One Saturday Morning

Ah, my old friend, the overhead projector.  The precursor to the video projector.  In church basement closets everywhere.

And advantage #73 of being married to an STP--easy access to the overhead projector.

The STP brought it home for me and I set it on a chair in the big room.  (Have I ever mentioned I painted three chairs Indian Gem?) And I projected my homemade custom overhead on the wall.

And I transferred the image to the wall by tracing with a pencil.  And another pencil.   And another pencil.  And then I resharpened my pencils and traced some more.

And then I painted with my Baker's Chocolate paint.  It was like a paint-by-number--with only one number.

And what I ended up with was two western pine trees silhouetted on the Fall Leaf big room wall.

Another Ta Da!  Big Reveal moment.

Overhead projector         no charge
Leftover brown paint       no charge
Pencils, sponge brush      no charge
Custom wall art               Okay, it's no David Bromstad, but I'm happy with it.

And I still have a little paint left in my quart can of Baker's Chocolate...  And that window I salvaged/rescued from the Shell Community Center...

Eggsactly The Way It Should Be

Wasn't sure we needed to get out the Easter baskets this year.  No one here who believes that bunnies lay colored eggs.  Everyone knows what puts the magic in the magic eggs.  But the Goob has always been a child who loves routine and to whom traditions are important.  So we found the baskets, filled them with that annoying grass that mutiplies and spreads throughout the house, and made plans to color the eggs.  We used the tablecloth.  The one we only use for drying homemade noodles and blotting the Easter eggs.   And there is something comforting and, well, familiar about it.

We were a little short of yellow food coloring.  And the Goob was slow with the red color.  So we ended up with an abundance of eggs in shades of green. 

 

And just because there were only three of us, and none of us were very little, doesn't mean we didn't make a mess, or have an 'accident' or two. 

The Goob worked very hard on the Oscar egg.  But try as he may, it kept getting prettier and prettier with each new cup of dye he put it in.

In fact it was not ugly enough to warrant a picture. 

And after we went to bed on Saturday, the bunny came and left chocolate eggs and jelly beans in our baskets.  And the bizzarre clock Sprung ahead an hour, BUT WE REMEMBERED!!!! and DID NOT arrive an hour early to sunrise service.  And today we are eating deviled eggs and split pea soup.  And maybe the Goob gets his love of routine and tradition from his mom. 

Smile

Zumba cool down song. I have no idea who Uncle Kracker is, but today he made me smile. Glad I got up early and went to zumba. The STP was right about this one. I think I will go wake him up.

SMILE Lyrics - UNCLE KRACKER

Last Weekend's Project

I want to tell you about the project I did this weekend because it didn't cost me anything and it involved paint, but first I need to back up and show you last week's project. 

Remember last summer when my garden was as big as a flower pot?  And I promised the STP would build me a much bigger raised bed garden this year?  Well here is the beginning.  Sixteen square feet of potential garden.  According to all I have read about raised beds this should be adequate to feed 1/2 of one person for one season.  Or to grow two healthy tomato plants and two pepper plants and an onion. Or one zucchini plant. 

At any rate, it is a good beginning.  And the STP got to use his tools.  Like this corner vise he had to have last year to build the flower boxes.  And his cordless drill/screwdriver that his wonderful wife got him last year for Christmas so he could build her things like flower and garden boxes. 

And, then, because the STP is henpecked loves his wife so much, he added these little pretties on the front corners so they coordinate with her fence posts.

Sadly, when I went to paint the garden box, I discovered that the paint bucket was left in the garage over the winter, and had gone through several freeze thaw cycles.  The internet advised that if the frozen paint looks like cottage cheese when it thaws, it is no good.  So I just stirred it up as well as possible, let the curds settle to the bottom and used the whey to 'stain' my garden box.  Ta Da!

I went to the Co-op to inquire about vermiculite, but they did not have any.  Plus, it is snowing this weekend, so there is no hurry to plant anything.  I will update you when there is actually dirt and seeds/plants in my garden.  This year's watering system will be a bucket and a cup, but next on the STP's list is a compost box. 

And here is a little hint about my most recent project:  Any guesses?

(Aunt Sara's) Garlic Tomato Dip

1 can petite diced tomatoes
3/4 cup olive oil
1 tsp. garlic powder
2 Tbs. Italian seasoning
1 dash salt
1 dash pepper
2 Tbs. minced garlic

Mix and let marinate for 24 hrs.
Serve with French or baguette bread.

