THE DUST WILL WAIT

I've nominated Susan In Virginia for a January Perfect Post Award. If you have time for a tummy warming giggle, please click here for her January 10 episode of CSI : Virginia. This post made me laugh out loud, and then want to squeeze her and her three little imps in a big grandma hug. Then, I wanted to sneak under the table with Funny Girl and munch on Ghiradelli chocolates. Any one of her daily posts is apt to make you smile. I can't go to work in the morning unless I've clicked on her blog, ARE WE THERE YET, to see what Inquisitor, Golden Boy or Funny Girl have done or said that day. Visit Lindsay / Lucinda at www.suburbanturmoil.blogspot.com and MamaK at www.petroville.com on February 1st to see other Perfect Post awardees .

My Internet Provider did a security update after I left for the weekend trip. When I returned, my access to blogs and to my own E-mail has been limited and/or totally blocked. Apparently something went terribly wrong. The nice technical support person told me they were working hard to return us to normal service. Even my own blog is sometimes blocked. (It took me 4 hours last night to post my melting sunset. ) Hope to be back 100% soon. Willowtree. The sunset was about 5:20 p.m.

Watching the sun set on the ocean made me wish that I read the instructions on how to photograph a sunset. The zoom uncovered the changing shape. I've been told it is the curvature of the earth and the reflection on the ocean that provides the distorted shape on the horizen. I imagine a "real" photographer would have a filter. Or a much more expensive camera. The waves kept rolling into the beach and I never heard any sizzling. Have you seen the sun wearing a hat. Or is the sun really a sky submarine that dives beneath the surface. Or in the end, a puddle of wax, from the candle that lights the day. It rests and day is done. The heat in our room woke all of us at 3:00 a.m. We would have been funny to watch, all of us looking for our glasses in order to see the thermostat. Or a little fly on the ceiling listening to us babble: Who turned the heat on so high, I didn't do it. Well you touched it last. No, I got up to use the restroom and it was hot so I turned it do

It is a horrific experience to see the movement of a car on your right, and then gaze into the rear view mirror at 55 MPH to watch it crash into your sisters car. I knew that car was going to hit her - it was like a second sense. I saw my sister's attempt to brake and the sudden fishtail before they plowed into each other. The other car would have been T-boned and it's driver seriously injured if not for that brief defensive move. The noise filled my ears and the glass and metal flew in all directions. The memory of braking and pulling over has not returned to my head, but sitting on the shoulder of the road dialing 911 in a panic is clear. I don't know why I just didn't hop out and start running back there. Maybe I was too afraid. Fortunately two handsome young men who were traveling right behind her were out of their car in an instant and rushing to both cars. The emergency vehicles arrived on the scene in minutes. The other driver was cited for failure to yield

No. Not the Movie. Me and my two sisters. A trip to the ocean. We're going to meet at a lodge right on the beach where you can watch the waves roll in, the seals frolicking in the surf, and the the local kite enthusiasts digging in for the strong Pacific Ocean breezes. This weekend is long over due. I remember our very first sister weekend was scheduled when our fourth sister was still alive. Nelda called at the last moment and begged off because she had a sore throat. She never recovered. The diagnosis was an acute form of leukemia and she was gone before any of us could say goodbye. My sister Sandra is someone that Swampwitch would call her SOS or Sister of Survival. She beat breast cancer. Because of her fight I signed up and was accepted into a breast cancer research study coined the Sisters Study . I have given my blood, my urine, my vital statistics, and of all things, the dust in my house to be monitored over a period of years. "The Sister Study is the only

Dirty Uncle Mark (who is barely old enough to be nephew age, much less Uncle) drinks Dagoba Hot Chocolate from his lovely bone china tea cup. When he grows up he is going to be an attorney. You have to hand wash bone china, so I'll let him do the dishes. I'm not nearly so fancy, with my cups or with my choice of chocolate. But I'll compare it to any brand, any day, any time. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Even the hubby enjoys it and he's not a chocolate fan. update OKAY! I ADMIT IT. I DON'T REALLY DRINK OUT THIS CUP.. grumble grumble grumble. (No, those aren't cocoa beans. Yes, I think they are real moose turds.) How do you drink your hot cocoa?

There isn't much left of the old locust tree. Once there was a tire swing that hung from the lower branches. In the spring the blossoms would perfume the air and scatter like a wedding quilt over our front lawn. Our youngest daughter would wheeze and search for her inhaler. The squirrels and birds made their homes high in its branches. The afternoon shade fell across my kitchen window and the sunlight would filter lightly through, painting designs on the cupboards and kitchen table. As summer was fulfilled and the sun moved to the north, the green mass would shade our cars and garage from the afternoon grilling. The breeze playing in the branches above brought to mind the sounds of pages turning and muffled giggles in the children's library. Its leaves came down with the first fall rain and left images on the sidewalk and leaf dunes against the cedar fence that runs from our house to next door. Winter found it a stalwart foe silhouetted by star light during the longest n

