tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38272594075171078032024-02-18T22:25:25.722-05:00Soggy BottomA journal of my life in the countryDaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-23436861824451228552021-07-06T07:43:00.005-04:002021-07-15T20:23:03.138-04:00I Walk<p> I walk. But of course I do. I have since before I was one year old, but now I walk with more of a purpose than just getting from here to there. I'm walking for my health. I'm walking to save my life. Well, that sounds dramatic. What I mean is, my doctor has pointed out that my blood pressure has been trending up and my good cholesterol has been trending down while my bad cholesterol has been trending up. And what with a family history of high blood pressure, heart disease, clogged arteries and diabetes, I can't go through the world anymore as if I were invincible. As with these other maladies, my weight has been trending up as well, and has been for a good number of years. Doc says that while the proverbial "they" go back and forth about diet, the one thing that is certain when it comes to good health and longevity is, as he put it, "to get skinny." I used to run. Never as a competitive sport, but my brother often told me when we were kids that I should run track because I could run so darned fast. I didn't start running until I was in college. I had friends that were competitive twin sisters, and when one was having issue with the other, she would call and say "Bubba, I need to run," which meant she needed to hash out whatever new or continuing conflict she was experiencing with the other. So we'd run and run and run. I ended up liking it and doing it on my own. After I graduated from college and moved back to Kansas City planning the next phase of my life, I would go to my old high school and run for what seemed hours on their track. When I moved to New York City three years after college graduation, I had run so much, I weighed only 114 lbs. As I aged out of my 20s and into my 30s and 40s, I was well aware of my metabolism slowing down and my weight inching up. Sometime in my 30s I began going to the gym and working hard with a trainer. My body changed dramatically. I grew muscles and lost fat, and my weight inched up to 140 lbs, but it was a weight from good stuff, not fat. Then more life started happening and I had fewer and fewer hours to spend in the gym, so my physical makeup began changing again. Fast forward to now, careening toward 62 like a bat out of hell and my weight having crept up to 149! While I'd like to run again, my old knees will have none of it. But I can walk, so I walk. I downloaded an app onto my phone that tracks how many steps I take and prescribes how many steps I should take given my goal of wanting to once again weight 130 lbs. So, most mornings I walk 10,000+ steps in one fell swoop. At first it was difficult to get to 10,000, but now its common for me to be well over 11,000 steps. And after an evening of waiting tables, after I walked first thing in the morning, my step count will be well over 20,000 steps. And so I've lost weight. As of today, July 5, 2021, my weight has crept back down to 132. I can't tell you over what amount of time, but it's been only about a couple of months. I don't know where the weight loss will end. I still have jiggly parts I don't care for, so we'll see how far I can go. I eat. I'm healthy. So I'm not afraid of weight loss. But anyway . . .</p><p>The reason for writing this post was mostly to share photos from my morning walks. There are woods and wildflowers on both sides of the road I walk, and every day I notice something or meet someone new.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOcRhz8i_uofxWY-aFQQnbxm322Z7CBbKlHomVitE4AxflNHAwyszIClirpIx9XUvqUW_3CZwEWBQKOpdhqizJ45gYr3cw2-tkMUn4vxidhoaZF_Ha0Vd5F2KBI8XYewYbBjlNCbV3zk/s2048/20210705_122847247_iOS.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOcRhz8i_uofxWY-aFQQnbxm322Z7CBbKlHomVitE4AxflNHAwyszIClirpIx9XUvqUW_3CZwEWBQKOpdhqizJ45gYr3cw2-tkMUn4vxidhoaZF_Ha0Vd5F2KBI8XYewYbBjlNCbV3zk/s320/20210705_122847247_iOS.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_13N4U9RfwQZkGk4sylHaNfKVQhQex6C3hj55wSfZOJnB60VTf9DK0H3iKYGLWvNFbclfOjr5S2uQ_Z1pNuib31_tvC8koWEiLKp3PDMwHMbSDMMcJV1TXmjQXgv8agqMijECSCDcYc/s2048/20210705_123417540_iOS.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWa2TLZ-tTOwqe7T03dVgPsSTRlQgv5MenNw9fpP-OeHe-56IJC5N6qC9Ju2kJ0yn_Nt3p-j0oDPoCi_pjpFRQahchts7_VgLK6ZoINGhW-lFTN_n4YvFeeSHseODSJSlBUy6avVVvOmE/s2048/20210524_113050609_iOS.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWa2TLZ-tTOwqe7T03dVgPsSTRlQgv5MenNw9fpP-OeHe-56IJC5N6qC9Ju2kJ0yn_Nt3p-j0oDPoCi_pjpFRQahchts7_VgLK6ZoINGhW-lFTN_n4YvFeeSHseODSJSlBUy6avVVvOmE/s320/20210524_113050609_iOS.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXUtVPF2eRg2OqebS-ngYbavJ3_WSzzBBxhiWlrMtsPvD77q-sJp-arbV-sGPTfe7mcDj9hoZ0-eeEU1HsJbgj2h9Lc8yInatWQDtmMJMOBpeknV4q9_JOO9623SzKBhpGktE7cgiYBjc/s2048/20210707_104859091_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXUtVPF2eRg2OqebS-ngYbavJ3_WSzzBBxhiWlrMtsPvD77q-sJp-arbV-sGPTfe7mcDj9hoZ0-eeEU1HsJbgj2h9Lc8yInatWQDtmMJMOBpeknV4q9_JOO9623SzKBhpGktE7cgiYBjc/s320/20210707_104859091_iOS.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-43070561612785007672021-03-06T08:59:00.004-05:002021-03-06T09:06:41.130-05:00Reboot?<p>It's been a long, long time since I have posted anything to this blog. It's not because there's been nothing going on, but because there's been so much, or maybe too much going on. When I returned to my blog recently just to remind myself what was here, I found a draft post from a few years ago written in an attempt to reboot the thing back then. I don't even know what the post says. I don't even know if I'll read it to find out or if I'll just delete it. But here's the thing, the reason I've come back to possibly posting. Year's ago when Tom and I were still living in the city and before we had adopted Mickey, I was going through personal changes which I was trying to sort out and make sense of. Someone we knew suggested I get the book "The Artist's Way" and work through the book, doing the exercises, investigation, introspection, reflection, etc. that the book leads the reader through. It sounded somewhat appealing and doable, and I needed something.</p><p>I didn't get very far into the book because my life took off in crazy directions, but I did start it. The one thing I remember about the book was it's insistence on the reader writing morning pages. From what I remember, the "artist" was to sit at a table and hand write stream of conscious pages. I don't remember if there was a page requirement or a time requirement, but just hand write whatever came to mind. The book insists this be done first thing after getting out of bed because the student is still somewhat in the dream place and not yet protected by self-censure. I managed to write pages for about four or five days, and then I started my new job at Brown Harris Stevens real estate, and my life got immediately crazier, busier, more intense, more complicated. So much for "The Artist's Way." I never returned to writing those pages, but I never threw away the composition notebook in which I was writing. I stashed that notebook and one other into an old steamer trunk I had rescued from the streets of Hells Kitchen. I still have that trunk and a lot of the crap I have kept in it all these decades. Pains me to say that, but decades. </p><p>Last summer, I started going through that trunk and every nook and cranny in the house to ascertain what was going to be kept, trashed or hauled to the town dump for someone else to use. I unearthed my Artist's Way notebook and left it on my nightstand to read at some point. One Saturday, as I was tearing around trying to get as much accomplished as I could, I stopped myself next to my bed and said to myself, "Stop. Lay down. Read your notebook." What I found on those pages was astounding and moving. There were circumstances, thoughts, desires, emotions, theology, that I had forgotten about entirely. What I uncovered in this backward glance into my life was was something I didn't want to lose entirely. I'm 61 years old as I write these paragraphs and I am fully aware of the fact that I remember so little. If I live twenty or thirty more years - I hope to live to 100 - I want to be able to have some way of reminding myself of my past. </p><p>Do I get another notebook and start Morning Pages again? But then, when I do die, I don't want my son to have to deal with any more of my crap than he needs to. Do I write, uncensored, here? Things that get put on the internet seem to stay on the internet, but if I keep a list of logins and passwords for when I do die, then my son, or whomever, can log in and hit "Delete." And all my thoughts, just like my body, can be gone with the wind. And yet, I do believe there is something about holding a writing tool in your hand and putting pen or pencil to paper. There's something about that physical act that involves the brain, yes, but also the interior world, too, that typing on a keyboard doesn't, for some reason. I guess it doesn't really matter. It also doesn't matter if no one else reads what I write here ever. These "pages" are for me. I want to remember, yesterday and years past. I want to remember where I've been and what I've done. I forget. So, now what do I do?</p><p>There's a lot of stuff on this blog that I don't know what to do with. I don't have a problem with putting my self out into the world, but maybe it's not fair to my son to include his life here. He deserves his life and his privacy. Do I remove all past posts that aren't solely about me? But I certainly don't want to forget about my son and his life, which I already have. Just last week, I heard from a woman who had babysat for Mickey when he was very young and she said "remember when Mickey and I were making mac and cheese on the stove and we forgot and went to the frog pond and nearly burned the house down? Ah! Good times!" No, I don't remember that, but I want to. So who knows. Maybe I find a "privacy" button somewhere so that no one can access these writings but me, and the person who follows my logins after I die. Bleah. I don't rightly know. Now. Except that I'm going to write. Here. And I'm just going to see what happens. </p>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-7077722021520186232014-09-24T12:14:00.002-04:002020-07-09T22:36:03.250-04:00The Wizard of Oz ...... click on the post to open the video<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Click to open video . . .<br /></div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-90081041028658059182014-02-06T07:55:00.001-05:002014-02-06T07:55:48.517-05:00Laundry Room<br />
I've begun to plot out what I want to get accomplished in the house during the coming months of warm weather. There are so many things, but the primary accomplishment must be the installation of a laundry room. Since we moved in August of 2008, we have been either driving in to Great Barrington to do our laundry there, or we have gone up the street to a friend whose house serves as a weekend home. He offered us the use of his laundry since he was not there most of the time. Much more convenient than driving into town, but there is the driving up and down the street when what I'm really wanting to do is sit at home do nothing or concentrate at some other important task at hand. So, a laundry room it is.<br />
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The room that we are going to make the laundry room was originally the bathroom. I can't say that it was the bathroom when the house was built because I'm not sure as I sit here and write this that this part of the upstairs existed when the house was first built. There was at least one addition some years after the house was first completed. And if there wasn't a bath in this part of the house when the house was first built, I don't know where the bath would have been downstairs. In 1897 this house most likely had an outhouse, so the bath may have been a tub in the kitchen. Not sure.<br />
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Anyway, I do know that the room in question was an old bathroom. Sometime in the 50s (?), the proverbial "they" took what had been a bedroom, and probably that of the maid, and converted it into a bathroom, and that's a whole other post.<br />
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I started working on this room last year before I decided to change my focus to whipping the bedrooms back into a living condition. In the photo below, you see one of the two doors which gives entrance to this room. The other door is right behind me as I take the picture. The door you're looking at would have given the family access to the bathroom, while the door behind me would have given the maid access. Notice that the top panel of the door is one solid panel. It had originally been a large pane of translucent glass, I suspect. When I strip and refinish the door, I'm going to have a translucent piece of glass reinstalled. </div>
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The wallpaper was a bear to remove. You can see that it was shiny. The surface was hard and was not very permeable by water or wallpaper remover. So tiny bit by tiny bit I went. Took me a good while to do it because it was so difficult and tedious.</div>
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Below is the second door. Both will be beautiful when stripped and refinished. They will look like Mickey's bedroom door, with the same kind of beautiful brass hardware and black porcelain doorknobs.<br />
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The wainscoting goes all the way around the room and originally had been stained and varnished. At some point the painted over it, and now the paint has all cracked and separated since the slick varnish service wasn't happy with being painted. So when the weather warms and I can open the windows, I will strip off the old paint with the intent of then sanding the wainscoting and repainting it. Because of all the groves, I doubt that I'll get the wainscoting clean enough to be happy with leaving it unpainted. I'm fairly certain I will end up repainting it after I give it a good sanding.</div>
The light that is hanging in the photo below has been removed. The light box is now in the center of the room with a temporary fixture. I think that I'm going to refurbish the old hanging light and use it in the bathroom that I want to install in the old butler's pantry which is located just below this room. <br />
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When I got the paper off, the picture below shows what was beneath. While in Mickey's bedroom, the plaster was completely bare, these walls have had some sort of treatment over them. I don't know if it was a form of Venetian plaster where tint is added to the plaster and then skim coated over the base plaster wall, or if the covering is some sort of paint. It is very thick and hard, but not in any kind of salvageable condition. The walls are horribly cracked and the treatment, whatever it is, is chipping off. </div>
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The photo below shows the ceiling to be in the same peeling condition as Mickey's bedroom. I don't know what to do really. For the time being I may just scrap the walls and scrap the ceiling and be done with it and consider plaster repair in all the upstairs room one summer project. I don't mind the walls being in crazy shape as long as the rooms are safe and liveable. </div>
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The floor had originally been a beautiful pine floor. At some point they covered it with a linoleum, and my guess is that this stuff was one of the very first versions of linoleum. I've pulled it all up and am now faced with the old adhesive and a couple of tin patched holes. I'm confident that I can clean all the adhesive off and return the wood floors to the former glory, however, but I'm not sure what I'll do with the two holes that appear to have been cut into the floor for access to the plumbing for the sink and the toilet. I pulled up the tin sheeting to find the cavity stuffed with old newspapers. The newspapers were yellow and brittle, but I was able to unfold them enough to discover Eisenhower was campaigning for the presidency. The linoleum is older than Eisenhower presidential campaign based on it's fabrication, but the change from a bathroom to tiny bedroom and the patch job certainly can be dated to his campaign. On top of the tin sheeting were linoleum patches, which you can barely see in the top left of the photo. </div>
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This spring I will kick into high gear and start my work on this room. At the same time, I think that I will demo the butler's pantry underneath the room which will aid in running plumbing to the new laundry room, as well as aid in the removal of the old pipes and traps and the patching of the floor. In the photo below you can see on the right what is a chase for the old waste pipe. I've opened that up and I believe the plumber can cut that waste pipe out and use the chase for the new waste lines and water lines. The washer and dryer will sit right here in this corner.</div>
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There is one window which sits low to the floor. You'll notice in the top photo of the post that there is an angle from the wall to the ceiling. On the outside of the house, the eaves sit below that angle, causing the window to be placed low in the room. I haven't decided whether to replace windows or reglaze them and have new storms and screens built. For starters, I'll certainly reglaze this window. From here I can look out into the north yard to the church and watch the deer as they saunter back and forth from their home up on the hill down to the river and back. </div>