Steer Clear

Okay, after 27 years of mothering and literally countless dinner conversations I have finally found a topic I was not comfortable discussing over chicken and broccoli. 
It started much earlier in my day.  A LOCL called to ask the STP a Bible question.  Since he was not at home, she just asked me. (Since a degree in Bible and Theology from a Christian Bible College is roughly equivalent to a degree in Microbiology from a large secular state university.)  Her question involved whether a steer could be a Passover sacrifice or even kosher. Mmmm....Let me think about that.  Let me dig deep into my knowledge of Levitical Law.  I had a Jewish roommate once.  I learned a lot of things from her my freshman year at PSU.  I even went to Passover Seder at her house.  Do I know anything at all about kosher beef?  While I was pondering this, the LOCL had moved on and was using words like 'mutilated' and 'bull'.  So forget not knowing anything about Rabbis' slaughtering practices, I had to confess that I didn't know there was a difference between a 'steer' and a 'bull'. So the LOCL 'took me behind the bedroom door for a little talk.'  (Her words  :) ),  and explained the difference between a bull and a steer.  And then, after she realized the dearth of my knowledge, she decided she would call the STP at the church.  (I tried to call him first to tell him the difference between a bull and steer, but the LOCL must have him on speed dial, cause she beat me to it.  The STP didn't have to a confess to the LOCL that he also did not know the difference--because he is better at bull than I am.) 
At the supper table, we were discussing this in front of the Goob, because I think if you are from Wyoming you should be knowledgeable about all things beef.  So I was explaining the difference in LOCL terms.  But when you share your dinner table with only two guys, and they ask questions, and anyway, I declared an end to that conversation. 
But for my girls (because somehow this never came up at the dinner table when you lived at home), my faithful non-Wyoming readers (who depend on me for vital Western informantion), and anyone from the East Coast, I will give you the definitions here in one useful place.  Pay close attention.

bull   /bʊl/ 
–noun
1.the male of a bovine animal, esp. of the genus Bos, with sexual organs intact and capable of reproduction.

-noun Slang.

2.exaggerations; lies; nonsense.

—Idiom

3.shoot the bull, to talk aimlessly: We just sat around the dinner table shooting the bull.

steer   /stɪər/
–verb
1.to guide the course of (something in motion) by a rudder, helm, wheel, etc.: to steer a bicycle.
 
–noun

2.a male bovine that is castrated before sexual maturity, esp. one raised for beef.

—Idiom

3.steer clear of, to stay away from purposely; avoid: She steered clear of any castration discussions at the dinner table.

Here then is a little bull joke for those of you who have stayed with me this far into the post:
Three little bull calves are out in the field talking about what they wanted to do when they grew up.  The first one declared he would like to be a bull in a china shop.  The second one thought he might like to be a bull on Wall Street.  But the third one said he just wanted to stay right where he was 'for heifer, and heifer, and heifer...'. 

And to save you a trip to dictionary.com:
heif·er   /ˈhɛfər/
–noun
1. a young cow over one year old that has not produced a calf.

Run, Ms Brenda, Run

I am restarting the Couch to 5k program.  I am running long distance with the Queen of Queens.  Just a few differences.  She is young, I am old.  She pushes a stroller with two children in it.  I leash myself to the dog and let her pull me along.  The Queen has an i-phone and downloads C25K program friendly podcasts.  My i-pod is dead and I can't figure out how to get podcasts onto my phone. 
So I just put my old i-pod earphones in and pretend I am really cool and I am listening to something really wonderful.  If the dog runs circles around me and I trip over her leash and crash to the ground and require medical treatment and the paramedics discover my earphones are not connected to anything, then I will claim that I was mugged and my i-phone was stolen.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
On to week 2. 

The Wy-not State

Pepsi has announced and mapped the previous month's winners in their refresh everything.  As usual, Wyoming does not have any push pins in it.  But we can change that.  If everyone in a state that already has a push pin would vote for an idea in Wyoming, then we can put a pin in Wyoming.  So tell your friends. 
Vote to Open the Shack at refresheverything.com
Let's stick it to Wyoming.

A Little Bit of Ashton

One of the songs I zumba to is Mambo #5.  And what I need today is a little bit of Ashton Kutcher in my life.  Several weeks ago I saw Ashton Kutcher on The View, plugging the Valentine's Day movie and his wife's PepsiRefresh idea.  I really only know Ashton from his Nikon commercials and I only watch The View, well, I never watch The View.  But his wife won the celebrity PepsiRefresh grant for her charity.  So if Ashton would just give our PepsiRefresh idea a little Twitter time and a mention to his over 3 million FaceBook fans, I would really appreciate it. 
Ashton's charity already won $250,000 from Pepsi.  It will not cost Ashton anything to promote our good idea.
Ashton already has 3,000,000 fans.  Our little town has 1800 total population.  If Ashton gets behind our idea, we will all become fans.
Ashton had a troubled youth.  Our little town has troubled youth.  Our idea will help troubled youth and untroubled youth get into less trouble. 
Ashton studied biochemical engineering.  Go Ashton.  We got nothing like that.

So the question is: How can I become friends with Ashton Kucher?  I went to his FaceBook page, but I can only be a fan there.  Not a friend.  I'm afraid a fan is not going to be enough. So I am appealling to all of my faithful readers:  if either of you know Ashton Kutcher or someone who knows someone who knows Ashton Kutcher please tell him about our idea. 

