THE DUST WILL WAIT

Tonight we ate the world's best strawberries. They were melt in your mouth sweet. No need for sugar, whipped cream, or chocolate. The local grower has fields of berries that are famous in our area for their superb flavor. I'm going to buy some this weekend and put them in my freezer. Unless I eat them all first. The Contessa is having hairball problems. It's scary to have one of those green things chase me down the hallway in the morning. She starts running for her life even before the hairball remedy tube comes out of the cupboard . I've tried hiding in the closet, sneaking up on her when she is sleeping, holding the door open just slightly so she gets caught in the screen, and singing "I'm just a little black rain cloud." Nothing works. She's OUTTA there. (Any helpful suggestions - other then to take her to the groomer and get her shaved for the summer?) The ingredients are mineral oil and barley malt syrup. Made in Forth Worth, Texas.

Last week I wanted to live in the mountains. This week I want to live at the beach. Even if it rains.

The dollar kite danced in the breeze and its tail was the ribbon that decorated the clouds Until a mocking gust of Pacific Ocean wind snatched the reel from her fingers as it passed and drew designs in the sand with the trailing line. "Daddy--- pl eas e catch it." Buttercup cried. And he did.

The Swampwitch is hosting today's Fun Monday. I nearly missed it because we took a four day break and drove 6 hours to the ocean to be with daughters and their families. Swampy wants to see my book shelves and my garage. Sorry! Instead I'm going to show our storage rooms. The smaller one (lower right picture) contains our garden tools, and the larger one (lower left) catches e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g else. Many years ago we were paying monthly fees for a storage unit to keep stuff in. Why do we do that? Why do we have so much stuff that we have to hire a place to put it? That changed when we attached a boatport (aka carport) and two storage rooms on the south side of our house. Fortunately, the hubby can be very organized when it comes to our stuff. Click on SWAMPY and visit all the other participants shel ves, garages, and what nots.

In my previous post, I said I wanted to live in the mountains. That statement brought back memories of my childhood. I grew up about 30 travel miles southeast of Seattle, Washington in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. Probably 50 miles as the crow flies west of Mount Rainier. In the morning, we watched the sunrise over the Cascades and in the evening, we watched it set on the Olympic Mountain peaks. Our small farm lay on a pie shaped wedge of hills high above the convergence of two valleys and the little town of Auburn. The Green and White Rivers that stream out of the Cascades once met at Auburn, uniting to form a larger river rushing on its way to Puget Sound. That changed at the turn of the 20th century. In the late 1800s, the valley farmers battled the annual flooding and dynamite was one of their weapons. Unfortunately, a planned explosion in 1899 redirected much of the White river into Stuck Creek which carried it into the Puyallup River. A massive flood in 1906

We accepted a dinner invitation and a Frisbee Golf Challenge on Father's Day from our friends, G and L, who live in the mountains. (The teenagers, M and F, were toddlers when our daughters baby sat.) Before dinner we hiked around in the old growth, looking for a log that we might use in one of our flower beds. Big Boy, their beautiful Belgian Draft Horse, and Sam, the fuzzy little donkey, acted like dogs and followed us along the path. Look at him just chasing me down the path!!! I seemed to always be last in line and never quite fast enough for Big Boy. He would nudge my shoulder with his nose to remind me to get a move on it. He also wanted to chew on my straw hat. The hubby finally found the piece of wood he wanted and the men returned to the house for the chain saw and tractor. We ladies sat on the log and chatted with the company of Big Boy and Sam. The big horse walked a short distance away, stretched out in a comfy position, and began to pee; and pee, and pee, and pe

Todays Fun Monday is being hosted by mjd at Retu rn of the White Robin . Her Challenge: show us something that hangs on your wall that is fun, interesting, endearing, sentimental, or otherwise enticing. Selec t the picture of Uncle Horace, Grandma Galt's needlepoint, or little Susie's first fingerpainting to s how the blogging community. There are so many things hanging on the walls of this home. Where to begin and where to end? Just look at the crowded hallway! I think I will zoom in a little closer on the drawing front and center. Our eldest, Karmyn , did this self-portrait when she was in first grade. We stuck it in a frame - thinking that we would eventually get a mat on it. It has hung without the mat for 30 years, but I'm sure I'm going to get around to it next week. I swear. (Sorry, about smearing out her last name.... just some privacy requirements.) Little did I know those many years ago how she would grow up to love working in her flower garden wea

