Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Three years later it is still going strong. The box is a bit tatty now and I have had to glue the cutting strip back on a few times but that is to be expected. Who would have thought that it would still be in use? Not me, that's for sure!
As you can see there is about a half an inch left on the roll. How long will that last me? Do you think I can make it to next summer? Maybe, maybe not. But if it does, it will be the best $10 I have ever spent. For $2.50 a year for plasic wrap, it's a total bargain.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
The memory was of my brother and me in the tub one summer night, me about four years-old and my brother around three. My mother had brought us in each a brown cow- Coke with vanilla ice cream in it- in a glass. I'm not sure why we were given such a treat while taking a bath. It may have had something to do with the fact that it could have been messy. Whatever the reason, we each sat in a tub full of bubbles eating our ice cream with long spoons and then drinking the Coke as fast as we could afterwards and laughing hysterically at each other.
This memory spurred on another, one that also took place in the summer. We had moved from Braintree to Marshfield, MA to a small farm. Wanting to surround us with farm life, my father thought that making our own root beer would be a good summer project. He bought all of the supplies, set a day to make it and gathered my brothers and I to help. Once the root beer was mixed together, Dad bottled it and placed the bottles in the cellar to become something we greatly anticipated. We never did get to taste that batch of root beer because one night, while we were watching television, we heard a bang! and then another and another. Each of the bottles had popped their corks, spraying root beer everywhere and leaving us very, very sad children indeed. Feeling sorry for us, Dad took us to Johnson's A&W for a root beer float and quarts of fried clams the next weekend. If you ask me, that was more than a fair trade!
Looking back at these two memories, I came to the conclusion that JA comes by his bathtub root beer drinking honestly. I sure wish I could blame it on his dad. ;)
Thursday, August 20, 2009
It took forever to get a shot of him. He must travel at 5 miles an hour!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
I just love everyone that works there and now I get to be a part of that circle of amazing women.
I am one happy girl. :)
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Second- Go look at her blog and you will see that she has impeccable taste. Ah, I could fall into any one of her photographs and be perfectly content. Really.
Comments can be left until midnight tomorrow, August 11, so be quick!!
Why are you still here?
Saturday, August 8, 2009
It is a French vanilla bundt cake made with butter, milk and fresh eggs from the hen house. It made my whole house smell divine as it was baking last night.
In order to prevent any unwanted creatures from noshing on this gateau, I had to cover it. The glaze was still a bit sticky so I had to find something that would elevate the cover off the cake. Hmmm, what to do, what to do. Aha! Spaghetti! Of course. Poking twelve sticks of spaghetti into the cake I was able to then drape a clean dish towel over the top. Problem solved, I went to bed.
This morning I woke up to find that (Duh!) the spaghetti had absorbed the moisture from the cake and each stick had broken at the place where cake and pasta met. The towel had then dropped onto the cake, taking parts of the glaze with it as I lifted it off. Perfect. You can't see those parts in my carefully staged photo, but they are there, trust me.
There is now a new, pasta-free cake on the counter waiting for a dusting of powdered sugar to take to my friends. I hope my family likes spaghetti cake.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
If it wasn't for a good zoom lens you would not be seeing this picture. I stood inside the family room and shook the entire time I was photographing this nasty creature.
This is the same kind of snake that bit my parent's Boston Terrier two years ago and made him swell up like a balloon and take on the appearance of Winston Churchill in the process. It is what caused him to spend a night at the emergency vet, IV solution running through his system trying to dilute the venom.
Even though I'm pretty sure that this copperhead was after the chipmunk family that lives under our deck, just the thought that it was so close by gives me the willies. We have been inundated with snakes this year- king snakes, large and small; brown snakes that eat earth worms; worm snakes that do the same. And now, this. It's just too much.
I hate snakes.
Monday, August 3, 2009
And what day would be complete without a love note written by your garden spider?
Sunday, August 2, 2009
I initially thought it was Hazel, but when I really looked this morning I discovered that the remaining Buff had a small comb. Blanche's was rather large and floppy.
Last night, during my prayer, I found myself apologizing for not watching out for Blanche better. I know things happen, but she was under my watch and I had failed her.
A thought suddenly came to me that I am the chicken. Not really the chicken, but like the chicken. Just as I should care for, tend, nurture, nourish and protect my flock, I have a responsibility to do the very same thing for myself. Funny how such an insignificant event can propel such a much-needed lesson.
I find that I am the last one I care for. With my husband, children and parents all requiring my care at various times, I am the last one on the totem pole. Blanche's demise brought that to the forefront of my brain. There is someone counting on me to feed, nurture, tend and protect myself both physically and spiritually. He is the one who wants me to return to Him when my end comes. If I failed Blanche, lesson learned. If I fail myself, well the ramifications are eternal. Failure is not an option.
I'm sorry, Blanche, for not being there to protect you when you needed me to. But, I thank you for the lesson that you have taught me. It is rife with sadness and pain at your loss, but full of appreciation and gratitude.
Farewell, you sweet, silly hen.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Instead, I got out some fabric and started sewing. I used a Sweet charm pack and sliced it up into 1" strips. I planned and pinned, stitched and pressed and in no time flat, I had an itty-bitty doll quilt.