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Monday, October 31, 2005

Halloween Finale


The afternoon started with a par-tay and parade (above). I love this parade tradition that LG's school has. Almost 1000 costumed kids stand in a circle around the soccer field, while the Vice Principal uses a bull-horn to call out, "Sports figures!" "Rock stars!" etc., and each group called leaves the circle and parades around the inside perimeter so that everyone gets a good look at everyone.


Headless Arwen and a couple of friends. The little girl on the right had my favorite costume of the day -- she's a hurricane. Specifically, Hurricane Nina, and she is right in the eye -- isn't the shirt appropriate for an "eye?" In the "wind" around her are houses, trees, cars . . . isn't that clever?! Other favorites, which I did not get a picture of, but which tickled me no end, were little boys as Napolean Dynamite, with curly red wigs, eyeglasses and "Vote for Pedro" T-shirts. Funny.


Within each grade, the teachers dress in some theme. Fourth grade teachers were condiments this year, with little white caps and labels. LG's teacher was ketchup.


My last image from the school celebration: Jacob has placed a Halloween whoopee cushion on Paul's chair! Shhh! Don't tell Paul. Giggle, giggle, giggle.

Then it's off to Nana and Pop Pop's, where I can pretend to be Oprah Winfrey giving out automobiles. Except I give out GIANT HERSHEY BARS!


You know what trick-or-treaters say when you whip out one of these bad boys? They say, "WOO-HOO!"


While I played Oprah, LG went out to work the neighborhood. Not too shabby, eh?

LG as Arwen

And finally, one last look at the Arwen costume. LG must get to bed, she's looking a little pale! Thank you all for indulging me in showing off my kid and her costume. Hope you have had a lovely day, too. Oh, and one more "thank you" to Easy Writer for sewing Arwen's dress.

Happy Halloween!

arwen 1

Today, in the school Halloween parade, LG will debut her Arwen costume. Summer and Bucky are the winning guessers, and I guess they should get some sort of prize for their efforts. I'll have to think of something. Arwen is an Elven Princess from Lord of the Rings. LG is a LOTR fanatic. She's read all the books and seen all the DVDs, multiple times. She was warned that many of her classmates may not recognize her costume, but that matters not to her. Oh, and the necklace displayed in the prior post is Arwen's signature "Evenstar" necklace. The REAL one, honest.

Thanks to our friend, Easy Writer, for sewing the magnificent garment that you all will see MUCH more of, probably tonight.

Sunday, October 30, 2005


Sunday Post ~ "I ain't afraid of no ghosts." -- Ray Parker, Jr., and Raydio

II Timothy 1:7

file under: &Sunday Post

Friday, October 28, 2005

Halloweens Past


This is LG at age 1. This photo has been on my fridge(s) all these years. I love Halloween, mostly because I love to put together LG's costumes. Sometimes I make them, with a little or a lot of help from my friends (wait 'til you see THIS year's!), and sometimes I buy them, but if I do, I accessorize them masterfully. Still trying to stick to my "no recognizable photos" rule, I'm not really showing the best of the best, here, but I love them all.



In an old house in Paris, all covered with vines,
Lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.
The smallest one was Madeline.

I loved LG as Madeline. She was 2 1/2, and this was the year she had an undiscovered ear infection. We could not figure out why she was such a grumposaurus, on such a happy night. She ended up trick-or-treating at Nana and Pop Pop's front door, then at their back door, and that was that. Next day we discovered she was ill! Good mama :0


At age 4, she was Jessie from Toy Story. Nice chaps.


Just a couple of years ago, a fifties cutie with her booty. Today's SPF is all about Halloween, including decorations. Our Halloween decorations are minimal because we don't stay home on Halloween night. When LG was younger, the street we lived on wasn't safe for trick-or-treating, too much traffic, not enough sidewalks. Now, the neighborhood is fine, but we continue the tradition of going to Nana and Pop Pop's neighborhood, having dinner together, then Jif and Pop Pop take LG trick-or-treating while Nana and I hand out candy at home. It is a delightful evening. I pretend to be Oprah. Not that I'm in costume, I'm not. It's just that Nana gives out full-size Hershey bars, and the kids, especially the older ones, are SO excited and grateful that last year I said to Nana, "Now I know how Oprah feels, giving out all those cars!" It's a good thing.


