tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15803396581976461592024-03-14T02:10:27.544-05:00On the Way to My ShoesGarden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-82583314279746631402016-09-02T21:18:00.000-05:002016-09-02T21:33:32.555-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhoVidGTwtEJnxX3fUV6v3WZGnJqgizKtxD7sw8MT5ngAgzJc1QfE4eNmfCL2q2nrlmTkTvs83N2A2EO_XkX_2JyYCraRI_n1npX0xT5139PNHDGONyF7t71ivLfb2RqagWR-g2FYFASj/s1600/On+the+coast+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhoVidGTwtEJnxX3fUV6v3WZGnJqgizKtxD7sw8MT5ngAgzJc1QfE4eNmfCL2q2nrlmTkTvs83N2A2EO_XkX_2JyYCraRI_n1npX0xT5139PNHDGONyF7t71ivLfb2RqagWR-g2FYFASj/s320/On+the+coast+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On the Coast</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was on the coast. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That’s where they met. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was that place, where the sugar white sand met the turquoise of the warm, silky ocean. That is where it all began. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She, marking time for the summer. He, parlaying his wares to those who sought solace, or fun, in the sea. She spied what he sold, and it was definitely different from what she had ever tried before . . . but this was her time. Her time to challenge. Her time to challenge herself. To do something unlike anything she’d ever, attempted before. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She saw him. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Was drawn to where he stood. In front of where he plied his trade. Where there were colorful, pretty, stringy things . . . along with the ugly, stinky, squirmy things. Hooks, poles, foreign things. She concentrated on the the colorful, pretty, stringy things. If only to still her heart at the sight of him. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She was drawn to his eyes, and maybe his forearms . . . His eyes. The shape. The color. They were a shade of green, not made to compete with the green of the sea, but instead mirroring the green of the mountain stream. The green of the forest. They felt cool and refreshing in spite of the humid, balmy air of the tropics. As his eyes stayed on her . . . the feeling remained with her. He appeared to be more than willing to assist her with her purchases. Laughing along with her, at her naivete regarding her new found sport. Even as he completed her transaction, she knew she would be back for more of the colorful, pretty, stringy things. Even, if she had to lose everything she’d bought, every day, in order to have an excuse to come back. And look at those eyes.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She thanked him for the gracious advice he gave, and slowly danced her way to the surf. Surreptitiously glancing back every few steps, shyly, yet boldly, in that quiet, yet confident way of hers. Most definitely, in no hurry. As she cast about in the waves which found their way to the shore, lapping at the sands, she knew. Even though it might defy convention, she knew she had experienced something in those moments that was to stay with her, forever. It was already changing her. This time of renewal, this time of rebirth long after her life was first given, was the right time. It was time for THIS afternoon to happen. Time for this new life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the day, died in the west, she gathered her new toys, and trailed down the remote beach to her cottage, her long awaited-for but temporary home. The solitude whispered a new, welcome song in her ear. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was right. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was good. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was full of promise. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Something was astir in the warm, humid air, and the breeze coming in off the ocean knew it. Delivering radiant hope, healing to her heart.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And yet . . . something unsettled, as the mysterious elements which assemble into the makings of a hurricane, was fashioning itself into something mysterious within him.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And while she might know about the minds of many, but could not know the thoughts of one. But hoped she might have the chance to one day . . . know.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the coast.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The days went by. Slowly, like lustrous pearls being slid onto a waxed string. Sliding, next to one other, growing into a lengthy, precious creation. Luxurious gems, reflecting newfound light. Brightening the lives . . . of two. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Each day, something “accidentally lost”. Each day, a new purchase made. Each day, a smile given. Settling into a sensuous rhythm known and loved by only them. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even after he closed up the small but special shop, she would continue battling the surf for that one beautiful fish, that someday she was sure to catch, given the wealth of gear she’d amassed in order to land that fish. ;-) After a time, he began to join her in the evening surf to watch. To study. To listen to her. To encourage. And to simply enjoy her. And she, him . . . very much. The fish meant nothing. While he, meant everything. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One sunset kissed evening, with ribbons of colors drifting and dancing in the sky above the water and caressing the sand, after what seemed like an eternity, yet was only a moment, there was a pull on the line. At her excited shriek, he joined her, coaching her on how to reel in the fish. It was indeed a fight, one filled with splashing and laughter, but was a fight the fish lost. For he and she, all was gain. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The silver fish glittered in the evening sun, but all she could see, was the joy . . . in his eyes . . . as he watched her land her first catch. With all of that gear. The smile on his face, reaching deep down into her heart. It was all she saw, it was all she felt. Nothing else mattered, there was nothing else TO matter. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And while she might know about the minds of many, she could not know the thoughts of one. But hoped she might have the chance, to one day . . . know.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the coast.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Time passed. Days, like the proverbial sands, filled the glass. Time brought them together in ways nothing else could. It was beautiful, ethereal, defying adequate expression using mere language. Full of promise. Full of love. Full of hope. Full of the future. Full of each other.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Evenings brought interludes of love on the solitary beach, bare, sun-kissed bodies wrapped in love, caressed by the warmth of the sun and silkiness of the ocean. Words of love spoken in awe of what passed between them. The intensity of their love matched only by the pounding of a world of powerful oceans colliding with the sand of the beach. Kisses given in utter abandonment, and a coming together in a union more blessed than the world by dawn.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was the start of a life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And then . . . the shadows. Out of a place called nowhere.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shadows. She noticed shadows. A shadow there, but not quite. Imagined? Real? A slight darkening of the sun, instilling a fear into the brightness of the day. Brief, but there.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The shadows passing back and forth in his eyes. Sometimes alighting there, shifting and moving on. Then . . . settling there. A veiling. Almost as if there was this . . . haze. A haze, blocking out the sunshine but it was so very slight, you were never quite sure it was there or not.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yet. Each day brought buckets of laughter. Each day brought fun in the surf. Each night brought love on the sand. But each day also brought something indiscernible. Something not defined. But there. On the surface, he appeared the same. But when souls have been together as such, the soul knows. The soul feels the disturbance. The heart has a sensitive richter, registering the ever so slight, but real movement. Movement away from the quiet, from the line of normal, perceptible but not obvious when ones eyes are veiled with a haze one isn’t aware is present.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And while she might know about the minds of many, she could not know the thoughts of one. But hoped and prayed she might have the chance, to one day . . . know.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And it gets dark.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the coast.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And the day comes. When darkness falls. Total. Deep. Suffocating. Blinding. There is no sun. There is no place he parlays his wares on the white sugar sand beach where it meets the warm, turquoise water. For he is gone. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To where? She knows not. Because she knows not the thoughts of one. Nor shockingly, had she ever.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But pearls of this time, have not been gathered to be scattered to the waves, to be lost. They had been collected and gathered into something beautiful, over time. Pearls are the small irritants that the sea creature has taken and covered with beauty, treating it with care, until it is something of worth, priceless, a treasure. Not to be released easily, but to be given great care. Be protected, fought for, searched for when lost.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She searches in the darkness, no map before her. Walking up and down the beach, searching, calling his name. She sees him. Lost? He looks . . . lost. There is no light, no recognition, in his amazing green-as-the-stream eyes. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Where has he gone? Where has she gone? In his eyes, instead of her, there reigns confusion. She speaks, he hears her not her voice, he feels not her heart. She reaches, he falls away. She longs to unlock the mysteries of the veil. But he retreats. And passes. As if he knows her not. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, she settles on the sand. That as he walks away, he might somehow remember where he left her. That when the veil is pierced by understanding, he will know how to find her. He can find her by the trail of pearls she has carefully placed in the sand, that leads back to where she is. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She has knowledge of the shadows that crease his soul and cover his eyes. And while she might know about the minds of many, she could not know the thoughts of one. But hoped and prayed she might have the chance, one day, to know, to know his heart. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And it is still dark.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the coast.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She sits on the sand, holding in her hand, a key. A key fashioned during many hours of painstaking effort, collecting countless moments of sharing and loving and laughter and joining that have poured through her hands, fashioning this key. As she watches him search for what will restore his sight, she silently prays that he will realize that if he will only ask her to help him find what robs him of his sight, they might discover what the key unlocks . . . together. To free the shadows that cover his mind . . . and his heart.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because what she might know about the minds of many, may be able to help them both to know the thoughts . . . of one.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so. She waits. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the coast of somewhere beautiful, she waits with her heart.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
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Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-53212866163646454262012-12-15T17:52:00.000-06:002013-08-29T17:37:56.937-05:00The Power of Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.clker.com/cliparts/C/V/O/y/J/j/princess-crown-hi.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="http://www.clker.com/cliparts/C/V/O/y/J/j/princess-crown-hi.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Both spoken and unspoken.<br />
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There is infinite power in words.<br />
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They are used to hurt and hide:<br />
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"I haven't loved you in months." (even though he told me he did)<br />
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"Your definition of intimacy is apparently different than mine."<br />
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They are used to denigrate value:<br />
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"The way you feel is wrong."<br />
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Words are also used to project the owners feelings onto one whom it does not apply:<br />
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"You lack the commitment to make this work because of time and distance."<br />
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They are used to justify physical abuse:<br />
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"If you would just shut up and do what I say, this wouldn't happen."<br />
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The absence of words is just as powerful, and send an unspoken message. A picture, an action, is worth a thousand words. To absolve oneself of responsibility:</div>
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Communication and honesty are only essential if you mattered to me.</div>
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You are okay enough when I'm between women I really want.</div>
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Good-bye.</div>
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The spoken and unspoken.</div>
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Today, a word was used that made my day positively radiate, and created a smile that reached to the very core of my being . . . to my heart. My friend probably did not even possess a clue as to the value the word would have. In the signing-off of a message, a friend called me princess. </div>
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Princess. </div>
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That one word had the ability to wipe away pain caused by so many others who do not know, in their hearts, this divine wisdom:</div>
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"Therefore encourage one anther and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing. 1 Thess. 5:11</div>
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How will you use your words today? Or how will you use your silence? Or that action that is worth 1000 of those words? It matters. If you don't believe it . . .</div>
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Ask Princess.</div>
Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-36447622607207178432012-10-08T15:20:00.001-05:002012-10-08T15:27:28.897-05:00Runza: A Pocketful of Comfort<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you have spent much time in Nebraska, you may have been lucky enough to have a delicioso runza from the Runza restaurant. If not, try these at home or stop by Runza next time you are in the neighborhood!</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Runza</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dough:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4-1/2 cups all-purpose flour, divided</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 cup sugar</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 packages (1/4 ounce each) active dry yeast</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon salt</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3/4 cup milk</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 cup water</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 cup shortening</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 eggs</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Filling:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 pound lean ground beef (90% lean)</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 small onions, chopped</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4 cups chopped cabbage</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon salt</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 teaspoon pepper</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Directions:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Place 1-3/4 cups flour, sugar, yeast and salt in a large bowl. Heat the milk, water and shortening to 120°-130°. Pour over flour mixture; add the eggs. Beat with an electric mixer on low until blended. Beat 3 additional minutes on high. Stir in the remaining flour; knead until smooth and elastic, about 6-8 minutes.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Place dough in a greased bowl; cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, in a large skillet, cook beef and onion over medium heat until meat is no longer pink; drain. Add the cabbage, salt and pepper; cook until cabbage is wilted.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Punch dough down; roll into twelve 6-in. squares. Top each square with 1/3 cup meat mixture. Fold into rectangles. Pinch edges tightly to seal and place on greased baking sheets. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Serve hot. Yield: 12 servings.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">**Feel free to add other spices, peppers or cheese to suit your taste.</span></span><br />
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Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-51589362959725072502012-10-06T13:16:00.000-05:002012-10-06T13:20:23.315-05:00French Dip Au Jus: Need I Say More?You got it. It is the time of year we begin to dream of comfort food. Hot, savory, dripping, decadent comfort food. Dig in with this potentially messy, and oh so divine sandwich.