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This winter, for the first winter in a couple of years, we are once again sleeping upstairs in our bedrooms, and I'm loving it. Tom and I loaded up on extra jobs last summer with the sole purpose of insulating the attic floor so that when we turned on the heat for the second floor we wouldn't be heating the great outdoors. Somewhere, I have before and after photos of the attic, but who knows where they are. We're still probably heating the great out doors but not nearly as much. All the old, original windows still need to be reglazed and cracks and crevices in the facade need to be caulked. One day the walls will also need to be insulated as many of the rooms do not have the benefit of ambient heat from the adjoining rooms since most of the rooms have three exposures. But I digress. </div>
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I never do one thing at a time. I always have multiple projects in the air at the same time. So while socking away money for the attic insulation, I was busy stripping all the wallpaper off the bedrooms with the intent of cleaning up all the woodwork and floors so that we could feel like we were moving back into renovated rooms. I got all the bedroom wallpaper off, but still have a strip of wallpaper along the hallway ceiling yet to do. It will wait. After the wallpaper was off, I decided to leave the bare plaster walls as is for the time being. Frequently I see layouts in home magazines showing rooms with bare plaster walls and fancy furniture. If those fancy magazines can say bare plaster walls are beautiful, then I can say so, too.<br />
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As the summer was whizzing by, it was clear that I was not going to get as much done as I had hoped, so I concentrated on Mickey's room first. After the wallpaper was gone, I set about sanding down the painted window moldings and baseboards. I wasn't concerned with sanding down to the wood, only creating a smoother surface over which to paint. I did, however, want to strip the paint completely off the door and return it to its original beauty, including the beautiful brass hardware.</div>
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The ceiling paint presented a real problem because it was peeling badly. After a lot of scouring around on the internet looking at solutions, I decided the best I could do would be to manually scrap off as much paint as I could. I armed myself with some heavy duty sharp scrapers and took multiple passes at it, each going a different direction, and then I attacked it with my palm sander. In my scouring, I found a product that I could paint the ceiling with that would bind whatever paint was left to the plaster so that there would be no more peeling. After that was completed, I gave it three coats of ceiling paint. It's not smooth, but it works, and it is an old farmhouse and no one really notices. Someday I'll have the ceiling skim coated, but that's years away.</div>
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I bought a couple cans of Rust-o-leum off-white primer and painted the radiator so that I could get in between each of the ribs (?) with a light color. I then painted what I could reach with the paint I was using to paint all the baseboards and window trim.<br />
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I asked Mickey what colors he would like to have in his room. Blue and green. Instantly I set out to find a blue and green plaid duvet and matching pillow shams. While I was at it, I wanted to find him some flannel sheets, and I decided to buy each of our beds a down comforter. As it turned out, I opted for the down alternative comforters and Macy's had Martha Stewart's down alternatives on sale, and because I was lucky enough to purchase them online on Veteran's Day, I got an extra 15% off! Yeah, me! I'm not done done with his room - I want to replace his windows, find him either a good desk or a comfy arm chair, and I still want to skim coat and paint over the old plaster walls, but all in all, I'm very proud of how his room turned out. </div>
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Below is a picture of Mickey's room taken when we looked at the house the first time. Comparing it to the photo above, you can see the difference without the wallpaper, our off-white wood work and the tung oiled floor. </div>
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The door knob and face plate above is on the door to the closet. This face plate is heavy brass, better quality than what is on his bedroom door. Because there is some tell-tale signs of walls being moved when various additions were made the house, I think that his closet hardware was originally on his bedroom door as the bedroom door hardware is clearly not original, though it is still Victorian. </div>
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Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-8781690052263860912014-01-20T10:22:00.001-05:002014-01-20T10:22:33.342-05:00Up-ended SleepingSo. When we were still sleeping downstairs in the parlors, Mickey would often migrate from his bed to ours after we had put him to sleep. And then we would disrupt his peaceful sleep to move him from our bed back to his bed so that we could go to bed. Apparently I took this photo in July of 2012, and I know I've never posted it. Today while browsing through photos to see how far behind I was with regard to posting to my blog, I came across it and simply had to share. We were both startled and amused to walk into the bedroom to find him sleeping in this position.<br />
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<br />Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-26991069341104053602014-01-08T09:28:00.003-05:002014-01-08T09:30:04.944-05:00Ninth Birthday, a year and half late . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ok. I'm embarrassed. Here it is, a year and a half after Mickey's 9th birthday and I'm just now posting about it. I've been busy. Really busy. And today, I don't have to be in to work until 11:00, so as I sat in front of the computer with my coffee, I thought I'd take a look at my old blog to see where things were. I was taken back that I started this post a year and half ago but never finished it. So today, I'm finishing it. Given my poor memory, there won't be much story. I'm basically posting the photos so they won't be lost to all time once our computer crashes and we lose everything, which happens every year and half or so.</div>
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Having a birthday in the summer can be difficult. So many people are away on vacation. We used to invite the world for Mickey's birthday celebrations and turn them into grand summer barbecues. This used to be draining for the Tom and me, and the time came when it was clear it was draining for Mickey, too. So each year he pares down his list to the kids he'd like to have around and then we see who is around. For his ninth birthday, Mickey celebrated with Cooper (red cap), Roman (on the left) and Antonius (on the right).</div>
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I take charge of the food and cake and Tom takes charge of the kids and festivities. Tom comes up with all kinds of crazy things for the kids to do. I don't remember how this went, but first there was some sort of sock race.</div>
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And then there was some other race of some sort, and though it isn't depicted here, I think this race had to do with the socks, too. Or maybe it was all the same race. See. It's my memory. (Tom will probably see this post and then tell me these photos had nothing to do with a race or Mickey's birthday and these kids aren't really anyone we know.)</div>
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Once Tom got all the kids worn out with games, we settled down to eat. Though no pictures of the meal survived, I believed this year we decided to have a taco bar and let the kids fill their own. They also probably watched a movie while they ate, but that movie escapes my memory, too. </div>
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And for every birthday, this one included, Mickey has always had a special birthday cake made by yours truly. For his first birthday (his 3rd birthday), I made him a circus themed cake. Every year after, I let Mickey choose what kind of theme he would have. The subsequent themes were the monkey cake, the shark cake, the tiger cake (of which no photos were taken, dang it), then the alligator cake, and then last year he had Tipper cupcakes. This year he wanted a Spiderman cake. I always search the internet for ideas to steal, and after the multi-caked alligator cake, and the black icing and candy parts of the Tipper cupcakes, I was very glad to find this simple solution for a Spiderman cake.</div>
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And then after too much excitement, as usual, and a good bath, the sugar coma started to settle in and we could all relax. </div>
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Last year (or was it the year before?), our good friend and neighbor, Elise (my bff), took Mickey to have lobster at Greek restaurant in town. He looooooved the lobster - I actually think it was the pool of butter that he loved more - so I thought maybe we could have a new tradition of a family only lobster dinner for Mick's summer birthday. If you watch the lobster tank at Price Chopper, you can get lucky and find lobsters at a good price. I bought three and left them in their bag on the back seat of the car and told Mickey his birthday present was out in the car and he could go get it himself. I was sure he'd start screaming and be too freaked out to pick them up . . .</div>
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but he wasn't, but he was also going to not let them get to close to him, safe in a bag or not. </div>
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Nothing like a simple summer meal of steamed lobster and corn on the cob.</div>
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Happy Birthday, Mick! </div>
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<br />Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-46518215043127510002013-02-27T15:14:00.000-05:002013-02-27T15:14:04.023-05:00Some of Summer 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here I am doing the same thing this year as last - hurrying up to post last summer's pictures before this summer is upon us. As I write, we're still in February and fairly fully blanketed in snow. But given that time flies, if I don't post these now, summer will be here and then .. well .. you get the point.<br />
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There's no spectacular story to relate in sharing these photos, but if I don't save them to my blog, I risk losing them entirely when our home, un-backed-up computer crashes. We tend to let that happen, so the photos are safer living in the cloud.<br />
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The first few photos are of Tom and Mickey playing games and sharing nibblies at Tanglewood. We were there to hear Bernadette Peters. It was a great concert, but far too short. I could listen to her for hours and hours.<br />
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Not far from our house, maybe a five minute drive, is York Lake.Oddly enough, we don't go there as often as we should or could, but it is always so relaxing when we do. The time out Mick and I decided to take a hike all the way around the lake in the woods. Mistake. It's a wonder we came back alive; the bugs were thick and threatening. Half way around we considered turning back, but since we were half way around, we decided to trot forward, all the while flailing our arms about us like a couple of leaping lunatics.<br />
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<br />Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-79199338364071488502012-07-15T14:04:00.001-04:002012-07-15T14:04:17.045-04:00First Garden Pics of 2012I took these photos on July 3rd and it's kind of ridiculous to post them because the garden looks so different now. So, my next garden post will be the "During" of a "Before, During, and After" series. I don't have much to say about my garden except that it's fun as heck to do and I'm very happy with it's success.<br />
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Tipper seeing something in the garden he'd like to chase. </div>
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<br />Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-44003609968592937302012-07-14T17:26:00.001-04:002012-07-14T17:26:51.925-04:00Camp Wa Wa Segowea 2012Last year, we sent Mick to Camp Wa Wa Segowea (pronounced Seh-goy-ya), a YMCA camp not five minutes from the house, deep in the woods with its own beautiful lake. Mick LOVED it, which was surprising since he was outside all day long and there's bugs. But he did, he loved it. He found out he could sleep over there, but after the fact, so we promised that we would let him go to sleep away camp there this year. It was a bit unnerving, but we knew he wouldn't be homesick and if he got scared, we were not five minutes away. We got him all packed and took him down on a Sunday, took a little tour around and as we were getting ready to leave him to get settled in and figure things out, we realized we had left his pillow at home. So after Tom and I got home, I got his pillow and headed right back. That night as Tom and I were heading to bed we realized we hadn't packed his toothbrush. Thank God the camp really isn't 5 minutes away. The pics below were swiped from Camp Wa Wa's Facebook page. I hope they don't mind.<br />
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<br />Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-85153212220609854062012-03-02T22:13:00.000-05:002012-03-02T22:13:06.333-05:00Last Summer's Bounty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgThbNUqi9NV5nZ2xiLGwZmBZtf-u0_2oWF5NTKbH60JnseLhKsV7gBSsrfbxuARYiFD-OEuBVBt9FcI7UP9cGxL7bOB9uypWKATrO1BczSRJ52iPydf05LvFaKFr9ms3jghzZaxxlr4-4/s1600/IMG_7730.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgThbNUqi9NV5nZ2xiLGwZmBZtf-u0_2oWF5NTKbH60JnseLhKsV7gBSsrfbxuARYiFD-OEuBVBt9FcI7UP9cGxL7bOB9uypWKATrO1BczSRJ52iPydf05LvFaKFr9ms3jghzZaxxlr4-4/s320/IMG_7730.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">So, last summer I had a garden. It was my first ever, and while I had read books and consulted some trusted sources - my mother and step-father - I really had no idea what I was doing. Reading and understanding are vastly different than knowing and doing, so everyone and their brother or sister or mother felt compelled to tell me the how of gardening. Not surprisingly, that grew tiresome and I fear I may have subsequently alienated more than a person or two. Nonetheless, I hammered together my raised beds and filled them with soil. My co-gardner for the summer, Michael Richman, also helped to fill the beds and we were soon planting our plants, and I had the gall to actually poke seeds into the soil, believing that they'd actually amount to something. The soil we obtained, and I say obtained and not purchased as the losers who delivered the soil and rutted up my yard in the process, never billed for the soil. And since we didn't pay for the soil, we didn't raise a fuss about the rutted up yard. So, not surprisingly, my garden got off to a very slow start. If you study the first photo below you'll see lots of stones. Lots of little stones, and not a lot of compost. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKiz0j6U1ibDGiJg7zRhMqIGT3XBp0FW5rz6WquVI8uFAWHhvUk3fcIpUftGjvJba2fXb9QnMLBMRi5KshGAr8bE7FhhU1gYNJomp87Y6WDdRPk7B2DJAgUFC__601FaXGC_qFUBYb_Q/s1600/terrible+soil.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKiz0j6U1ibDGiJg7zRhMqIGT3XBp0FW5rz6WquVI8uFAWHhvUk3fcIpUftGjvJba2fXb9QnMLBMRi5KshGAr8bE7FhhU1gYNJomp87Y6WDdRPk7B2DJAgUFC__601FaXGC_qFUBYb_Q/s320/terrible+soil.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">It's amazing the little seed above could amount to anything, and for a while, I wasn't sure that it or any of it's seed friends would amount to anything. My lettuces, which are supposed to be fast growing took a very long time to grow, each time I planted them. I had a patch of mesclun (but no photos) that grew all summer. That was fun, and Mickey LOVES salad. I also grew a kind of romaine and a leaf lettuce called Red Salad Bowl.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkrHXddudxjuPYTsyaINmMpcvOZCwA3OrjSxxNGrMe8MNup3s-MU8D5WVF_6tG7UKpl8FP1-Jd28QkhvtKfL1oNEQ8sZ8G-FRSDdLv6HyvuO_SaBtaVLxY5oJAx_5fkUl8h2L0P10DTQ/s1600/IMG_7737.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkrHXddudxjuPYTsyaINmMpcvOZCwA3OrjSxxNGrMe8MNup3s-MU8D5WVF_6tG7UKpl8FP1-Jd28QkhvtKfL1oNEQ8sZ8G-FRSDdLv6HyvuO_SaBtaVLxY5oJAx_5fkUl8h2L0P10DTQ/s320/IMG_7737.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I loved visiting the Red Salad Bowl first thing in the morning as the dew looked like frost upon its edges. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCywbQXn_koH9Z5jGRVOp52BU_sZLg0UiqGz1oH7deuhfmPfIwNZHxuLBBMWpQkE4_4muLdLnw2hLs9qnjPwKFVZ9DH8tuJW8_nG7yxT0x6IDday73jK9_4K_09EvJ1dImMNg0jYqs-4/s1600/red+bowl.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCywbQXn_koH9Z5jGRVOp52BU_sZLg0UiqGz1oH7deuhfmPfIwNZHxuLBBMWpQkE4_4muLdLnw2hLs9qnjPwKFVZ9DH8tuJW8_nG7yxT0x6IDday73jK9_4K_09EvJ1dImMNg0jYqs-4/s320/red+bowl.