1. Bent Objects - I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Terry is an artistic genius.
2. This isn't what I ordered - Fannie has a great way of taking little snippets of her day and including us all
3. The Reneck Mommy - keeping it real
4. List of the day - cary finds some great stuff out there!
5. The Blue Door - great perspectives on life
6. The Meme Express - awesome writing ideas, and interesting things to consider
7. The Pioneer Woman - Bree lives out several of my fantasies
8. The Blog Weemade - kid's art. Love it
9. Craftastrophe - garaunteed laugh every time I go there
10. Fred Walsh Photos - gorgeous nature photography
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Why did Mary have a little lamb?
Here is something I wrote recently for Helium and have gotten good ratings on. I'd love to see your feedback.
Why did Mary have a little lamb?
Mary was staying with her great-grandparents while her parents were at work this week. Normally, she would’ve been at school for lunch. Because of a horrible miscommunication, however, she had been suspended for three days. She didn’t want to think about that ugly incident presently, though. To pay her penance, she had reluctantly agreed to spend the three days helping her elderly relatives on their small farm outside of Boston for a few days.
Ten-year-old Mary was trying to use proper table manners as her mother had taught her. Her parents had been using Emily Post's guides to steer her through the intricacies of socializing, and she knew that it would be rude to refuse food while a guest in somebody's home. She realized that if she tasted some food she didn't like, she should leave it on her plate without comment and continue politely eating the remainder of the meal. So, without questioning the source of the tender-looking meat placed on her plate, she tried a nibble. It was delicious! She proceeded to have a little more.
This special meal was prepared to share with her parents on the day they came to retrieve her and take her home. She recognized the taste of raspberries and assumed that they were from the bucket she and Pappaw had picked in the fields yesterday. She also recognized the rosemary that she had gathered for Nanny that morning from her sweet little potted herb garden in the kitchen window. It was only the rich, delicious, tender meat that she didn’t recall ever tasting before.
She awaited a lull in the conversation, she took the opportunity to ask her great-grandmother what the main dish was called.
“Why Mary”, Sarah Hale told her great-granddaughter, “I thought you knew! This was the freshly butchered meat your parents sent with you on the train.”
Mary nearly froze in her place, fork in mid-air. She glanced at her parents, who both averted their eyes, and continued to busily push their garlic-roasted red potatoes around their plates.
“But . ... wha - what’s it called Nanny?” she inquired nervously “It’s truly scrumptious!”
“The recipe is called ‘Leg of Lamb with Raspberry Sauce’ my dear. I’m sorry.”
Her peripheral vision grew dark, and then darker. The last thing she heard consciously was her fork hitting her plate. The room spun round and round and she felt her chair wobble and vanish from beneath her. The wood plank floor came up to meet the side of her face with a quick smack. Then, she was lost in a world of dream-like remembrance.
First, she remembered the long train ride and having to carry not only her own luggage, but also an insulated nylon cooler filled with packed meat. Her dad had stopped at the butcher on the way to the train station, and the packages were already prepared for him. The charge was very little, and the package was decorated with a big “Service Only” sticker. Mary had meant to ask father the meaning of the label on their walk to the station, but had forgotten once they stepped out into the warm sunlit fresh air. After that, she only remembered it as an extra burden that she was required to tote.
Memories swirled and revolved, and then swiveled some more. She found herself back at school on that fateful day. She hadn't realized that she had left the pature gate open. Snowy could be very sneaky when he wanted to be, and had the reputation for being quiet for a baby. When she arrived at the yard of the small country school, however, the children began to laugh and play about her. This is when she realized she had been followed. Extremely embarrassed, she didn't know what to do at first. This was not the first time he tagged along and she had been warned. It seemed that anywhere she went these days, he was sure to go!
Of course, she knew that pets weren't allowed at school, and feared she would be in a great deal of trouble once her instructor discovered the scrape she was in. Oh, she had made a fine mess of things now! She began immediately lecturing her pet.
"You must behave!" she exclaimed "or you will have to go!"
"I'll be goo-oo-ood" he replied, in the way only a talking lamb could "Because I love you so!"