Other participants in THE VIEW FROM THE FRONT DOOR .... please click and visit on 01/22/07. Thanks to Vicki and Willowtree for this fun idea. Vicki at Living Life & Catching Light Susan in Va at Are We There Yet Karmyn at Dreaming of What If's Pretty Lady at Strawberries and Champagne Carol at Small Town Rambling Songbird at My Way Devon at Loves Rain Melissa at Waking Up Kathy at Anecdotes, Antidotes, and Anodes Beth at Ice Cream Mama Marnie at I didn't say it was your fault Shauna at S.O.S. Amy at A Family Story Mark at Dirty Uncle Mark Jenny at Mama Drama Mary at Almost Somewhat Positive WillowTree at A Dingo's Got My Barbie Julie at Another Chance Ranch Kila at Mom To 3 Cubs Robin at Pensieve DoDo at Voodooesque Tiff at Tiggerlane Erik at The Electric Firefly Rachel at Crazy Is As Crazy Does Chilihead at Don't Try This At Home Girl con Queso at Room Conqueso Sue at This is Cyprus Beccy at Peppermint Tea Claudia at La vida Claudia Mrs CPA at Mrs. CPA Sharon

Technology described in one word: Smaller I can't keep up. The other night our 29 year old niece stopped by for a short visit. She pulled out her Mac lap top to show us a collections of her more recent photographs taken with her Canon Rebel. She uses Aperture, "the ultimate photographer's workstation," to work with them. I commented on her jewelery which caused her to chortle. It was a mini Ipod. Am I the only one not aware that you could put a hook in an Ipod and dangle it from your ear? I do not have an Ipod, nor do I have a Blackberry. Nevertheless, I do have plenty of small things . For instance, the memory card on my Canon Power Shot reminds me of a communion wafer. If you don't do church then think in terms of a Wheat Thin. The amount of photographs I can save on a skinny little CD is beyond anything we could comprehend when limited to photographic film. I threaten to carry a magnifying glass so I can read the icons that light up on my cell phone

One of the piano books that Mrs. Witzel required for her beginners included a two- fingered version of the Napolentana Tarantella. All my piano books had pictures at the top of each page. However, that particular page was my favorite. There was an enchanting lady and her mandolin, dancing with a spider across the top of the treble cleft. It captivated my 6-year-old mind. I sat quietly for long periods of time, my imagination running rampant. I was her, innocent and beautiful, plucking on my golden mandolin. From out of nowhere, the wicked arachnid would jump. He would raise his front legs, glare at me with his five eyes and drip poison from his fangs. My trance, however, would soon be rudely interrupted by my mom's voice from the kitchen telling me to "get practicing." In retrospect, I wonder how much of my irrational fear of spiders can be attributed to some bored artist's concept of an old Italian folk song? Just this week I turned my chair at work to see

When the weather dipped into the teens the first night we took a picture of our backyard pond with the underwater light on. It was just beginning to snow. There was not enough snow to protect our flower beds and flowering shrubs that responded to the 60 degree weather only days before. This morning the ice is attempting to build up on the waterfall. This is not ice! This morning while that ice was forming, the hubby was undergoing arthroscopic surgery. This is his torn meniscus, captured by the miniature video that the orthopedic surgeon uses to examine, scrutinize, and repair. Isn't that amazing? Now the hubby is snuggled up in the recliner, next to the fireplace, sleeping off the effects of the anesthesia . . . . . with an ice-pack on his knee. Keeping him this way for the next few days will be about as successful as discouraging ice from forming on the pond.

Please feel free to link here to visit the Carnival of The Blogging Chicks #25. This week there is no theme.

When I was in sixth grade, a family moved into the house across from the school. The daughter was tall, blond, smart, and talented. The best part was she was my age and very very nice. We became good friends. The first day I stopped at her house to visit, I was shocked to find her mother in bed. "What is wrong with your mom?" I asked boldly, because I was a bold little girl. "She is recovering from malaria." My new friend told me as if I knew what Malaria was and that it was obvious bed rest was required. They had been living in Ghana, Africa's Gold Coast, where her mother contracted the disease and her health forced their move back to the states. "Who does the cooking?" My inquiring mind pushed the conversation deeper. She stopped pouring the juice that we were going to drink with our cookies and looked at me oddly. "Why? I do!" "Oh." I'm sure my face showed some astonishment, but I changed the subject because I knew it w

I started a quick blog hopping adventure by first visiting Tim Delaney in my next door neighbor State Idaho. He calls himself the Rambling Irishman and gives me the giggles with his cartoon choices of the moment. His moniker is What you See is What you Get. From his comment section I wandered over to see Gwen of Gwen's Den. She lives in Yarrawonga (Australia), shares favorite tunes, plays Victorian Lady's Lawn Bowl and tells silly Irish Jokes. I just love to say Yarrawonga and dance around the room to the cadence. I stepped from there into a worm hole that transported me to Sudbury, Ontario, Canada where I met Pea of Pea's Corner . I was so excited because she was posting genealogy pictures which included her late grandma and her sentimental jewelry. Previous posts had photo's of some fine antiques. She got married the same year that the Hubby and I did. Her blog roll caught my eye and I clicked right in to Serious Mumbo Jumbo . Her Template is for the dogs.