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Behind the lettuces below you can see some of my collards. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHqVUE-1eXTU6hQVFYx3MkDirrfpTgOowFdE2H3-tJeDKL5RQ0AOfI5lQKeJtTV4u2lWfLTlcYWRt82XeVGLEI7P1fstTr2MbPJ7tCjkI81Rs-T-yK4JbVvINE_M81BKC1WgK4Za1feE/s1600/red+and+romaine+and+collards.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHqVUE-1eXTU6hQVFYx3MkDirrfpTgOowFdE2H3-tJeDKL5RQ0AOfI5lQKeJtTV4u2lWfLTlcYWRt82XeVGLEI7P1fstTr2MbPJ7tCjkI81Rs-T-yK4JbVvINE_M81BKC1WgK4Za1feE/s320/red+and+romaine+and+collards.jpg" width="240" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">My collards did very well, and I learned a lesson. I don't need to plant eight collard plants as you can harvest leaves and harvest leaves for weeks and weeks, so just a few plants will do. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllMwRY97gcMfBCxqswp1h67k_Ymu40HkPtdKQIVqkG7LIjV49yEZWA9pZxO9Vk-sBL3aOWtOgbOzHcz-ukAyLVHVQPt-EYv9YhQWHXHqPG4O8E84a-709lO-rg8-bx0vdTcARtVwV1wA/s1600/collards.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllMwRY97gcMfBCxqswp1h67k_Ymu40HkPtdKQIVqkG7LIjV49yEZWA9pZxO9Vk-sBL3aOWtOgbOzHcz-ukAyLVHVQPt-EYv9YhQWHXHqPG4O8E84a-709lO-rg8-bx0vdTcARtVwV1wA/s320/collards.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Collards are such a southern green, so I figured since they we're growing well in garden, so should okra. But not so. At least not the okra I planted. I got a few pods off my plants, but not enough to amount to much. But they are fun to watch grow. They're kind of Munchkinlandish, too. Recently, I saw in a seed catalog that there is a variety suited to the Northeast, so I may try those this year. I loves me some fried okra. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFheRg8JcQVJFTI9wRJTQEqr75xzz7xnGZPY0Jmt6bImbaCNG-t0t73gZhEUOaIYPXwZi7GMieL9aM4r-a0wTMNh_DY7WZi-8Dd69uNsX0B0R5mEYQGv6Fm4uPSH6pSMzHDQK-JIIzg7s/s1600/IMG_7734.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFheRg8JcQVJFTI9wRJTQEqr75xzz7xnGZPY0Jmt6bImbaCNG-t0t73gZhEUOaIYPXwZi7GMieL9aM4r-a0wTMNh_DY7WZi-8Dd69uNsX0B0R5mEYQGv6Fm4uPSH6pSMzHDQK-JIIzg7s/s320/IMG_7734.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvvh0FTUI0pWWvVhktTNWbQNy7TnpwgM80DAmhoRPoxojcMa4pQ1_iHnxzAZHglWkzdJGYc4CccZVqJBzdeFUgwn3wUTJ2a0ssRFV0yxqO_aUssaqrU-E39HWQBVgG78TEDmwUMN8Dyc/s1600/IMG_7733.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvvh0FTUI0pWWvVhktTNWbQNy7TnpwgM80DAmhoRPoxojcMa4pQ1_iHnxzAZHglWkzdJGYc4CccZVqJBzdeFUgwn3wUTJ2a0ssRFV0yxqO_aUssaqrU-E39HWQBVgG78TEDmwUMN8Dyc/s320/IMG_7733.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I planted my spinach a few times and it never did do a thing. About beets, I read that I should pick them when they are small, and that if I let them get to big their flavor wouldn't be as good. Well, I left my beets in the ground all summer and they never got any larger than a golf ball. Tom and I still enjoyed them. Mickey thought they tasted like dirt. Below you can see my beans, yellow squash, collards, romaine, leaf lettuce and mesclun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyghVNCeq9RoBBgzbFEToatrpgG6L9DaIVrB72tJUqCa3AqaBgVgvdTq0TRHvv60PmIR7_u0932vrTSwGAOOqz0tvO2Ih4QxelBUJsFjpWcJ1cxBAUQGtPuai3BYCdh9o7UEf9o0Gtlk/s1600/early+on.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyghVNCeq9RoBBgzbFEToatrpgG6L9DaIVrB72tJUqCa3AqaBgVgvdTq0TRHvv60PmIR7_u0932vrTSwGAOOqz0tvO2Ih4QxelBUJsFjpWcJ1cxBAUQGtPuai3BYCdh9o7UEf9o0Gtlk/s320/early+on.jpg" width="240" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here you can see more beans, beets, collards, arugula, and my carrots in their pathetic stage. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLekKMf2UcuVQZolYIkvQF-ohhzwHRWTQqYM4gZFyJvLzOoT1CpB-5sc4frvMESwjzn9fB_RRWSVOXSY1HJWinLCZ0_e8n41bspH5L04BG3hQ6Xl_0efnjUjMY3vbupZB_TLWWEWGiOx8/s1600/early+on+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLekKMf2UcuVQZolYIkvQF-ohhzwHRWTQqYM4gZFyJvLzOoT1CpB-5sc4frvMESwjzn9fB_RRWSVOXSY1HJWinLCZ0_e8n41bspH5L04BG3hQ6Xl_0efnjUjMY3vbupZB_TLWWEWGiOx8/s320/early+on+2.jpg" width="240" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My mother told me that Grandpa always planted Kentucky Wonder beans, so I decided to do the same. Below you can see them early on, slowly winding their way up the string trellis I constructed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZfqLDSFOLOp2D6dKAnUBAOh4lVVueM7eh7oH5N3T0e7baxjwD6UXrLMcos2iX6QgwqfqEnlgHRWtoXRAc-07Wr6u9dh1cv2cWSmgoKQhK53woAozTv68260HPpYXBtNQBgpzMr0aekc/s1600/beans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZfqLDSFOLOp2D6dKAnUBAOh4lVVueM7eh7oH5N3T0e7baxjwD6UXrLMcos2iX6QgwqfqEnlgHRWtoXRAc-07Wr6u9dh1cv2cWSmgoKQhK53woAozTv68260HPpYXBtNQBgpzMr0aekc/s320/beans.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And once they got to going, nothing could stop them but a good heavy frost.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnR88rzUK38198AEG2LPIMwD3ZuMg9yH4fo6gQhQPQbmoH-MQbKTHqInFuPQcQzXW0VEdpTrLdcYWK5sOIRb5THba6nGBmqKr_hWLowkupf-ehggJ0YskPX54AeesMCg1TcNEQShH0GTc/s1600/IMG_7732.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnR88rzUK38198AEG2LPIMwD3ZuMg9yH4fo6gQhQPQbmoH-MQbKTHqInFuPQcQzXW0VEdpTrLdcYWK5sOIRb5THba6nGBmqKr_hWLowkupf-ehggJ0YskPX54AeesMCg1TcNEQShH0GTc/s320/IMG_7732.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">My carrots were very slowing growing. Some of my advisers were confident they should have matured much sooner than they did, but the seed packet said that they would mature in 90 days, which they did. I want to say that it felt like it took them forever to mature, but 90 days is kind of forever. They looked pathetic for so long, I had my doubts, but one day I had a carrot top forest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbinElOewn962z7-39cDlQRKjLno7eS0CrNHqEaLW9vpeSvVA8SvPctMmTKXCprFClUzidYv9OeA0ct84fgeOztBJMJ9tv63fYkJpX9Ij4PrMGpYgUGBtaf6bGCULFE3JnGo4snXqMhWU/s1600/carrots.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbinElOewn962z7-39cDlQRKjLno7eS0CrNHqEaLW9vpeSvVA8SvPctMmTKXCprFClUzidYv9OeA0ct84fgeOztBJMJ9tv63fYkJpX9Ij4PrMGpYgUGBtaf6bGCULFE3JnGo4snXqMhWU/s320/carrots.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">And then one day I had the nerve to pull one up, and what did I have? Mutant carrots. I had never seen a carrot so short and fat in all my life. Then I went back to my seed packet to read the description. What I grew was exactly what I was supposed to grow, Danvers Half Longs. They were the sweetest carrots I've ever eaten. They'll be in my garden again next year. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_8o0rdF91_CDzWrNlYPBE97lRnSbetWtYgUjQ8102r690DZEC9rqN3iA8kkDgjVSB_wlkJ8AFn1zKIYIQ21UxDvPegYeU13AkCHkS_WfIKo1aDJamavEjETyqBIM7P5Y4KPT4H1surA/s1600/danvers+half+log.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_8o0rdF91_CDzWrNlYPBE97lRnSbetWtYgUjQ8102r690DZEC9rqN3iA8kkDgjVSB_wlkJ8AFn1zKIYIQ21UxDvPegYeU13AkCHkS_WfIKo1aDJamavEjETyqBIM7P5Y4KPT4H1surA/s320/danvers+half+log.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">A mother of one of Mickey's school mates gave me a couple extra cucumber plants. I hadn't really planned a space for them, so I stuck them in with my tomatoes. I'm not sure they liked that too much, but they did produce enough for me to can two quarts of bread and butter pickles. I found a recipe online reminiscent of some bread and butter pickles a lady here in town gave me and man are they good. I loved going to where the cucumbers were growing and foraging around amongst all the tomato and cucumber leaves to discover the little cucumbers. It felt fairytale like.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Speaking of fairytale like, summer squash and zucchini are very fairytale like. The leaves and blossoms are so big, they're right out of Munchkinland.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KvQP7-yXtZiH-lVixyssXpL9Dtqiemeg99e3dBbl0k9RfvNEfFiO4pt6u-KFlKE0HQXpBk6gO5FdgCXoIbW0F4FS9ARifuL7xl4wZXnzIJQTmGYRX8vtJnRAIQU9P86zyaqfEpHdAAA/s1600/squash+blossom+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KvQP7-yXtZiH-lVixyssXpL9Dtqiemeg99e3dBbl0k9RfvNEfFiO4pt6u-KFlKE0HQXpBk6gO5FdgCXoIbW0F4FS9ARifuL7xl4wZXnzIJQTmGYRX8vtJnRAIQU9P86zyaqfEpHdAAA/s320/squash+blossom+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1-Gnvea7YtHaqxbCgXDH8Ge_CC29mliIfnjqsav3JtzaR_7bZ7pVI9nfbDM_T8WwM9AowXGYAHQyO3hdXEOz0W2MBVZK2q-8Jfvr-FZzreF1IjQg69WgWCCPRjLJYFbRli3Rb4pVLrw/s1600/squash+blossom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1-Gnvea7YtHaqxbCgXDH8Ge_CC29mliIfnjqsav3JtzaR_7bZ7pVI9nfbDM_T8WwM9AowXGYAHQyO3hdXEOz0W2MBVZK2q-8Jfvr-FZzreF1IjQg69WgWCCPRjLJYFbRli3Rb4pVLrw/s320/squash+blossom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENyxRWwVJjmaN7-mkAKr_FL4DGfBHvQMQEF7yjvqIZJ3lynO194hDGcxeMt8UASzYIr6VwxuHeP-r-lEMbv2JQfnQ5nAROKvehH_ayAZdZ_TI5v80yrsvqX27A0J1Fvi2d1VO1XujK5Y/s1600/IMG_7731a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENyxRWwVJjmaN7-mkAKr_FL4DGfBHvQMQEF7yjvqIZJ3lynO194hDGcxeMt8UASzYIr6VwxuHeP-r-lEMbv2JQfnQ5nAROKvehH_ayAZdZ_TI5v80yrsvqX27A0J1Fvi2d1VO1XujK5Y/s320/IMG_7731a.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I used to love to peer under all the giant leaves to look at the blossoms and watch the squash grow right before my very eyes. But then I began to notice there was trouble in Denmark and soon, looking under the leaves didn't look so magical anymore. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfOJZhASFUVii3Y-066-ZxNUd3_IiJsNrUF3ICEvyVPB22SrK87y6W_xPEXaV-E84ZaXCGPaGruoFiVEbCKJfpmHtd8WDGFjsWNHvAYyRSMPkrpkZRbOa3kEUl0-wjMgmRKdLeCaWay4/s1600/powdery+mildew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQ-FIbf2LNLtVLAw1GCAd60mKIrkaJWI-d_WOH9TO2Yhw9dVsJi-RsfdtzHFV_iySg7PdRed0K1meRXkrlusGYHwwVA70h8hLKMq_puT-AqUTs2cB8K44_SUdgZGKsQ7umdmUrJ7the4/s1600/ailing+squash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQ-FIbf2LNLtVLAw1GCAd60mKIrkaJWI-d_WOH9TO2Yhw9dVsJi-RsfdtzHFV_iySg7PdRed0K1meRXkrlusGYHwwVA70h8hLKMq_puT-AqUTs2cB8K44_SUdgZGKsQ7umdmUrJ7the4/s320/ailing+squash.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">All the giant leaves had been attacked by powdery mildew. I tried various things, but it was too late. I babied them along for a few weeks until I decided it was all for naught and then I went at them like Lizzie Borden. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfOJZhASFUVii3Y-066-ZxNUd3_IiJsNrUF3ICEvyVPB22SrK87y6W_xPEXaV-E84ZaXCGPaGruoFiVEbCKJfpmHtd8WDGFjsWNHvAYyRSMPkrpkZRbOa3kEUl0-wjMgmRKdLeCaWay4/s1600/powdery+mildew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfOJZhASFUVii3Y-066-ZxNUd3_IiJsNrUF3ICEvyVPB22SrK87y6W_xPEXaV-E84ZaXCGPaGruoFiVEbCKJfpmHtd8WDGFjsWNHvAYyRSMPkrpkZRbOa3kEUl0-wjMgmRKdLeCaWay4/s320/powdery+mildew.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KgHT-vCw4cJyutQYo8JYKoX04rsKeLwVn3h4IS88spzfaY8m2jDQa6s3kXS90OmTmKnoY3Bn4t2ot54FQH1hVhDfXSy_3EV-JFE3yNhFGAXA3Qzte9yt5XdFrQO1FoBBHudtMK6rNKU/s1600/ailing+squash+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KgHT-vCw4cJyutQYo8JYKoX04rsKeLwVn3h4IS88spzfaY8m2jDQa6s3kXS90OmTmKnoY3Bn4t2ot54FQH1hVhDfXSy_3EV-JFE3yNhFGAXA3Qzte9yt5XdFrQO1FoBBHudtMK6rNKU/s320/ailing+squash+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I planted a bunch of broccoli, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts. I did manage to get quite a bit of broccoli, but my cauliflower failed me. They were looking so pretty and growing so well, but after we got back from our road trip to Kansas City, I discovered they had all gone straight to hell. I ended up pulling every one of them out of the ground and heaved them into the compost pile. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFx0oDSnxViuw2xg7iIwfrjXJseTHVLQWFPKD8n4Y6S-U4zDXOsbJ2BSfzmhXVPbnrDSdutC5zsFFsJgGjDLT-GRrtVnvJgMbDYdD253r8o0r5bQOCKH0L2aP0YWvtmiwuOHEsTdTBcLA/s1600/broc+and+caul.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFx0oDSnxViuw2xg7iIwfrjXJseTHVLQWFPKD8n4Y6S-U4zDXOsbJ2BSfzmhXVPbnrDSdutC5zsFFsJgGjDLT-GRrtVnvJgMbDYdD253r8o0r5bQOCKH0L2aP0YWvtmiwuOHEsTdTBcLA/s320/broc+and+caul.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">One of my main goals was to plant a ton of San Marzano tomatoes so that I could can my own tomato sauce. I planted 24 plants, which to me seems like a lot, but my folks back in Kansas plant 100 plants. I read that there are two kinds of tomato plants, determinate, which do not grow very tall, and indeterminate, which need a very tall trellis on which to grow because they grow and grow. San Marzanos are indeterminate, so I built a trellis eight feet tall. I guess it was my soil, but my silly plants never got as tall as me. But. MAN did they produce! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PnY6TJsnRqFKmBEGvdewtP1OQycVwmNpymMv7jBJN9f5_DtXe3rmIDBdw3UmwLSou3mifG0K4xrUevUK3BLMZHXkMIog7B4JploX_VeFZyq5P8KmM1BbP93bLfG7bxLnO7A3LT31lts/s1600/tomatoes+&+basil.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PnY6TJsnRqFKmBEGvdewtP1OQycVwmNpymMv7jBJN9f5_DtXe3rmIDBdw3UmwLSou3mifG0K4xrUevUK3BLMZHXkMIog7B4JploX_VeFZyq5P8KmM1BbP93bLfG7bxLnO7A3LT31lts/s320/tomatoes+&+basil.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I probably could have canned more than I did, I just didn't have all my cans and canner and process lined up. I ended up throwing out a bunch of tomatoes along the way as they would go bad before I could get them canned. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsLSAoHy87X-osZ4xFvKKU7L1cJiHzAWgCoZMIfN4T-dP9EvRTdoLwoSCs9Wj9skMGZsLsbCe7cbM5bBhXYSBVYuidIuSH7hxSJI5cvrEb58MVIakmtG2uN6vq59aQIgdsGaRSsiFChg/s1600/blanched+tomatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsLSAoHy87X-osZ4xFvKKU7L1cJiHzAWgCoZMIfN4T-dP9EvRTdoLwoSCs9Wj9skMGZsLsbCe7cbM5bBhXYSBVYuidIuSH7hxSJI5cvrEb58MVIakmtG2uN6vq59aQIgdsGaRSsiFChg/s320/blanched+tomatoes.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizM803PhmPkBvgTKC-NkKZIXUSkFDejS0mYpG_5nITZoDTzSVkv5S_ASXNyjLzbG_1XEk-5QsGN7BMif9cobmTrM7VDC3Gxs9TR_lLAijwPH3m2IIY2ipqic-31F6gjzDcWxs5tBMzHi8/s1600/peeled+tomatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizM803PhmPkBvgTKC-NkKZIXUSkFDejS0mYpG_5nITZoDTzSVkv5S_ASXNyjLzbG_1XEk-5QsGN7BMif9cobmTrM7VDC3Gxs9TR_lLAijwPH3m2IIY2ipqic-31F6gjzDcWxs5tBMzHi8/s320/peeled+tomatoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16Nv6x7p00XhCnn2UuSRprTlhGc-A2VpbtHkMTnArCjP8M3K-0Ps3FUsFEaMlIH5hW8uBwciaBh76ITA6L5QAhAAbNDkdmqnuYrLvW3L8Lq67ug5WilhXa2aLvrBJcWP1MAVXAODO0VA/s1600/simmering+sauce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16Nv6x7p00XhCnn2UuSRprTlhGc-A2VpbtHkMTnArCjP8M3K-0Ps3FUsFEaMlIH5hW8uBwciaBh76ITA6L5QAhAAbNDkdmqnuYrLvW3L8Lq67ug5WilhXa2aLvrBJcWP1MAVXAODO0VA/s320/simmering+sauce.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">There's an Italian restaurant in NYC called Rao's and they sell their pasta sauces in grocery stores. It's the most expensive sauce on the grocer's shelf, but man is it good. I remembered seeing the owners of Rao's on Martha Stewart's once, so I went to Martha's website and found a recipe for Rao's marinara. The recipe is actually very simple. I think the secret ingredient is the fresh San Marzanos. I forget how many cans I put up, but it wasn't enough. This summer I'll be ready.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34ftC6SMNwrhfixWRc0U1sI8EsyjKpieRrt5gmdCs6imxiSDE4-RDznNAp9M94C_Hk-unKr6N-b6C6NRwXFYkH6D4i7Ga5jVk3GHHuz27e6JyxYR0PE9Lbq-UE2zf9V_re1SI0JUzEQw/s1600/tomato+sauce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34ftC6SMNwrhfixWRc0U1sI8EsyjKpieRrt5gmdCs6imxiSDE4-RDznNAp9M94C_Hk-unKr6N-b6C6NRwXFYkH6D4i7Ga5jVk3GHHuz27e6JyxYR0PE9Lbq-UE2zf9V_re1SI0JUzEQw/s320/tomato+sauce.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PnY6TJsnRqFKmBEGvdewtP1OQycVwmNpymMv7jBJN9f5_DtXe3rmIDBdw3UmwLSou3mifG0K4xrUevUK3BLMZHXkMIog7B4JploX_VeFZyq5P8KmM1BbP93bLfG7bxLnO7A3LT31lts/s1600/tomatoes+&+basil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I had one bed of nothing but herbs. I wish that I had my act together enough to put some up for winter use, but it was still fun to walk outside and get fresh thyme, rosemary, parsley and sage whenever I wanted. I planted dill, but it didn't do much and my cilantro did even less. Again, I think the soil was the culprit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0H9Jy3JR4fk4xOktMmYs_opclADQniI8oJLqZ10psh4tVmw_ajlS82CT8JNaaYKrpLZFp6gn-l3Qin_8fdaGoKpH4d5TF07qgMfYXuk1Q7p7wzqiRUafDrtRmMYumylaX90ODbcTWUE/s1600/sage+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0H9Jy3JR4fk4xOktMmYs_opclADQniI8oJLqZ10psh4tVmw_ajlS82CT8JNaaYKrpLZFp6gn-l3Qin_8fdaGoKpH4d5TF07qgMfYXuk1Q7p7wzqiRUafDrtRmMYumylaX90ODbcTWUE/s320/sage+2.jpg" width="240" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLy7PnV_zpXDSEz_TuX00TQ8uT6F0Lz0j7bM5Dl5hcIrAfAcv3GO5erdf7Z0b9h_KWja2TulX9y-wZCg-_sE2jU4z85PhIsaIiUsg0IG1CxBTG_J3VttpFlcuSAMDBJPUn81F60_50Zs/s1600/lemon+thyme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLy7PnV_zpXDSEz_TuX00TQ8uT6F0Lz0j7bM5Dl5hcIrAfAcv3GO5erdf7Z0b9h_KWja2TulX9y-wZCg-_sE2jU4z85PhIsaIiUsg0IG1CxBTG_J3VttpFlcuSAMDBJPUn81F60_50Zs/s320/lemon+thyme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I gal I work with started a ton of morning glories and gave me a half ton. I ran strings from my herb garden up to the eaves of the house and eventually had a wall of morning glories. I loved going out every morning to see them all abloom. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEzsuBSB9xmqBUsAZKHcvUG1gXziK3_6lCz3Fo_JRCN0ui7jwghyphenhyphena9U8Rg5keU-p4tsBM4RXRlqGUyhQDvm2tqxjP5X66A8cPztZQPZZlbGVVLfDlzZi2PzdlARD7uUBSsWGaVZcggR4/s1600/IMG_7738.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEzsuBSB9xmqBUsAZKHcvUG1gXziK3_6lCz3Fo_JRCN0ui7jwghyphenhyphena9U8Rg5keU-p4tsBM4RXRlqGUyhQDvm2tqxjP5X66A8cPztZQPZZlbGVVLfDlzZi2PzdlARD7uUBSsWGaVZcggR4/s320/IMG_7738.