God's Thoughts on Fly Fishing

God to Job: (Under the heading "I Want Straight Answers"  see Job 40)
I have some more questions for you and I want straight answers.  

God to Job again:  (Under the heading "I Run This Universe"  see Job 41)
Or can you pull in the sea beast, Leviathan, with a fly rod and stuff him in your creel?

Job to God:  (Under the heading  "I'm Ready to Shut Up and Listen"  see Job 40)
I'm speechless, in awe--words fail me.  I should never have opened my mouth!  I've talked way too much, way too much.

Maybe my favorite part of this (besides the fly fishing reference) is that even after Job declares himself speechless, he keeps talking. 

On to Psalms and Proverbs...

Gluten Gluttons Gone Bad

The STP returns on Tuesday.  Meanwhile, our gluten overload reached new heights (or is it depths?) last night.

Bird Watching

No robins sighted on this first day of Spring, but did see this bird in the front flower bed wearing his mud boots.  The first flamingo sighting this season. 

You don't usually see this in Wyoming.

The Secret Life of Indians

In With The New

This is my old couch.  I had a matching love seat, chair and ottoman.  I bought them off of Craig's List so there would be furniture in my big room.  We moved it here in the truck.  We used them for 18 months.

This is my new couch.  I bought it at a real furniture store and had it delivered here in a truck.  (No small feat to find a real furniture that will deliver here.)  I like it a lot.

I fact, I liked it so well I bought two.  Because the big room is really big.  And everyone likes the new couches.  Except maybe the dog.

Because she is not supposed to be on the new couches.  She has her own little pillow beside the couch.  See her not sitting on her pillow?  See her using her puppy eyes to beg admittance to the couch?  See me giving in and letting her on the couch?

Nehemiah, Esther,...

Do you think I can pull myself up by my bootstraps?
Why, I don't even have any boots!
 
...and Job.  I'm not having a particularly Job-like day, so I'm finding THEMESSAGE version of the book of Job just a fun read. 

The Case of the Missing STP

The STP is on a missions trip to Mexico.  He has been gone for two days and I am discovering things that I miss about him that I didn't know I would miss.  For instance:
1.  He takes the garbage out. 
2.  He does the dishes when I don't feel like it.  (And evidently, I hardly ever feel like it.)
3.  He changes the roll of toilet paper.
4.  He packs the Goob's lunch.
5.  He takes the Goob to school and reminds him of the 'game rules'.
6.  He refills the dog food container.
7.  He keeps pellets in the pellet stove.
8.  He plays with the dog.
9.  He sets the alarm clock.
10.He helps me find my phone when I lose it.
11.He gives me a reason to go to bed instead of staying up late watching stupid TV.

So to make up for all the missing things, the Goob and I are being gluten gluttons this week.  Hopefully a little chocolate cake with peanut butter icing and a pizza ordered in will get us through.

Diet Pepsi and I Go Way Back

Perhaps you remember when I was almost addicted to Diet Pepsi.  Except for this little twitch, I have broken completely free.  (Although, I must confess, I know the location in Dodge City of several Pepsi vending machines with 24 hr access, just in case...)  But now I have a new relationship with Pepsi.  It involves a Refresh Everything grant for the local youth center in Dodge City.  And everytime I log onto the web site to vote for our good idea I hear a can of Pepsi being opened.  These are very clever people, these Pepsi folks.  They know that I have spent $250,000 on my prior Pepsi addiction and they are willing to give it away because they are hoping I will become readdicted and spend another quarter million.   So I need your help.  Go to the RefeshEverything.com website and type "The Shack" into the search area.  You will find the good idea in the $250,000 neighborhood category.  If we win the money this month, I don't have to keep going there and voting and being tormented by refreshing sounds of Pepsi.  Really, this is for my mental health.  Tell your friends. Vote early and vote often. 

Books of History

II Kings, I and II Chronicles, Ezra

Currently Last In A Long Line of Tables

This is my coffee table.  I traded in my old couch and chair and love seat and added twenty dollars to rescue it from the used furniture store.  It wasn't this color when I rescued it.  I painted it brown, but not because I thought it should be the color of coffee.  This color is called 'Baker's Chocolate'.  (I don't know who names paint colors, but they should know that I am very influenced by the names on the little paint chips.)  Baker's Chocolate.  Yummy.  This is a great piece, not only because it is chocolate colored, but because it is really solid.  And I can prop my feet up on it.  And sit on it if I want to.  And it has a little secret.  As in 'secret compartment'. 

I'll show it to you if you promise not to tell anyone. 

I painted the secret compartment 'Indian Gem'. 

And then I got a little carried away and painted the insides of all the drawers Indian Gem as well. 