That February morning under the sea in 1967 began just like any other for the handsome 20-year-old submariner. He was a quartermaster (navigations) on a old-style conventional submarine somewhere in the Atlantic . His shift ended, so he joined his mates in the tiny dining hall to play five-card stud. An appropriate game for men in uniform. They did not know, as the game progressed, that the on duty crew received instructions from the Captain to test the boats handling stability in reverse direction. Initially they did not feel forward or backward movement at the slower speed, so they dealt their cards, unaware that the officer of the deck had ordered an all back 1/3 speed.  The boat was moving with ease and maintaining a constant depth. The sailor reviewed his cards and discarded two. Although huge diesel engines propel a submarine on the surface, it relies on electric motors powered by batteries while submerged. Two sailors with hand wheels independently control the b

HOTTIES: Pa. women in their 70's and 80's posed semi-nude for calendar... (AP) GREENSBORO, Pa. Giving sultry looks and sexy smiles to the camera, 12 Pittsburgh-area women recently posed at Monongahela historical sites, baring it all -- or almost all -- to create a charity-driven calendar. I stand in awe! Fully clothed, of course. Researcher Find 2,100 year old melon. The remains are believed to be the oldest of a melon that still has flesh on the rind, Yamazaki said. I meant to check to see if this was in Greensboro, PA. Man Blames Beverage for Unwanted Erection (AP) A man has sued the maker of the health drink Boost Plus, claiming the vitamin-enriched beverage gave him an erection that would not subside and caused him to be hospitalized. The truth is that he had recently purchased a calendar in Greensboro, PA. . Okay... enough already about women and body parts. Iowa woman named Butts Charged with Theft of Courts Toilet Paper Butts, 38, was caught last week after an emp

At 9:42 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time I received my winning comment from Hazel of Adventures in Ruburbia. Her comment: God's timing is perfect. Well... so was Hazels. As soon as I hear from her I'll be preparing her gift and shipping it off to Kearney, Missouri. My 4,999 commenter was sweet Heather of L'Chaim who is also celebrating HER FIRST BLOGGER BIRTHDAY. That, coupled with the several comments she popped off in in a row with such conviction convinced me to give her a prize too. Both of you lovely ladies please contact me at pamelathedust at yahoo dot com with your addresses. Congratulations, and thank you for settling The Dust.

There is an inn, a merry old inn beneath an old grey hill, And there they brew a beer so brown That the Man in the Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill. The ostler has a tipsy cat that plays a five-stringed fiddle; And up and down he saws his bow Now squeaking high, now purring low, now sawing in the middle. The landlord keeps a little dog that is mighty fond of jokes; When there's good cheer among the guests, He cocks an ear at all the jests and laughs until he chokes. They also keep a hornéd cow as proud as any queen; But music turns her head like ale, And makes her wave her tufted tail and dance upon the green. And O! the rows of silver dishes and the store of silver spoons! For Sunday there's a special pair, And these they polish up with care on Saturday afternoons. The Man in the Moon was drinking deep, and the cat began to wail; A dish and a spoon on the table danced, The cow in the garden madly pranced and the little dog chased his tail. The Man in the Moon

I am publishing one of my favorite posts again - one reason is because it was an experience that touched me and another reason is because I'm still counting comments and I don't have a new post yet. I hope you enjoy this story from July 6, 2006. * * * * * * * * Those of you who listen to Paul Harvey will relate to the concurrent events involving my post Green Door, the continuing saga of the trials of THE BACK YARD. Now you’re going to hear … the rest of the story. Our church pastor began his own project about the same time as we did this spring; He was enlarging his kitchen, bathroom, dining room, and adding a basement bedroom. Acting as his own contractor, he was doing a tremendous amount of the work himself. However, like all remodeling jobs, you can plan on plenty of things going awry. And a lot did. He could match us story for discouraging story with THE BACK YARD chronicle. His narrative took a much more serious turn in early May when he fell uncharacteristically

One year ago today this blog was born. This is my 297th post -- I'm closing in on 5,000 comments. I'm happy. I am enjoying writing. Hooked I am , reading all the blogs I've stumbled on in this 365 day journey. One year ago there wasn't a strategy, there wasn't a goal. More than anything I wanted to publish some family history for my grandchildren and write some of my own. Perhaps the genuine plan is to pour like a pitcher, until empty. The most astounding product of this adventure is the friendships. My cyber smiles and hugs are just as heartfelt as the ones I share in person. There are so many bloggers I want to meet. To commemorate this 1st Blog-o-birthday I am going to give away a sweet present to the lucky one who types that 5000th comment. It's not big - it's not exciting. It is a small gesture of appreciation to all of you for being a part of my life this year.