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqQ3fdCG2eMTTdlvIPAeI5WCt3xKh5tfpvgrK8w9w0Bp0EAxXFruKFyQYlhkxSVeJXgOrCb6IcIYbURsGEM9vLb_px_t95nVIhG9BYxN7pOrPO5HU7Xf3GDj-OWNpCz2q0QCUkhPSCj4/s1600/morning+glory.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqQ3fdCG2eMTTdlvIPAeI5WCt3xKh5tfpvgrK8w9w0Bp0EAxXFruKFyQYlhkxSVeJXgOrCb6IcIYbURsGEM9vLb_px_t95nVIhG9BYxN7pOrPO5HU7Xf3GDj-OWNpCz2q0QCUkhPSCj4/s320/morning+glory.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVdRqKgxscd2TupWkzddL3k_K3_p24I-_PJlbSI0p1SPc69uGP3_m2_RelN8zUK8899ZoFNW-Gj098HMywAogMzhAWYFqPZbImdAOsSLSkZpHizq_PFf76VMIwlPvqA4fbkRsABCeoJs/s1600/morning+glory+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVdRqKgxscd2TupWkzddL3k_K3_p24I-_PJlbSI0p1SPc69uGP3_m2_RelN8zUK8899ZoFNW-Gj098HMywAogMzhAWYFqPZbImdAOsSLSkZpHizq_PFf76VMIwlPvqA4fbkRsABCeoJs/s320/morning+glory+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here's a few photos of some of the flowers that grew on the hillside behind the house. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiFf-ZSlPZca36QU5A-nyfYKF3rzQzGQQ6prE1RW9uCL2rUqo4Hucc0yTvv-IJtxLHK7QXz5BsC8xJrT07JyuUoIcyRLT6UNFZI4IDjAfmRt-MqHSNXEizz8D7GFrFo5AIdAQdPN0yBo/s1600/IMG_7742.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiFf-ZSlPZca36QU5A-nyfYKF3rzQzGQQ6prE1RW9uCL2rUqo4Hucc0yTvv-IJtxLHK7QXz5BsC8xJrT07JyuUoIcyRLT6UNFZI4IDjAfmRt-MqHSNXEizz8D7GFrFo5AIdAQdPN0yBo/s320/IMG_7742.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8LsMoo3AT0QfvJAaXjOT0QYiKekHUclCK3sGlfSSfCV9LIRefGsnir0jUBitZBgGHIfkegZiFEj8oGJe2PInZevoTDJZBfS54PxycdS9HJlFuRkS7nUxxH45a9uUwDKqKfqOTpG40eU/s1600/IMG_7741.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8LsMoo3AT0QfvJAaXjOT0QYiKekHUclCK3sGlfSSfCV9LIRefGsnir0jUBitZBgGHIfkegZiFEj8oGJe2PInZevoTDJZBfS54PxycdS9HJlFuRkS7nUxxH45a9uUwDKqKfqOTpG40eU/s320/IMG_7741.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JSVE6m05SCQdH5rjcPYNMfE4fKABaX29qfFE3j0nb7VSOODiNBURS-r4A7LptHW2rd73mGhaKmMnUSOzY5ZUDuAITDOIhEKJnPYo5S4PoQAc6dbAOE0zMHKcj2086bBlWMu0DsGx9A0/s1600/IMG_7740.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JSVE6m05SCQdH5rjcPYNMfE4fKABaX29qfFE3j0nb7VSOODiNBURS-r4A7LptHW2rd73mGhaKmMnUSOzY5ZUDuAITDOIhEKJnPYo5S4PoQAc6dbAOE0zMHKcj2086bBlWMu0DsGx9A0/s320/IMG_7740.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_R-zW-HF2WQ6-6KW6MEE257ZYmg7217IsaE4zh1EOjBTnVJ4Sp17uDXXKORdrqNN2UpLWjghg4PZVFMVLmXf8F-fvAh5q2ku2FTDu33SPu80txyhzv41pPsTyTJH3UkcPuHFUukEqTU/s1600/IMG_7739.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_R-zW-HF2WQ6-6KW6MEE257ZYmg7217IsaE4zh1EOjBTnVJ4Sp17uDXXKORdrqNN2UpLWjghg4PZVFMVLmXf8F-fvAh5q2ku2FTDu33SPu80txyhzv41pPsTyTJH3UkcPuHFUukEqTU/s320/IMG_7739.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Late in the planting season, I planted some pumpkins. Because it was so late, I didn't have much hope . . .</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5u5Iul6wJ6SDd5E35I0ity-fjfmp90gDhrVlBrMvVdAtKGKlmb82fRqibQ34BKMae-UPG5YMbR62NhAdJ_Lxfq4k2SUqw2tZLhp1Uv_XoiDYndCwzqx1GqNEfZWfGH87JrV9q1bcVtXw/s1600/baby+pumpkins.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5u5Iul6wJ6SDd5E35I0ity-fjfmp90gDhrVlBrMvVdAtKGKlmb82fRqibQ34BKMae-UPG5YMbR62NhAdJ_Lxfq4k2SUqw2tZLhp1Uv_XoiDYndCwzqx1GqNEfZWfGH87JrV9q1bcVtXw/s320/baby+pumpkins.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">but much to my surprise, they came up and for a while seemed as thought they might actually produce enough pumpkins for Mickey to sell at the end of the driveway. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHS8EUNMnybZipIxTQRFm7TEmch9PT4nIDKswt6j071DSzBbv1NmdYMlxgJc1p7ptCgYKe7o6S_MfKdwgGIuvmZarkGMEqjf3ZovC8Lm8LDqHo-sYl1sXLsJ9vqoshEQrejiAlMDoapk/s1600/IMG_7731.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHS8EUNMnybZipIxTQRFm7TEmch9PT4nIDKswt6j071DSzBbv1NmdYMlxgJc1p7ptCgYKe7o6S_MfKdwgGIuvmZarkGMEqjf3ZovC8Lm8LDqHo-sYl1sXLsJ9vqoshEQrejiAlMDoapk/s320/IMG_7731.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCtU7p06mveGMuPB5tH0Xxc62NVM0vCvoyx3vfkzMLVKKlam10Upvi5GmcrZ6P29ref2B_p0-tiuK-pPrf7UFf5ea0s6mnM9zUQS8TyF71qY24EZmR9tM47eskse5AouFkWSEEE0nTOg/s1600/pumpkin+baby.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCtU7p06mveGMuPB5tH0Xxc62NVM0vCvoyx3vfkzMLVKKlam10Upvi5GmcrZ6P29ref2B_p0-tiuK-pPrf7UFf5ea0s6mnM9zUQS8TyF71qY24EZmR9tM47eskse5AouFkWSEEE0nTOg/s320/pumpkin+baby.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Unfortunately, they got the danged powdery mildew, too, and all we got one was one little pumpkin a little smaller than a soccer ball I saved it and turned it into a pie for Thanksgiving Dinner, but that's another post. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IGdEvO0onicFL0BxZIO0pGuDLvDaOdxttWrpG94Uecw-jgEOuhZJUwrKXAlB9ohdHhAjzz5EyqLLzMQlkk90-_aNmmYda7LR0pivi1ub62odAGhIQGPLwe2PCPKJcVHGxAFFdI4VFpI/s1600/pumpkin+grown+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IGdEvO0onicFL0BxZIO0pGuDLvDaOdxttWrpG94Uecw-jgEOuhZJUwrKXAlB9ohdHhAjzz5EyqLLzMQlkk90-_aNmmYda7LR0pivi1ub62odAGhIQGPLwe2PCPKJcVHGxAFFdI4VFpI/s320/pumpkin+grown+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">For a first time garden, I couldn't have been happier. <br />
I just wish it would warm back up so I could get back at it again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKiz0j6U1ibDGiJg7zRhMqIGT3XBp0FW5rz6WquVI8uFAWHhvUk3fcIpUftGjvJba2fXb9QnMLBMRi5KshGAr8bE7FhhU1gYNJomp87Y6WDdRPk7B2DJAgUFC__601FaXGC_qFUBYb_Q/s1600/terrible+soil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><span id="goog_277327230"><span id="goog_155518061"><span id="goog_751831835"></span><span id="goog_751831836"></span></span><span id="goog_155518062"></span></span><span id="goog_277327231"></span>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-81101372848356092292012-02-13T20:42:00.006-05:002012-02-13T20:44:58.399-05:00Mickey's 8th Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In the wink of an eye, Mickey is going to be 9 years old and here I sit on photos from his 8th birthday. Previous birthdays always featured a meltdown supreme, but not so for his 8th birthday. Hallelujah! Because of the previous meltdowns, we decided to keep the festivities for this birthday close at home. Mickey invited a handful of friends over for playtime in the yard and homemade pizzas in front of the TV where they all watched "Rango". Funny movie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Tom's job was to organize the party games. It being summer and hot, what better games to play than those with water balloons? They started with a free-for-all throw fest, then a back-to-back partner race trying not to drop or squish the water balloons, and then an all out shoot out with water guns and wicked squirter poles, or whatever they're called.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaBrFDQ3wG1_RZ5tukePz5kf5J8nL-48OaNIzKVK-BFrjGdlCHTT54FaIJEfJeAk8j6INo4DaadUzqZIxAY80nSn_J6DE1YQIk09oaQyt-TtAAyEG3z7zwkQ8hEDXohEB_5Ddq17QHrg/s1600/IMG_7671.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaBrFDQ3wG1_RZ5tukePz5kf5J8nL-48OaNIzKVK-BFrjGdlCHTT54FaIJEfJeAk8j6INo4DaadUzqZIxAY80nSn_J6DE1YQIk09oaQyt-TtAAyEG3z7zwkQ8hEDXohEB_5Ddq17QHrg/s320/IMG_7671.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> v<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvrZxmzHVwll6Ne6PE3Lhallll1FvNK0_XHaS6OkgbhTazQ_bD4gIs5cO1sz_Iq77saZ02_RcqdGbXUCLW7k4A_FS67bscRbFyGJ5koLda2PUXP7OyhyphenhyphenzZXnAn_JC1a1xu00wyw7GMpWg/s1600/IMG_7672.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvrZxmzHVwll6Ne6PE3Lhallll1FvNK0_XHaS6OkgbhTazQ_bD4gIs5cO1sz_Iq77saZ02_RcqdGbXUCLW7k4A_FS67bscRbFyGJ5koLda2PUXP7OyhyphenhyphenzZXnAn_JC1a1xu00wyw7GMpWg/s320/IMG_7672.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguk8rFPKlWzNIeuWVqjPeW_iCqpU76G9dHbo346KEhdMLPWtlNULaPpc38MiGipkz9c85EAFIXz5CCwQ2uT59jDbPv8_6tnuRoN_0fliBtfbxvpwcaPmgQ5oBs79jiQC9_iOzeP25bRnE/s1600/IMG_7676.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguk8rFPKlWzNIeuWVqjPeW_iCqpU76G9dHbo346KEhdMLPWtlNULaPpc38MiGipkz9c85EAFIXz5CCwQ2uT59jDbPv8_6tnuRoN_0fliBtfbxvpwcaPmgQ5oBs79jiQC9_iOzeP25bRnE/s320/IMG_7676.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRB135-NZQiBHNvxboib0PXGMABOGo7yFgs5y6KEsuWZLaQ7gDjDWZcGiVBXUfJw3d11Req6OEGd9j8mP40cLIhOaU4YQXQz4kGHSkeeptggntN6LDCDrIQBCH103HhI8tg5lAR7ryC8/s1600/IMG_7694.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRB135-NZQiBHNvxboib0PXGMABOGo7yFgs5y6KEsuWZLaQ7gDjDWZcGiVBXUfJw3d11Req6OEGd9j8mP40cLIhOaU4YQXQz4kGHSkeeptggntN6LDCDrIQBCH103HhI8tg5lAR7ryC8/s320/IMG_7694.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHDUTvDhf6e60iTdnmukm2E6LJSGRJhxSrI1tXfltOoD0qiWXKsyO1ZBVEoKK9MWEmYfuB-T0876Fgdtr8cRP5LlVZKIyBKEWr6hthQJkzw5wUkSHDxZDkIoPDvu0WA-oi2Kdq8kf2yA/s1600/IMG_7701.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHDUTvDhf6e60iTdnmukm2E6LJSGRJhxSrI1tXfltOoD0qiWXKsyO1ZBVEoKK9MWEmYfuB-T0876Fgdtr8cRP5LlVZKIyBKEWr6hthQJkzw5wUkSHDxZDkIoPDvu0WA-oi2Kdq8kf2yA/s320/IMG_7701.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QfddWLy6niP5eoYWT3VA1hIBc4CZ7r1IC2nb_gSQogzk53IYm_pjZZ17lvdiqx-MbeA9GFW42akbu9lH6v0xF8dcY5IwR_pI5bbf4bl2IDPjAVaWUulfoxZILftHOT6YjN_AbxFf2FQ/s1600/IMG_7700.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QfddWLy6niP5eoYWT3VA1hIBc4CZ7r1IC2nb_gSQogzk53IYm_pjZZ17lvdiqx-MbeA9GFW42akbu9lH6v0xF8dcY5IwR_pI5bbf4bl2IDPjAVaWUulfoxZILftHOT6YjN_AbxFf2FQ/s320/IMG_7700.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">My job was the food. Dinner started with homemade pizzas. I wish I could say that the ingredients came from my garden, but alas, that's not possible. The crusts were made from scratch, but the only thing on those pizzas from my garden was the basil, everything else game from Big Y's garden. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0V22PXpj88jOaRAn7zPG4jJB2cCfyFW0RT-fz_EAnjzDc8RXZQOqfW3Y_r3Gu0Rj6JfqqcZK6bVhDJGaJ6Betvo-eIrThiAo0DWdlapoAleS6pLoUVWzL_7UMne-UkpZoTaYGxS-t_Lg/s1600/IMG_7697.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0V22PXpj88jOaRAn7zPG4jJB2cCfyFW0RT-fz_EAnjzDc8RXZQOqfW3Y_r3Gu0Rj6JfqqcZK6bVhDJGaJ6Betvo-eIrThiAo0DWdlapoAleS6pLoUVWzL_7UMne-UkpZoTaYGxS-t_Lg/s320/IMG_7697.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKfbN_Kf-I0JZIbbP_PehzE8ZPdeqCVpAzgh2A_Y-qnMsRnZHEEMBFA7wJuF45X4pOeIBexLuiKb7-JT15svYvqmtPH0GddU8MhH5rg1FlxdaSEMpZgcGPuzs40zBsvUh3op6WFEuFjs/s1600/IMG_7703.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKfbN_Kf-I0JZIbbP_PehzE8ZPdeqCVpAzgh2A_Y-qnMsRnZHEEMBFA7wJuF45X4pOeIBexLuiKb7-JT15svYvqmtPH0GddU8MhH5rg1FlxdaSEMpZgcGPuzs40zBsvUh3op6WFEuFjs/s320/IMG_7703.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I must confess, however, that these pizzas</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">- one for each kid -</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">were the most successful homemade pizzas ever. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxh4Cxd1cS2poVOu6STtlng3dxq9Rv9vzCKKYi8LOYaUWfqnAgzMNhdBRTUHQ9AyhyphenhyphenVy0_Td0WSu2LmNsdnSYmDa661y7K6_DXhxp-pwXHgKWjBCLshmaQw40Mwtp42vHaWHHU4ZQGws/s1600/IMG_7710.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxh4Cxd1cS2poVOu6STtlng3dxq9Rv9vzCKKYi8LOYaUWfqnAgzMNhdBRTUHQ9AyhyphenhyphenVy0_Td0WSu2LmNsdnSYmDa661y7K6_DXhxp-pwXHgKWjBCLshmaQw40Mwtp42vHaWHHU4ZQGws/s320/IMG_7710.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Every year Mick tells me what kind of cake he wants. This tradition started after I made him a carousel birthday cake for his 3rd birthday. The next year it was a monkey cake, then a shark cake, then a tiger cake, then an alligator cake. For each cake I made coordinating cupcakes. I can tell I'm getting old because I talked him out of wanting both this year. I suggested that we do really special cupcakes. His birthday present - Tipper, in the photo above - was the inspiration for the cupcakes below.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6MmEYSQMqxmDpuqSW1Gf6bdX-t4aX3xRkS6PGcHXI9ESsy1skBjc7lQgUO8VkXH7BGH9tfqCU_A52nJgwUvTBvtaZnhpONvSQYUew69HdqgUkp9JV__QEMVP7bTdBHcW0Q3yiXy1E7M/s1600/IMG_7712.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6MmEYSQMqxmDpuqSW1Gf6bdX-t4aX3xRkS6PGcHXI9ESsy1skBjc7lQgUO8VkXH7BGH9tfqCU_A52nJgwUvTBvtaZnhpONvSQYUew69HdqgUkp9JV__QEMVP7bTdBHcW0Q3yiXy1E7M/s320/IMG_7712.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6MmEYSQMqxmDpuqSW1Gf6bdX-t4aX3xRkS6PGcHXI9ESsy1skBjc7lQgUO8VkXH7BGH9tfqCU_A52nJgwUvTBvtaZnhpONvSQYUew69HdqgUkp9JV__QEMVP7bTdBHcW0Q3yiXy1E7M/s1600/IMG_7712.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a> Mick wanted to open all the presents while all the kids were present, which we've done in the past, but this year we made him wait until all the party guests had gone home. Well, all but one. Lily, who visits her dad up the street every other weekend is one of Mickey's best friends, if not the best. She is one of those playmates that make me think of the kids in "To Kill A Mockingbird". Well, sort of. Neither Mickey or Lily are like Scout or Jim or Dill. It's their relationship and the fun times they have that is what's reminiscent of the kids in that movie. I think when they're grown, they're going to look back on all the weekends and summers they've spent together as deeply important and truly memorable. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4KPH5a8xN9XiEJ8qrOsoCShlVI4cDnAjM8kKepUY1zTWavrFszGNWPbwQYZ35Yro0z8U8Mh6J_0xSe6sie8o1o2RoIcVW8184k5PBHDCuhant8ocdKW-tilmnNt9NEAMXEbODBlu7HQ/s1600/IMG_7728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq4KPH5a8xN9XiEJ8qrOsoCShlVI4cDnAjM8kKepUY1zTWavrFszGNWPbwQYZ35Yro0z8U8Mh6J_0xSe6sie8o1o2RoIcVW8184k5PBHDCuhant8ocdKW-tilmnNt9NEAMXEbODBlu7HQ/s320/IMG_7728.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6MbJI6gowyubxg2pFgq1Tt99Pre41nrgzo6LN9SGytsF9WPq_VQ-XM5-oA7_E2oH7b4a7JGsXnGzA670lQfbKDmGhqW_2d2sofYRU3OKxzobnRTjXIwa2oLttHtHMMYtLvlRLTA-HIE/s1600/IMG_7656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6MbJI6gowyubxg2pFgq1Tt99Pre41nrgzo6LN9SGytsF9WPq_VQ-XM5-oA7_E2oH7b4a7JGsXnGzA670lQfbKDmGhqW_2d2sofYRU3OKxzobnRTjXIwa2oLttHtHMMYtLvlRLTA-HIE/s320/IMG_7656.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">It was a great birthday, so I'm thinking Tom and I have come up with a recipe for success. </div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-14178384365509474052012-02-12T22:11:00.000-05:002012-02-12T22:11:19.621-05:00Summer Camp 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Yes. I am way behind in posting. And I thought I'd better slap these photos up quick before Summer Camp 2012 is underway. It could happen.<br />
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The first two summers here found Mickey at a summer camp not far from the house called Flying Cloud. It was a very eccentric and eclectic place with a varied curriculum and amazing teachers. It was hugely expensive to send Mick there, but since Tom and I both work and no family lives nearby, we had no choice. Now that Tom is a public school teacher and on the same schedule essentially as Mick, we decided to mix up Mick's summer camp a bit and not send him to one summer camp the entire summer. We also found that by placing him with different day camps around the area, each camp having a narrow focus, we could actually save money and give him a more varied yet concentrated experience.<br />
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Since Mick loves art, drawing specifically, we enrolled him in various classes at an art school in Stockbridge, a town two towns north of where we are. While he was there he seemed to love it, but after it was all over, he confessed he found it boring. I think that if his classes were more drawing centered and not so arts craftsy, he's like them better. Who knows. Below are a few photos of the school and some of his finished products.<br />
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Each class lasted a week and had a different theme. One theme was "Up, Up and Away!" and focused on things that flew. Below is his hot air balloon - a very heavy hot air balloon made of ceramic, a bird and a wind sock.<br />