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French Dip Au Jus
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1 2 1/2-4 lb chuck roast
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1/4 cup butter
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1 large onion, sliced
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3 cloves garlic, peeled and diced large (or mince)
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1/2 cup soy sauce
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1/2 teaspoon salt
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1 Tablespoon italian seasoning
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2 cups water
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1 can beef broth
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Optional: your choice of peppers if you like it spicy
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Toasted, buttered deli rolls
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Cheese of your choice
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Heat butter in a pot over medium heat until melted. Saute the onions for a couple of minutes or until they begin to brown. Set roast on top of the onions. Add all of the remaining ingredients (not rolls or cheese!). Cover pot and simmer on very low heat on the stove for 6 hours or until beef is fork-tender and falling apart. Shred meat with two forks until all large chunks are gone.
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Mixture can be refrigerated overnight and hardened fat may be removed before reheating if you wish.
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Serve on toasted buttered rolls, top with cheese of your choice and place under broiler until it is melted.
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Dip, slurp, masticate and sigh! Repeat!
Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-61871636692595541562012-10-06T12:48:00.000-05:002012-10-06T13:21:34.387-05:00Cinnamon Rolls: A Culinary Orgasm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1vonr36bj5HHaRJdo8fYeBVkdpfxufTA2mrh-72dBd7C9rPyiVXikEmR5E8kBT893BMpla3J-wwlvD97UJpqP0q8eui4uoJjzqS8NnyycsXaJG-fUlyn2cx9ULwiaKmUYFYt-H_wtXt2/s1600/Cinnamon+rolls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1vonr36bj5HHaRJdo8fYeBVkdpfxufTA2mrh-72dBd7C9rPyiVXikEmR5E8kBT893BMpla3J-wwlvD97UJpqP0q8eui4uoJjzqS8NnyycsXaJG-fUlyn2cx9ULwiaKmUYFYt-H_wtXt2/s320/Cinnamon+rolls.jpg" /></a></div>
There is no way to describe these other than to say they are a culinary orgasm. Try it and see ;-)
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Stephanie's Cinnamon Rolls
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1 cup warm milk (110 degrees, no lower but no too much hotter as to kill the yeast)
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2 eggs, room temperature, beaten
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1/3 cup margarine or butter, melted
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4 cups bread flour (use extra for kneading)
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1 teaspoon salt
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1/2 cup white sugar
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1 1/4 oz packet of yeast
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1 cup light brown sugar, packed
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Slight 1/3 cup flour
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2 1/2 Tablespoons ground cinnamon
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1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened
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1 (3 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
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1/4 cup butter or margarie, softened
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1 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sift
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1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
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1/8 teaspoon salt
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Dissolve the yeast in the warm milk in a large bowl. Add the sugar and let the mixture stand for about five minutes. Melt the butter and add it to the mixture. Add the eggs, salt and flour to the mixture, blending thoroughly. Using flour-dusted hands, knead the dough into a large ball on a flat surface. If you have a Kitchen Aid or a Bosch mixer, put the ingredients in as above and let it do the work! Put the dough back into a bowl sprayed with a non-stick spray, cover it with a damp towel and let it rise in a warm place for about an hour or until dough has doubled in size.
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Make the filling by combining the brown sugar, flour and cinnamon in a small bowl.
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After the dough has doubled in size, turn it out on a lightly floured surface, cover and let rest for 10 minutes.
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Roll dough into a 16 x 21 inch rectangle. Spread dough with 1/2 cup butter and sprinkle evenly with the sugar/cinnamon mixture. Working from the 21" side, roll up the dough and pinch the edge shut. Cut the rolled dough into 12 rolls. Place in a lightly greased/sprayed 9 x 13 baking pan. Cover the pan and let rise until nearly doubled maybe 30-60 minutes.
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Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
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Bake for 15-20 minutes or until the tops of the rolls are LIGHTLY browned. (They can brown fast, watch closely!)
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Beat frosting ingredients until smooth and spread on rolls while a tad warm.
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EAT AND ENJOY!!! Be careful though, when others hear the sounds you are making while indulging in them, they will want some too ;-)Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-55449974627690038282012-09-17T21:27:00.000-05:002012-09-17T21:28:10.389-05:00For Doug
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOwjXdxUffld0EFs68Bl8TYFJlzClmE52N6PiR2Llax6NzADDX5x_thMza3peYNx_IfNcCf15rwbrc2GuVq_0wdWmzaAtyPNdsvX1BiguVJ0XdqeTB-tRIVl5cC8HvwxWbtsrr9bwtvgw/s1600/For+Doug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOwjXdxUffld0EFs68Bl8TYFJlzClmE52N6PiR2Llax6NzADDX5x_thMza3peYNx_IfNcCf15rwbrc2GuVq_0wdWmzaAtyPNdsvX1BiguVJ0XdqeTB-tRIVl5cC8HvwxWbtsrr9bwtvgw/s320/For+Doug.jpg" /></a></div>
Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-85732711365324624432012-09-09T14:51:00.002-05:002012-09-09T14:55:37.677-05:00What is the Definition of a Friend?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7frcNcfwiWJhTMQ3YDf2_K_XlfFKsrPZYsjVB-o-JYdbIto7NKOyiNx-rS_vUFeynAZGHiguYkg_Pg3535OWePBgAAWteW6lxJjKwfq6R4AJXhzka-ZSioN1zgyOF_bKjJLdsPywXqFs/s1600/Friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="224" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7frcNcfwiWJhTMQ3YDf2_K_XlfFKsrPZYsjVB-o-JYdbIto7NKOyiNx-rS_vUFeynAZGHiguYkg_Pg3535OWePBgAAWteW6lxJjKwfq6R4AJXhzka-ZSioN1zgyOF_bKjJLdsPywXqFs/s320/Friends.jpg" /></a></div>
The other day, I searched online for the prefect quote to define what a friend is. Nothing could encompass in a quote the length, width and depth of what a friend is and truly, there may not be one succinct definition since friendship means many diverse things to many people. <blockquote></blockquote>
So recently, I put this question to my friends on Facebook and wish to share their answers and add a few words of my own. Feel free to add your thoughts as well, they are more than welcome. <blockquote></blockquote>
Crystal: Someone that is there for you no matter what. Someone that you can talk to about anything and they won't judge you or treat you differently. Someone like you with a big heart. :) Someone who shows you that there are thoughtful, caring, loving people in the world. And a true friend with love you no matter if you come from a low income background or high income. <blockquote></blockquote>
Jaime: Someone who is there for you and vice versa and nothing changes with time, you can pick up right where you left off no matter how far away or how long its been. A friend actually cares for a proactively nurtures another, but not necessarily tries to solve eachothers problems, but will lend and ear...but can also be honest. Someone who doesnt like it when you refer to yourself as a shart. :( A true friend will tell you the truth even if it hurts the friendship if they feel the truth will infact be beneficial to you otherwise.<blockquote></blockquote>
Melody: Dependability and unconditional empathy!<blockquote></blockquote>
Sharon: I would say someone who is there when ever you need them to encourage you and love you no matter what. Someone you can deped on to always tell you the truth even if it isn't something you want to hear.<blockquote></blockquote>
Jay: "The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof."
-- Richard Bach<blockquote></blockquote>
Joe: A friend is someone you love and who loves you, someone you respect and who respects you, someone whom you trust and who trusts you. A friend is honest and makes you want to be honest, too. A friend is loyal.<blockquote></blockquote>
Someone who is happy to spend time with you doing absolutely nothing at all; someone who doesn't mind driving you to do errands, who will get up at midnight just because you need them to help you, and who doesn’t have to talk to communicate with you. Someone who never talks bad about you behind your back.<blockquote></blockquote>
Someone who not only doesn't care if you're boring, but doesn't even think about it; someone who forgives you no matter what you do, and someone who tries to help you even when they don't know how. Someone who tells you if you're being stupid, but who doesn't make you feel stupid.<blockquote></blockquote>
Someone who would sacrifice their life and happiness for you. Someone who will come with you when you have to do boring things like watch bad recitals, go to stuffy parties, or wait in boring lobbies. You don't even think about who's talking or who's listening in a conversation with a friend.<blockquote></blockquote>
Someone for whom you're willing to change your opinions. Someone you look forward to seeing and who looks forward to seeing you: someone you like so much, it doesn't matter if you share interests or traits. Someone you like so much, you start to like the things they like. Someone who always builds you up, and would never put you down.<blockquote></blockquote>
A friend is a partner, not a leader or a follower.<blockquote></blockquote>
Wendy: Someone who is there for you through the bad as well as the good.<blockquote></blockquote>
Susie: If you look up friend in the dictionary, Stephanie & Susie's picture will be there with a caption that reads, "Sister Chicks". A friend is someone who'll be by your side through thick and thin or until some judge slaps a retraining order on the stalker.<blockquote></blockquote>
Brenda: You.<blockquote></blockquote>
Suzi: Someone who stays by your side thick and thin.<blockquote></blockquote>
Andrea: Regardless of what others may say, YOU!<blockquote></blockquote>
Chloe: A friend is someone who really listens and loves you from the inside out.<blockquote></blockquote>
Trevor: A friend is a person with the same enemies as you.<blockquote></blockquote>
Paul: A friend bail's you out of jail. A true friend is in the cell with you saying "let's do that again!".<blockquote></blockquote>
I would agree with all of the above and add, a friend: <blockquote></blockquote>
remains a friend even when things can be uncomfortable at times<blockquote></blockquote>
would make a detour of hundreds of miles, simply to spend an evening with you<blockquote></blockquote>
continues the relationship even when their husband doesn't want them to be with you<blockquote></blockquote>
gives as much as they take from the relationship<blockquote></blockquote>
communicates and nurtures the ties<blockquote></blockquote>
will drive 16 hours, just to take you home from the hospital
make time for each other
laughs with you when you leave the rental car door open all day in a strange place after making a big production to make sure it's been locked<blockquote></blockquote>
flies cross-country to be with you when you think you are going to die<blockquote></blockquote>
teaches you how to get in-touch with your inner-bitch<blockquote></blockquote>
supports the hardest decisions you will ever have to make, with strength, encouragement and resolve right alongside you<blockquote></blockquote>
helps you in and then back out of the dumpster<blockquote></blockquote>
insists you let her do something for you<blockquote></blockquote>
lets you rail, at everything he believes in, and then pray with you<blockquote></blockquote>
totally gets what you are talking about when she says she hopes the hole in the hairspray bottle still sprays the same way after a long time of not being used<blockquote></blockquote>
can laugh and cry with you, at the same time<blockquote></blockquote>
means what they say, does what they say, and doesn't lie by omission<blockquote></blockquote>
There are friendships who's ties can be dropped and picked up again without interruption but most often friendship needs to be nourished to remain viable and it takes effort like any other relationship. True friends are those that value a relationship enough to do so and to me, nourishing includes all of the above.<blockquote></blockquote>
For me, a friend is one who values/cares enough for you to nourish what you have to keep it growing. And that, as is evident from above, takes many forms.<blockquote></blockquote>
Go. Be a friend. Find out what it takes. And what it means.
Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-30646145197948268942012-03-15T21:51:00.007-05:002012-03-15T23:08:16.775-05:00Need Comfort Food? Try Granola!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVps1C517dqkaIAwMN0skFpia8V-9k_Myx1nYJQhhos-yPJdLllgr3T9O4m_3H11t3JoJ6efWbKk5BNxaC8-204xeaBf0YFKcBlye1aYT-S2yw6GbKZQIf5wDcHnsjjG2v85T_WwlAyyU/s1600/Parfait.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVps1C517dqkaIAwMN0skFpia8V-9k_Myx1nYJQhhos-yPJdLllgr3T9O4m_3H11t3JoJ6efWbKk5BNxaC8-204xeaBf0YFKcBlye1aYT-S2yw6GbKZQIf5wDcHnsjjG2v85T_WwlAyyU/s320/Parfait.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720334381971717314" /></a><br />It's hearty, it's full of fiber, has some protein and PLENTY of flavor! Not to mention, while it is baking it fills your home with a delicious aroma. In addition to eating the granola with milk, it rocks parfait-style with vanilla yogurt and strawberries! Make sure to see the notes following the recipe and enjoy :-)<br /><br /><br />Granola a la Stephanie<br /><br />7 cups old-fashioned oats<br />1 cup whole wheat flour<br />1 1/2 cups chopped pecans<br />1 cup flaked coconut<br />1 cup sunflower seeds<br />1 cup wheat germ<br />2 cups packed light brown sugar<br />3/4 cup vegetable oil<br />3/4 cup water<br />2 Tablespoons vanilla extract<br />1 teaspoon salt<br /><br />In a large bowl, combine oats, flour, pecans, coconut, sunflower seeds, and wheat germ. In another bowl, mix brown sugar, oil, water, vanilla, and salt. Pour liquid mixture over the oat mixture and toss until dry ingredients are coated. Spray two 15" x 10" baking pans with non-stick spray and spread the granola in both pans. <br /><br />Bake at 275 degrees Farenheit for 1 hour, stirring every 10 minutes. Bake until lightly toasted and no longer damp. Watch carefully at the hour mark, if you need to bake longer, so it doesn't get dark. Let cool and store in airtight containers. <br /><br />******NOTES: Options include adding cinnamon and/or raisins, or omitting coconut/sunflower seeds/pecans. If you don't want it as sweet, cut back on the sugar to your taste. Substitute any goodies you wish! For east of stirring while in pans because they will be full, split between three pans if your oven can juggle them without blocking good heat.circulation.Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-11418606061335462252011-10-18T17:12:00.004-05:002011-10-18T17:31:44.938-05:00It's That Time! Soup Time!This is a bit of a twist on the traditional chicken soup and is very healthy but most of all TASTY! Always on the hunt for meals that are good for you and taste good, because of the health problems of my parents, I tried this and it was a direct hit. Make it and let me know what you and your family think.<br /><br />Italian Chicken Soup<br /><br />4 chicken breast halves (bone in), skinned <br />1 large onion, halved <br />1 large carrot, quartered <br />3 celery ribs with leaves, chopped <br />3 1/2 cups low-sodium chicken broth <br />2 cups water <br />2 teaspoons low-sodium chicken bouillon granules <br />2 bay leaves <br />1 can (14 1/2 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained<br />6 green onions, thinly sliced<br />1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley<br />1/4 cup ketchup<br />1 teaspoon dried rosemary, crushed<br />1/2 teaspoon dried basil<br />2 garlic cloves, minced<br />1/2 teaspoon pepper<br />2 cans (15 1/2 oz each) light red kidney beans<br />1/4 cup grated Romano cheese<br /><br />In a 5 qt Dutch oven or large pot, combine the first eight ingredients; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; leaving cover ajar, simmer for 1 1/2 hours. Remove chicken; strain and reserve broth. Discard vegetables and bay leaves. When the chicken is cool enough to handle, remove bones; discard. Cut chicken into bite-size pieces; set aside. Return broth to pot; add tomatoes, onions, parsley, ketchup, rosemary, basil, garlic and pepper; bring to a boil. Reduce heat. Add beans, cheese and chicken; heat through. <br /><br />Yield: 14 - 1 cup servings (3 1/2 quarts)<br /><br />Calories: 125<br />Total fat: 1 gm<br />Calories from Fat: 8%<br />Saturated Fat: trace<br />Cholesterol: 12 mg<br />Carbohydrate: 19 gm<br />Protein: 11 gmGarden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-23233763871307413362010-12-13T09:10:00.003-06:002013-12-24T13:49:38.767-06:00The Secret Ingredients Remain: The Same But Different<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9vwss4EYiQBWKQ9lJgTS6ZXuYSw3_wbw55sdceQYExQUQAIhqQcMIGx_s915v_4MDSgB-lRWZramvGdMCAtOUPd7VPKz6p6W6vkeFKw10WYaHxLeE2ti8bhkre9V48jxFA1MtlrYh0eZl/s1600/IMG_1477.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550216125709648850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9vwss4EYiQBWKQ9lJgTS6ZXuYSw3_wbw55sdceQYExQUQAIhqQcMIGx_s915v_4MDSgB-lRWZramvGdMCAtOUPd7VPKz6p6W6vkeFKw10WYaHxLeE2ti8bhkre9V48jxFA1MtlrYh0eZl/s320/IMG_1477.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
While a few things have changed with the German Christmas Cookies, such as when they are made, what they are topped with, and who makes them, some have not and that includes the secret ingredients. Christmas cookies, weihnachtsgeback, or more specifically the making of them, has been a tradition descending from the maternal side of my family encompassing now at least seven generations. <br />
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The farthest back we can trace this tradition, dates to the latter part of the 19th century and at a minimum, originated with my great-great grandmother who lived in Birnfeld, Germany. Her family owned a flour mill in a small rural town in the German countryside, a farming community where chickens, cows and families grew up together, a bucolic existence to be sure. Such charming, close-knit villages generally developed around mills and the services needed to sustain daily living. The abundance of flour gave rise to the creative formulation of recipes among the village women, one of which is my great-great grandmother’s recipe which endured through the previous 100 years or so in my family to this day.<br />
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Time passes.<br />
<br />
My mother, who is the source of this information, was born in Heidelberg, Germany during World War II when everything needed for daily living was scarce. Food, clothing, money and housing. As a result, my great-grandmother, Maria Dorathea Firnschild-Meixner, lived with my mother and grandmother, essentially raising my mother, as my grandmother had to work to support the family. My grandfather was supposedly killed in the war, another story for another time. Christmases came and went. In spite of the war, somehow they found a way to make the Christmas cookies, regardless of the scarcity of food.<br />
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Tradition was, at that time, to make the cookies one to two weeks in advance of Christmas Eve, during the night when the children were asleep. A coal stove was employed for baking during my mother’s childhood and a brick oven during her great-great grandmother’s life. One batch was made and one batch only. The cookies were regarded as a treasure to be slowly savored. The cookies, I would say, resemble a shortbread style, not too sweet but delicate, their flavor improving with time as the Christmas event approached. They were topped with either a light, tangy, lemon glaze or a rich egg yolk wash and garnished with a single almond or pecan placed in the very center of the sweet, indeed a luxury at the time. The shapes cut out by the ancient cookie cutters that had been passed down through the family, came in the shapes of chickens, ducks, stars, hearts and circles.<br />
<br />
Time passes.<br />
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During my childhood, the tradition changed somewhat but yet remained the same. Due to their popularity among our family and closest friends, one batch was not ever enough to satisfy demand and hence evolved into nine gargantuan batches of cookies. My mother spent long days making them to give as “heart” gifts to those we loved. Now the egg wash was not only garnished by nuts but by pearl sugar, infusing each bite with an extra measure of sweetness. Not only were the cookies graced with the delicate lemon glaze but now some had raspberry preserves gently sandwiched between two thin cookies and were sprinkled with a dusting of powdered sugar. The cookie cutters now included bells. The baking now began during the first week of December and was tackled during the daytime when we as children could watch and pinch pieces of cookie dough off when we thought mom wasn’t aware, but came to find out later, she knew.<br />
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Dough pinching. My favorite baking activity. I thought I was so clever, sneaking into the fridge at night to eat the cookie dough, my favorite, beating chocolate chip cookie dough any day of the week (in my humble opinion). The dough would take an entire day of it’s own to assemble, mixing the cold hard mass by hand, and would be put in the refrigerator to keep it’s chill until baking time, usually a day or two later. I would carefully unwrap a round of dough, pinch off a portion, smooth over what I thought was much remaining, and rewrap the goodie. By the time I was finished or sick whichever came first, it was plain for my mom to see, there was significantly less dough. She never said anything, though. It was our unspoken secret.<br />
<br />
Time passes.<br />
<br />
Now I make weihnachtsgeback for my family and friends. It is every bit as popular today as it was years ago. Some traditions remain yet change. My mom and I usually make seven batches, the first or second week of December, during the day. Now the cookie cutter collection includes leaves, a very large angel, wreaths, trees, and frogs, yes, frogs, in addition to the time cherished and worn, stars, chickens, ducks, circles, stars and bells. The toppings remain the same, for some things cannot be improved upon without sacrificing the nature of the cookie and that is indeed sacred to us. I prefer for the finished cookie to be a bit thicker and pale in color, my mom prefers them to be thin and a toasty-looking tan. Making these cookies is an art and took me, a good cook, years of practice to master. And believe you me, thicker and pale is the way to go!<br />
<br />
The most beautiful, meaningful change occurred when my mom came to live with me eleven years ago, we now make the cookies together, as mother and daughter. Sometimes we have even been able to include my sisters who do not live local to us. Our ultimate dream would be to have my mom, myself, my two sisters who make these cookies also, my niece and great-niece all come together to make these family heirlooms, although we may have to rent a large kitchen to do it! It has now become a family activity, a treasured one we look forward to each year. Although we grumble about the mess, the hard work of mixing the dough (which my mom has succumbed to letting the kitchen aid mixer do the work since her hands are now arthritic), the hours spent on our feet, about whether thicker and pale is best or thin and darker, and how my angels always break because they are too big, each year the experience is priceless. For the record, now I eat all the dough I want not caring if my mom knows or not, still snitching from the fridge for old times sake to see if she notices! And yes, for the record, I still usually get a belly ache by the time we are finished.<br />
<br />
The dough disappears, but what remains is the laughter, the being covered in flour, the beautiful results after two days of baking and the memories we create each blessed year that will carry on and sustain us in the generations to come, passing this touching, special, culinary legacy down to our children’s children. I have boys but hope someday my eldest, who enjoys his familial history and traditions, at least will show an interest in this great generational tradition or maybe his beloved will. In any event, my nieces will carry on. <br />
<br />
The same but different. The shapes are the same but different, the timing is close to the same but different, we gobble instead of savoring the holiday treasures, the environment in which they are made has expanded, but the recipe remains the same. <br />