I told you I'd let you know what Jif and I decided to wear to the Halloween Party. We wussed out and fell back on the old reliable "'60s hippies" get-up. We looked pretty good, though, and got a lot of compliments. One very nice 20-something even wanted to hang out with us because, as she said, "Now, there are some people [geezers] who know how to have fun!" Speaking of the '60s, one of my favorite Halloween memories probably happened in the late '60s, possibly early '70s:

There was a man in my neighborhood named "Edsel." That horrid name was probably a big part of what made him such a grumpy pants. He was a 20-something or 30-something OLD MAN. He didn't allow anyone to take a shortcut across his lawn, and if one of our balls, kites, pets, whatever, ended up in his yard, it was never seen again. He was married with a small child. Edsel worked nights, probably at a car factory, and every Mischief Night, his wife and child left for who-knows-where. Of course, their house was a target. Until ol' Edsel taught us a lesson that I, for one, have not forgotten.

The usual suspects were out, armed with toilet paper, etc., but this year we were most excited about a new-fangled invention called Silly String. We planned to Silly String all of Edsel's doors and windows. We approached the dark, still house, laughing and joking -- no need to be quiet, they were never home. As I took out my Silly String and went to work on the front door, I heard a strange, scraping sound on the roof above me. Before I could even step back, I heard more strange sounds, and looking up, I was hit in the face with full-hose-force cold water, followed by the strangest sound of all, that none of us had ever heard -- Edsel was laughing. Lying on his stomach on the roof, where he had lain in wait with the garden hose, just looking over the edge now at us, and cracking up. He soaked us, but we were laughing so hard we couldn't even run out of the yard, just stumbled against each other as we slowly made our way back to my house for warm, dry clothes. I'm pretty sure we yelled back things like, "Good one, Edsel!" and "You're hard, man!" ("Hard" used to mean something akin to "cool.")

Edsel was nicer after that.

And now, the costume that we in this household are SO excited about!!!!:

2005 costume

Can you tell by the necklace who LG is going to be? Tune in next week to see if you're right . . . :)

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Prom Night ~ A Horror Story

Checking in on Wednesday for motif Monday (and that's only possible because enough of my clients cancelled tonight!) with my "worst date" story. Hands-down, no brainer, it was the Junior Prom.

In my junior year, I went to the prom with a senior named David. He and I had had a couple of dates throughout the year, and had sporadic, somewhat intense "crushes" on each other, although the timing of these crushes was never mutual. I remember David as extremely intelligent, breezed through physics and calculus and such. I recently came across our prom picture. I swear I'd show you if I could, but it's so dark that photographing it wouldn't work, and I'm scannerless at the moment. I promise I'll deliver as soon as the technology is available. David wore a light brown or tan or beigey sort of tux. He had brown hair and a sort of a fu-man-chu facial thing going on. I thought I was ALL that because my friend Liz and I had decided to be unconventional and buy our dresses at a thrift store. It was a peach chiffon gown with a matching shawl/wrap that tied under the bust. In the photograph, it looks like I'd been caught in a downpour, although I don't recall the weather that night. Oh, completing my $3 ensemble was a large white hat. Shut up, it was 1977! I must wonder, in retrospect, if the outfit had its own karma that guided the night's events. (And, I might add, Liz chickened out and did not actually wear her thrift store purchase, but borrowed my prom dress from the previous year.)

The prom itself was OK, as I recall. I loved to dance, so probably had a good time. The best part, I'm sure, was near the end of the prom, when David proclaimed that he was going to give me the moon (because I know my blogging audience, I KNOW where you are going with that, but STOP, it wasn't like that). There was a large -- 5 or 6' tall -- plywood quarter moon suspended from the ceiling of the high school gym, part of the evening's decoration. David and a couple of his friends hung from the moon, swinging until the invisible wires released it, and then David presented it to me. It was orange with gold glitter (the '70s, remember?), and I loved it. I thought this was about the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. Some boys helped David put it in his pale blue Mustang, and we left for the after-prom party at another boys' house.

At the party, David disappeared. This didn't bother me, particularly, because I knew lots of people there, and I stayed busy and entertained. Toward the wee hours of the morning, one of David's friends, Neal, found me and said that he brought a message and an apology from David who apparently remained somewhere in the mysterious deep bowels of the house. It seemed that David was too "messed up" to drive me home. I don't know whether David was drunk, or drugged, or both, but I was furious. Definitely a woman scorned. Truthfully, and at the risk of sounding lacking in humility, I was not lacking for boyfriends and I was stunned that this *#%^#$ would put me in that position. I remember thinking, "Who does he think he's dealing with?" and, ever the lover of words, "Hey, this must be what 'incredulous' feels like!"