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Mickey's spent one week at a soccer camp from 9 am to 3 pm. I thought for sure he'd hate it. I can't hardly get him outside at home for more than 15 minutes at a time, and here he was going to have to be outside in the heat, sweating and with bugs a plenty but he loved it. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTP_JNVgDRJIIPH1N_4hyTEgWCkTEf7h87tsoSJUz9JBHuE0vA1g3VQuHBh83VvnhSR9SwsNACOhrP6klGsdoXCN0n5x7v25ja7uMKBwquCdXCU-aGZwo-ptpmyRmqL3FSORShUkkCRis/s1600/IMG_7653.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTP_JNVgDRJIIPH1N_4hyTEgWCkTEf7h87tsoSJUz9JBHuE0vA1g3VQuHBh83VvnhSR9SwsNACOhrP6klGsdoXCN0n5x7v25ja7uMKBwquCdXCU-aGZwo-ptpmyRmqL3FSORShUkkCRis/s320/IMG_7653.jpg" width="311" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">His last week of summer camp was spent at a YMCA camp called Camp Wa Wa Segowea and it is not five minutes from the house. At this camp he got to do all kinds of things - swimming, boating, archery, and all kinds of games. Again, he was outside all ding dong day in the woods with bugs and he loved it so much he wants to spend a week of sleep away camp there this coming summer. We're contemplating fewer day camps this coming summer, but letting him show us how grown up he can be - Oh, Lord! - and go to sleep away camp at Camp Wa Wa for one week. He'd love it, if he could hold it together. I'd be a little weirded out, but thankfully it is, like I said, not five minutes from the house. We'll see.</div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-77104411508987246382011-08-03T07:18:00.000-04:002011-08-03T07:18:33.280-04:00Mick's First Job<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After school let out and Mickey was spending time with his friend, Lily, who lives up the street and who always seems to have cash to spend at The Southfield Store, Mick started itching to have his own cash for spending at The Store. His little wheels a-spinning, he began questioning me where he could get his own money. I proposed that he do some out of the ordinary jobs around the house that I needed done and would be willing to pay him for, like vacuuming and washing the cars. I offered to pay him $10 if he'd do the Blazer because that's what it would cost me if I did it myself in town at the wash. He was all for it. So, Saturday came and he couldn't wait to get outside and get started. After I made my weekly trip to the transfer station (read "town dump"), I hauled the vacuum cleaner out to the driveway and he started in. I honestly thought he would last about five minutes. I told him I had to check his work and approve and if I found where he needed to do a better job, I would tell him and wouldn't accept attitude or a meltdown. He agreed. About an hour later, the Blazer was thoroughly vacuumed and washed. Perfectly spic and span? No, but highly acceptable and, most importantly, <i>I didn't have to do it!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHr4ExCtFgMABpEqXj0ZpzlqJvDaGTgupyW_PmOKECpKQo26R4XuJqyBb-JAKCPZIvz-9V1Gx2QzxIgdiGsvhguH8txr6-PnVcSZrou_jM3dW1q0e_cnGM_33RG53fVDxp6MbnoE5uZYQ/s1600/IMG_7558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHr4ExCtFgMABpEqXj0ZpzlqJvDaGTgupyW_PmOKECpKQo26R4XuJqyBb-JAKCPZIvz-9V1Gx2QzxIgdiGsvhguH8txr6-PnVcSZrou_jM3dW1q0e_cnGM_33RG53fVDxp6MbnoE5uZYQ/s320/IMG_7558.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdn7IBzsPMy2vBHJ0vfg3E0sz8lh2RshhdEAvDpy2Tn3sfnim7lZeQBwfSDzHcCs6k2TMqiD7brGJfOz1N8MkJstq5Zs1TlFWt6g2fpm0YozHyD8PghsdAWI8hgsCOKP6nCJr1lO06bk/s1600/IMG_7557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdn7IBzsPMy2vBHJ0vfg3E0sz8lh2RshhdEAvDpy2Tn3sfnim7lZeQBwfSDzHcCs6k2TMqiD7brGJfOz1N8MkJstq5Zs1TlFWt6g2fpm0YozHyD8PghsdAWI8hgsCOKP6nCJr1lO06bk/s320/IMG_7557.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-83910756954235102762011-07-13T23:25:00.000-04:002011-07-13T23:25:36.198-04:00The Newest Member Of Our Family<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_VR0L2qEgzicZbHDMT5XwEzfZClaV-E2VpZKnxMrw0ww-LnWbhcwBKoDxxzW7_tReTzULjlK6vi1vL2kDmWYH_MjMkBqMz_mQPvuLmECBtLWMqgSaEh_2FYWzQiZ_mhFkiOmMkNlICM/s1600/tipper1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Even before Misty was gone, folks tried to get us to get a new dog. We just couldn't, as long as Misty was alive. It just wouldn't have been fair to her. She needed all our attention. And then, of course, two weeks later our cat died of a broken heart, so we were in no mood to get a new pet for quite some time. But this winter, we told Mick that if he could prove he could be responsible and make his bed every morning, we'd consider getting him a dog for his birthday. I figured that if we were going to get a dog, we'd need to do it right after Mick and Tom were out of school on summer break. I started looking online at petfinders.com and marking the cutest dogs I could find as "favorites". Eventually, I had the courage to show the dogs I had favorited to Tom. He narrowed my choices down, confirming what I had already suspected would be the few dogs we would choose from, and then I sprung the news on Mick, showing him the possible candidates.<br />
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In my mind a dog named Tipper and a dog named Winken were the two dogs I knew we'd choose between. Both were cute with a capital "C". As it turned out, Tipper was in a shelter where, if he stayed too long, he'd be euthanized. Winken, on the other hand, was in a shelter where he'd stay until someone would adopt him, regardless of how old he got. Case settled. We'd adopt Tipper.<br />
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</div>We got in the car and drove to Saugerties, New York. We told Mick where we were headed and why, but warned him that we still might come home without a dog. When we to got to the "shelter," we were pretty much grossed out. The place smelled to high heaven and there were dogs galore out in the fenced yard yapping their damned fool heads off. We went to the door, but no one answered. There was a car in the parking area, so <i>someone</i> had to be there. We went to the other side of the complex and finally an old guy came out to see why all the dogs were making such a fuss. We told him we were there to pick up a dog for adoption and he promptly told us, chidingly, that were were on the wrong side, that we needed to be knocking on the other side.We told him we had been over there but that no one was there. "She's there! I just saw her!" Perhaps. But she didn't answer for us. So he dragged his tired old self around and knocked and he got the same response we did. Nada. So he went inside and closed the door. We heard some mumbling and then the door opened and Tipper bounded out.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_VR0L2qEgzicZbHDMT5XwEzfZClaV-E2VpZKnxMrw0ww-LnWbhcwBKoDxxzW7_tReTzULjlK6vi1vL2kDmWYH_MjMkBqMz_mQPvuLmECBtLWMqgSaEh_2FYWzQiZ_mhFkiOmMkNlICM/s1600/tipper1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_VR0L2qEgzicZbHDMT5XwEzfZClaV-E2VpZKnxMrw0ww-LnWbhcwBKoDxxzW7_tReTzULjlK6vi1vL2kDmWYH_MjMkBqMz_mQPvuLmECBtLWMqgSaEh_2FYWzQiZ_mhFkiOmMkNlICM/s400/tipper1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Tipper, as it turns out, was the name they threw at him after he was dropped off by an animal control officer who had picked him up on the side of a road. Tipper, because of the white tip on his tail. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5yw31ZY65qRRJNUlo3m6MxDt4LDRPwbM8RUGe23Y8_eduqBdP1qfB_SWPBELl2fDD1W9m73Txv2Y49Q473js9ba4wEhbP0AWNJdrTsOVivQw-8frImfsyJqJRRdLKmUTwORW_ANnUw88/s1600/tipper2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5yw31ZY65qRRJNUlo3m6MxDt4LDRPwbM8RUGe23Y8_eduqBdP1qfB_SWPBELl2fDD1W9m73Txv2Y49Q473js9ba4wEhbP0AWNJdrTsOVivQw-8frImfsyJqJRRdLKmUTwORW_ANnUw88/s320/tipper2.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I signed a hastily prepared official looking document with a lot of blanks not filled in, paid our fee, which covered the rabies shot he had been given, and headed out the door with the old guy leading the dog to our car. We hadn't brought a leash, so he took the kennel's leash off, tossed him in the car and hastily closed the door before he could bolt. Tipper was wild not to be taken away from this old guy; he had been with him since early April and had obviously become attached. We all slid into our car doors, strapped ourselves in and took off for home. Man, did that dog stink. Like pee, to be exact. Plans were made about what we would do when we got home. At the top of my list was to drag out my No. 10 wash tub from the basement and give him a bath out in the yard. Long story short, he cleaned up nicely, is smart as a whip and will soon be fixed. Mostly, he stays in the yard with you without a leash, but if he catches a whiff of an animal that has been in or around the yard, all bets are off. He's part some sort of terrier - Jack Russell? Boston? - and beagle. He's already learned to sit, largely thanks to Mickey who takes him out first thing in the morning (sometimes with a puss on his face, to be honest) and when he gets home, and insists Tipper sit so he can put the leash on him. And then he makes him wait so he can walk about the door before Tipper. And Tipper waits. Smart as a whip.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here are some shots from his first day in his new home with his new family.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br />
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In the pic below is Megan, who is living in our guest room for the summer. Last summer she was an intern at the Southfield Store. This summer she's a full fledged member of the pastry department. Enlarge the picture and look at how in heaven he is. In truth, when she comes home each evening, he parks his crazy head off at her. It's that whole watch dog and territory thing. I think he's forgotten this early moment of bliss.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz1fl52ayKzL4y9OMhiMy7uzloqi8M38rFAL9CWg0to9vLP8UASdM_DHPj3By3cA-Dt_reUmmgGM1sCz3vKyA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-69954984465148217662011-07-08T00:54:00.010-04:002011-07-08T08:04:52.481-04:00Mary, Mary . . .I'm not going down <u>that</u> gay road, BUT, Mary's garden is growing very well. Please and thank you. Finally. Let's start with the prettiest pictures, some of my herbs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWjh6cNcBoEjq1VX6ruzyqh-8IWv_BLFfjCksNbP9CD4yV7_H3-uSks9jhE-9cdW6OJ4r9nKSWQZ-V3sNdKkHrctdnAbHjaa8jPGasEeb1od6ALsW7YrI4yqLJTdN0DYc9WsOw2F53ek/s1600/IMG_7563.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWjh6cNcBoEjq1VX6ruzyqh-8IWv_BLFfjCksNbP9CD4yV7_H3-uSks9jhE-9cdW6OJ4r9nKSWQZ-V3sNdKkHrctdnAbHjaa8jPGasEeb1od6ALsW7YrI4yqLJTdN0DYc9WsOw2F53ek/s400/IMG_7563.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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Sage and thyme, but I've left out parsley and rosemary and cilantro and dill, but they're all doing very well.<br />
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My collards seem to be very happy. I have about 6 or 7 plants.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Unfortunately, my two surviving okra plants aren't that happy. As my mother puts it, "hot and dry", and it certainly hasn't been that here in the northeast. I mean, we're still wrapping up under quilts at bedtime with temps in the low 50s. Not okra weather. Oh well, I'll stick it out to see what I get.</div><br />
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My tomato plants seem healthy as can be. I wove a trellis of nylon cord for them to grow up, and so far, they seem to understand.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wish I had blooming squash plants to share. Squash blossoms are so fairy tale since they're so big, bright and beautiful.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKr1InlBNwHyEEgre3GVjLnMyavGDEBrBFo9OQvD1eQhTM_waMtI6ldx3ksuWhNOe-KGo_IQvO4ywgAm_xesOjSppZo2zdWxP83gq7SKMArP7_Q8j6Nmw1cdEpIH9OG-iUSZvwHKk61fc/s1600/IMG_7603.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKr1InlBNwHyEEgre3GVjLnMyavGDEBrBFo9OQvD1eQhTM_waMtI6ldx3ksuWhNOe-KGo_IQvO4ywgAm_xesOjSppZo2zdWxP83gq7SKMArP7_Q8j6Nmw1cdEpIH9OG-iUSZvwHKk61fc/s320/IMG_7603.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fairy tale or not, I still have yellow squash and zucchini babies living under those great big leaves. In about five minutes, I'm sure I'll have grown up squash I can pick and try desperately to give away. Isn't that what happens with squash? At least zucchini? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My brussels sprouts and broccoli seem to be very happy. My cauliflower, not so much. Yet.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CVhUzleBSIei1K18hciugVBu8wxSny4TxQUOBX3-Txmt2ejHcWZadFTGvUWOf6WWgbm5F6Qzu2pTzEpv83ix9BE004aj-HxYqNdsIZrXPsGjDhBuk-xTHl7Ff_W67jx2CtbMJqivVGE/s1600/IMG_7601.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CVhUzleBSIei1K18hciugVBu8wxSny4TxQUOBX3-Txmt2ejHcWZadFTGvUWOf6WWgbm5F6Qzu2pTzEpv83ix9BE004aj-HxYqNdsIZrXPsGjDhBuk-xTHl7Ff_W67jx2CtbMJqivVGE/s320/IMG_7601.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><br />
Here's a photo of a bed of my Kentucky Wonder pole beans, climbing the trellis, yellow squash, collards down the center and lettuces on either side of the collards.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCbSRX9vcCQ2XAgoPW_3QX_AQTMPiT71wYPNDo2n-6XhN2oRE7-m4HlnT6nK2kYNtGS5jmEB1OvyYoEcHWn3HfN6NpDfmZ3XYSsZTWsdaoFXm5a2l7tqiAlWxyyzIS4RxDrJ-ifc8dKk/s1600/IMG_7578.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCbSRX9vcCQ2XAgoPW_3QX_AQTMPiT71wYPNDo2n-6XhN2oRE7-m4HlnT6nK2kYNtGS5jmEB1OvyYoEcHWn3HfN6NpDfmZ3XYSsZTWsdaoFXm5a2l7tqiAlWxyyzIS4RxDrJ-ifc8dKk/s320/IMG_7578.JPG" width="240" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did you know that pole beans grow up their supports the opposite direction of other vining plants? </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGg0G2ezWXHaIqmIqSIyqvge_xfHMlnYToEI95Zuu1KX60Bqc0WoOs-2hbFZ_S2I33Dw_7tEpv9elIZAZP0hscSKO-3Rmpn8VQW5WCqjhCtZfd2WNTSQXtBbGE6D8rHsxpf2UU1s8VtMo/s1600/IMG_7577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGg0G2ezWXHaIqmIqSIyqvge_xfHMlnYToEI95Zuu1KX60Bqc0WoOs-2hbFZ_S2I33Dw_7tEpv9elIZAZP0hscSKO-3Rmpn8VQW5WCqjhCtZfd2WNTSQXtBbGE6D8rHsxpf2UU1s8VtMo/s320/IMG_7577.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I finally have some healthy looking beet greens, but I have no idea what's happening below ground. My mother says not to be surprised if nothing is happening beneath those beautiful green tops.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8_55GJXnaA_gpw2-HAKx7wzYLmYBbTFyKpkDzWLXDa4cd0RdLQIPofBALQugUVBPZ_wkhVAHCVuWsodfr98wuV_gyFFhjGerfeQcPhdnJopd4mo74uSs9eYe54R_Nrcmc74Jp5tv-JE/s1600/IMG_7598.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8_55GJXnaA_gpw2-HAKx7wzYLmYBbTFyKpkDzWLXDa4cd0RdLQIPofBALQugUVBPZ_wkhVAHCVuWsodfr98wuV_gyFFhjGerfeQcPhdnJopd4mo74uSs9eYe54R_Nrcmc74Jp5tv-JE/s320/IMG_7598.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AnAbq-f78NOW_1QfxuSiircaNih6P92NWLrjCzRGskT3vUhj-YW4OdRoG2qSX-boBfVmuq63RTRJSk99lsocmEdSl6xrzDnWqOmNZZXfOwuwlxGWoYDYj3Ts6XRp7BmV2qwx6LCNtks/s1600/IMG_7605.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And while I have a seeming forest of carrot tops, I fear there is nothing below. Just like the danged beets.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexY6yHtZ5AypTV_AHf4_OLq1gWCQpZFdAgpOR2y0O-aqk5R_xRtT3f2APGGg29RIAiyC-k-YDxApqrvmcjtjaUq5KrP4Foviy_ibWvntiv9FAX0BETQIurpmb8OYkY7A_AIRCeIFmd8o/s1600/IMG_7599.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexY6yHtZ5AypTV_AHf4_OLq1gWCQpZFdAgpOR2y0O-aqk5R_xRtT3f2APGGg29RIAiyC-k-YDxApqrvmcjtjaUq5KrP4Foviy_ibWvntiv9FAX0BETQIurpmb8OYkY7A_AIRCeIFmd8o/s320/IMG_7599.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was fairly confident that my first lettuces were going to be a failure as they didn't match up to neighbors and friends of neighbors around me. However. We have been harvesting mesclun from my first planting, and I'm loving my planting of red leaf lettuce and romaine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AnAbq-f78NOW_1QfxuSiircaNih6P92NWLrjCzRGskT3vUhj-YW4OdRoG2qSX-boBfVmuq63RTRJSk99lsocmEdSl6xrzDnWqOmNZZXfOwuwlxGWoYDYj3Ts6XRp7BmV2qwx6LCNtks/s1600/IMG_7605.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AnAbq-f78NOW_1QfxuSiircaNih6P92NWLrjCzRGskT3vUhj-YW4OdRoG2qSX-boBfVmuq63RTRJSk99lsocmEdSl6xrzDnWqOmNZZXfOwuwlxGWoYDYj3Ts6XRp7BmV2qwx6LCNtks/s320/IMG_7605.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And lastly, some new flowers blooming on the hill behind the house. This flower garden is fun to watch because I have no idea what I planted last summer, nor do I have any idea what my friend, Elise, planted there last summer. This garden is a sort of community effort. It's so big, and there's no way I can buy enough plants to plant the thing, so I've gotten and am getting all kinds of plants friends and neighbors have dug up from their own gardens at division time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdKDggGZVRuPFuojCbOyTeMP2pK3DjFfk2U0BIoXaha7rPBhx5sJHMqW86E8xovr4EE7JCAdwwN07o8BNaQAtY-Vsr2ULUmNzf9ejJYX3jjz0ahEH27jeRfVfPWVgWEXPpOtgSkwsLfg/s1600/IMG_7582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdKDggGZVRuPFuojCbOyTeMP2pK3DjFfk2U0BIoXaha7rPBhx5sJHMqW86E8xovr4EE7JCAdwwN07o8BNaQAtY-Vsr2ULUmNzf9ejJYX3jjz0ahEH27jeRfVfPWVgWEXPpOtgSkwsLfg/s320/IMG_7582.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AnAbq-f78NOW_1QfxuSiircaNih6P92NWLrjCzRGskT3vUhj-YW4OdRoG2qSX-boBfVmuq63RTRJSk99lsocmEdSl6xrzDnWqOmNZZXfOwuwlxGWoYDYj3Ts6XRp7BmV2qwx6LCNtks/s1600/IMG_7605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-10927856697847717462011-07-07T23:58:00.000-04:002011-07-07T23:58:52.802-04:00Oh, Beautiful!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Toward the end of the school year, one of the teachers at Mickey's school decided to institute an annual talent show for the students. The First Annual. The note came home in his folder and instantly I decided Mickey would have to sing. He agreed. I thought of different genres to explore and somehow landed on "patriotic". Always a sure winner. At first, we thought he would accompany himself on the autoharp, but then, wisely, I decided playing the auto-harp and singing was simply too much. So, we decided we'd pull accompaniment off of iTunes. Of course, I have no idea about iTunes, but Papa being the young one of us two, he was called upon to find our accompaniment. When we were mulling around the auto-harp, I landed on "America the Beautiful", since I was able to find some simplified chords for the auto-harp. Even though we ditched the auto-harp early on, "America the Beautiful" stuck. "On that day", I was running late, having gotten tied up at work, so I called the school to say I was coming and to not let Mickey sing first thing. As it turned out, Mickey was the last talent to perform. When I got there, Mick had such a puss on. I figured he had gotten in trouble with his teacher. I mouthed to him "did you get in trouble", but a shake of the head "no" was his response. Then he mouthed back, "I'm scared." Holy crap. I worked with him on all sorts of vocal technique and it never occurred to me that he'd be nervous. There was nothing I could do or say at this late date but sit back and let things unfold as they may. When you watch the video, watch how he looks at the camera before the songs begins. There's nothing but utter joy on his face. And then, right after, seriousness and concentration takes over - two things rarely seen from Mick - and he launches into his song. Although I cut the audience response short, his song got the greatest response from the adult led audience. Days after, I ran in to folk who were not there but had heard about his performance and they had to stop me to tell me how great they heard he was. And he was. Now, we're not talking about American Idol, but for a second grader conquering his fear and singing a nationally important song, he did GREAT! (And watch the teacher behind him being cross with the kindergarteners on the front row - love it!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwW9gGGRxaJTMkCItFXvDe2E6YeC5-_fwgTRYrbARwSmubFMToS9vUlY2fvpgU64SlNNW9eEdNH-c1YUiM4aw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-11468994698898532652011-06-17T08:10:00.008-04:002011-07-14T07:24:21.508-04:00Le Potager<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijukdy7PEVTphrgbmvLqUTNT4WQVGMN5XoHHeyTYsdmyvMEvv9tcyuBJg5_dzR2hA4H-BY_gzv_pp6eeQC37YlLV1dAPf37_i7R_XMFcAk-N8ZDZi5iI17xqwTRD_3AyUD2t3tXAkYGBE/s1600/IMG_7505.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a><br />
