving him the chance to be entertained and amused.
Shouldn't he?
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