I told my best male friend, whom we'll call Prince (because that makes me laugh right now), what was happening. He immediately offered to take me home. And by immediately, I mean without consulting his date, my friend, Liz. Let's just say, Liz was not pleased. She had plans for Prince, and they didn't include me and my moon. I have, over the years, been increasingly appreciative of Prince's chivalry. Liz had a big crush on Prince, and Liz was known to . . . act on her crushes. The more I know about adolescent boys, the more I appreciate Prince's sacrifice of that night.

As we prepared to leave the party, I asked Neal to take me to David, which he did. I demanded of David, angrily, "Give me your keys!" He seemed touched, flattered at what he thought was my concern for his welfare. "It's OK," he slurred, "I'm not going to drive like this."

I retorted, "I don't care whether you drive or not! GIVE ME YOUR KEYS SO I CAN GET MY MOON!!!!" He seemed to sober quickly and handed me his car keys.

Prince and I loaded the moon into his car, partly in the back seat, partly protruding from the hatchback ('70s, remember). Liz refused to sit up front with Prince. She sat in the back with the moon and acted like a martyr. I felt horrible for ruining their date, but very thankful for Prince's friendship.

That moon hung over my bed for a couple of years, often dusting my hair or skin with gold glitter, which I didn't bother to remove, because I thought that was kind of cool. Liz eventually forgave me. I don't think I dated David any more. I did date his best friend.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Sunday Post ~ "A Prayer for Autumn Days"

God of autumn, the trees are saying goodbye to their green, letting go of what has been. We, too, have our moments of surrender, with all their insecurity and risk. Help us to let go when we need to do so.

God of fallen leaves lying in colored patterns on the ground, our lives have their own patterns. As we see the patterns of our own growth, may we learn from them.

God of harvest wagons and fields of ripened grain, many gifts lie within the season of our surrender. We must wait for harvest in faith and hope. Grant us patience when we do not see the blessings.

God of geese going south for another season, your wisdom enables us to know what needs to be left behind and what needs to be carried into the future. We yearn for insight and vision.

God of flowers touched with frost and windows wearing white designs, may your love keep our hearts from growing cold in the empty seasons. -- by Joyce Rupp, in "May I Have this Dance?"

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

file under: &Sunday Post

Friday, October 21, 2005

Biscuit Friday ~ Devil Dog

As you might have guessed by my absence in blogworld this week, I've been hugely busy. When I have a week like this, I need those nearest and dearest to cooperate with me. Jif and LG have been very supportive. Biscuit has NOT. Sometimes you people comment with things like, "Aw, he's so cute. How can you say he's bad?" I'll tell you how. He almost put me in the nut hut* this week.

Wednesday night, Biscuit had um, gas. Oh, who am I kidding? Is it a day that appears on the calendar? Yea, well, on those days, Biscuit had gas. He farted in our room all night long. I got up yesterday morning early to spend some time, I kid you not, reading the Bible. And to get away from the smell. Problem was, the farther I got away from our bedroom, and away from the source of the odor, the worse the odor became. As I went into the family room, turned on a lamp and sat down with my books, it was overpowering. It had finally happened. I was losing it. I was having olfactory hallucinations. And this is some serious shit, no pun intended. These hallucinations can mean things like psychosis, temporal lobe epilepsy, brain damage! They are a terrible affliction, because the sufferer (that would be me) walks around with the dreaded smell sort of right in their nose all the time! There's no escaping it. It can drive a person MAD!

Then I turned on another light. And saw the dog poop on the floor not three feet from my chair. About eight different locations of it, actually. INSERT BIG SIGH HERE. So I started cleaning it up, and I was overcome with gratitude. For what, you wonder. For hard dog poop. It all has to be cleaned up, and the hard is far preferable to the liquid. It was about a 50/50 gig I had there. Now what kind of day can you expect to have when you start it out giving thanks for hard dog poop?

I let the very bad dog out into the fenced back yard. And he R-U-N-N-O-F-T. Over the fence, VBD, away! When he returned some 20 minutes later, he looked like this:

Actually, I couldn't get him to cooperate well enough to get you a decent shot of him. If you could see up close, you would see that he looked just like THIS RIGHT HERE. For more information, google "the remarkable cocklebur."

*Forgive my use of professional jargon. "Nut hut" is the formal term for a psychiatric treatment facility.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Do You Ever Need a Little Somethin'?