So, this spring late, I began to fulfill one of my thousand dreams of living in the country and that is to have a vegetable garden. I've looked at books and Martha Stewart magazine articles for years describing and illustrating every form of kitchen garden, from the humble to the painstakingly plotted, and somewhere in between - but closer to the humble - I envisioned my kitchen garden. I guess mine is really fully sitting on on the humble line of the dial. It's grand in proportion, at least that's what everyone tells me, but I just can't get anything to flourish. Everything I have planted has germinated. Not every seed, but every type of seed anyway. I haven't planted rows and rows of peas or eggplant, only very small amounts of what we can consume. Although, I have a feeling three zucchini and three yellow squash plants may be be four plants too many. And it is the squash plants that are among the most thriving. I planted seeds, not plants, so my squash are behind those of the other resident gardener, Michael Richman.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuygSYQ0S77PAb8CyF-TDvM6QDXvwi99EwegwGjMI6PEvKUIDv3ECE7f_aLSORT1qZQIQmQT5z-aePFG53O5EtKkc1HQAwMrFP3RWc0pRTvdPKskX7VhaUxDfsgKXpUKz52HcSVsXw4VY/s1600/IMG_7477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuygSYQ0S77PAb8CyF-TDvM6QDXvwi99EwegwGjMI6PEvKUIDv3ECE7f_aLSORT1qZQIQmQT5z-aePFG53O5EtKkc1HQAwMrFP3RWc0pRTvdPKskX7VhaUxDfsgKXpUKz52HcSVsXw4VY/s320/IMG_7477.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You've met Michael in posts before. He and his wife Elise moved in three houses down from us two weeks before we moved to Soggy Bottom. Once we met, we became instant friends. They live more in the woods and on top of nothing but stone, so Michael proposed he'd pay for whatever was necessary if he could garden in my yard. At first what sounded like a great idea to me eventually became difficult. It's all about real estate. I've waited years and years to have my own plot of land, and I find it difficult to share. Just like a certain seven year old I know. But we've started. I bought and built all the beds you see in the photos above and below, and the Richman's paid for the soil. Being grandiose and unable to share freely, I've given Michael only two of the six 4' x 8' raised beds, plus one corner of the two 4' x 4' rhubarb beds for his solitary rhubarb plant.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagHGfg3X2szxU5JXZbaS7_NjxETuEHbd8XqLc_xtFOXF2gO0xdlAw8z6fvhds2zgxGW-k6TtgfTiWZPgB9dP991F0fF0LtVMIk7Mp-Pmd9TAeS058RYiDenVlS2d7v0PFTGuIxi08hvo/s1600/IMG_7478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagHGfg3X2szxU5JXZbaS7_NjxETuEHbd8XqLc_xtFOXF2gO0xdlAw8z6fvhds2zgxGW-k6TtgfTiWZPgB9dP991F0fF0LtVMIk7Mp-Pmd9TAeS058RYiDenVlS2d7v0PFTGuIxi08hvo/s320/IMG_7478.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the 4' x 8' beds will be the bulk of the garden. Then there's the two 4' x 4' rhubarb beds, and to the right of those you see two long, narrow beds. The nearest bed is for herbs, and the furthest is for tomatoes. In the tomato bed I have sixteen tomato plants and two cucumber plants. I am not going to stake the tomatoes; instead, I am going to weave a web of nylon cord on which to trellis the plants. I had better get busy weaving because the tomatoes are, so far, the plants that are thriving and they are going to be begging for something to climb on soon and very soon. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These are chive that came with the house. They were growing in the midst of a thick mat of Siberian iris right next to the front porch. When the excavator was digging the trench for the foundation drain, I had him move the iris (and the chives) up to the swale he had cleared out at the top of the hill behind the house. When it came time to start planting around the house, I retrieved the iris and discovered the chives. They now are at home in their own herb bed.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYfTU7xJMSjRu1xPHWvlAlVQTGkD8FGv8iCm-N7yK-UZYu2MPDUIw94VSXmRekNa9wktMQixOHuOHZvHygpTDT_rbUdNCXneTZgGBuZWbivjao_q2PrvRQdQhELOcXVPYchJy3LCo5iM/s1600/IMG_7479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYfTU7xJMSjRu1xPHWvlAlVQTGkD8FGv8iCm-N7yK-UZYu2MPDUIw94VSXmRekNa9wktMQixOHuOHZvHygpTDT_rbUdNCXneTZgGBuZWbivjao_q2PrvRQdQhELOcXVPYchJy3LCo5iM/s320/IMG_7479.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I showed a colleague in the office the photos of my vegetable gardens and she confirmed my fear. The soil we bought for the raised beds is screaming for organic matter. The mesclun and arugula below was planted nearly a month ago. Since the soil, in short, SUCKS, it has taken them two or three weeks longer to get the to the pathetic size the are below than what they would have if the soil was full of good stuff.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgon8-KVvhU2XYM001DXLrpsFE_HHaX91mR8Dyw4KT_gdYYPhynxzndgHpw9yrkzlgARCYGwA2W-qW3HT4e65IQcS5l6EFx74YDKB9vMOLv6y3MFlck9Z7PdDjBy5MQ2i7xqfE1QLYmRMQ/s1600/IMG_7494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgon8-KVvhU2XYM001DXLrpsFE_HHaX91mR8Dyw4KT_gdYYPhynxzndgHpw9yrkzlgARCYGwA2W-qW3HT4e65IQcS5l6EFx74YDKB9vMOLv6y3MFlck9Z7PdDjBy5MQ2i7xqfE1QLYmRMQ/s320/IMG_7494.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below is a carrot. I didn't plant rows and rows which required thinning out. I planted only what I needed. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EFEj13W887VVKZMj8ZyAV_wB4cYDDYiErBt3v8Um6bvQThqTF3ndDZ0dpnH2CMzGDhqs-IB5KyphrVbkYq3E-3TJ9hn6PzBbaSttFABXVtQtTrMPcCmXl08veh5YTYgXIpe7hwmL2Zc/s1600/IMG_7495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EFEj13W887VVKZMj8ZyAV_wB4cYDDYiErBt3v8Um6bvQThqTF3ndDZ0dpnH2CMzGDhqs-IB5KyphrVbkYq3E-3TJ9hn6PzBbaSttFABXVtQtTrMPcCmXl08veh5YTYgXIpe7hwmL2Zc/s320/IMG_7495.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's one of two okra plants. This photo was taken about a week ago, and today my okra isn't much bigger. Aside from the soil, it's just been too cold and wet for a warm weather loving plant like okra to be happy. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Abc15A1VFYOF9ag33MgPXwNHw1ptOKuxcuiY-pH6WIgtbtfgtcCE1YI5-d8-9m9pvyzAJ8T8TinsUM-M-ttEFrXgwreHvzrT-UpRgL1xYql38k-kH8Tkpg4a4v2je-9DtywHF5e4SIo/s1600/IMG_7496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Abc15A1VFYOF9ag33MgPXwNHw1ptOKuxcuiY-pH6WIgtbtfgtcCE1YI5-d8-9m9pvyzAJ8T8TinsUM-M-ttEFrXgwreHvzrT-UpRgL1xYql38k-kH8Tkpg4a4v2je-9DtywHF5e4SIo/s320/IMG_7496.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My pole beans - Kentucy Wonders, just like what my Grandpa Foon planted - are some of the more successful plants in my garden. I have twenty-four of them. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKfgZgJBa72ibH97gf4kPQ3AixIcXg_gxsniB3hNxa2E7vW6TMTCIjwlVSmpYEH5gtKl18xlzXlW3V-rw_QsKeuJAseehC42DVDPFarFTs62iY7OJrkDikQ-SGGiiVphFfRV3BwxtLQNs/s1600/IMG_7497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKfgZgJBa72ibH97gf4kPQ3AixIcXg_gxsniB3hNxa2E7vW6TMTCIjwlVSmpYEH5gtKl18xlzXlW3V-rw_QsKeuJAseehC42DVDPFarFTs62iY7OJrkDikQ-SGGiiVphFfRV3BwxtLQNs/s320/IMG_7497.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below are two of three yellow squash I have. I planted four but only three germinated. Not sure if I'm going to plant the fourth. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCk29566xmL5kObqKB9WG3GDd6LEypu6dKLNHUdyiMINqr6nf8sMKvH2tfDKg8RO3JMkI416HobBCOGkL-HOaGLKExWgaYzG_e3DuoTe9DWzPJG9mSLnkNBQCeVVAqBg-FrqRDsThJ5Q/s1600/IMG_7498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCk29566xmL5kObqKB9WG3GDd6LEypu6dKLNHUdyiMINqr6nf8sMKvH2tfDKg8RO3JMkI416HobBCOGkL-HOaGLKExWgaYzG_e3DuoTe9DWzPJG9mSLnkNBQCeVVAqBg-FrqRDsThJ5Q/s320/IMG_7498.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My collards, below, are actually doing well. Just within the last couple of days they've really grown in size. I'll be taking more photos so you can see their progress. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdfBjyWgb0E94VOc2OHTfyY7kWZryLyOmQ5QeS3g0vbI3a4oF9-exa12rTGfP3mgBZVr-eHA_2SDGQYtVzFbML8PY9AoSpbQkL1-3JLpMOd-ILy9Un0aVFsc_hyrG2ETzoAadxd7_j_8/s1600/IMG_7499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdfBjyWgb0E94VOc2OHTfyY7kWZryLyOmQ5QeS3g0vbI3a4oF9-exa12rTGfP3mgBZVr-eHA_2SDGQYtVzFbML8PY9AoSpbQkL1-3JLpMOd-ILy9Un0aVFsc_hyrG2ETzoAadxd7_j_8/s320/IMG_7499.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like I said, I think I've probably planted three too many zucchini, but at least they're thriving. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ca_MRatH__JZdI2UN2LoTt6XLPviXtrJOu9deqky3WMLrL81zcwa4-5gE8112kb_OtaSN2tN8cYkbwVMw3YdABK_crsZzcxTfe6452eVYUFnsgu6nTUV9nl4UWsDyDdbrSjOmxaVJFU/s1600/IMG_7500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ca_MRatH__JZdI2UN2LoTt6XLPviXtrJOu9deqky3WMLrL81zcwa4-5gE8112kb_OtaSN2tN8cYkbwVMw3YdABK_crsZzcxTfe6452eVYUFnsgu6nTUV9nl4UWsDyDdbrSjOmxaVJFU/s320/IMG_7500.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is flat leave parsley below. I didn't plant this from seed. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvx9AD4WuP0FgJ2q2pAMJXdOYcUfdebNbgIUb3l3-d1caSpLTbjjz2yyNRtBfbkmnxknd8Tw5qHKtAa3qRq9mlJMUMECdtfcYHWZjTVdU0jTwx6RrXJ-gCCfTD2T6uSt3Wclo743QozJw/s1600/IMG_7501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvx9AD4WuP0FgJ2q2pAMJXdOYcUfdebNbgIUb3l3-d1caSpLTbjjz2yyNRtBfbkmnxknd8Tw5qHKtAa3qRq9mlJMUMECdtfcYHWZjTVdU0jTwx6RrXJ-gCCfTD2T6uSt3Wclo743QozJw/s320/IMG_7501.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below are may cauliflower, which are not too happy, my broccoli, which are a bit happier, and my brussels sprouts, which are very happy. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUj8gazr-weFitRJOtcvBsXn0xa4tFUz-G3gb46oJkSFFznxE-69__tC4GaoBW8NKU9bZHcCtEt3fK3HmCNR1UuNY2Fo_zCJ9yNzB9H5o7KkWIJBEhO_WD75gbtKFDGl0U4kolzMYiX3o/s1600/IMG_7502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUj8gazr-weFitRJOtcvBsXn0xa4tFUz-G3gb46oJkSFFznxE-69__tC4GaoBW8NKU9bZHcCtEt3fK3HmCNR1UuNY2Fo_zCJ9yNzB9H5o7KkWIJBEhO_WD75gbtKFDGl0U4kolzMYiX3o/s320/IMG_7502.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A couple I sing with in the choir at church gave me strawberry plants and rhubarb plants. While they don't look it below, the strawberry plants are actually doing well. They're sprouting new growth, so I know they're not dead. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqu7xpFMm-2jqNoydA0K2Ik9JRc6qJ49pJGQslXrWN_yM8QE6eZxS0x85NQ2I3d7nGUUshcPDC4WgvASMQMkRPzOvdj4dqCvwttw7OFGh2OSGvWAvtQbBwyacT3ogkidau5vgF6DunB70/s1600/IMG_7503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqu7xpFMm-2jqNoydA0K2Ik9JRc6qJ49pJGQslXrWN_yM8QE6eZxS0x85NQ2I3d7nGUUshcPDC4WgvASMQMkRPzOvdj4dqCvwttw7OFGh2OSGvWAvtQbBwyacT3ogkidau5vgF6DunB70/s320/IMG_7503.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I loaded composted cow manure onto my two beds of rhubarb and in a matter of a couple of days all the plants, even the one that look like it had died to the ground, have sprouted all new leaves. Yeah!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddR6aszAVVZs-sDvLh5bgyyG0XvMUg5yojA8rw5n8nJj6T0x0CkBPFyOn0seg7m8EE0AUPejPUJNEQ5o38QvfmpfnE-diDsuBeVAee6lPEDq98VzBUsBrMobO7dFUk4h9fAbeDTcLWok/s1600/IMG_7504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddR6aszAVVZs-sDvLh5bgyyG0XvMUg5yojA8rw5n8nJj6T0x0CkBPFyOn0seg7m8EE0AUPejPUJNEQ5o38QvfmpfnE-diDsuBeVAee6lPEDq98VzBUsBrMobO7dFUk4h9fAbeDTcLWok/s320/IMG_7504.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have sixteen tomato plants. I chose Romas and San Marzanos, which make the best sauces. I also planted two cherry tomato plants. We love to roast the cherry tomatoes with a little garlic, olive oil, balsamic and salt and pepper and then toss that with pasta. MMmmmmm.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijukdy7PEVTphrgbmvLqUTNT4WQVGMN5XoHHeyTYsdmyvMEvv9tcyuBJg5_dzR2hA4H-BY_gzv_pp6eeQC37YlLV1dAPf37_i7R_XMFcAk-N8ZDZi5iI17xqwTRD_3AyUD2t3tXAkYGBE/s1600/IMG_7505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijukdy7PEVTphrgbmvLqUTNT4WQVGMN5XoHHeyTYsdmyvMEvv9tcyuBJg5_dzR2hA4H-BY_gzv_pp6eeQC37YlLV1dAPf37_i7R_XMFcAk-N8ZDZi5iI17xqwTRD_3AyUD2t3tXAkYGBE/s1600/IMG_7505.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijukdy7PEVTphrgbmvLqUTNT4WQVGMN5XoHHeyTYsdmyvMEvv9tcyuBJg5_dzR2hA4H-BY_gzv_pp6eeQC37YlLV1dAPf37_i7R_XMFcAk-N8ZDZi5iI17xqwTRD_3AyUD2t3tXAkYGBE/s320/IMG_7505.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And from the herb garden, we have lemon thyme . . . </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOj8EzYYMgfUo8y4MPgFzA_mRA6Bh-xyGnZ794w3utSzyhRI6Pq6H7J0Tz9P3JCpxlywIqkEX6MbEOk6PBLNHAXiJPHi-Ih3fEcqCgIvxfR7cWaaCy0tZzxxKf555Y-mivoJsTj3pgOs/s1600/IMG_7506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOj8EzYYMgfUo8y4MPgFzA_mRA6Bh-xyGnZ794w3utSzyhRI6Pq6H7J0Tz9P3JCpxlywIqkEX6MbEOk6PBLNHAXiJPHi-Ih3fEcqCgIvxfR7cWaaCy0tZzxxKf555Y-mivoJsTj3pgOs/s320/IMG_7506.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">a variegated sage </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKQ8teH4HMfDCQwtUAG7YiV6oMFFYmqIT8aECjatA9-K5Y8ntCgmWOTQhDASMZ64Gd_xWw-OvwCiCkZ7nY2IzSJf8CPuoklEJMg_meQG1dX8vnibvIrOibRvFpC4jidYDuMbd5zekseE/s1600/IMG_7507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKQ8teH4HMfDCQwtUAG7YiV6oMFFYmqIT8aECjatA9-K5Y8ntCgmWOTQhDASMZ64Gd_xWw-OvwCiCkZ7nY2IzSJf8CPuoklEJMg_meQG1dX8vnibvIrOibRvFpC4jidYDuMbd5zekseE/s320/IMG_7507.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">oregano </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZtLKLmMw9PTmRKykZfZTjf7p3gfVOotpJ_myLJWXSI9zSsvDIJYEOZVbux2sHpv2EnfpCl2i5rJYy2eeKbAuDZXwG2pzSX0YNIqQfgwKP106t9V-RO-gjP6RP94hDEJQxxl07WVFF5c/s1600/IMG_7508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZtLKLmMw9PTmRKykZfZTjf7p3gfVOotpJ_myLJWXSI9zSsvDIJYEOZVbux2sHpv2EnfpCl2i5rJYy2eeKbAuDZXwG2pzSX0YNIqQfgwKP106t9V-RO-gjP6RP94hDEJQxxl07WVFF5c/s320/IMG_7508.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">dill ... from seed .. miniscule </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUAmiIVkOMA02QJEyYGrVh8TDJ2i4nI1EXUFQZp1X2_6g4t9LeKt3UMseJ0zdX4d4FYiMAo7dNIu40TEv2o2Bx3inSb4GhR08RTvJFVh_9YD1piw7CWNcJDUmSRCrxEh1c9m-Ly4SrU0Y/s1600/IMG_7509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUAmiIVkOMA02QJEyYGrVh8TDJ2i4nI1EXUFQZp1X2_6g4t9LeKt3UMseJ0zdX4d4FYiMAo7dNIu40TEv2o2Bx3inSb4GhR08RTvJFVh_9YD1piw7CWNcJDUmSRCrxEh1c9m-Ly4SrU0Y/s320/IMG_7509.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and another variegated sage.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2AcWqNgkmBrLoaRUPrSHyOvVLqwYz3UtY7oemrSi-we-uuZuXbC1NrzZVUeUNIhYK38aEPXutNlzG5_CsRrebYnE1juQMSpA4j3EkIpsP9_pbpHTAhCCTn7RHtlyTSnP3Nim9B3hqZg/s1600/IMG_7510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2AcWqNgkmBrLoaRUPrSHyOvVLqwYz3UtY7oemrSi-we-uuZuXbC1NrzZVUeUNIhYK38aEPXutNlzG5_CsRrebYnE1juQMSpA4j3EkIpsP9_pbpHTAhCCTn7RHtlyTSnP3Nim9B3hqZg/s320/IMG_7510.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And while I'm at it, a few friends in my flower gardens:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcnQdIGnIPFYwF0bAD_E_jBfdHKAbCSkhGj2MhH1I79zl45Tn5yFimhtFbWNLMk0UddZBGglTKL5cThENOxHcqaSoWqo06eKVyEBInS5v6OqIGTredLPq21QZ2BcA-H3ywnYlJH-VHYI/s1600/IMG_7511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcnQdIGnIPFYwF0bAD_E_jBfdHKAbCSkhGj2MhH1I79zl45Tn5yFimhtFbWNLMk0UddZBGglTKL5cThENOxHcqaSoWqo06eKVyEBInS5v6OqIGTredLPq21QZ2BcA-H3ywnYlJH-VHYI/s320/IMG_7511.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYz9W56DOx2hrwam-L_4GO9Kzpdz8bjV8DpVL7umeRNr3YxcPvzuyFVrWHJ0bYRjsejerY0KDhyphenhyphenkufUmuX7h5rePZ0qh0Pieb-vYw6c5lqiLGtUv0K63hsNI6eAlkdJvvrHrDN5t0JTxo/s1600/IMG_7530.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYz9W56DOx2hrwam-L_4GO9Kzpdz8bjV8DpVL7umeRNr3YxcPvzuyFVrWHJ0bYRjsejerY0KDhyphenhyphenkufUmuX7h5rePZ0qh0Pieb-vYw6c5lqiLGtUv0K63hsNI6eAlkdJvvrHrDN5t0JTxo/s320/IMG_7530.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-7509843761217121252011-04-28T00:24:00.000-04:002011-04-28T00:24:56.992-04:00Turn Your Lights Off and Close Your EyesYes. You read right. I want you to turn off your lights and close your eyes while you are listening to the piece of music at the end of this post.<br />
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When I was much younger, I discovered that I heard music more fully if I listened to it in the darkness with my eyes closed. I guess, without visual distractions, my ears and my mind are more capable of hearing and seeing the music I'm listening to if I listen to it in the dark with my eyes closed.<br />