The gasp of the shocked students around her seemed to suck all available oxygen from the air. She, too, had been amazed by this hidden talent for oration. Mary could neither speak nor breathe. She turned on her heel and saw the school's headmaster gaping in astonishment. Mary immediately fainted dead away. The next thing she remembered she was regaining consciousness in the nurse's office and her parents were present. Soon, they explained her suspension from school and that she would have to go stay on the farm for a few days since they could not miss work to supervise her at home. She had also been informed that her beloved pet, Snowy, would not be waiting for her when she returned home.
Why did Mary have a little lamb?
Mary was staying with her great-grandparents while her parents were at work this week. Normally, she would’ve been at school for lunch. Because of a horrible miscommunication, however, she had been suspended for three days. She didn’t want to think about that ugly incident presently, though. To pay her penance, she had reluctantly agreed to spend the three days helping her elderly relatives on their small farm outside of Boston for a few days.
Ten-year-old Mary was trying to use proper table manners as her mother had taught her. Her parents had been using Emily Post's guides to steer her through the intricacies of socializing, and she knew that it would be rude to refuse food while a guest in somebody's home. She realized that if she tasted some food she didn't like, she should leave it on her plate without comment and continue politely eating the remainder of the meal. So, without questioning the source of the tender-looking meat placed on her plate, she tried a nibble. It was delicious! She proceeded to have a little more.
This special meal was prepared to share with her parents on the day they came to retrieve her and take her home. She recognized the taste of raspberries and assumed that they were from the bucket she and Pappaw had picked in the fields yesterday. She also recognized the rosemary that she had gathered for Nanny that morning from her sweet little potted herb garden in the kitchen window. It was only the rich, delicious, tender meat that she didn’t recall ever tasting before.
She awaited a lull in the conversation, she took the opportunity to ask her great-grandmother what the main dish was called.
“Why Mary”, Sarah Hale told her great-granddaughter, “I thought you knew! This was the freshly butchered meat your parents sent with you on the train.”
Mary nearly froze in her place, fork in mid-air. She glanced at her parents, who both averted their eyes, and continued to busily push their garlic-roasted red potatoes around their plates.
“But . ... wha - what’s it called Nanny?” she inquired nervously “It’s truly scrumptious!”
“The recipe is called ‘Leg of Lamb with Raspberry Sauce’ my dear. I’m sorry.”
Her peripheral vision grew dark, and then darker. The last thing she heard consciously was her fork hitting her plate. The room spun round and round and she felt her chair wobble and vanish from beneath her. The wood plank floor came up to meet the side of her face with a quick smack. Then, she was lost in a world of dream-like remembrance.
First, she remembered the long train ride and having to carry not only her own luggage, but also an insulated nylon cooler filled with packed meat. Her dad had stopped at the butcher on the way to the train station, and the packages were already prepared for him. The charge was very little, and the package was decorated with a big “Service Only” sticker. Mary had meant to ask father the meaning of the label on their walk to the station, but had forgotten once they stepped out into the warm sunlit fresh air. After that, she only remembered it as an extra burden that she was required to tote.
Memories swirled and revolved, and then swiveled some more. She found herself back at school on that fateful day. She hadn't realized that she had left the pature gate open. Snowy could be very sneaky when he wanted to be, and had the reputation for being quiet for a baby. When she arrived at the yard of the small country school, however, the children began to laugh and play about her. This is when she realized she had been followed. Extremely embarrassed, she didn't know what to do at first. This was not the first time he tagged along and she had been warned. It seemed that anywhere she went these days, he was sure to go!
Of course, she knew that pets weren't allowed at school, and feared she would be in a great deal of trouble once her instructor discovered the scrape she was in. Oh, she had made a fine mess of things now! She began immediately lecturing her pet.
"You must behave!" she exclaimed "or you will have to go!"
"I'll be goo-oo-ood" he replied, in the way only a talking lamb could "Because I love you so!"
The gasp of the shocked students around her seemed to suck all available oxygen from the air. She, too, had been amazed by this hidden talent for oration. Mary could neither speak nor breathe. She turned on her heel and saw the school's headmaster gaping in astonishment. Mary immediately fainted dead away. The next thing she remembered she was regaining consciousness in the nurse's office and her parents were present. Soon, they explained her suspension from school and that she would have to go stay on the farm for a few days since they could not miss work to supervise her at home. She had also been informed that her beloved pet, Snowy, would not be waiting for her when she returned home.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Kreative Blogger Award.