<br />
Oh! I almost forgot! The secret ingredients! The flour may no longer come from my great-great grandmother’s mill but the secret ingredients that flavor the cookies with a special edible fragrance, remains the same: love, family, and tradition. They may be intangible ingredients but they flavor the pastry with a delicate but definable flavor that cannot be replaced with anything you may purchase at the grocery. And now, with the addition of the family creating these morsels of love together, we add laughter. <br />
<br />
Stop by. Taste and see.Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-77238349831531204782010-11-15T13:16:00.001-06:002010-11-15T14:16:05.241-06:00Poems. Prayers. Promises.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYiKkEzDpXqwo8lZD_yqKLeE0XV94nNhMoMIfEo4kfK9WgBTBg7dXicOmV2db02saFwtvmvz1kWuCvbxUp-pS4IdSyqoxw6mrnTc4_Ol_zsRqgNP-HvBZpqqV3f6akNLaUqiaeeHAdrEN/s1600/IMG_0325.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYiKkEzDpXqwo8lZD_yqKLeE0XV94nNhMoMIfEo4kfK9WgBTBg7dXicOmV2db02saFwtvmvz1kWuCvbxUp-pS4IdSyqoxw6mrnTc4_Ol_zsRqgNP-HvBZpqqV3f6akNLaUqiaeeHAdrEN/s320/IMG_0325.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521678913614273714" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">As a young boy, the poems held the future as a rose. But what do young boys know of roses? He knows only of those poems that he is read, and to what child does a parent read a rhyme of anything other than sunshine and rainbows and truth? So, he believes in the reality of the fantasy. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">But the fantasy is tarnished. The poems echo, hollow in his heart. Prayers are cried in haste, trying to recall the fantasy. Because promises lay in waste at his feet as he stands, waiting, at the screen door, praying the promises he’s been given will come true. That he will be met, at the door. Pleading for something he doesn’t even quite understand but knows he wants, he needs. The evening rings empty as another promise lies broken at his feet. Another prayer is unanswered. Another poem is a lie.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Careful to avoid being hurt by the broken pieces, he steps around them, thinking he is not touched by the jagged shards, but they embed in his shoes. Following him, wherever he steps, though time.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The little boy, now a man, stands at the screen door. Remembering the lie of the poems of the past. Now is the time to write his own poem. A poem that paints the future as a rose. What does a man know of roses? He knows of the thorns, but the thorns have taught him how to handle a rose. He <b><i>thinks</i></b> he knows. But as he writes, his hands are pricked and he bleeds, staining his own poem of the future. And the jagged shards of promises past, make scars on the path he treads.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The little boy, now a man, doesn’t understand prayers for they have left him untouched with their non-existent answers. He feels the pain, the bitterness and the wanting. For what he is not sure. But he knows he wants. The pieces that go missing leave him searching. Yet he searches in vain. Afraid to pray, unwilling to pray, he searches . . . in vain.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The little boy, inside of the man, tries to write the poem. But without the prayers, the promises he makes fall in pieces around his feet as he stands at the screen door. His promises are carried away like chaff on the threshing floor in the presence of the wind. He tries to be different, oh how he tries. But until the little boy inside of the man, is let go to heal, and grow, there will be no change. He has kept it all these years. He has kept his pain, as fresh after all this time as a new fallen snow.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The acceptance of the imperfections of the old poems, of the answers to prayers not seen but indeed present, of the promises broken not in malice but in self-absorption, will lead to the little boy inside becoming a man of his own promises. Forgiveness is not condoning the wrong, or righting the past. Forgiveness is robbing the wrong of the ability to hurt life, to mar the future, cleansing the poison that eats away at who we are. It is the healing of the wound from the inside to the outside. Forgiveness presents the gift of clarity, of sight. Forgiveness of the past is the key to the future as a rose.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The man, stands at the screen door. The key cradled in his hand. Poems in his heart. Promises on his lips. Emptiness at his feet. And the future before him, as a rose.</span></p></span><p></p>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-78095976443693238772010-11-12T12:39:00.005-06:002010-11-12T13:04:19.906-06:00If You Can't Smell Autumn In The Air Yet, Bake These<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsfF4G0PPu8Kuvn_v-rw3YVotYyEqe-cmmkzuOfFfxz523hinqK8pcGrMrB_GYm3xe9aPGFtNNQybdeKN7Pjn92twyyZWJuuRUi6VmbvBznYziBbZEVomMRtsy57IxE635ueiJWSzUq75/s1600/7135_158647912893_722062893_2872231_36705_n.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsfF4G0PPu8Kuvn_v-rw3YVotYyEqe-cmmkzuOfFfxz523hinqK8pcGrMrB_GYm3xe9aPGFtNNQybdeKN7Pjn92twyyZWJuuRUi6VmbvBznYziBbZEVomMRtsy57IxE635ueiJWSzUq75/s320/7135_158647912893_722062893_2872231_36705_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538738871623179538" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 22px; font-family:arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><div class="pod ingredients clrfix" style="outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 28px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; zoom: 1; color:initial;"><h3 style="outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 14px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1; clear: both; color:initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I love the pumpkin scones I get at Starbucks to go with my tall Earl Grey tea with plenty of cream. Yum! But I cannot always afford to feed that habit. Well, I found a pretty good recipe that comes very close to what I can get at the store with the green sign. Try them, you'll love them! I've included a photo of how mine turned out.</span></span></span></h3><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Scones</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">2 cups flour</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">7 T. sugar</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 T. baking powder</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/2 t. salt</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/2 t. cinnamon</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/2 t. nutmeg</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/4 t. ground cloves</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/4 t. ginger</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">6 T. cold butter</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/2 cup canned pumpkin</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">3 T. half and half</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 large egg</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Powdered Sugar Glaze</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 cup powdered sugar</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1T. powdered sugar</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">2 T. whole milk</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Spiced Glaze</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 cup powdered sugar</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">3 T. powdered sugar</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">2 T. whole milk</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/4 t. cinnamon</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/8 t. nutmeg</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 pinch ginger</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 pinch ground cloves</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">TO MAKE THE SCONES:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices in a large bowl. Using a pastry knife, fork, or food processor, cut butter into the dry ingredients until mixture is crumbly and no chunks of butter are obvious. Set aside.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">In a separate bowl, whisk together pumpkin, half and half, and egg. Fold wet ingredients into dry ingredients. Form the dough into a ball. Pat out dough onto a lightly floured surface and form it into a 1-inch thick rectangle (about 9 inches long and 3 inches wide). Use a large knife or a pizza cutter to slice the dough twice through the width, making three equal portions. Cut those three slices diagonally so that you have 6 triangular slices of dough. Place on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 14-16 minutes. Scones should begin to turn light brown. Place on wire rack to cool.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">TO MAKE THE PLAIN GLAZE:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mix the powdered sugar and 2 tbsp milk together until smooth. When scones are cool, use a brush to paint plain glaze over the top of each scone.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">AS THAT WHITE GLAZE FIRMS UP, MAKE THE SPICED ICING:.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Combine the ingredient for the spiced icing together. Drizzle this thicker icing over each scone and allow the icing to dry before serving (at least 1 hour). A squirt bottle works great for this, or you can drizzle with a whisk.</span></span></div></div><div class="pod directions" style="outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; color:initial;"><span class="instructions" style="outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- width: 406px; color:initial;"></span></div></span>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-44401160290827938182010-10-02T23:59:00.002-05:002010-10-03T00:00:21.949-05:00Green Tomato-Blueberry Jam<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">5 cups fresh blueberries (or same amount of frozen, thawed)</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">4 large green tomatoes, coarsely chopped (about 4 pounds)</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">1 1/2 cups water</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">5 cups sugar</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">3 (1.75 ounce) packages of fruit pectin</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">1/4 cup lemon juice</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">2 teaspoons ground cinnamon</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; "> </p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">Pulse blueberries and chopped tomato in a blender or food processor 3 or 4 times or until mixture is almost smooth.</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; "> </p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">Cook blueberry mixture, 1 1/2 cups water and sugar in a dutch oven over medium heat, stirring constantly, until sugar dissolves.</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; "> </p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">Stir in fruit pectin and remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil; cook, stirring constantly, 5 minutes or until mixture thickens.</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; "> </p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">Pour hot mixture into hot jars, filling to 1/4 inch from top. Remove air bubbles; wipe jar rims. Cover at once with metal lids, and screw on bands.</p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; "> </p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; font-size: 11px; ">Process in boiling-water bath for 10 minutes.</p></span>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-6670297296152828632010-09-27T14:00:00.007-05:002010-09-27T14:12:16.196-05:00A Goldilocks Morning (tweaked repost for a writing assignment)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZNalYdnoihpz_kHh-ZkpXZEWRZXsKWIb66YHZmGkg_bfR7OhHgi682meu6qXwNNcans9H5lKEEWJl_WDVbfXB0zHXGOjOXUzw8gmm9uhu3kJiFpqSnP1Lvb5ixfRid6OIK5BE1LSEPSL/s1600/IMG_0512.