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The piece I'm sharing with you here is "God So Loved The World" by John Stainer. It is a classic standard of sacred music. Every choir with a sacred repertoire has sung it. Or should have. It is a gorgeous piece of music, yet so deceptive. At first hearing, it sounds very simple, but that is further from the truth. The harmonies are so close and oh so difficult to master. While I admit that my little church choir hasn't mastered this piece, we do sing it with much success and with great conviction.<br />
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When I think of how we rehearse our music without a pianist and that we dare approach difficult music, I am truly amazed. Our choir rehearsals late Saturday afternoons are such a creative challenge and pleasure. We start at 4:00 and are always surprised and disappointed when we look up at the clock to see 6:00 swiftly approaching. During the Easter Sunday service, after hearing this piece, our preacher, Norman Lee, encouraged the congregation to applaud for us and he explained why he was encouraging the applause. He said that most people do not realize the time, effort, challenge, talent and training that is involved in what we do, nor do people realize how difficult it is to produce such music given temperaments and personalities that can be present in such a group, and how rare it is that a group of people can actually get along and enjoy the time and effort they share as we do. I love to go to a fine restaurant and savor well prepared, spectacular ingredients. Saturdays at 4:00 at The United Church of New Marlborough gives me the exact same pleasure.<br />
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So, as I said earlier, turn off your lights and close your eyes to listen to this piece. Don't just think "yeah, yeah, whatever". Turn off the lights, close your eyes, and listen to the music and the message. (In case you're wondering, I'm the bass.)<br />
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Thank you, Lord.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxVkdWMn1UAweOuqOvMGdLtzh3lVMoxc-0aSBSkuteGs23b0a1us6_KA79PPBFI6FU3XS1hM_A1AgdYV2W3ng' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-10121874227828707702011-04-18T23:40:00.003-04:002011-04-27T19:50:45.834-04:00The Holy City<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's so much I could say, but I just don't know where to begin. I've contemplated for a while how I don't post the "ugly stuff" in my life - the struggle and frustrations - and when I do include such stuff in my posts, I wrap it up in so much humor instead of just letting the ugly bones lie. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In church each week, we have a time to tell about our blessings or to ask for prayers - prayers for ourselves or others - and usually I sit there with my hands in my lap, waiting for the next hymn to lead. I guess I should explain. I no longer just sing in the choir of the little church next door, I am now the official interim choir director. Our organist/choir director, who toured in "Annie Get Your Gun" with Mary Martin (which should tell you a lot about her and the church I've become a part of), had a stroke a couple months back, and since then I've been selecting the congregational hymns and choral anthems. Also since, we've added a choir rehearsal on Saturday afternoons apart from our rehearsal just before the Sunday morning service. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have a lot of mixed feelings here. I hate that Fran, our organist/choir director is in such poor health. Her husband died a few years back, and she's had some sort of brain surgery subsequent to his death and not been in right health since. I feel some sort of camaraderie with her, she being a stage performer and all, but what with my own family obligations, I find it difficult, if not impossible, to lend her my care as well, the care I'd really like to extend to her. On the other hand, I feel truly honored and blessed to have the opportunity to guide the music of this little country church.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After I graduated from college, I moved back to Kansas City and lived with Mom. As soon as I was back in Kansas City, I was asked to direct the choir of the church in which I grew up. I have said before and will say again, those three years directing that choir were three of the most creative years of my life. I'm no Mozart, no Bernstein or Yascha Heifitz. No Pavarotti or Robert Shaw. But I do acknowledge that the music and theater I have within me are God-given gifts, and as such, I must foster them and express them as best I as can, as hard and as long as I can. And to be able to walk into a house of God and feel, well, as Pastor Norman Lee said to me in front of the congregation a couple of Sundays ago, to be where I am celebrated and not just tolerated, well, I know I am truly blest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And this brings me to where I am now. Tom and I are struggling financially, which often feels like all there is to life. Life here in the country, living in this 112 year old house, in this tiny country village, is quite a struggle. But would I trade it for the life we had in New York City. Absolutely not. We lived in an apartment building built in 1914. So it had all the character of age that sing to me, but then so does our old crank of a house. And we had some neighbors there in that old building that we will cherish always, but we are, miraculously, surrounded by incredible, loving and generous neighbors here. I've always felt right at home here and instantly welcomed. Before I moved here, I discovered online the little cafe up the road where I knew that I would work. And so I did, and so I probably always will when I need that extra income. I have a great job doing important work in the scheme of life, working as the office manager for a free health care clinic for those who cannot afford health care but really, really need it. But such important efforts are not financially rewarding, like that other vastly important vocation, teaching. But it is fulfilling. And if there weren't a 7 year old in the house, I wouldn't be so worried. But. On the other hand. What a great and important lesson for a 7 year old to learn. Do what sings to your soul and what helps your friend and neighbor. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And so when the struggle feels too much to bear, I think of all this. And then I speak to friends and neighbors around me, and, oh, the struggles I hear about. Late bills, tax bills, lost jobs, no jobs, hurting families, hurting minds and hearts. I know that I am blest. But. I have a hard time with that. There's that old saying that I am really having a hard time with these days: "There but for the grace of God go I." At first hearing it sounds good, but then turn it around to those who, what?, don't have the grace of God? and then it just doesn't sound good at all. Pastor Norman Lee says that God doesn't hand us what we aren't capable of handling. And that sounds good at first, too, but then. Well. I'm just not convinced that God is going around handing us all levels of difficulties. I think that those difficulties come as a part of our human existence, and it is how we handle them and how we are <i><u>still</u></i> able to love and worship God as our great creator that is important. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I work to remind myself what I try to teach Mickey. There will always be those that have more than me, that sing greater than me, that act greater than me, and there will always be those that sing less than me and act less than me and have less than me. I have to cherish what I have, and to always, always do the very best I can, no matter what it is I do. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am truly blest. I have a family I wake to and put to bed every night, which is what I've always wanted. I have an old house with more character than I deserve, which is what I have always wanted. I have animals traipsing through my yard eating my crocus, like it or not, which is kind of what I want. There is more silence outside my front door than I have ever heard, which is what I wanted but didn't know existed. I witness the most beautiful sunsets every evening through the woods across the street summer, winter, spring and fall. And the stars. Oh, my God. The stars! And I have neighbors that I love and cherish, which is what I want. I have jobs that put money into my bank account regularly, and the physical and mental energy to execute what is asked of me wherever I work, which I pray that I will always have. I have a place to sing, and act and play the violin, which I deeply need and intensely want. Are things tough? You bet, but oh, dear God, am I blest!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below is a recording of the choir of my church - all four of us - singing an old piece, written by the same composer of "O Holy Night!", Stephen Adams. When I was in college, I learned a violin arrangement of this piece, which was my introduction to it. Years since, I discovered it actually had words and was a song first, and then it became a song that I absolutely had to sing. But the opportunity to sing it eluded me. I introduced it to members of the church choir back home, and after I left, they found the music and sang it. Without me. Years and years passed. Not until I took over the leadership of my present church choir did it come back to me, but the opportunity just didn't seem right. I actually gave the music to our organist but it was just too big a piece for her to handle at this stage in her game. And so, within the last few weeks, I thought, maybe, I could sing the song and the choir could just come in on the chorus. I presented the idea and it was immediately dismissed. They would sing the entire thing with me. Are you sure? But it's long and it isn't easy. We'll do it. And so we did. The performance you'll hear below could be criticized till kingdom come. But don't bother. Because, you see, it's really perfect. It is sung by four people who love what they are doing and who they are doing it for, and there is more love and passion in this performance than you'll pay big bucks for at any of the theaters or great halls around the world.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I listen to it over and over, and I know that I am so very blest.</div><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzyMM9hBfTAsNcq53eXd1pEIpYjVpgAQi4ggGe4yLZ0cfNyZTHWQu0zT_m8AVz-EH1_4Szf8-fohPvbHJ2MtQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-12012752799624122742011-02-25T10:52:00.000-05:002011-02-25T10:52:24.126-05:00A Mind Of Winter<b>The Snowman by Wallace Stevens</b><br />
<br />
One must have a mind of winter <br />
To regard the frost and the boughs <br />
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;<br />
<br />
And have been cold a long time <br />
To behold the junipers shagged with ice, <br />
The spruces rough in the distant glitter<br />
<br />
Of the January sun; and not to think <br />
Of any misery in the sound of the wind, <br />
In the sound of a few leaves,<br />
<br />
Which is the sound of the land <br />
Full of the same wind <br />
That is blowing in the same bare place<br />
<br />
For the listener, who listens in the snow, <br />
And, nothing himself, beholds <br />
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.<br />
<br />
<br />
When I was still living in NYC and a house in the country was but a mere fantasy, I had a subscription to a magazine called Country Living. It was a terrible magazine, I thought. Not well produced, and the style they promoted was mostly kitsch. I felt then that the unintentional country style often found in Martha Stewart Living was more the real deal and not put on. It's similar to street punks; you have the real street punks and then you have the white bread suburban kids who endeavor to dress and talk like street punks. All put on and not real. Anyway, that's mostly how I felt about that magazine. I cancelled it, but the magazines kept coming. Even after I moved to the country those magazines followed me. Maddening. There was one thing I liked about the magazine and it was a column written by a gal who lived in Iowa or Ohio, out on a farm in an antique farmhouse. Her writing was quite entertaining. Funny, but also real.<br />
<br />
I have never forgotten one column in which she talked about winter. Winter was coming on where she lived and she talked about the coats and scarves and gloves and mittens and boots, and all the snow and the long dark nights and not so cheery days. She said one had to "be of a mind of winter" in order to endure the long country winters with some degree of enjoyment. I've never forgotten that column and have always promised myself, or threatened myself, that "come next winter, I'm going to be of a mind of winter." And then winter comes and I dread it. Yes, I know, I could have moved south of NYC, but I'm really of a Northeastern mind, even though I largely have a Southern sensibility. I don't know what any of that means, but it sounds good. Anyway, so here I am in the middle of what has been a long and difficult winter.<br />
<br />
I haven't seen the ground for months. It has stayed so cold here that the first snow is still there, buried under all the other snows that have followed. On December 21st, the Winter Solstice, I started counting the days till Spring, and have kept my eyes trained on the late afternoon sky, searching for every little hint that the days were getting longer. It's now late February and the only ground I see in my yard is the patch that is above my septic tank. My grass isn't greener over the septic tank, but the ground is certainly warmer. Last week we had a few days in the upper forties and I prayed that we were on our downward spiral into hot weather. Alas, the cold has returned as has the snow.<br />
<br />
Of a mind of winter. Nowhere near. I think if my house had insulation and we weren't paying out the nose to heat the few rooms we're living in, I might be able to be of a mind of winter, actually enjoy bundling up to enjoy the cold and snow. We've actually cut our heating bills down by half by moving our bedrooms downstairs to the "second parlor" and "library", not heating the upstairs at all and keeping the two rooms we're sleeping in closed off with doors and blankets hanging in un-doored doorways. We're hoping and praying that are tax refund can help us insulate the attic floor ourselves, which, we are told will make a world of difference in keeping the heat from shooting out the roof. Something about a "chimney effect". Until then, we pinch pennies, hunker down and stay bundled up in robes and blankets and pray for an early spring. <br />
<br />
<b>A Mind of Winter by Wallce Stevens</b><br />
<br />
Silenced and sent outside<br />
as if the world was a child<br />
he wanted out of the room<br />
the view from the window showed<br />
only those cold thoughts<br />
that tended to comply with white<br />
<br />
a glaring region where his mind<br />
took hold of trees and bent<br />
their shoulders until they sighed<br />
made them sag knee-deep<br />
here and there like melted candles<br />
stuck to a table in an empty house<br />
<br />
and glowing like a pearl<br />
placed a hard white sun low<br />
in a windswept sky imagining his own<br />
small face on a pillow in a new-made bed<br />
then becoming one white quiet thing<br />
<br />
draped thick blankets across his knees<br />
so that the book he held<br />
lightly in his hand was spread<br />
open to a page where the icy<br />
scene was set pitiless and horizontal<br />
<br />
until his footprint gaping open in the snow<br />
became a shape he no longer recognised<br />
letting through a patch of green<br />
and it was like a holiday<br />
he'd been looking forward to for months<br />
and a keyhole to the heart.Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-52438980166952507462011-01-31T08:23:00.001-05:002011-01-31T11:55:00.308-05:00Never Ending SnowIf you watch the news or weather, you already know that the Northeast has been slammed by snow this winter. We have had a colder November, December and January than last year and yet our heating bills have been cut, maybe even by half. We've moved our bedrooms downstairs to the Second Parlor and Library (at least, that's what they'll be when the house is done), and we heat the bathroom and computer room upstairs with an electric heater. Ever since December 21, the Winter Solstice, I've been counting the days till spring and have watched for even the slightest evidence of the sun setting later in the evening. I've been looking at the weather calendar on accuweather.com for the winter months last year to see what the actual temperatures were then. That's hard to take because we had a mild winter, an early spring and long hot summer. Oh, that we're blessed so this year. Fat chance!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been watching news stories of roofs collapsing under the snow, and when I was at the post office yesterday I listened as some guy talked to another about how he had been up on the roof clearing the snow and chipping away the ice in an attempt to stop the dripping of water into the house. Great. So I came home and climbed up onto the porch roof and shoveled off snow that was no less than 2 feet deep, and in some places 3 feet deep. I broke my snow shovel when I was almost done, so I'm either going to have to get another one today, or resort to invention. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The pics below are from a couple of different snow storms that came one after the other. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The snow I shoveled off yesterday was about another foot deeper than what you see here . . . </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1JgX5faREx0I71DwYYCarf2v52EsI5eiMTLGVHQ_1AQpi7_a_q6MYrIS6j8JJwbMPik7BFlua6LwjdIdHR_6pn3y-NQv1iKkGOCZAZDk5gZ-VbJsJuDd-sprouWBRrWg0JrFut4OHI8/s1600/snow+vs+roof.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1JgX5faREx0I71DwYYCarf2v52EsI5eiMTLGVHQ_1AQpi7_a_q6MYrIS6j8JJwbMPik7BFlua6LwjdIdHR_6pn3y-NQv1iKkGOCZAZDk5gZ-VbJsJuDd-sprouWBRrWg0JrFut4OHI8/s320/snow+vs+roof.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now you see it . . .</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsfkyUwr0lxu08N8YuO2QzqBJ5lqobjPXRoWELZ6Aj7pmbJzy6X62REsyJNpK2qhOpuERnevhp_ba01cVDTVxySenETrB7t6Hs6P5A-hxQp3R5ZdNddyvSTKGSu6yqdMkPK8B9wpHFpo/s1600/now+you+see+it.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsfkyUwr0lxu08N8YuO2QzqBJ5lqobjPXRoWELZ6Aj7pmbJzy6X62REsyJNpK2qhOpuERnevhp_ba01cVDTVxySenETrB7t6Hs6P5A-hxQp3R5ZdNddyvSTKGSu6yqdMkPK8B9wpHFpo/s320/now+you+see+it.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