I received this award from Cari at "KotiBeth" and I thank her very much for thinking of me.
The rules of receiving this award and passing it along to other bloggers are as follows:
The award- upon receipt, the recipient is to list six things that make her/him happy before subsequently passing forward the glee to others. So here goes:
1.My daughter
2.My friends - including a few to whom I'm related
3.Writing
4.Reading
5.Wildlife
6.America
Here are the creative bloggers I'm going to tag
1. Priscilla
2. Sarah
3. Lavada
4. Adria
5. Mandy
6. Debbie
Your turn, gals!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Restaurant dining
Eatin out
Chickens ain't got fingers
Buffaloes got no wings
Chili isn't cold
And beans ain't got no strings
All the stuff they serve here
It ain't makin' no darn sense
Instead of bein' relaxin'
This restaurant makes me tense!
I made up this poem for my daughter today as we were waiting to be served at the local Big Boy. It reminded me of my Aunt Vilena who was always so good at making up silly rhymes to make me giggle when I was little. She's 91 now and not what she once was. I miss the good ol' days sometimes, and others I think that these are the good old days.
Chickens ain't got fingers
Buffaloes got no wings
Chili isn't cold
And beans ain't got no strings
All the stuff they serve here
It ain't makin' no darn sense
Instead of bein' relaxin'
This restaurant makes me tense!
I made up this poem for my daughter today as we were waiting to be served at the local Big Boy. It reminded me of my Aunt Vilena who was always so good at making up silly rhymes to make me giggle when I was little. She's 91 now and not what she once was. I miss the good ol' days sometimes, and others I think that these are the good old days.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
My newest addiction
As if I need anything else to keep me from doing housework, I have become addicted to the Helium writer's website. Click the red thing over to the left side of the page and see what it's like. Submit something yourself and you'll soon be hooked. It's probably a scam, but I'm enjoying while I can and it's FREE.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Adventures of a sahm
My ever-helpful bladder wakes me up promptly around 5:30 a.m. every morning. Then I have about an hour of "alone" time if I am lucky. I can check the weather forecast, school closings, e-mail, Facebook, and maybe do a little blogging or find writing prompts to think about for the day. All too soon, my husband's alarm clock is sounding and my kid’s is chiming in shortly after. I turn off both alarms and begin my favorite part of the day: nagging people to get out of bed. I turn on every light in the house and also radio. I tune to the station that plays the annoying 80's classics that I love. I drag myself into the kitchen and turn on the space heater so that the tile floor is not too frosty for sensitive seven-year-old toes.
Around this time, I aptly employ another round of boisterous nagging of people to get out of the darn beds already! We're going to be late! Why must I spend the first part of my day convincing people to go to work and school? It’s a good thing that I love to nag, and was trained first-hand by the Grand Queen of all nagmeisters, otherwise I could get really irritable around about now. As it is, I live to say the same thing over and over (and over) first thing in the morning. Honestly, I would be disappointed if they actually got up and turned off their own alarm clocks and let me sleep in for once while they took care of themselves.
Next on my agenda is breakfast. If I feel generous with my time, I will serve overcooked bacon and microwave pancakes. One an especially lucky day, I will get them some juice, buttery spread, and light syrup to enjoy their goodies with. Maybe even plates and silverware – hey, I’m good at my job. Other days, it’s milk and cereal for the little ingrates.
The smell of bacon cooking is a sure-fire bet to lure them out of their warm beds. The bleary-eyed zombies slog into the kitchen and sit in front of the “food” and proclaim that they are too tired to eat. This from the same family who plowed through a half a spiral sliced ham and a vat of mashed potatoes last Sunday, and then asked for dessert? I remind them of what happens to food critics that start work too early in the morning – they don’t live to see lunch.