But you don't quite know what it is? Then Google yourself! I took this highly entertaining meme from Eclectic and SoozieQ. Do a Google search on your first name plus the word "needs." And Google will tell you just what you need. I learned that: 1)There are some seriously needy Susies; and 2)Susie is a rather popular pet name. I divided my needs into three categories (my commentary is in italics):

Susie needs a lightweight manual wheelchair.

Susie needs a special home with someone who can spend the time to get her through her rehab.

Susie needs constant care, supervision and support . . . Furthermore, Susie needs a very structured environment that it is impossible to create in our home.

Susie needs an assistant secretary in case she is sick.

"Susie Needs Some Assertiveness Training." Actually, I do OK in that area, thank you.


Susie needs to think through her constructs of parent involvement and parenting classes.

Susie also needs mending.

Susie needs to learn that baking doesn't always have to include baking yourself.

Susie needs Matt to supply the male support and approval she doesn't get from Carl. Yea, Carl, what do you have to say about THAT?

Astonishingly accurate:
Susie needs lots of love.

Susie needs the support of every single one of us. What, like I'm gonna decline that?

Susie needs a lot more psychological help . . . Yea, yea, so they say . . .

Susie needs to be reimbursed. This one, I LIKE!

Susie needs more practice. At certain things, perhaps . . .

Susie needs to be contained. Just don't fence me in, I get claustrophobic.

"Susie Needs a New Wardrobe." I can attend to this one as soon as I get reimbursed!

Susie needs very much to be a part of the family and will thrive in a patient, loving home. Aw. This Susie is blessed, got that right here :)

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Sunday Post ~ Don't settle for survival.

John 10:10

file under: &Sunday Post

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Just for Fun

This is me -- sort of. I swiped this toy from Closet Metro, and it's FUN. You can make yourself, your family, your friends, into 'toons, other races, drunk, or in the style of famous artists. Go play, it's Saturday!

And by special request, I got your monkey shot right here:

Friday, October 14, 2005

Biscuit Friday ~ That Lyin' Dog

Dreaming up very bad things to do.

Biscuit wants to rest. LG wants to cuddle. LG has arms and higher level thinking, so she wins, for a few minutes. Biscuit has an attention-getting growl, and some sharp parts -- teeth, claws -- so then he wins. I say to LG, "Let sleeping dogs lie." I explain what this expression means. Minutes later, Biscuit is ambivalent about whether he wants to rest or not. He's down, but looking around, sniffing, contemplating some act of larceny, most likely. LG's checking him out for cuddling potential.

"Mom," she inquires, "is he lying?"

I look at him carefully. "I don't know, LG. What's he saying?"

Monday, October 10, 2005

Search for a Small Dog

Today's "Monday motif" is "pets." I remembered that I had written this some time ago for the autobiography group I was in. It's the story of how we got Bear, the best dog we've ever had. I have added a few paragraphs at the end, to tell the rest of the story. The photos here are photos of photos, so please forgive the poor quality.

LG at four months, with Bear

A couple of months later (look how cheeky!)

Bear peeks through the kitchen window

Jif and I love animals, so after we moved from an apartment into our first house, one of our first priorities was getting a dog. We lived in a very small house, so we agreed that we would find a very small dog, perhaps a beagle. We went to the SPCA on a Sunday afternoon in January, 1986. There were many, many dogs and cats, and most of the dogs seemed hysterical. They were barking, some were hurling themselves against the front of the cages; they were clearly not schooled in how to win friends and influence humans. The cages were arranged in a large U-shape, and as I came toward the end of the U, I called ahead to Jif, "I don't know, I haven't fallen in love yet." Jif was near the last cage, looking into it with an "uh-oh" expression on his face. He responded, "I think that's because you haven't seen this one." He was right. The dog in front of him was not barking, but had walked up to the front of the cage and was sitting quite politely, occasionally extending a huge, cream-colored paw toward Jif. The sign next to his cage said "Bear," and it suited him perfectly. One problem: Bear was not the very small dog we had set out to get. We decided to leave and think about the matter. I thought Bear was such a wonderful creature that someone else would snap him up the minute we left, that if we didn't take him right then, we'd miss our chance. But Jif talked me into thinking it over, so we left, after finding out from the attendant that Bear could not be reserved, that pets were released on a first-come, first-served basis, so whoever asked for him first would get him.

