THE DUST WILL WAIT

I've nominated Whippersnapper Snapping Snapped for a Perfect Post Award for her February post Family Time. Whippersnapper definitely shows signs of snapping. However, I'm delighted she hung on long enough to write this excruciating yet funny family breakfast saga. Apologies to her Mr. IQ for bringing it all to your attention. To see other nominee's for perfection please at : www.suburbanturmoil.blogspot.com and www.petroville.com

My mom made cookies, cakes, and pies when I was growing up. It was usually for a special occasion. Once in awhile we would beg for something sweet after lunch. Baking was time consuming, so she would grab a bag of powdered sugar, add some rich cream and butter (from our Guernsey), and add some real vanilla. She named it GOOEY on cracker. That was its name. We named things when I was a kid. When I treated my own children to GOOEY on cracker , I didn't always make my own GOOEY. I would cheat and buy a can of frosting from the grocery store. I had some leftover frosting today - and I couldn't help myself. I even took a bite before I took the picture. All you need is graham crackers and frosting.

This is my little corner of the family room. I have a computer, a printer, cupboard space that is filled with the hubby's computer books and everything else I needed to hide to clean up. My Hummingbird calendar is at my left with my bird book and bird diary. My book of days (a daily devotional) and the submarine clock which I always forget to wind. I have a heart shaped shell that hangs above my workspace and I don't even remember why. Just to my left is a bookcase that also holds grandchildren's come to visit toys . The hubby's aquarium. I painted some little fishy's and they hang right above the live ones. My art table is hiding behind the love seat. The three pastels are of my three beautiful daughters, done by someone long before I took up a brush. The rest are family photographs. Keep going clockwise left and you will see our fireplace, coffee table, couch and other miscellaneous wall hangings. Look carefully and see the hubby's retirement hatchet and ba

Saturday we said Hello to Spring and 70 degrees. This is today:

It was Kansas in the late 1800’s and there were corn fields to tend, laundry tubs to empty, pigs to butcher, and a baby in the chute. Always babies. John Dodd, a stubborn Welshman, was determined to head west. Oregon ? Washington ? – he wasn’t sure. He just knew that the Northwest was his destiny. As the wagon rolled across the prairie, his beautiful wife Alice, three daughters and two sons waved until their friends and extended family disappeared in the distance. The years rolled, too, -- the twentieth century arrived. In August 1902, another girl was born. She weighed 7 ¼ lbs on an old farm scale in a tent in Milton , Oregon . Her mother chose the name Jennie, after her great grandmother. It was not long after that the family began to homestead on what would become the family wheat ranch in Touchet , WA . The small house their dad built sat on the south side of a hill that sloped down to an old rambling dirt road. It lead to the bustling litt

We bought three "Grandmother Remembers" books for Christmas 1983. One for my mother, one for the hubby's Gram, and one for his mother. Eighty-one year old Gram spent the next year working tirelessly filling every page. She even wrote and pasted pictures in the table of contents. In the excitement of wrapping it for the hubby and placing it under the next years Christmas Tree, she could barely contain herself. When he opened it and began to leaf through her memories, she wiggled, giggled, smiled, and cried until all her wrinkles were filled with tears. She passed away in 1997 at the age of 95. I'll be writing about her soon. My mom died in 1993. We found the partially completed remembrance in a book shelf in her house. She worked on it slowly and thoughtfully. I guess I'm a lot like her in that I set things aside with the intention to get back to it soon. Although I look at the empty pages with some regret, the ones she completed are real to me. On the

Distracted. In the best possible way. A 70 degree afternoon in February. We chased our shadows, visited the slide at the park, and let mommy go visit her friends. Macaroni and Cheese. Grandma and Curly Mop. Kisses and hugs.

I heard it begin tapping on the sky window last night. However, you won't hear me complaining. Especially after reading about 12 feet of snow in that little town in New York. This morning ABC news showed a video at least 10 times of a semi-truck smashing several cars into a state patrol car. It was recorded on the patrol cars front camera. Other video's featured sliding cars and pedestrians, snow removal from the roofs as well as streets, and other snow related misadventure. GMA interviewed passengers who sat inside jets on tarmacs for up to 10 hours. Their Valentines Day trips to tropical islands became a day in hell. (This is not the first time I've heard about an airline holding hostages for that long. There should be a law) I'm thankful for the gentle rain, the little bits of mud that spatter the backs of my pants as I run down the street with my umbrella. I 'm thankful for the sound of the tires as they swish past me on the street. I know there are pla