Kathleen Marie at Stranded in the Mountains tagged me with a short meme. I almost didn’t get to it because I stopped to drool over her recipe for Berry French Toast. When do bloggers find time to cook? (See my recipe for peanut butter and raisin sandwiches.) Anyway – getting my mind out of the calorie gutter…and back to the five questions. They are very deep, but as usual, I stayed in the shallow end of the pool. And please - any of you, feel free to post on your blog and invite me over for the read. ** ** ** ** ** ** As a child, what did you always say you wanted to be when you grew up? I knew I was going to be a Princess. I prepared to sleep on twenty mattresses and complain about the cherry pit beneath them. The wicked Queen Mother would have to admit that I was royal and I would marry the Prince. Lately, I have been thinking about that Princess Job again. If you had to choose one thing that you've always dreamed of d

My blog is worth $279,447.30 . How much is your blog worth?

Do you ever wonder whats on the other side ?

Saturday blew in after a blustery night and I covered my head with my pillow. Not for long, though, as the tempting scent of fresh coffee called my nose and I was compelled to pick up a cup and say hello . "I've been thinking about Palouse Falls," I told the hubby as we shared home-cooked cold cereal. "What about it?" he responded. The "what" was that someone had said that the cold weather had sculpted some wonderful ice designs around the rocky waterfall and I wanted to drive the 60 some-odd miles to see if for myself. However, a Pacific front had moved in overnight and warmed the inland empire well above the freezing level. We decided to go anyway. My little car was on empty so our first stop was to buy gas . I stayed in the car and it seemed to take an eternity to complete the transaction. Finally, the hubby got back in and we drove off. "My gas card was denied at the island and inside." the hub by explained. "I had to use cash.

In Part 1 of my father's short journal my father talked about the depression and his experiences in California. Part 2 told of a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon. In Part 3, he is on the move once more. He was a restless man. His journal began in 1933. I believe prohibition ended officially on December 5, 1933. ******************************** I wanted to get on the outside and rustle myself a job in competition with the unemployed. I arranged for a ride out of Cow Creek with the mail carrier, who also carried express, groceries, etc., for the scattered ranchers in the valley. He hauled me as far as Azalea, where once more I was on Highway 99. Its ever-rushing stream of traffic rolled passed me, the tires making that curious, slithering, lonesome sound so familiar to every hitch-hiker. I hadn't heard a train whistle for five weeks, but I did see a mail plane every day. Having decided to go back to Califor

The moon woke me. It was shining through the sky window and I heard it in my mind as the cooing of a homing pigeon. I knew she was out there flying behind the clouds and the foggy mists. Her southern journey sent her flight path across the room to light a feathery pattern on the floor. Welcome home. The sun delighted my morning simply by rising over the mountains. His presence beckoned me through each window looking east. I desire his warm embrace. I am wary of his kisses that leave marks upon my once flawless complexion. But I can't help but raise my chin and close my eyes and hold him my arms and breathe a thank you. Please stay.

In case you missed the news yesterday, please make sure you read this . In a world that is full of selfish and brutal acts, it is so refreshing to hear about a man who offered his life for a stranger. He saw a young man have a seizure and fall onto the subway track as two trains approached. There was no hesitation in his actions. He jumped down there with the helpless one. After rolling him into a drainage trough, he lay on top of him as the trains rolled over. Miraculously neither man was injured. (His cap was scuffed.) His two daughters, still in the crowd above him, were the hero's first thought when the air cleared over them. He yelled up to tell them "we're okay down here." Another reminder there are Angels among us. "Greater love hath no man than this......"

When the United States entered World War I the US Navy put out a call for help.The hubby's great grand Aunt responded to the call by sending them her binoculars. When the grand old lady passed away the hubby's Aunt Pat became the guardian of this World War I Veteran. Now Aunt Pat, who is in her 80's,feels that the Veteran needs to be cared for by someone else. We have accepted this duty and plan on getting the letters sealed and the binoculars shrink-wrapped to keep them in tip-top shape. The case is made of fine leather which has been shined by the handling of it's early years. I can't help wondering how many brave hands held them and where they traveled during their short tour of duty. The first letter was written on April 12, 1918 to Mrs. David T. Oaks. It is interesting to note, however, that the greeting is "Dear Sir." Your prompt and patriotic response to the Navy's call for binoculars,telescopes, and spy-glasses, is most appreciated. The gl

As the host of today's Fun Monday I got to choose the topic. I said: I want to see what you see on any given morning this week; from somewhe re very near where you live. Front porch, back porch, down the street, around the corner. Just makes sure it's you r neighborhood. P ost a photo that will send me to the travel agent to book a weekend at your local Bed & Breakfast. As the host, I don't need to convince myself to come stay at a local B & B. That is why I'm going to just show you what I saw on any given day this week. I pointed South, East, West, and North. I even pointed it Up- towards the sky. So. the hubby got up on the roof and pointed it down towards the ground (in the back yard.) The Autumn colors and leaf falls are sure to come soon. We need some cold frosty nights to bring on the golds, reds, and oranges. P.S. I'm praying for snow for November. * * * * * * Thank you to all who made this Fun Monday such a delightful hosting duty. I can'