Over the next couple of days, in my memory, Bear became smaller and smaller. I heard myself saying things like, "Jif, he's sort of a small dog." Jif would look at me like I'd lost my mind. "Well," I'd try, "I think he's more of a medium-sized dog." Jif would just shake his head. I called the SPCA to find out more about Bear. He was husky, shepherd and collie mixed (no way you get a small dog out of that!). The lady told me that he was so well-housebroken that someone had to come in earlier in the morning just to take him outside, because he absolutely would not "go" in his cage. This was certainly information in his favor. By Wednesday morning, we had decided to adopt Bear. Now our only fear was that someone would beat us to him.

We pulled into the parking lot at the SPCA before it opened, but someone was there before us, waiting. When she saw us, she got out of her car and ran up toward the door, so there could be no doubt that she was first in line. My heart sank. I just knew she was there for Bear. Jif and I got in line behind her, and she and we took turns sizing each other up. She would look at us when she thought we didn't notice, and would do the same to her. She held firmly to her position as first by the door, but she still seemed fearful that we would get ahead of her. Finally, I said to her, "Look, we know you were here first. Are you here to get Bear?" She stared at me, then said, "A BEAR??! God, no, I'm here to get a cat! You're here to get a bear? I didn't even know there was one in there!" We explained about Bear, and much relieved, we three chatted happily until the doors opened and we got our respective dream pets.

As we walked Bear out to our Mitsubishi Mirage, very small hatchbook, I began to realize what we had done. This was not a small dog, nor even medium-sized. He was a monster. He filled up the back of the car, and then he performed a move that was to become a Bear trademark. He wedged his head in tightly between our shoulders, and rode all the home that way. Jif and I smiled at each other, thinking things like "Isn't he sweet, isn't he cute?" We felt very good about our new pet. Until we got him home. They forgot to remind him at the SPCA that morning of how incredibly housebroken he was, because he walked into our living room and his first act was to make a large deposit on the fireplace hearth. We might as well have had a horse in the living room. Since I wasn't working that day, the job of remedial housebreaking fell to me, and Jif went off to work. We wanted to teach Bear to go out the back door, which meant he had to go down the basement steps. He had a problem with this, didn't like steps. I got behind him and pushed. He turned and looked at me like, "Are you nuts?" I stopped pushing his butt. Of course I was nuts. I didn't now this dog; if he wanted to , he could take my head off. Over time, I realized that he was most unlikely to take anyone's head off, and he did learn to go down the stairs. Once he adjusted to his new home, he did remember that he was housebroken.

While Bear was still new to us, even though he was well over a year old when we got him, he went through several chewing stages. There was his one shoe phase, where he chewed up one shoe from each pair of my best pumps; then there was the underwear phase, during which he was partial to bras; finally there was the electronics phase, where he ate a remote control, stereo headphones and a calculator. He also ate half a birthday cake, once (it was our fault, because earlier in the day we had put a party hat on him, so he must have thought the cake was his); he once ate an entire bottle of "Fiber Trim," (we were afraid he would blow up when he drank water, but he didn't; he just looked real unhappy); and he stole and ate countless cookies, pies and bread. (Looking back, he seems to have had a carb problem.) He always preferred to eat in the dining room, and whatever he stole, he carried under the dining room table to enjoy. Except for that one time, when Jif came out of the shower (Bear must have thought he was home alone) and walked out into the dining room to see Bear standing ON the table, vacuuming up the breakfast crumbs.

We loved Bear dearly. Over the years, we expected, hoped and prayed for children, but they never arrived. Until that wonderful day, about 10 years after Bear came into our lives. There was never a gentler, smarter dog than Bear, although whenever children were around, he would make himself scarce. I had noted this in the months leading up to LG's birth. He was not aggressive toward children, but seemed wary of them, seemed to realize that people of that size were unpredictable and not always to be trusted. I was a little worried about how he would take to the new "pup" in the house. At first, all was well. He slept by her crib, as every dog lover dreams their big dog will do when children arrive. Even after she could sit alone on the floor, he was right there with her, propping her up, inspecting her toys, or just hanging close. Life was good.

And then LG started to become mobile on her own. She would crawl after him, and inspect his toys. He started with the behavior I had seen him exhibit with other children, that is, when she became too active, he'd head for the hills. Or at least, for the sanctuary of under-the-dining-room-table. He fully expected that LG would honor that boundary. She did not. And that was the beginning of the end for Bear as part of our live-in family. LG loved him by that time, and would relentlessly pursue him. But he was approaching 13 years old by that time, and he didn't always want to be pursued. The first time he "grabbed" her arm, I denied it to myself. It kept happening. Never hurting her, or even frightening her, but trying, in his way, to discipline her, to send her the message to back off. She couldn't get the message, and I couldn't live with a dog I couldn't leave alone in the room with my child. We had lived as a family of four for about 10 months when we finally faced the fact that Bear couldn't be with us anymore.