And if I put a little Indian figurine in the drawer and close it then the little Indian will come to life and build a little Indian village in my big room.  (I haven't actually tried this yet, but it could happen...)  And then it will make a little fire and brew some coffee.  And one cup of hot chocolate for me.  And we'll kick back and put our feet up and talk about what we're going to plant in our gardens if Spring ever really gets here. 

Jesus Loves Me--This I Know

I first heard the song Jesus Loves Me on an episode of "Little House on the Prairie".  Back before it was on reruns.  I can't remember if Laura sang it, or Pa sang it to Laura.  Seems like maybe they were being attacked by Indians at the time. 
Although I've sung it a thousand and one times to my own children and countless times to children of other people, my own mother never sang it to me.  And her mother never sang it to her. 
Here is a song my mother did sing to me:

Brenda, Brenda, she's no good.

Chop her up for kindling wood.

When she's dead,

Put her in bed.

Then we'll have some gingerbread.

I never had gingerbread, so I wasn't sure if one would eat it as part of a celebration or in mourning, but the song has a happy tune and my mom always seemed cheerful when she sang it. 

So I also sang this to my children.  When they were fresh out of the bathtub and smelling wonderful and I was so in love with them I just couldn't find words to express it.  While this seemed like the perfect song to me, the STP was not happy about it.  (They also did not sing at the table when the STP was a child.  This explains some of his issues.) I tried to explain to him that it was a song of endearment, but he was not buying it.  So I stopped singing it (when he was around), but I'm pretty sure my kids have pleasant memories of me whispering it their ear when I tucked them into bed.  Because I wanted them to know that I loved them.

I'm thinking that even through my teenage years, when I was pretty hateful to my mom, that I never doubted that she loved me.  Positive she would NEVER understand me. I was certain she had no fashion sense. I knew she loved my brother more than me.  But I knew she loved me.  And it wasn't because she spent a lot of time telling me.  I just knew it because of what she did.  Because she didn't give up.  She didn't let up. 

I've been reading through my Bible for lent.  Front to back.  (I am just starting II Kings.)  And I am amazed at some of the things God says and does.  To prove His love.  And I am amazed at the things He continues to do for me.  To show me how much He loves me.  And I'm glad it's not just the words of the Bible that I have to go on.  And I'm glad that He doesn't give up on me.  And that He goes to great lengths to let me know how much He loves me. 

And so when the Bible says that God is singing over me,

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing."

Zephaniah 3:17

maybe he is singing the gingerbread song today.  I like the sound of that.
 
Yeah, let's call it the gingerbread song instead of the kindling wood song...

Living The WIld Life--Part 2

My quest to see big horn sheep has been ongoing for 18 months.  You would think that living next to the Big Horn River in Big Horn County at the base of the Big Horn Mountains would be the perfect place to see big horn sheep.  The STP and the Goob saw big horn sheep on their first visit to Wyoming.  In the wild.  I had only seen them mounted on walls.
The trick is knowing some experienced big horn sheep sighters.  And the first thing they know is where to look.  Start in the place where the big horn sheep winter over.  And go in the winter. 

This may be why I have never seen big horn sheep.  They are invisible to the naked eye.  See them here out the truck window?  Me, neither.
I may have driven right by big horn sheep a gazillion times. 

 

 

I used my camera to zoom in on them.  But no, wait, that's just a clump of sage brush.

The sheep were just to the left of the sage brush.  Oh, there they are.  See them now?

The next trick is to use your binoculars.  Or borrow the great big sighting scope from the experienced big horn sheep sighters. 

Now, scopes are something I know about.  Not exactly a microscope, but what if I could combine the scope and my camera, ala fungi photos.  And voila!

I know that they make cameras that actually attach to lenses that make this easy, but where is the fun in that?

Once I knew what I was looking for I saw about 100 big horn sheep in one afternoon.  Thanks to the experienced big horn sheep sighters. 

Just as we were heading home about dusk, the experienced big horn sheep sighter says  "Look, there's a herd of elk."  And he was right.  About 100 elk.  See them?   Just at the base of the mountain.  Can you them now? 

Welcome to Game Night

Last night we played games with two families that we are especially fond of.  They both have children the same age as the Goob.  And all of the children get along and all of the adults get along and all of the adults get along resonably well with all of the children. 
We played the game "Things".  A game where everyone writes down 'things' and everyone tries to guess who wrote what.  The Goob and his best friend have brains that function scarily on the same wavelength.  Which made it very difficult to guess which of them would stand in line to see an execution and which of them would stand in line to see The Amazing Gonzo.  There was also one not quite a teenager little brother there and, as the Goob desribed it, 'his brain wanders in and out of the collective'.  Which made it especially hard to decide who would write down 'hunchback waitress' as an answer to anything. 
I scored only one point all evening.  The STP won the game.  Unless the object really was to build relationships and laugh together.  In that case, we were all winners.  Which should make our host happy.  He is one of those uber-competitive types to whom winning is important.  He laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.  WINNER!