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZNalYdnoihpz_kHh-ZkpXZEWRZXsKWIb66YHZmGkg_bfR7OhHgi682meu6qXwNNcans9H5lKEEWJl_WDVbfXB0zHXGOjOXUzw8gmm9uhu3kJiFpqSnP1Lvb5ixfRid6OIK5BE1LSEPSL/s200/IMG_0512.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521671672874486994" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Yes, it’s a Goldilocks morning. The variety of which is usually only found in movies, art, or music. This day, it was apparently my good fortune to be in the middle of such a beautiful and moving composition.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">It is early with getting my son, Brawny Boy, up and at 'em which is no simple feat in and of itself! While he begins his a.m. ministrations to get his cute carcass presentable for the girls at school, I lay on the sofa in the living room wishing I could be back lazing between the sheets for it was a late night and will be a hectic day.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The windows of the living room are oriented to the rising sun which is quickly on it's way to it's daily zenith. The rays of sunshine stream into the room and over the sofa on which I relax. My wiener dog, Liebchen, is on her perch at the window, napping in the sun's warmth, waiting for a squirrel to make it's usual early appearance in the front garden looking for leftover acorns. </span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Keira, not be be left out, jumps up to join me in my morning appreciation, stretching her long puppy body on mine. At six months, her feet reach my ankles and her muzzle meets my chin. She lays here softly breathing. She likes the feel of her breathing, snuffling, underneath my chin, has done this ever since she was tiny. Her heart beats out it's strong, rhythmic beat against my heart. Since when did she get so heavy?</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The windows are open, drawing a pleasantly cool and purely refreshing through the house. Through the open windows,an assortment of birds play the music of nature, singing of the newness of day. Joining them in four-part harmony is my cockatiel, Oleo, making sure the world knows "Oleo is a pretty, pretty, pretty bird". Every once in awhile throwing even more "prettys" in there, when he is feeling especially "cocky" : ) He wolf whistles at my 83 year old father passing through the kitchen, like a testosterone befuddled construction worker might whistle at a hot babe on the street. My dad says it's good for his ego at his age, and whistles back at Oleo to return the favor.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My eyes are closed in relaxation and wonderment "How is it that I am so lucky to be blessed with such a day as this?". What did I do to deserve this gift? Nothing. I woke up breathing.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For whatever the reason the world continues to spin on it's axis, I will accept it's bestowal of this time. Enjoying it, reveling in it, appreciating it. How I can take such life for granted is a gross act of selfishness. I will immerse myself in it, use it for good and LIVE it. Trying to spread it's joy to those I meet, who see not the gem they have been given.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">How do you feel about your day? How will you think of it as you move through it's portals? How will you use and enjoy it?</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I’m blessed you took the time to enjoy my morning with me at this late hour and I’m not sure how your morning blossomed into the story of your day, but mine? Was just right.</span></span></span></p>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-3395551464151170302010-08-24T00:07:00.003-05:002010-08-24T00:11:58.580-05:00My Own Personal Mastercard Commercial<div>Starting 2 & maybe 3 new businesses, investment:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>None of your biz<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Bed and Breakfast:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>$1,000,000<div>First major deposit into my B&B account:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>$$$$</div><div>Realizing my dream and my own worth:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>PRICELESS!!!!!</div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-28116055334794269332010-04-07T19:48:00.013-05:002010-04-08T13:07:57.049-05:00Yes, I Have An iPad And Here Is What I Think About It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUur5FvFKUwwVO_GbNfefzZL9MEz_9dN18HPVk66l2GyJL5zOHbpzSnbC-Uz5vJS3qrXZNgXClVjToSHpsHbjX5yTn0oyeIVIey14qMdezfmLPC66YlD3wa4h95bn_m3ZHX7heJB0AUu1P/s1600/photo-1.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUur5FvFKUwwVO_GbNfefzZL9MEz_9dN18HPVk66l2GyJL5zOHbpzSnbC-Uz5vJS3qrXZNgXClVjToSHpsHbjX5yTn0oyeIVIey14qMdezfmLPC66YlD3wa4h95bn_m3ZHX7heJB0AUu1P/s320/photo-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457828173126167202" /></a><br />As of Saturday morning, I have an iPad (see iPhone photo). In fact, all of us here at <a href="http://www.mmphotoblog.com/">MauroMedia</a> have one. And I'm not ashamed to admit it. After all I read on the internet, one almost feels afraid to state the fact. There's not a single product in my remembrance, that has received such "dissing".<div><br /><div>At any rate, I read an article "<a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/36179255/">13 glaring iPad shortcomings</a>" and since friends have asked for my opinion about my iPad, I thought writing about it would be a way to address their "<a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/36179255/ns/technology_and_science-tech_and_gadgets/">13</a>" and give you my own personal, non-subjective, non-techie view. Please, read the article first. It will make my responses to each issue much clearer as I am responding to their statements regarding the iPads perceived shortcomings. Let me preface this with the following statement:</div><div><br /></div><div>Until November, the only exposure I'd had to Apple products was owning an iPod. I had never used a Mac computer and obviously did not understand anything about operating them. Not getting the whole "Mac love" thing, I am not biased concerning their products.</div><div><br /></div><div>While I am enjoying the use of the iPad, I do not consider it a toy and I do not consider the issues the article author cited as "severe".</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#1 It's awkward.</b></div><div>I'm a girl, I've never carried a phone on my hip. It makes me look fat, for pete's sake. Nor would I carry it like a butler would a tray, ridiculous. I don't want it under my armpit for obvious reasons. It is carried in my hand. I have it in the iPad Case which is non-slippery, protects it and transports well. I am klutzy and have no problems carrying it around. Are babies easy to carry? Do we need EVERYTHING in life to be effortless?! Do you need a butler to carry everything for you? Not me, thank you.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#2 It's heavy.</b></div><div>How long have you been sitting on that couch, Mr. Potato? I, in no way find it heavy or difficult to carry around. I have carpel tunnel and have not found it taxing, tiring, or painful to hold it for a length of time. I bought a book and have been reading it on the iPad. I love it! Consider it a Kindle PLUS so much more. Prop it up to watch a movie, for pete's sake! Why would you hold it?! Are you going to hold the TV while you watch a movie?! So why would I hold the iPad out in front of me? Oh, and by the way? Who wants to read a book on a smartphone that is the size of a small calculator? My eyes aren't that young anymore. The Kindle? Great for reading books but does it have apps? Access anything other than Amazon? Hold your calendar, address, and list information? Can it hold your portfolio of your work? Photos? Have 3G capability? I'm a weenie. It ain't heavy enough to preclude me using it and I use it in comfort.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#3 It's slippery.</b></div><div>So don't hold it under your arm. Why would you treat a major purchase with such nonchalance? Put it in the Case. It won't slip. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>#4 The screen has too much glare.</b></div><div>So does the tv, so does a cell phone, so does the car windshield and so does snow. I use it in a sunny environment and have no problems. The clarity is phenom!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#5 Forget reading in the sun.</b></div><div>Okay, this one is splitting hairs and could have been included in #4 but maybe their aim was to connect it to the unlucky #13. Adjust the angle at which you are viewing it. Hard, I know, I could barely accomplish it *rolling eyes*. I, personally, wouldn't take a machine like this to the beach, which is made up of SAND incidentally and isn't good when it gets in ANYTHING (haven't you ever had it in your swimwear bottoms?), and I worry about thugs and no-accounts stealing my things when my head is turned. I would take a paperback novel which costs roughly $7 or less (if you get it at a used book store or swipe it from your sister or best friend) and if something happens to it, it's no big deal. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>#6 Fingerprints are annoying.</b></div><div>I am not anal retentive or nor do I have OCD. I don't notice the fingerprints unless it is turned off and even then, it doesn't cause me behavioral problems. Just like my mom did on the refrigerator, I wipe them off if they build up thicker than a 1/4 inch. If they bother you, use a small piece of microfiber cloth. You don't need a big towel. There are more important things to be annoyed with in this world that you can choose to let get to you, try war, poverty, hunger or the healthcare debacle.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#7 It does not multitask.</b></div><div>Hmmm, I missed that memo Apple sent out telling me they expect me to spend hours at a time on the iPad. They must think no one has a life. This does not take the place of my 27" desktop nor would I expect it to. It gives me the capability of doing more things when I am mobile. Frankly, I am a big multitasker and this inability do run multiple apps/tasks doesn't bother me at all. and is doing one thing at a time once in awhile all that bad? Oh, and all it takes is hitting the home button and the app to switch from one task to the other and it takes just a sec. Not a big deal for me.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#8 The browser is limited.</b></div><div>I'll be honest, I'm not sure what creating Google Documents is. Yeah it doesn't play Flash but that hasn't limited what I do. As for it being limited in any way I use it? I've done everything I want to do with the browser.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#9 The virtual keyboard stinks.</b></div><div>I have big fingers/hands. All keyboards stink for me. It's way better than my iPod Touch! Most peeps that I observe "hunt and peck" anyway. I use proper keyboarding technique and am working at getting better using them on the glass. If you want a full-size keyboard, get a desktop or large laptop. This is NOT meant to be that. I can live with it. If you do a great deal of word-processing, spreadsheets, or printing, stick with your lap/desk top. I don't expect this to take the place of that for me.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#10 There's no USB port.</b></div><div>Now this one might pose difficulty for me but I consider this to be similar to my iTouch and other people's iPhones (which I do not have) and I haven't heard them complain about the lack of a USB port.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>#11 iPhone-only apps look horrible.</b></div><div>What did you do before apps? When the iPhone apps came out, were there 150,000 of them immediately? It will take time for the iPad to catch up. I don't put apps on my iPad that aren't intended for it. That would be like putting maple syrup in my car's gas tank. Maple syrup wasn't intended to be used in a car. Be patient. Everyone and their dog are coming up with apps.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>#12 The price is just too high.