. . . now you don't!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqude-Uk-lnXWXsYjTR5OxompLi5W6G-epuT2oFm_BF41z0KD-Ucylbp5Q_W0aIwJobboqArdD0zxzghyL_u23Yl0Mn2_BQoraCHugWbjbNsPABeYQXPk9H00ezVw0aOZ14RrqYOWX6ZY/s1600/now+you+dont.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqude-Uk-lnXWXsYjTR5OxompLi5W6G-epuT2oFm_BF41z0KD-Ucylbp5Q_W0aIwJobboqArdD0zxzghyL_u23Yl0Mn2_BQoraCHugWbjbNsPABeYQXPk9H00ezVw0aOZ14RrqYOWX6ZY/s320/now+you+dont.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1mT762BnWbqJY6oQLTDAnW2fh9aqDBV279MBW0ZJl7_ouXFqOlG1wd8vfiOiBa6NIOUXLMUMSoYwsIPZ5sKFKE3aiCiTGg_RLUta61TQmg5aOvVhQEk1OrLZOVThFp2oFxhTywHfbOk/s1600/need+a+garage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1mT762BnWbqJY6oQLTDAnW2fh9aqDBV279MBW0ZJl7_ouXFqOlG1wd8vfiOiBa6NIOUXLMUMSoYwsIPZ5sKFKE3aiCiTGg_RLUta61TQmg5aOvVhQEk1OrLZOVThFp2oFxhTywHfbOk/s320/need+a+garage.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
And now, with all the plowing, this is how much I see of our cars.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh298UqMw6FiWJ8Li3GfFMOACSoU8WCzWqjAk0UrAXcUqBSHVzPIEAj8ftujWU8KDIsVlemKv2vF6xg7OmJf8Vri-fGLV0A8lnh0gG6n0l7mPMITPwheJ24uW4yX5VDh4inG0w12nvksxg/s1600/mountain+of+snow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh298UqMw6FiWJ8Li3GfFMOACSoU8WCzWqjAk0UrAXcUqBSHVzPIEAj8ftujWU8KDIsVlemKv2vF6xg7OmJf8Vri-fGLV0A8lnh0gG6n0l7mPMITPwheJ24uW4yX5VDh4inG0w12nvksxg/s320/mountain+of+snow.jpg" width="240" /></a> <br />
<br />
The first snow storm dumped so much snow that it came way above the kitchen porch.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJru2NWYa3LFlTvV4LL6eze-_YJ27MZyE2V4UsJkROcIKea0zaeAbHJodyw8gDqA6UtwjRChWbM2HYDQKEKx2-_HkXhC53O8AUBkp0hkpiB5TSxLHmwSoAL1ToXLiZYH6tVPyGLeZxt_w/s1600/porch+vs+snow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJru2NWYa3LFlTvV4LL6eze-_YJ27MZyE2V4UsJkROcIKea0zaeAbHJodyw8gDqA6UtwjRChWbM2HYDQKEKx2-_HkXhC53O8AUBkp0hkpiB5TSxLHmwSoAL1ToXLiZYH6tVPyGLeZxt_w/s320/porch+vs+snow.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
This is my cafe table on the left and my Weber grill on the right.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueb8jRFTxVOgiI8uF6nGc1kEH9dfKsw2KfoLct94lre1Qsspu9_EX1UNi_EtOEzGxgRAIhwcWrgKXbFHDdzecEVrzqN1hLWjKnaoWe45SpTQlKWteeoML0ClCCZnGZ4moViHBtFKZdo0/s1600/yard+hats.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueb8jRFTxVOgiI8uF6nGc1kEH9dfKsw2KfoLct94lre1Qsspu9_EX1UNi_EtOEzGxgRAIhwcWrgKXbFHDdzecEVrzqN1hLWjKnaoWe45SpTQlKWteeoML0ClCCZnGZ4moViHBtFKZdo0/s320/yard+hats.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
It's deeper now than what you see here . . .<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbOd4AVnEJEMGXk1gU2mj5ElU7GBbcNyWLyf_lQv-6Vsz9nZxNrp90pEwE_ITwBeNrIXNM9Glgw2-zg9CSEyrwWnEbdbBpdgie2JPIUsi6snt2fO29VKpw5GZR_UzZ6iH6kJz-kPSEG8/s1600/at+least+a+couple+of+feet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbOd4AVnEJEMGXk1gU2mj5ElU7GBbcNyWLyf_lQv-6Vsz9nZxNrp90pEwE_ITwBeNrIXNM9Glgw2-zg9CSEyrwWnEbdbBpdgie2JPIUsi6snt2fO29VKpw5GZR_UzZ6iH6kJz-kPSEG8/s320/at+least+a+couple+of+feet.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
It's kind of hard to see in the picture of the mountain of snow below, but there is a passage I have to continually cut through the mountain of snow so that we have access to our gas tank. Every time the plow comes, they block my passage right back up. It's getting increasingly difficult with each plowing. In the pic below, I have it cut down about a foot and half and have several more to go. When it's clear and when I walk through it, the top of the mountain comes to my shoulders.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8kT9z9PAHatfFkB6ZDG84lE7jRu_ekqMYQlQ5KdFe9B0SpQbkLOnzwccP1Rh45aWaYSUv8JPaL-zxxos90CfkhwZHNv1isvnZSiWprkH153JtUyc15XzLLb53jSE7AY7AI6Gch0oIMI/s1600/northwest+passage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8kT9z9PAHatfFkB6ZDG84lE7jRu_ekqMYQlQ5KdFe9B0SpQbkLOnzwccP1Rh45aWaYSUv8JPaL-zxxos90CfkhwZHNv1isvnZSiWprkH153JtUyc15XzLLb53jSE7AY7AI6Gch0oIMI/s320/northwest+passage.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
This is the snow on the step outside the den. I haven't shoveled it at all. I'm just letting it build up and up to see just how high it gets before the warm weather and rains come and wash it away.<br />
<br />
<img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhbxFlN_bjLQAiJ6H4hXUkv5kXfR3B2Ez5Zdw8RV3YetRoTgCIYQFmJ2XHoVaRF7GVSWrai05cTsLr_Fxb-c-nG04ahGK6qnB9J3vn463HVx8Q-6yUkfeMbl0C_uuNLCxjXeetXWJg8Y/s320/snow+on+steps.jpg" width="320" /><br />
<br />
And now they're predicting even more snow! I CAN'T TAKE IT!Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-72993432313157319362010-12-27T10:18:00.007-05:002011-04-27T19:50:08.540-04:00O Holy NightThis Christmas, we stayed right here at home. Seems like traveling during the holidays has always been a nightmare for us, and what with air travel getting more ridiculous by the minute, it just doesn't make sense to add even more torture to an already crazed time of year.<br />
<br />
Our Christmas season began when we got to see The Wizard of Oz on the big screen at an old movie theater in town. I know, it's not a Christmas movie, but it felt festive getting to see it on the big screen. In truth, it's really more a Halloween movie, as scary as it is to Mickey.<br />
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Then there was the holiday fair at Mickey's school. We usually get our tree there for $25, but when I arrived 15 minutes after the fair began, all the good trees had already been taken. Dang it. Tom worked the fair all day seeing that the school's book sale was being held in his classroom. Mickey played outside in the cold all day with a revolving door of school mates. I stayed home and cleaned house.<br />
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The following weekend we ventured out to find our Christmas tree. I stopped by the local nursery to price trees there, but nearly fainted when I found that most were priced at $80! I hadn't seen any Christmas tree stands anywhere in town, but remembered the place where we go to get our pumpkins for Halloween at a good price, so I figured it was worth checking out their trees. When we arrived, I was floored. They were all gargantuan. Our den has high ceilings, but the trees that greeted us when we first arrived at Taft Farms were clearly too tall. And the price was too tall as well, $70. Undaunted, we cruised each aisle until Tom found the $50 trees. More than what I wanted to spend, but they were getting ready to close and if we didn't get a tree that day, who knew when we'd be able to get one. Tom dragged our tree to the front to pay. When the guy came over to help us, he looked at the tree and said $35! SOLD! Merry Christmas!<br />
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Last Christmas, Mickey commented on the colored lights he saw on other trees. Our tree had white lights. My trees have had white lights ever since white lights became available, even though I always loved colored lights on Christmas trees when I was a kid. The hardware store across from work had colored lights on sale this year, so I bought six strings with a total of 900 lights. I must say, I do love the colored lights.<br />
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When I was growing up, it was tradition in our family to put the Christmas tree up on the Saturday closest to my birthday, December 11th. We did the same this year and I was given the most lovely watercolor from Tom and Mickey. I spotted the watercolor at the school's holiday fair. It was being sold as part of the silent auction. The artist, <a href="http://www.anngetsinger.com/">Ann Getsinger</a>, is someone I met while working at the Southfield Store. She would come in some mornings while Mickey was still there waiting for the bus. One morning she and Mickey sketched together. I still have the newspaper on which they did their doodling. Sometime after this art session, Ann had a showing of some of her work, so we went to have a look see and were floored by the magnitude of talent this woman has. I determined then and there that one day an Ann Getsinger would hang in our house. I bid on the watercolor, but after I left, parents began flocking to the watercolor and out bid me. Or, at least, that's the story Tom told me. Apparently there were many interested parties, but in truth, he stood near the painting and threatened everyone who came near because he wanted to buy it for me for my birthday. Happy Birthday!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhsbRY591t0lf07Apz_5rY1cBm_EFPzaeRIzpngApUYFI-5w6RyZfl18zFlbY9vcvnzyGs1uS2rrIZkE9vhZkCT_wr18qs5LGjDb-soiRuCT4kRVNAf0BBkKt_AhTPxeMMIkHwQPvGQg/s1600/apple-stump-ocean-w.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555983956862914210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhsbRY591t0lf07Apz_5rY1cBm_EFPzaeRIzpngApUYFI-5w6RyZfl18zFlbY9vcvnzyGs1uS2rrIZkE9vhZkCT_wr18qs5LGjDb-soiRuCT4kRVNAf0BBkKt_AhTPxeMMIkHwQPvGQg/s320/apple-stump-ocean-w.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 254px;" /></a><br />
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Not long ago, the preacher at our church started a mid-week prayer service, primarily for interested parishioners to gather to pray about growing our church and to sing worship songs. I attend every Thursday and have become the de facto song leader, and let me tell you, we sing our guts out. It's really a lot of fun. One Thursday I suggested that we should go Christmas caroling as a means of getting the word out that we were out there. So we did. There's only about 5 steady choir members, but that was just enough to sing some carols in harmony and spread some cheer. After several hours of traveling around and singing for our older folk, we ended the day at the New Marlborough Meeting House for the annual Christmas carol sing.<br />
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There is a famous percussionist who lives in our town and he leads the singing every year. He always hauls in straps of bells for the kids to play as we all sing Jingle Bells. The sound is a little deafing, so I've dubbed it Jangle Bells, as in jangled nerves.<br />
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And wouldn't you know it, all that jingling of bells summoned old man Christmas himself.<br />
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Just about one year ago, we started attending church next door at The United Church of New Marlborough. Last Christmas eve, I was just one of many singers in the choir (some how, we had lots of singers last Christmas eve). This year was a different story. The organist and I played carols for fifteen minutes leading up to the service. Mickey rang the church bell to start the service. He rings the bell every Sunday morning, too. I sang with the choir for all the carols, and jumped in on the violin on certain carols. Then, after the preacher's message, Mickey and I sang Away in a Manager together, with me accompanying us on the autoharp. And then for the offertory, I sang O Holy Night. Unfortunately, I had a hideous cold and couldn't reach my high notes. Oh well, next year.<br />
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It was a really beautiful service and it was so nice to see all the pews filled. If only it could be like that every Sunday. <br />
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After church, Tom and Mickey and I each opened a present. The rest had to wait to be opened along with the loot that Santa would drag in for Mickey while we were sleeping. Wink, wink. We ended Christmas day having a wonderful dinner down the street at our friends, the Richmans.<br />
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God bless us everyone.Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-88988801098754870862010-12-25T21:34:00.002-05:002010-12-25T21:40:55.203-05:00What's In A Name?Well. I need your help. I've been considering for quite a while to change the name of my blog. Well, not the name of the blog, per se, but the address of the blog. Since I chose to use my home address as the address of the blog, I also chose not to publish my blog for all the world to find and read. But I think I'd like for the world to be able to find and read my blog, so now I need to change my address. But it has to be something catchy, something meaningful, something memorable. I wanted to use soggybottom.blogspot.com, but it isn't available. If you go to soggybottom.blogspot.com, you'll find an old blog from 2002 with only a handful of posts. See, that's the dangerous thing about the internet, nonsense gets posted and it stays for years and years and the whole web is such a giant thing that no one can manage it much less clean it up. So, I have to come up with something else. If you have any ideas, let me know!Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827259407517107803.post-5869103324238250492010-11-20T17:49:00.005-05:002010-11-20T18:10:13.861-05:00Guess Who Came To Lunch!So, I got up this morning and pulled on my dirtiest clothes and proceeded to collect all our trash and recycling and load it out to the car. There were some old fluorescent light fixtures that used to hang in the workshop that is now our den that I have been wanting to take to the dump but kept forgetting that I finally remembered, so I dragged those out of the basement and shoved those into the car. And one last piece of the old shower that used to be in what will someday be our library jumped into my memory, so out to the car it went as well. My hands were filthy and my clothes filthier. No matter. I'm going to the dump.<br /><br />I go to the dump and no one was there. Well, Alvin, the old guy who runs the dump was there but he was in his shed with the door closed. Alvin gave me a photo once of he and one of the girls that grew up in this house, kissing him in front of his old car parked in front of the garage that was torn down just before we bought the house. Everyone has some connection to this house. Anyway. I digress, as I do.<br /><br />On the way back to the house, I pass Elise who is gardening this public triangle out in front of The Southfield Store, so I stop and visit. As we're visiting, Miriam, one of the gals who does pastry at the store comes out and says "Guess who's inside! Guess who's inside!" My mind races. Martha Stewart comes to mind, but then maybe it's Bill Clinton or Jake Gyllenhaal. "Ina Garten!"<br /><br /> Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I LOVE INA GARTEN! THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA! What do I do, what do I do? I HAVEN'T EVEN BRUSHED MY TEETH! Is my hair messed up? What hair I have. Maybe she'll autograph one of my cookbooks. I have all of hers, after all. Which one to bring!!!! I go inside, but I can't even look at her. I walk passed her table and recognize Jeffery, her husband. I talk to Andrew, the store manager, who tells me that he has told her that we, the store, uses her french toast recipe, which we do because I started it! What do I do? Elise says she's going to tell her that her biggest fan has just ran home to get a cookbook for her to autograph, so off I go.<br /><br />I get home and excitedly tell Tom who's at the store, brush my teeth, check to make sure what hair I have isn't pressed down in weird patterns because of sleeping on it, grab the cookbook with the french toast recipe in it and fly back to the store. I walk in and one of her friends sticks out her arms, presenting Ina. Ina reaches out her hand to introduce herself and I take it. "And this is Jeffery", she says. "Oh, I know Jeffery", I respond, and everyone laughs.<br /><br />I ask for her autograph and she graciously obliges and I ask if I could have a photo and she nearly has a heart attack. She wasn't filthy like I was, but she wasn't wearing a stitch of make-up and was dressed in an old track suit. But she obliged. She looked at me and said "This is a private photo isn't it? It's not ending up on YouTube or anything, is it?" Of course not. So, as I type this, I've decided that if you want to see the photo, you'll just have to come visit, but here's her AUTHOGRAPH!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyYEMYi6vpOvPZDoz7UmREpl4J0cYqUrvoyOu1ll8RF65_Nb4e-or3qczRO-hkoNboxnlxLmrsU6WiKQLy6ea87UgHx-0HJlEGRgESXIdK_hGQ_93xuMYxPicSx-4t24MEfVJaYPNLss/s1600/inas+autograph.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyYEMYi6vpOvPZDoz7UmREpl4J0cYqUrvoyOu1ll8RF65_Nb4e-or3qczRO-hkoNboxnlxLmrsU6WiKQLy6ea87UgHx-0HJlEGRgESXIdK_hGQ_93xuMYxPicSx-4t24MEfVJaYPNLss/s320/inas+autograph.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541771896957344482" border="0" /></a>Daddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16985843867752744208noreply@blogger.com