Joy at A Spot of Tea is hosting today's Fun Monday. She said, "I would like to see everyone's kitchens . I spend a great deal of time in my kitchen. Not only for preparing meals, but for socializing, writing letters, watching tv, staring off into space..... So I thought it would be nice to see what other kitchen's look like out there." Well Joy, we spend a lot of time in our kitchen, too. There is NEVER enough room when we have company. I think about the years when there would be twenty or thirty people over for a holiday meal and I get memory overload. How did we do it? Because I have so much more to work with than my mom did, I have always felt blessed. Dishwasher, an extra fridge and a chest freezer in the garage, a gas water heater, two bathrooms, a dining room, a covered patio, and latex gloves. My mom's hands were always rough and worn. My fingers get their workout from blogging instead of canning and cleaning. Our little kitchen was the cente

Brood XIII, the official name of this year's cicada hatch, is expected across northern Illinois and in parts of Michigan, Iowa, Wisconsin and Indiana. Cicadas live only about 30 days as adults, and their main goal is mating. The Saginaw News May 21, 2007 Yvonne, at Uniquely Me , knew that I was extremely curious about the nymphs that make her life miserable. She lives right in the midst of the 17 year Cicada hatch. When my phone rang on Saturday I heard a pleasant voice say, "Pamela, this is Yvonne." At her house, the mating insects calls are so loud that they drown out the jets in the landing pattern for a nearby airport . She has to wave her hands and brush them off her body when she walks out of doors. "They are a nuisance!" she confirmed sweetly. She invited me to share in her experience. So I listened as she walked out of her house and braved the buzz to give me a telephone conversation with the hatch. It was definitely one-sided as I listened to t

Two grandchildren hitched a ride with my eldest brother and his wife from California. They are here for a short and busy weekend. We went to the park and threw Frisbees. We hiked in the hills. I have proof that they walk on water. Sort of. What kid can resist a wall of dirt. And a victory celebration at the crest. I took the path, but the satisfaction was just as sweet.

Last night we walked the Creek. The grass is beautiful. I didn't think to take extra batteries for the digital camera, so I missed the picture of the Black-Crowned Night Heron. My first sight ing ever. However, we captured a Great Blue Heron on a fishing trip. This majestic bird was being dive-bombed by a Black Bird that finally convinced it to move along. There must have been a nest. Another one caught a fish on the opposite rocky bank and the hubby snapped it in mid swallow. A one-legged song sparrow would have been gone unnoticed had he not been singing the joys of the evening. Have you listened? What? A giraffe? And a buck that seems to be unconcerned about walkers on the bike path. Little Bud and My Red Headed girl are making a surprise visit to grandma and grandpa's this weekend. See you Monday!!

Part 1 of my father's short journal told about the depression and his experiences in California . Part 2 narrated a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon . Befriended by a Hop grower in Part 3 , he was hired as a chauffeur and then offered a job in the hop fields. Dad described his first impression of life on in a Hop Yard in Part 4 . His high hopes of continuing the easy chauffeur type duties were doused by a hard dose of manual labor. The teasing by his fellow crew members and the young Russian beauties are not mentioned again. I think this says much about his discretion; Dad didn't kiss and tell. Part 5 describes a Hop Yard in the 1930's with detail - just in case you wonder where your beer has its earthy beginnings. Dad became the nozzle man on the spraying crew and a raise in pay. In episode six dad gets a little too involved with the bosses daughter’s romantic scheme. (Part 6) Picture from OREGON HISTORI

A long time ago, in a Galaxy far far away: I sewed. I had to come up with something because I didn't want to get left behind on Fun Monday. This is Kar -2-D-2 and Queen aPamilana . (You may have already seen the "Where are they now" special.) I haven't sewn anything but buttons on shirts in years. My sewing machine is probably an antique. Please visit Karmyn at Dreaming What If's and check out some Real Crafty People . And - May The Force Be With You.

Today I am playing with my new widgets and whatnots. Actually, I was working on my Labels. Suddenly, my Blogline Feed Lights my blog up like a Christmas Tree!!! Now I understand why I occasionally see 150 posts show up as unread on Bloglines for one of my Blogger pals. When one is able to use the Label function on Blogger, and find some time to go back in time to add them, then the update is seen as a new published post by Bloglines. As usual, I'm the last one to know.

It happened the very first week of May. I read this months Perfect Post. The Grim Reality revived my childhood memories of our small farm where the second most lucrative crop was dandelions. (The first one was rocks.) A day that started out bad for Wonderboy, GR, and me was transformed by a blissful roll in the gold. I'm with you Wonderboy, how can anyone possible call them weeds. I hope the rest of you take a moment to frolic with him in Dandy . You can enjoy the other nominees by visiting Lindsay at www.suburbanturmoil.blogspot.com or MommaK at www.petroville.com .