</b></div><div>All prices, on all things, are too high when we want something. I want organic milk which costs $7-$8 per gallon versus $2.25 for non-organic milk. It's too high for me. But if I want something, I save for it. If I don't, then I don't. Remember how expensive VCR's were? If it's too high for you, wait, the price may come down. And if someone's iPad memory fills up quickly and they decide a bigger one is what they want, buy their small one and you might get a good deal. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>#13 It doesn't replace anything.</b></div><div>Is it supposed to? It doesn't for me, it supplements. I like the way it works, it works great for what I will do in the field, on the go, and when lounging in bed where my desktop proves to be awkward. :-) I like books on it, I like the size. Bottom line: I LIKE it. It makes for a great PR and work tool in the photography/media business (not for photo processing). As a portfolio while out on the go, it can't be beat. For note taking while out on gardening business and using some of the simple design and reference apps, it is a great tool for garden designers and will get even better as new apps come out. Oh, by the way, Skype works beautifully on it!!! The sound works great!</div><div><br /></div><div>If you do not frequent areas with Wi-Fi, wait and get the 3G model. As with any new product, deficiencies will be improved and tweaked</div><div><br /></div><div>Not one thing in this world is meant to be the be-all and end-all, not man, woman or technology. And honestly, I couldn't care less about being cool.</div><div><br /></div><div>In my personal opinion, if you don't want it, don't buy it. If you want it, get it. I love it.</div></div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-65114311066693617212010-03-31T13:50:00.005-05:002010-08-09T19:08:32.766-05:00My Birthday Gift to YouYep, it's my birthday but I am gifting you with a quickly put together little b-day gift. You women, that is. Oh yeah, you men can benefit from this as well but not to the degree my female friends can :-)<div><br /></div><div>I am 47 today, yes, 47 inching towards 50. And I don't like it. Nope. Not one bit. Sure, I know the alternative is not too good but I whole-heartedly hate the aging thing and fight it every day of the way. Graceful does not describe how I am embracing my age for although I am above dirt, I want to look as young as I can for as long as I can and my fight for it began at 13. I was told if I invest in my health, it will pay dividends now and in the long run. I am at the long run part and I think it is paying off, judge for yourself.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first and most important part of what I have done and do to fight the aging process is directed internally and being healthy on the inside shows up on the outside. Yeah, I've been a goody-goody in the language of my boys. I have been a vegetarian for a total of about 26 years with the last 23 being the long stretch. Never have I partaken of tobacco, alcohol or drugs my doctor has not prescribed for me. Getting plenty of sleep, exercise, fresh air and sunshine is part of my regimen along with eating a healthy, balanced diet that includes plenty of M & M's, Hershey bars and brownies :-) Hey, it works!</div><div><br /></div><div>All things working together to make me good from the inside clear to the outside :-) Hard life experiences have helped moderate the age I look so I am thankful for the very hard things that have happened in my life for without them, I would be concerned I would look like I'm 12 years old :-)</div><div><br /></div><div>NOW for the nitty gritty. People have asked how my skin looks good, my hair, etc. Here are the specifics of what I use. Take it for what it's worth. Try it if you like, it is what works for me and has over a period of time along with what I previously mentioned.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hair: CHI Infra Shampoo and Conditioner for a kinky look, when I want a smooth look it's Paul Mitchell Super Skinny Shampoo, Conditioner and Relaxing Balm, hairspray - Professional Ultra Firm Hold for the kinky look, Redken Quick Dry 18 for a softer flexible hold.</div><div><br /></div><div>All over skin: Dove Gentle Exfoliating Body Wash (never soap or anything drying), I use my own body scrub (see the Hershey's blog entry I did in July), Neutrogena seseme oil (at the end of showering), and Neutrogena Firming Body Moisturizer with Active Copper.</div><div><br /></div><div>Face: Olay Foaming Face Wash for Sensitive Skin, Neutorogena Anti-Oxidant Age Reverse Lotion with SPF 20 (always use something with SPF of at least 20), Olay Regenerist Eye Lifting Serum, Olay Filling+Sealing (awesome!), Olay Regenerist Lip Anti-Aging Concentrate and I use Rimmel make up which my skin loves.</div><div><br /></div><div>While some products from different companies don't work well together, these do very well. I am frugal and a little bit of these products goes a long way and lasts me a long time. Okay, well maybe not the hairspray :-)</div><div><br /></div><div>My birthday wish for you is that this may be helpful and make you feel even more beautiful than you already are for if we FEEL good, we look FABULOUS!</div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-44587184918430257032010-03-13T22:21:00.005-06:002010-03-13T23:21:28.323-06:00Alice in WonderWeird?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKyWAFPZa3LwJs1_zWI23AaQhP4HZE5peTzm7mnovY7GVwIieubUevXtDl3NQFkBUsp28SjzDAWWJmf0cNXXpqqis4YUjL9nQXsA0Q53E28HF7N7J_OodN_dp-6Qe-IILfJbnZ9CpmQlx/s1600-h/tim-burton-alice-in-wonderland-movie-photos-7.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKyWAFPZa3LwJs1_zWI23AaQhP4HZE5peTzm7mnovY7GVwIieubUevXtDl3NQFkBUsp28SjzDAWWJmf0cNXXpqqis4YUjL9nQXsA0Q53E28HF7N7J_OodN_dp-6Qe-IILfJbnZ9CpmQlx/s400/tim-burton-alice-in-wonderland-movie-photos-7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448355306414963858" /></a><br />Tonight, my friend Rita and I took in a movie: Alice in Wonderland. Now, normally I am not into fantastical movies of this sort but as part of the expansion period of my life, I decided to take a chance that I miiiiiiight enjoy it and I went.<div><br /></div><div>Before I left my place, <a href="http://twitter.com/dgdreamin">dgdreamin</a>, who inhabits my part of the Twitter universe, suggested I critique the flick upon my return. Here, I do so. These are my thoughts and my thoughts only about how the movie hit me.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I said, fantastical movies are not my typical genre but I watched with an open mind. The opening was your typical old-timey English setting, hey, not too bad so far. ( I have a penchant for the English accent and you just might hear me using it this week *smile*) Things got a tad bit funky when she fell down the hole.</div><div><br /></div><div>The plot was a good versus evil story but with twists along the way or maybe they were only perceived as twists because I'd not remembered what Alice in Wonderland was about. The Cheshire cat totally creeped me out, the Mad Hatter both made me want to look away and confused me, the Caterpillar's blowing smoke in Alice's face annoyed me, and the Queen of Hearts caused queasiness. Alice seemed too young for the age she was supposed to be in Wonderland and her actions seemed stilted. Contrived.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then, she grew into the role and I do not mean when she ate the cake. Indeed, she DID regain her "muchness", appearing older and I relished watching her, hearing her speak. Along with the change in attitude I had towards her, I saw the Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter differently. No longer did the Cat creep me out, I admired his cleverness. The Hatter held me riveted. The Caterpillar intrigued me. The Queen of Hearts, well her bulbous head still made me queasy. Not mentioned yet is the hairy beast (can't remember it's name) who reminded me of the Abominable Snowman from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer but much meaner. By the end of the movie, I wanted to take him home.</div><div><br /></div><div>The movie was crafted in such a way as to completely turn my perception of the characters around before it was finished. Not all will agree with what I think but it is how the movie hit me. By the end of the tale, I was hooked and realized I'd thoroughly enjoyed it! Of course, I took away a few things from it as well and they are:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Alice's hair is to die for ~sigh~</div><div>2. Alice kicks awesome a**!</div><div>3. Even in stress, there is humor to be found (makes it manageable).</div><div>4. I want a suit of armor just like Alice's and I don't want to have to make it myself from foil (note to self: google armor).</div><div>5. That Mad Hatter can DANCE! I want to learn how to do that before I die.</div><div>6. It is good to open your mind to new things, you just might enjoy it.</div><div>7. I have regained MY "muchness" and am proud of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until I viewed this movie, a brief trailer was all I'd seen leaving me with no desire to watch this movie. Now? I'd happily head back to see it again. Or is that a - GAIN?! :-) Told you I'd be English this week . . .</div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-47801033924153540162010-02-02T12:52:00.007-06:002010-02-02T13:19:45.754-06:00Does Anyone Understand Groundhog Day?Now I don't rightly know about Punxsutawney Phil and his legend.<br /><br />It would seem to me, that if Punxsutawney Phil could not see his shadow, it would be because the sun was not shining i.e. the sky would be overcast, gray, dreary signaling winter is still here and will continue for another six weeks.<br /><br />Conversely, it would appear to me if Punxsutawney Phil COULD see his shadow, it would be an indication the sun is SHINING producing a very spring-like day thereby signaling spring is quickly on it's WAY.<br /><br />Why is it the other way around? If it's gray and dreary, he cannot see his shadow and THAT signals spring will arrive SOON? Come on.<br /><br />At any rate, I have my own system. If my plants look like this:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbF0NLa6ipK7cBkjOstKNeNTEsJq67u-sEiQaUm2tFjxXcCZ__Q3xWL8pgmmABDyf5qERV4d3NkzQ62YVQubRaOgKXy9inr_dO3jCr7SucwfgxUor2rcuDh-XPbULnDXwF923V1eByLokk/s1600-h/IMG_9585.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433726326187564450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbF0NLa6ipK7cBkjOstKNeNTEsJq67u-sEiQaUm2tFjxXcCZ__Q3xWL8pgmmABDyf5qERV4d3NkzQ62YVQubRaOgKXy9inr_dO3jCr7SucwfgxUor2rcuDh-XPbULnDXwF923V1eByLokk/s400/IMG_9585.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Spring ain't even anywhere close to bein' here. Just sayin'.Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-11893836101598091122010-02-01T18:33:00.001-06:002014-04-08T18:39:18.553-05:00Chemicals and the Cold: I Believe One Made The Other Lethal<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJF9EyGYxxpuYbmNGOVNviW6qAzgQSADYRmFjyTrfUpO_mRyzlot5ZQfkr2UhD7TSX99oj5IrwHtiK-ih-Y0WOLpEHro5HJTqVo61B3XhOw_tiRXGcysygX6GMpKOqnHC6m-OjH4AR5X0X/s1600-h/IMG_5698.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJF9EyGYxxpuYbmNGOVNviW6qAzgQSADYRmFjyTrfUpO_mRyzlot5ZQfkr2UhD7TSX99oj5IrwHtiK-ih-Y0WOLpEHro5HJTqVo61B3XhOw_tiRXGcysygX6GMpKOqnHC6m-OjH4AR5X0X/s400/IMG_5698.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433451549263794338" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 400px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 370px;" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;">Last week, there was an episode of the </span><a href="http://www.doctoroz.com/videos/three-dangerous-food-toxins"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;">Dr. Oz Show</span></a></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> focusing on organic foods. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal;">The <a href="http://www.bestsyndication.com/?q=20100127_oprah_winfrey_tv_show_food_inc.htm">Food Inc. documentary</a> was discussed on the Oprah Winfrey Show the same week. Clearly, the world is catching on that we need less processed food going into our bodies and less exposure to chemicals.