While they fuss about food, I open yesterday’s lunch boxes, swipe them with a damp rag and pronounce them “clean” and throw in a makeshift lunch. This generally consists of something that can be justified as a protein, possibly a fruit-type doo-dad, and maybe some chips. Don’t forget the cold pack and the all important juice pouch. I put random lunches into random back packs, knowing there will be no complaints by the end of the day (or else). Next, I threaten a few lives if they don’t get dressed and ready immediately because the bus is due in 5 minutes and dad’s running too late to play taxi. We all get dressed, I find matching socks for each pair of matching feet – okay, sometimes the socks don’t actually match each other, but as long they keep their BOGO shoes on, nobody will know, right?
After putting everybody’s shoes on the correct feet (except maybe my own which are slippers), I kiss hubster goodbye and walk the kidlet to the bus stop. The bus, of course, is late. January in Ohio is a joy to its own. Times like these, I curse under my breath and wish that I had actually worn day clothes, a coat, hat, and shoes.
Just then, my favorite bank teller/neighbor drives by laughing and waves hello. I grab the edges of my robe and “flash” her my pajamas in response. “Take that, workin’ mom, I’m going back to bed in 20 minutes!” I shout. Behind me, the other neighbor greets us with his usual “good morning” with an underlying chuckle. As I turn around to find out if he had just witnessed my juvenile behavior, he bends down to pick up his newspaper. Straightening his 80-year-old back, he turns to me, flashes his jammies and returns to his house guffawing all the way. The bus arrives, drives my love off to school, and I slide all the way home imagining the stories he will tell “da boys” later at the bridge table of the senior center.
Around this time, I aptly employ another round of boisterous nagging of people to get out of the darn beds already! We're going to be late! Why must I spend the first part of my day convincing people to go to work and school? It’s a good thing that I love to nag, and was trained first-hand by the Grand Queen of all nagmeisters, otherwise I could get really irritable around about now. As it is, I live to say the same thing over and over (and over) first thing in the morning. Honestly, I would be disappointed if they actually got up and turned off their own alarm clocks and let me sleep in for once while they took care of themselves.
Next on my agenda is breakfast. If I feel generous with my time, I will serve overcooked bacon and microwave pancakes. One an especially lucky day, I will get them some juice, buttery spread, and light syrup to enjoy their goodies with. Maybe even plates and silverware – hey, I’m good at my job. Other days, it’s milk and cereal for the little ingrates.
The smell of bacon cooking is a sure-fire bet to lure them out of their warm beds. The bleary-eyed zombies slog into the kitchen and sit in front of the “food” and proclaim that they are too tired to eat. This from the same family who plowed through a half a spiral sliced ham and a vat of mashed potatoes last Sunday, and then asked for dessert? I remind them of what happens to food critics that start work too early in the morning – they don’t live to see lunch.
While they fuss about food, I open yesterday’s lunch boxes, swipe them with a damp rag and pronounce them “clean” and throw in a makeshift lunch. This generally consists of something that can be justified as a protein, possibly a fruit-type doo-dad, and maybe some chips. Don’t forget the cold pack and the all important juice pouch. I put random lunches into random back packs, knowing there will be no complaints by the end of the day (or else). Next, I threaten a few lives if they don’t get dressed and ready immediately because the bus is due in 5 minutes and dad’s running too late to play taxi. We all get dressed, I find matching socks for each pair of matching feet – okay, sometimes the socks don’t actually match each other, but as long they keep their BOGO shoes on, nobody will know, right?
After putting everybody’s shoes on the correct feet (except maybe my own which are slippers), I kiss hubster goodbye and walk the kidlet to the bus stop. The bus, of course, is late. January in Ohio is a joy to its own. Times like these, I curse under my breath and wish that I had actually worn day clothes, a coat, hat, and shoes.
Just then, my favorite bank teller/neighbor drives by laughing and waves hello. I grab the edges of my robe and “flash” her my pajamas in response. “Take that, workin’ mom, I’m going back to bed in 20 minutes!” I shout. Behind me, the other neighbor greets us with his usual “good morning” with an underlying chuckle. As I turn around to find out if he had just witnessed my juvenile behavior, he bends down to pick up his newspaper. Straightening his 80-year-old back, he turns to me, flashes his jammies and returns to his house guffawing all the way. The bus arrives, drives my love off to school, and I slide all the way home imagining the stories he will tell “da boys” later at the bridge table of the senior center.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