WasteBook

Would love to blog today, but I spent all my allotted computer time stalking about on FaceBook.
Added a new friend and updated my status.
Found two things I liked and made one comment.
For the record:  II Samuel

Old TestaLent

Judges, Ruth, I Samuel
Stories about people breaking rules make better reading than the rules themselves.

Ms Brenda Ties a Fly

Theodore Gordon is dead to begin with. 

But before that he was born in Pittsburgh in 1854 and 'fathered a dry-fly tying movement'.  

And today I was swept up in the movement.
This, then, is the beginning.
For Christmas my nephews gave me some fly tying supplies and a book with pictures.  For my birthday, the STP gave me a vise and assorted other fly tying equipment.  And today, I tied my very first fly.  Following the pattern in Chapter 2 of Tying Dry Flies. (about as closely as I ever follow a recipe) 
Step 1.  Stripped quill of peacock herl.  This is the equivalent step to preheat the oven and grease the bottom of your pan.  This is what the directions actually say:

1.  Prepare a peacock quill for the body by removing the herl with a pencil eraser.  Let the quills soak in water ahead of time to increase their flexibility.  To save time, prepare the quills in batches when tying several flies.

Which left me with several questions.  Should I soak before I erase or after?  How much ahead of time?  How many peacock quills are in a typical 'batch'?  And what exactly is herl?  At this point I should warn you that the pattern had 40 steps.  And I had 20 questions about each step. 

First I had to thread the bobbin.  The intructions said to place the thread in the tube and suck the the thread down and out through the tube.  Did they mean literally 'suck'?  Fortunately, my tool kit came with a bobbin threader.  I love the STP.

I also had to substitute some materials.  Partly because words like spade hackle and hackle butt and dun mean nothing to me and partly because I didn't really have everything the recipe called for.  (There is variation that calls for stripped peacock quill counter-wound with white thread and varnished.)

At this point I am wondering if the fish really knows the difference. 

As you can plainly see, this is what I used in place of wood-duck flank feathers.  Attached securely in my wing clump.

Next I separated the the wing clump using my bodkin.  (Which is quite different from my bobkin.) Once I posted both wings, I stopped to take another picture. That's just how properly divided my wing clump was. 

And, if I were a fish, I would have eaten the thing right then. 

The tailing fibers were supposed to be from a spade hackle(?) which near as I could tell I didn't have.  I tried to use some feathers that looked similar, but they were too short.  So I added some of my nephew Jake's red hair.  I love Jake's hair, but it seemed a little fine and limp for tail fibers.  Nothing a little hair gel can't fix.  After I had it on my fly, I gave it a little trim.  Besides, as chapter 2 describes the properly tied fly, it will balance so that the

fly rides over ...water like a Coast Guard lifeboat, so nearly balanced that often the tail...doesn't touch the water at all. 

Just 15 more steps and I had my peacock quill wrapped.  This seemed like a lot of fuss about nothing ,as a peacock quill with its herl erased looks a whole lot like black thread to me.  Evidently fish have a more discriminating eye for these things. 

And then I wrapped the hackle.  (Hackle seems to be a fly tying jargon which is used whenever you don't know what else to call something.)   There must be a method to do this.  I tried using my hackle pliers (I'm not making this up), but without much success.  Luckily I had a an extra hackle.

Here is a picture that is not in the book.  It comes between step 38 and step 39. It is my finger firmly half hitched to the fly.

And here is my finished Quill Gordon.  I set it next to the picture in the book and, really, I think it is amazing.  (Mine is the one on the right.)

Join us next time, when we skip ahead to chapter 6--The Sparkle Dun.

Spring Is In The Air

Just a safety note:  With the warmer temperatures there appears to be an increased grizzly bear threat.  We may want to find out the 'special rules'.

Living The Wild Life--Part 1

We went in search of big horn sheep. 

In a truck.  We don't have our own truck (yet) so we went in the back seat.  With experienced big horn sheep sighters in the front seat.

A definite advantage of searching from the back seat of a truck is that you are relatively safe from grizzly bears. 

A definite disadvantage is that it is more difficult to shoot pictures through the window of the scenery flying by.  But the scenery is just too amazing not to try. 

It might have been easier if I had been sharing the back seat with a more cooperative soul.  One who was interested in sighting big horn sheep. 

Or even in the scenery. 

Mostly, he just went because I made him.  Because I love spending time with him.  Because it is good for his soul to get out.  And for the lunch. 

He got the window seat, because he has the longest legs. 

Good news, Mom, I found the cup holders.  Bad news?  They were between my legs. 

THEMES SAGE

Deuteronomy (finally!) and Joshua. Check and Check.
Not exactly speed reading here. 
The STP still plowing through Deuteronomy. 
The Goob finished the Samuels. 