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">It is my belief that my own life has been directly affected by chemicals used in food production. Now, I thought I was safe from most of the dangers of antibiotics, growth hormones and improper food being given to animals because I am vegetarian and have been for about 23 years. BUT, the dangers of chemicals came to me via treatments of vineyards and orchards i.e. pesticides and herbicides.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">I will preface what I am going to say with what my doctor told me: "there is no conclusive evidence that either the pesticides or herbicides used to treat the fruit are the cause of your condition." That would be because there are no studies done to prove or disprove the cause effect relationship.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">I have an allergy most people have not heard of: cold-induced urticaria. Let me share with you what I know from my experience.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">June 1996 saw me move into my beautiful home in the countryside of southwestern Michigan with my property being bordered by hundreds of acres of orchards and vineyards directly on the north and west sides. The farmer owning those fields would come by my home and caution me he was going to spray that day and while the chemicals were "safe" I could feel free to keep my kids and pets indoors with my doors and windows shut. Which of course, I did.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">August 14, 1997. I'd been through one entire year of orchard and vineyard spraying. I spent the day on the beach of Lake Michigan. A warm day, we had a cooler of ice-cold soft drinks to quench our thirst. No problem.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">August 15, 1997. I began the drive to visit my parents in Nebraska, stopping at a convenience store to pick up a cold soda for the trip. As I held the soda in my hand, my hand began to burn, to itch, to swell, turning red and yellow. Startled, I surmised there must be something on the bottle causing my hand to react. Locating some napkins, I wrapped several around the bottle and the reaction ceased getting worse, although it was a day before my hand returned to normal.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">Throughout the week I was in Nebraska, my thighs swelled when I jogged in the early morning chill of the high desert, my tongue and lips swelled when I drank a slush at the Dairy King, and my finger swelled as I held the garden hose to water my dad's flowers. My father suggested I begin to write these incidents down in a log of some sort, which I did.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">In the next six weeks, there were more occurrences of this sort with everything from a breeze in England causing hives to erupt on my legs, to leaning against a porcelain sink and getting hives on my midriff.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">Upon taking this log to the doctor, he brought out an ice cube after reading it, he did a simple ice cube test and informed me I have cold-induced urticaria. In layman's language, I am allergic to cold. Cold temperatures. For me, temps below about 50 degrees induce my body to react. The cold temps cause my body to produce histamines creating hives both outside and INSIDE my body. If I eat cold food or breathe cold air, my throat will swell shut and I will die. If the cold radiates onto my heart from what is passing through my esophagus, it swells and will stop. Eating a bowl of Breyer's ice cream, almost killed me. If anything cold i.e. air, surface, food, water touches me, my body reacts in a very negative and potentially fatal way. I fall into the lake? I'm a goner. Get locked out of the house on a cold morning? I'm a goner. There are worse allergies though, so I consider myself lucky. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">There is no cure, only prevention. Curiously enough, it affects my life in ways I'd not foreseen, even in the summer. It's complicated. My allergist informed me that something caused my immune system to become permanently altered, thereby causing this reaction.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 100%;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">Now, long story, but this is how I think what I have is caused by chemical exposure. I heard of two other people in the same area who were exposed to similar toxins. One lived near an orchard, the other picked grapes at a vineyard often eating them without washing them. Coincidence? Not in my book. A friend of my best friend, also had this condition and had to move to Florida. She moved from the area in which I was living. There was also an inordinately high occurrence of cancer, especially of the breast, in my area. Some suspicion it is from chemicals related to the fruit production industry getting into the ground water but it has not been proved.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">So. Obviously, I believe, organic is the way to go. More and more I switch to healthier ways of living, my eating included, wanting to eradicate them from my food intake. In the past, it was not near as difficult and I didn't think of the costs involved in purchasing organic products. But now, I am on a very fixed income and am finding it cost prohibitive to do so. There is only so much money to go around.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">What tips, what advice do you have for me that might help make it more financially feasible to buy organic (I do garden organic)? With a gallon of milk at $7 versus $2 non organic, eggs at $4 and other products likewise as high-priced, how do I do it? How do YOU do it?</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2pxfont-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0pxfont-family:arial; font-size: 100%; white-space: normal;">I look forward to hearing your suggestions and wish a long and healthy life for each of you!</span></span></div>
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Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-45487806648090783482010-01-18T16:29:00.006-06:002010-01-18T19:32:53.147-06:00"Maybe They're Just Not That Into Me"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiYUjHDMU8NUKfqMEi8Rx6ZvdsqS-uzJiey594ErA6RFnAPWjGgLfJ2iGkDuHqg-htFegp1zhKoTegtwsNQjEPd6SOAzFcBwviw_9WCrjscsjbWsN22KaQv9HKa1BgJBSX3_rZT3vC1VL/s1600-h/mailbox.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428257472231422354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiYUjHDMU8NUKfqMEi8Rx6ZvdsqS-uzJiey594ErA6RFnAPWjGgLfJ2iGkDuHqg-htFegp1zhKoTegtwsNQjEPd6SOAzFcBwviw_9WCrjscsjbWsN22KaQv9HKa1BgJBSX3_rZT3vC1VL/s400/mailbox.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Dear Abby,</div><br /><div></div><div>It's the story of my life *sigh*</div><br /><div></div><div>A couple of weeks ago, it dawned on me (yeah, dawn does break on Marblehead occasionally) I had not received any bright, full-color, horticultural-eye-candy-filled plant catalogs enticing me to purchase their spring wares. Apparently, there was fineprint on the mail-forwarding dohickey-thing I filled out at the post office that informed me the plant/seed catalogs were NOT going to be sent onto me in Colorado. I'd neglected to read that part, I guess. Therefore, I did what every self-respecting plantaholic would do: I went online and signed up to receive every horticulturally-related catalog under the sun (don't worry, I recycle).</div><div></div><br /><div>Now, here is what I don't understand: two weeks later, where are my catalogs? Each day, I inspect the mailbox. Waiting expectantly. Salivating. Each day, I continue to be disappointed. Don't they want my business? Or is it 'they're just not that into me'? </div><br /><div></div><div>Wondering how to ascertain as such, I went to the experts for their opinion and adapted the criteria I found to help me answer that question.<br /></div><br /><div>Now I know, nurseries/seed distributors are just not that into me if:</div><div></div><br /><div>1. They don't get back to me in less than TWO weeks.</div><div></div><br /><div>2. They aren't sensitive to my growing needs.</div><br /><div></div><div>3. They don't listen to me, or respect my opionions AND returns!</div><div></div><br /><div>4. They leave me hanging on a figurative trellis, waiting for catalogs.</div><div></div><br /><div>5. They do not bring out the best gardener in me (or they would give me plants that will not die).</div><div></div><br /><div>6. They don't make me WANT to WANT them!</div><div></div><br /><div>7. They don't call me to see if I need something.</div><div></div><br /><div>8. They don't take the time to get to know my friends, putting them on their mailing lists :-)</div><div></div><br /><div>9. They don't put my name in their little black book, in stone, with a star beside it.</div><div></div><br /><div>10. They don't take an interest in my interests, (okay, so maybe I don't want them sending out spybots to infiltrate my facebook and twitter accounts, sending me advertisements).</div><div></div><br /><div>11. They don't bring me flowers anymore. They don't ship my order the whole way, but instead make me meet them in a seedy part of Nevada behind some pokey cactus thing.</div><div></div><br /><div>12. They continually backorder the things I ask for.</div><div></div><br /><div>So far, only Bluestone Perennials, Burpee and Park are into me (yeah, I got THEIR catalogs).</div><div></div><br /><div>Tell me how you know when a nursery is into you! What clues you into knowing someone wants YOUR business? Do you have an outstanding customer service story? A favorite nursery? A mail order source you'd recommend? I'd love to hear about it! </div><div></div><br /><div>Signed,</div><br /><div>Needing A Plant Catalog Fix In CO (aka Needing Nursery Validation)</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-48098309555628756462010-01-07T13:22:00.016-06:002010-01-08T15:43:49.048-06:00Twitter Soup: A Delicious Blend of Interesting Peeps!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXU9tG18Ka12TeyKZzSTbLmLguLdGF55-gSQF0R1mphYoGJ7gDNHoKnMlSQdzih71465RpqQsELV9-esupIzvcX-he9K_83-4GaRCYCP6xH7SRKxg2_haBYnwcgTscRvMpLh-_T_qRzxu5/s1600-h/Soup.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXU9tG18Ka12TeyKZzSTbLmLguLdGF55-gSQF0R1mphYoGJ7gDNHoKnMlSQdzih71465RpqQsELV9-esupIzvcX-he9K_83-4GaRCYCP6xH7SRKxg2_haBYnwcgTscRvMpLh-_T_qRzxu5/s400/Soup.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424485248689823154" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3CDIlZFp4h1wR7f38KuQ9bf0tl2oHi5r0bt3drxnMFFfCdF3K-_7RLHBQFRVta6XX7nfC8DXHh9iq2OmS5zGp_DKKtoFb537HbYhI3t0cJ9CPRbQUobe5Qsrsusj3iwilb3OWARKpJ37/s1600-h/Soup.gif" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 1px; height: 1px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3CDIlZFp4h1wR7f38KuQ9bf0tl2oHi5r0bt3drxnMFFfCdF3K-_7RLHBQFRVta6XX7nfC8DXHh9iq2OmS5zGp_DKKtoFb537HbYhI3t0cJ9CPRbQUobe5Qsrsusj3iwilb3OWARKpJ37/s400/Soup.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424484876422297282" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiwBz7v6AwJQpgTcIgQC6slgtHfcLErDsyAjarsnucV9-ZTOvJtSULlzVX1_g3bnENiTNh4h9uCV0sAXZSRMNWkAAeCxa_Zn6yvuELRA-hdmxjkrzlU1Pm46Vgi_YSDg-strFl4oqZCwP/s1600-h/Soup.gif" style="text-decoration: none;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Twitter whets my appetite for information, friendship and sharing. Nevermore than now, during my self-imposed house/dog-sitting exile on top of this snowy mountain.</span></div></a><br /><div>This week is reminiscent of that time back in March when I broke my ankle i.e. too much time on my hands and not enough to do, therefore I am spending inordinate amounts of time on the computer (especially Twitter and FaceBook but here I will be referencing mainly Twitter). But that is not necessarily all bad! There is a wealth about life you can learn from others! Contrary to belief, the internet is NOT a total waste of time. </div><br /><div>In addition to enabling me to connect with family and friends, both old and new, social media can be truly educational, encouraging and enlightening, not to mention entertaining. There are quite a few characters out there whom I have enjoyed getting to know! You wouldn't BELIEVE what I have found on Twitter! I will share it with you someday :-) It's AWESOME! But for now . . .