Our town fathers were visionary. They planted trees and designed streets to showcase original architecture. Current civic leaders are committed to revitalizing the old and carrying on the tradition of creating beauty and substance. (click on the photo for a better view) There are 18 public parks (and facilities). That is a lot for a town of under 35,000 people. This year all of our snow fell in Colorado or New York. The trees are naked, but not ashamed. There were trees on every corner. Wind, age, and disease take their toll. Most property owners replace those lost. More. On a rainy day I see their reflection. They have spread their branches over many changing seasons. An old evergreen provides color in stark contrast to the gnarled ancient deciduous. But, their glory will come with summer. Pretend that is a moat around a castle. It rained much last night. A house and tree from my non existent passenger's view. One of the six elementary schools. The structure on the far ri

On Wednesday, I returned home from work and took off my earrings. That is when I noticed they were not a matching pair. No one mentioned it to me. The next day when I chided one of the younger women about not speaking up she said, "Honestly, I didn't notice it." This comes on top of my disappointment at the ocean. We were preparing for a walk up the beach, so I opened my suitcase and removed the plastic bag carrying my heavier shoes. One shoe went on my left foot before I realized the second shoe was from a different pair. I would have shrugged that off and worn it, except it was also for my left foot. Trish and I sat on the floor and laughed tears. I would blame it on my age, but I did things like this when I was younger. In my mid thirties and my youngest was still playing dress up, I gave her my older high heels for fun. She must have left them out one evening and the hubby picked them up and threw them back in my closet. The next day I ran an errand during

Wolfden Bar & Grill is a Soap Opera with each episode being written weekly by a different blogger. The story line has been all over the map, both in plot and place. The first seven episodes can be read at the following links. Part one by wolfbaby Part two by cathy Part three by SmallTown RN Part four by Willow Tree Part five by DR. Rob Part six by JIP Part seven by Patient Anonymous If you haven't been following the story, you should probably go back and read the previous episodes or you may think that I have lost my ever lovin' mind. Oh never mind, I probably have lost it. I can't believe I wrote this. Apologies to those who have not been privy to the names and references that follow. Here is the long awaited Episode Part Eight (Hysterical Amnesia and Gas) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I have a prescription pad,” Dr Rob groaned and turned his head slowly while his fingers massaged the back of his neck. Patient Ano

Was it really that long ago? The last time I tasted HOREHOUND CANDY DROPS was when Lyndon B. Johnson was the U.S. President. I didn't like Lyndon Johnson because I saw him pull his Beagles up by the ears and make them cry. I liked Horehounds. Another occasional candy treat that my daddy brought home on payday was CHICKEN BONES. Can you believe those odd confection names? Now I am a Hershey's girl. A rich, dark chocolate bar with nuts is about as good as it gets. Nevertheless, this little taste of yesterday ended a less than satisfactory day on a sweet nostalgic note.

Today I'm participating in Memorable Post Selection in the Third edition of what is now dubbed Fun Monday. The posts chosen are important to me because each was my first impression of someone that I now consider a friend. A year ago, I was hardly aware of the blogging world, so having friends that I've never met in person is a new and intriguing experience. Babe in The Mud was my introduction to the menagerie over at Another Chance Ranch . The near loss of her prize Percheron is documented in pictures and vivid descriptions. Julie has a wonderful perspective on people and life. Kind, considerate, warm and knowledgeable are adjectives I would use to describe her. I have to warn you, however, never to mistake her prize draft horses for mules. One day I read some comments on another blog by Willowtree. I began lurking, so to speak, and reading some archives to see if he was as gnarly as his comments portrayed him to be. He was. Yippee, I can have a shower ! convin

A reflective Gull Beach Bum in my sights Clipper the sea dog. Forgotten Foam Eye see shells The Artful Dodger and his friends Mandatory Mermaids ..............................................

Late Friday night I stood at the window that faced the ocean and saw something more than the incoming tide claiming the beach. I grabbed my binoculars and then my bird book. In the moonlight and the lights from the motel, I could clearly see over 100 little Sanderlings running in the surf. They were doing exactly what my National Audubon Field Guide described. "As a wave comes roaring in, the birds run up on the beach just ahead of the breaker, then sprint after the retreating water to feed on the tiny crustaceans and mollusks left exposed." We turned off the lights in our room and we sat our chairs by the window to watch the little shorebirds antics. For well over an hour past our bedtime. They looked like ice-skaters because we couldn't see their legs moving. Back and forth they glided, always right below our window in the foamy breakers that at high tide were within five feet of the retaining wall. We walked down the outside stairs for a few minutes and could hear the