Lent me Your Ears

Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers.
Note to self:  Need to get a Bible with bigger print.

Signs Winter Has Gone On Long Enough...

...at least half an acre of hell has evidently frozen over.
Did you miss my camera as much as I did?

On My Way To Where the Air is Sweet

Yesterday at Dodge City Federal I was stuffing statements (because I am just that valuable to the company) and I noticed that one of our customers lives on Sesame Street--in Worland, WY.  Which made me want to call them and ask if they could tell me how to get there. 

I restrained myself.  If I really need to know, I can use the STP's GPS. 

I gave the STP the GPS as a Christmas present.  It is a testimony to my ineptitude as a gifter.  He uses it to download audiobooks and listen while he travels.  Because here is what travel in Wyoming looks like. 

The GPS lady doesn't have anything to say. 

Turn right in 169.8 miles.

Gotta Love This

Figured out how to go directly from my camera to the STP's computer without downloading anything.  This of course does not solve my picture overload on my computer.  Decided I may actually be a hoarder.  Of digital images.  That blurry picture of my feet?  Never know when I might need that.  Four thousand pictures of piles of Wyoming dirt?  Pretty sure I don't need them all, but 'delete' has such a severe and final sound to it.  Who doesn't have a dozen pictures of pancakes shaped like snowmen, hearts, and fireworks? 

This eliminates my urgent need to actually do something with my pictures.  Until the card in my camera is full...

Extreme Curling

What if curling was invented in Why-oming by bored ice fishermen?  Then the size of the 'house' would be determined by the size of the lake.  And there would be holes randomly bored in the ice.  And you could sweep your opponents' stone into a hole and watch it plummet to the bottom of the lake on your fish finder.  All that and wild and crazy pants.  Imagine the possibilities.

Also, Scott Hamilton may be a remarkable skater and a tremendous human being, but he should not be allowed to be a figure skating commentator.  Oh, ah, and uh are mouth sounds-not commentary.  I'm just saying.

Contest, What Contest?

Clearly, the giveaway bribe contest to garner comments was a rousing failure.  By the fourth comment, my faithful readers were trying to give away my giveaway.  So I am awarding the Why-oming shaped cookie cutter to Lil' Chickie.  Just send me your full name, address, and telephone number where I can reach you, and how you know my mother, and I will get that right out to you. If the prize is not claimed in one week, I will send the cutter to the Slovakian princess who agreed to take it if no one else wanted it.  Love you all.

Open to Suggestions

At the suggestion of FaceBook, I have added a new friend this morning.  One of my options for my other friend requests is 'Add to List'.  I thought this might be a good idea so that my wannabe friends weren't just hanging out there.  It's not that I'm not considering your requests, just that I haven't reached a decision yet.  But when I clicked "Add to List' FaceBook told me that I did not have a list.  Go figure. 
FaceBook's other suggestion this morning is that I buy a Penn State vacation home just 4 miles from Beaver Stadium.  If I did, I would give all my FaceBook friends  my brother Michael a key so he could use it anytime.  Because I think today is his birthday.  (Or it could have been the 17th.  I'm pretty sure it is a prime number between 10 and 20 in February.  This is what happens to a brain over 50 years old.)  In honor of his birthday I would like to post this poem which (may I suggest?) is the most romantic poem ever written about prime numbers. I stole plaigarized copied borrowed published this poem from the blog of a friend of a FaceBook friend of mine.

1.15.2010


Prime

That song comes on the radio,
and I bite my lip
and think of you.
Baby, we're like
the two factors
of a prime number.
Together we make something unique,
a combination unable to be recreated
by any two others.
Girl, I'm like the number,
and you are

the one.

If I were young and single, I would accept a FaceBook suggestion to be friends with this guy.

Lenten Observance

Genesis--check.

I Have A Friend

I still have 16 FaceBook friend requests that I am thinking about.  I can't figure out how to get to my FaceBook home page/wall except by accident.  But today in my mailbox I got a card.  From someone I actually went to Penn State with.  And on the cover is a picture of two old ladies.  Sitting on a bench (probably in the quad).  Asking the question, "Is it 'butt naked' or 'buck naked'?"   And I love having a friend like that. 