</div><br /><div>Here are just a few of the links I have looked at and learned from today. This is a drop in the proverbial bucket as to the volumes of information available to you via, in this case, Twitter and FaceBook. Browse them at your leisure and you just might find something to interest you, too!</div><br /><div>Click on the embedded links to enjoy what I did! Take your pick!</div><br /><div>Truly hilarious from <a href="http://bit.ly/8hkIUH">kissmyaster</a></div><br /><div>Amazing photos from <a href="http://ow.ly/Tb9y">AmazingPics</a> 2009 Nature's Best Photography </div><br /><div>Jim Goldstein's take on <a href="http://www.jmg-galleries.com/blog/">Embracing the Imperfect Image</a></div><br /><div>Hear about the earthquake FIRST from <a href="http://twitter.com/InterLeafer">Interleafer</a></div><br /><div>Gaze on my childhood idol <a href="http://twitter.com/donnyosmond">Donny Osmond </a>every so often, he's always nice to look at :-)</div><br /><div></div><div>Be inspired and learn how <a href="http://is.gd/5OX7X">digging in the dirt</a> changed lives not just for one family but for families across the nation</div><br /><div>Learn about new ways, coming down the pipeline, to garden for your kitchen from <a href="http://www.americanpotager.com/">Jennifer Bartley</a></div><br /><div>Discover how gardening is different yet the same around the country (begin with my friend <a href="http://www.susancohangardens.com/blog/">Susan's blog </a>and access the other's at the bottom of her recent posting, I found someone in MY new area I can look to for help as a result!)</div><br /><div>Do you have ANY idea how important getting in touch with the natural world is? <a href="http://bit.ly/7xlWz0">Shawna Coronado</a> can share with you how it basically saved her from a horrible life!</div><br />And of course, if you're into garden porn, you can't go wrong with this scintillating, mouth-watering offering of pics from <a href="http://personalgardencoach.wordpress.com/">Arcadia1</a><br /><br /><div>Speaking of titillating, I learned of a "must-have" plant last night that you MUST take a look at and you will see why it caused quite a stir on Twitter recently. <a href="http://bit.ly/8RkcYo">Annie's Annuals </a>has this one! Just call him 'Mr. Happy'!</div><br /><div>What interests me, might not speak to your likes but this is intended to show you how simply wonderful these places on the web can be and there are truly amazing people out there just waiting to make your acquaintance. </div><div><br /></div><div>Give it a go. Look for me: @gettingdirty . See ya on Twitter!</div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-25477461458686155952010-01-05T22:22:00.007-06:002010-12-10T01:48:07.766-06:00<div>I need all the help I can get.</div>
<br /><div></div><div>NOAA says the Boulder area has some of the highest peak wind events of any city in the U.S. I believe it, all day the wind has been at about 50 mph and this hasn't been the only day. I also did some checking and my area also only receives approximately 14 inches of moisture per year with July being the driest of the summer months. Great. Cold, dry winters, too. Couple this information with my area being a zone 4 out on the open plain beneath the foothills of the Rockies where those winds come sweeping down and you have some harsh growing conditions. </div>
<br /><div></div><div>This previous weekend, I notified the seed/plant catalog companies I normally purchase from, of my new address in order to begin planning what I would like to plant this coming growing season. The more I learn about this growing environment, the more I realize I am out of my element, my comfort zone. I've never grown anything in conditions like this before. Yes, I have much educating of my middle-aged brain to do. And quickly.</div>
<br /><div></div><div>Hence, my plea for your help. If you have any advice, experience, or resources to direct me to, I would love you forever if you would share. I do intend to contact the cooperative extension for advice and information, although I will not be able to pursue the Master Gardener program here at this time, maybe next year.</div><div></div>
<br /><div>I'm thinking grasses, prairie plants, natives and such but must learn what those are first. Direct me with specifics, please :-) I will be posting a photo soon of the house around which I will be gardening to give you an idea of the style of the structure to which the gardens will be married.</div>
<br /><div></div><div>As I begin this new gardening journey, I will document with photos and journal entries my progress. Whether successful or not, you can join me in my new experience.</div><div></div>
<br /><div>Come along and let the experiment begin! I look forward to your suggestions.</div></div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-69268453972573713492009-12-21T13:14:00.006-06:002010-01-07T15:01:29.863-06:00I Have These Days . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7QtxZwKuepUuhZuE6Pd1ciORHleiw106Wre_FIaS1T3gXshW5iPtCbjfU6Im6If5nJHFd4bxG-WNAEKLzkx5EkjbXoervhBChbBZFCAU1hrXnRKXPLaPH8cvXelw-3oYDq5Elk6B7u6X/s1600-h/Tearing+hair+out.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 101px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 115px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417775504234839010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7QtxZwKuepUuhZuE6Pd1ciORHleiw106Wre_FIaS1T3gXshW5iPtCbjfU6Im6If5nJHFd4bxG-WNAEKLzkx5EkjbXoervhBChbBZFCAU1hrXnRKXPLaPH8cvXelw-3oYDq5Elk6B7u6X/s400/Tearing+hair+out.jpg" /></a><br />There are days, such as this one, that others think I am far stronger than I am. <div><br /></div><div>There are days of self-doubt and wishful thinking for times and events in the future as well as times and events of the past.</div><div><br /></div><div>Am I doing the right thing? Was that decision the best possible? Was it made too quickly? Did I delay too long? Would that I could know the beginning from the END! Or would I truly want to?</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I go with my gut whose feeling is born of the wisdom of my elders, the experience of my past, the hopes for my future, the dreams blossoming in my heart and just plain common sense. Knowing I've not ever been perfect, nor will I ever BE perfect, I can accept my choices and plan for the best. If what happens turns out to not be the best course of action, I can readjust mid-course and set sail for a new course, a new destination. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Although, my hair may much more less in quantity and/or shorter than it was before *smile*)</div><div><br /></div><div>Life evolves, as I do. Which, as I might remind you here, is healthy. After all, have you ever smelled something stagnant? Anyone who knows me intimately, understands I do not sit still (unless my ankle is broken and even then I am challenged to do so). I do not stand still. Even physically, I move quickly and with purpose. I want to be on my way. Somewhere. Somewhere beautiful, fulfilling, fun and where there is love. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is what I wish for those in my life, as well. If ever I can be a star ahead of you, at a place to where you've not yet gone, to guide you with the light that has come from my own experience, I am here. To listen, to encourage, to lift up.</div><div><br /></div><div>I AM on my way. I will be SURE of my direction until something indicates to me otherwise, then there is the possibility that at that time, I will be incredibly UNsure :-) </div><div><br /></div><div>But until that moment, you may still find me, on my way to the rest of my life.</div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1580339658197646159.post-68569389640235521792009-12-09T00:27:00.014-06:002010-01-07T15:00:35.894-06:00Not Quite the State of the Union. . . but a State of My Life<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2lhhJI_KmDh3pnq0IC67MskcwNvgfdCeUwY7WB8GNZ2pyRnus6tCVUOZ9L5tu2om-xPCWpVirHCVPp_jibpxDQQ3jxnrMsxgTrung65CZ7NhyphenhyphenRZ7Jb4wDB4Zk_RocXqFkaJgurm7br4S/s1600-h/IMG_5542.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 267px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415306950329197106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2lhhJI_KmDh3pnq0IC67MskcwNvgfdCeUwY7WB8GNZ2pyRnus6tCVUOZ9L5tu2om-xPCWpVirHCVPp_jibpxDQQ3jxnrMsxgTrung65CZ7NhyphenhyphenRZ7Jb4wDB4Zk_RocXqFkaJgurm7br4S/s400/IMG_5542.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Where do I start? The photo to the left could very well be one of my beginnings. It was a significant milepost in my life. You might say, this is a reflection of the last several months, somewhat of a "State of My Life".<br /><div><br /></div><div>I've been doing much thinking of late. You know, about my life and all?</div><br /><div>About new beginnings. (Does that mean I have old endings? If I've started over, does that mean I ended under?)</div><br /><div>I've realized that there are no do-overs but there are indeed start-overs. That I can begin anew (after I've ended a-old?). That nothing ever goes as planned but then who ever said it would or that it should? </div><br /><div>Now, for an Oscar moment.</div><br /><div>Beginnings. I'm thankful for them. I'd like to thank my parents for my very first beginning, for without them, I'd not be here today to begin again. There are many of influence who have been a part of each journey around the sun, who without, I'd not be here today. Literally.</div><div></div><div>Endings. I'd like to thank those along the way who were responsible for the many endings in my life, for without them, I'd not have had the strength, the courage, the inspiration or the need to start over. Many life lessons were learned along the way, making me the woman you see here before you today. Frankly, I like her and am thrilled to get to know her, continuing to make her acquaintance each and every dawn.</div><div></div><div>Other than the love of family and some friends, there is virtually nothing that remains the same in my story from last year's chapter to the new one being written. Not my job (figuring that out), not my marriage (it's no longer), not my home (it's a small apartment), not who lives with me (I am now totally alone without parents or kids or spouse), not the technology I am used to (learning Mac), not the part of the country in which I reside (now CO), not my finances (very poor but hey I'm not starving), not the weather (way colder here), not what I own (not much besides my car, wait the bank shares it with me), nor even who I am (which I might mention is indeed, the BEST part!). Yes, it is unnerving and extraordinarily sad many, many times and I remain cynical, quite hard actually, not able to open up fully to anyone. But you know what? This new chapter is also exciting! Challenging! An adventure! I can only be a BETTER woman because of it. Right?! Yes! You'd better believe it. Because I know it. I'm living it.</div><br /><div>I am loving my life, as uncertain as it is at the moment. </div><br /><div>What I do know with absolute certainty, is that I am okay, I WILL be okay. That I am loved.</div><br /><div>None of which would be possible without the love and encouragement of many. The Many, who have joined me on life's journey from ALL walks of life, have entered through varied portals. Yes, portals even such as Twitter, MySpace and Facebook :-) Someday, I may tell you stories of the parts each have played in my life. I am defined by numerous things, not simply any ONE.</div><br /><div>And I am rich. My life exhibits a richness, woven with the unique threads brought into my life by those who I've met not only early in my life but also those who have graced my life with their presence in the recent past. For now, suffice it to say: I am blessed by each one of you. I would not trade you for all the tea in China or all the coffee at Starbucks. I love you. I am here because of you. I THRIVE because of you. </div><br /><div>I am finished with merely surviving. Watch me. I am on . . . my . . . way!</div><br /><div>Thank you! </div><br /><div>Now, I would like to thank my loyal agent, my adoring and faithful fans and my hard-working publicist . . .</div></div>Garden Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14190514500368404732noreply@blogger.com7