You Be Spock, I'll Be Kirk

When I signed onto FaceBook, it suggested three friends.  My middle brother, his wife, and a pastor who went to the same camp that I did 23 years ago.  (Not in that order.)  Based only on my name. And a fake birth date.  I went back later and edited my profile.  I put in my high school, my college, my real birthdate.  Today I had 15 people who wanted to be my friend.  And a bunch more suggested friends.  Some names I recognized.  Others were based on this:  She went to Penn State.  Oh, well, that is a great basis for a friendship.  (If we both lived in a non-English speaking foreign country, perhaps.)
I confirmed one friend, and then I panicked.  Is there a response to a friend request besides confirm?  I want a choice that is "Are you sure?"  Are you absolutely positive you want to be my friend?  Because I am not a very good friend.  I'm not good at keeping in touch.  I seldom remember your birthday.  I'm bad at gifting.
I will rarely have a fight with you, or say things behind your back.  I'll just move on.  I don't replace you.  I'm not malicious.  It is just that I have to make new friends in new places and that takes all my friend energy. 
Once I had a really good friend.  And she moved on.  She stopped calling me.  Conversations were strained and then she stopped taking my calls.  I showed up unannouced at her house one day and knocked on the door.  She let me in because her kids were home.  (If they hadn't been there I think she would have hidden behind the couch until I went away.)  Can't we still be friends?  And she said , "We will be as good of friends as we have ever been."  Which it turned out was the Star Trek equivalent of saying, "I am not, and never have been, your friend." 
So I don't know how to handle my FaceBook friend requests. 
I could use a friend.  I'm just not sure I can be a friend.  And I'm not sure that FaceBook is the entity that should be choosing my friends.
(I facebook friended my brother.  You don't really have the same choices when it comes to family.)

Chief Science Officer

STP: Time to get up, Goob.
Goob:  Hey Dad, is the science fair today?
STP:  Yeah, it is.
Goob:  No, it's not.  Science is always good.

The Goob's project is about something about colorblindness.  I have not seen it.  It will be a winner in the category:  "Parents Don't Care." Or maybe:  "Student is a Fourth Child."  Hopefully it will not be beside the project that was completed by the parents of the child who always wins the pine wood derby.

Off The (Facebook) Wall

Brenda changed her Hometown. · Comment ·LikeUnlike


Brenda is married. · Comment ·LikeUnlike

Brenda and Dave Havener are now friends. · Comment ·LikeUnlike

Brenda joined
 
So I am trying out facebook at the urging of a fellow pastor's wife. 
So far this morning I joined.  Made one friend. Married him and moved. 
Facebook is great.  It took me much longer than that in real life to accomplish all those things. 
What I have been unable to do is find the friend I am really looking for.
And what is with the like/unlike?  Is that like check yes or no?

New Editor

Trying out the new editor at the suggestion of the Sovakian Princess.  Because I have ironing, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, reading, sorting, filing, bills to pay, parent teacher conference, nothing else to do today.  Oh, I may be a big fan of the strikethrough.

Lofty Is NOT Real

Once, in a former life, I went to puppet school. I had a two year old who glued pictures to the wall, emptied tissue boxes and toothpaste tubes, and dipped cats in the toilet. I also had a brand new baby girl who cried 23 1/2 hours a day. I went to puppet school to get out of the house. I took a friend with me. She had just lost her oldest child, her only son, in a car accident. I went to puppet school to get her out of the house as well. We signed up for a special two-for-one deal, which meant we both got to go to class, but we only got to make one puppet. (As a bonus, we discovered together the joy of a hot glue gun and bought one to share.) We made Esther Sue. She had pink hair tied in ponytails and said outrageous things to the STP that were unacceptable for the Pastor's wife to say. My friend ended up with the hot glue gun and Esther Sue ended up with us. My children do not remember life without puppets.
They've watched the puppets, performed with the puppets, know how to make a puppet enter and exit a stage, and how to make a puppet's mouth move. (Because ...you..don't..talk.. like.. this.) They have taken the puppets to Vacation Bible School, church camp meetings, family reunions, and missions trips. They were there when a skunk infiltrated the puppet suitcase.
I still have a box of puppets in the attic. Esther Sue is not in the box. (Hopefully, there are no critters in the box either.) I think she just got worn out along the way and replaced by new and improved puppets.
I have followed a couple of bloggers for several years. Don't know them personally. Just like their writing style, their content, and okay, I basically cyber-stalked their lives. One built a new house in the country and got a part time job at a garden center. Her mother had puppets. The other one had six kids and wrote about times they emptied the toothpaste tube and dipped things in the toilet. She eventually got a book deal. In the past month the first one became an athetist and the second one got a divorce. Their lives no longer hold the same appeal for me that they once did. But they made me think.
And so I want to say to all of my children, for the record, that the puppets are NOT real. But God is. And for all the stupid parenting things I did, and for all the tooth fairy notes you received, and all the coleslaw in your lives, and the unsupervised camping and boating trips you went on, I am sorry. (For those of you who are already out of the house it may be too late to second guess my parenting skills. Pity the Goob with new and improved parents.) But, hopefully along the way, you learned how to think for yourselves and have your own relationship with God and love the people around you. And hopefully you won't get to be 40 years old and act like you have fluff in your heads. Because I didn't mean to raise puppets.

I Have a Map For That

Time again for a giveaway. A little late-winter thing to brighten our days.
So you know (I'm pretty sure my high school English writing teacher never recommended starting a sentence with , "So, you know...") those maps that follow people around above their heads? The red and blue ones. I usually have a red one. But the other day I was trying to describe a place to the southwest of here where the Goob goes to the orthodontist. And I couldn't think of the name of the town. So I switched out my red map for a map of the State of Wyoming. And I proceeded to trace the location of the town in the air above my head. And the native Wyomingite I was talking to was guessing:
NW: Cody?
ME: No, no. Down farther.
NW: Cheyenne? Laramie?
ME: No, no. Down and over here.
NW: Casper?
ME: Look, this is your state. Even I know Casper is this way and I am going this way. (Followed by more emphatic hand waving in front of my map.) Go through Wind River Canyon and then turn this way. To the left. ('Left' is one of those basic map reading terms that almost ended my marriage in Chattanooga.)
And then we realized that she was facing me and looking at the map backwards. And the problem with a clear map of Wyoming is that is looks the same from the front as from the back.
And it's a good thing I didn't have the map upside down, because who would know?
So the giveaway is a metal cookie cutter shaped exactly like the state of Wyoming. So you can bake your own map of Wyoming and eat it too.
All you have to do is leave a comment. If I already gifted a similar cookie cutter to you, you are not eligible to win this one, but feel free to leave me a comment. Comments also brighten late-winter days.
(And the Goob's orthodontist in in Lander, in case you're the kind of person who is still wondering about that.)

E-smile

E-filed the taxes yesterday. Woot-woot! Now I can move on to other projects.
The first of which needs to be clearing away the mess I made getting ready to e-file the taxes.
Did I mention a new table and six chairs and two quarts of paint?

Picture This

This blog is getting desperate for some pictures. I have several I am wanting to share. But still no progress on the software download and excess picture transfer. Too bad, so sad.

So, here, direct from the STP's image file, is a pseudo-map of the Grand Canyon. (There are very limited choices in the STP's image files. Unless you are interested in power point backgrounds from recent sermons.) I am so tempted to just download my software to the STP's computer and start dumping my pictures onto it. (I have already started blogging from here, whenever he is not home.)

But I know he will find out and be less than happy with me if I do that. He is quite tolerant of my cluttering my own spaces. Much less when his spaces are involved. So I refrain. But I would like to get some credit for refraining.

Also, we are planning a trip to the Grand Canyon around Memorial Day. You should come. I plan to take a lot of pictures. But don't count on ever seeing them.

Smucker Up

Invited a couple to join us for supper last evening. They volunteered to bring something. The STP suggested rolls or bread. Because 'bringing the rolls' in our world is a minimal effort contribution. They showed up with a loaf of homemade white bread still warm from the oven. They left the leftovers. I went to bed early so I could get up and have homemade bread with butter and jelly for breakfast.
The Goob packs a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day in his lunch. For ever we have used the store-brand or generic grape jelly. But last week the STP shopped and Smuckers was on sale. So he bought it. And even the Goob commented how much better it is than the usual jelly. I guess the commercial is right. With a name like Smuckers, it has to be good. Cause it was delicious. Took me back to breakfasts at Aunt Ag's kitchen counter.
I'm already planning to have salad and bread for lunch. Can you eat lunch at 10:00am? Or can I just be Hobbit-like and have second breakfast?

I'm So Bad

at cooking that I can even mess up a blog entry about it.

Call Me Jewel OR Is It Summer Yet?

Watched Julie & Julia last evening. So my name doesn't start with 'J'. I still have a lot in common with those ladies. I married a great guy. I moved somewhere where I don't quite fit in. I lack a real direction in my life. I love to eat. I have a blog. I'm known for my cooking.
No, really. Just last week I volunteered to take a meal to someone following surgery and they expressed surprise, if not delight. "Oh," they said, "We didn't think you cooked." A common misconception. I do not cook in the summer. And I do not cook well most other seasons. And that is pretty well known.
Talked to Amidala after supper the other night. Told her there was one piece of garlic bread left on the table. "Is it black?" she asked. Of course it was. Found out last month they sell garlic bread at the store in little heat and eat bags. Who knew?
Yesterday I worked 4 hours at the IBHCF and 4 hours at Dodge City Federal. When I was ready to leave the bank, I could not find my coat. After some inquiry, we decided I hadn't worn a coat. I was surprised, because it was about 20 degrees outside. When I went out to get in my car, I couldn't find my car. I forgot the STP came and got it to drive to visit at the hospital in the medium sized town about an hour from Dodge City. So I had to walk home, without a coat. (Okay, I live about two small town blocks from the bank.) It is scary what I will be like when I am really old. (Evidently the definition of 'really old' is about 20 years older than I am currently.) Decided there is one thing my children will not have to worry about when I am really old and suspiciously senile: What if I forget to turn the stove off. My plan is to retire somewhere where it is summer year round, and I will never even think to turn the stove on.
I did get a few ideas for celebrating Valentine's Day from Julie and Julia.