Even after all this time, I must defend him. People thought he was jealous, that he became aggressive toward LG. He wasn't one bit jealous. He loved her, and I don't believe he would ever have intentionally hurt her. But he was elderly by that time, and not in the mood for all of her monkey business; it was only a matter of time until his attempts at limit-setting with her resulted in an unintentional injury. And we couldn't have that. Thank God, a newish friend from our church, also a dog lover, heard about our plight and asked to adopt Bear. It was a perfect solution. Bear got to live with someone who loved him dearly, for the rest of his life, and we got to see him and hear about him often. A few years later, Bear's new "mom," who had become, and remains, a good friend, called to say that something was very wrong and she needed help getting him to the emergency vet. At his "peak," Bear weighed about 120 pounds. He didn't weigh that much by then, but he was still a big guy. Jif was suffering with a back injury at that time, so I went and helped get Bear to the vet. He was dying, mostly of old age. Our friend made the decision to have the vet give him the injections there that would end his very long life. I was able to be there and stroke him and thank him for all the joy he had brought us, while he went to sleep.

We went back to my house to tell Jif and LG about what had happened, share some tea, and tell stories about what a fine, fine creature Bear was, and how blessed we all were to have him pass through our lives.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Sunday Post ~ Make room for something new.

II Corinthians 5:17-20

file under: &Sunday Post

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

My Test Results are In!

What do you post when you want to post something, but you have no time to write anything? A bunch of blog quizzes! Like most of you, I've taken bunches of these things, but have never really been inclined to post them before, although, as you'll see, I copied and saved them just in case. I selected these because they are the most dead-on accurate characterizations of me that I have ever seen. Much more so than the results of my psych testing, even! No, seriously, I picked the ones that are incredibly flattering to me, because . . . it's my blog, and I CAN.

WORSHIP! You're inner Bombshell is the beautiful
Audrey Hepburn. Like her you've been blessed
with a "certain something" that no
one could describe accurately. You are more
reserved than other bombshells, and that shows
in your gentle, graceful nature. You like doing
things for other people and love volunteering
for your favorite charity. Yours is a rare gift
in this day and age. You don't need to show a
lot of skin to be sexy, all you need is your
eyes. To see Audrey at the top of her game
watch the movie "Breakfast at

Who is your inner bombshell?
brought to you by Quizilla

Your Inner Child Is Surprised

You see many things through the eyes of a child.

Meaning, you're rarely cynical or jaded.

You cherish all of the details in life.

Easily fascinated, you enjoy experiencing new things.

Your Blog Should Be Yellow

You're a cheerful, upbeat blogger who tends to make everyone laugh.

You are a great storyteller, and the first to post the latest funny link.

You're also friendly and welcoming to everyone who comments on your blog.

You Have A Type B+ Personality


You're a pro at going with the flow
You love to kick back and take in everything life has to offer
A total joy to be around, people crave your stability.

While you're totally laid back, you can have bouts of hyperactivity.
Get into a project you love, and you won't stop until it's done
You're passionate - just selective about your passions

You Are Mexican Food

Spicy yet dependable.

You pull punches, but people still love you.

Take the 100 Acre Personality Quiz!

Oh, by the way, maybe this blog should be yellow, but I don't like yellow, so that's not happening here any time soon. I have stolen from many people here, and frankly, I don't remember them all, or just where I got what. I do remember pilfering from Plazajen, Eclectic, and Lawbrat . . . ummmm . . . that's all I'm sure about; if you have reason to believe I took one of these at your place, by all means, take credit for it here :)

And now for something totally different:

Little Help, Here?

Jif and I are preparing to go to a Halloween costume party, or at least we're seriously thinking about it. It's a benefit thing, thrown by one of his customers. That is to say, we want to have fun, but there is a certain amount of decorum that will be required. What to wear?!!!! Help us with costume ideas. I'd like a "couples" thing, but it doesn't HAVE to be that. I don't want horror or sex, I can get plenty of those without leaving the house. No, I'm more hoping for clever, or literary, or . . . at a minimum, something that won't cause him to lose this customer. Oh, and cheap is good. I had an idea, and y'all are welcome to it, because we're not going to do it (like you're going to the same party anyway): I would be Little Bo Peep, and Jif would be a "Deliverance" type good ol' boy, with my lost sheep um, how can I put this delicately . . . strategically affixed to the front of his trousers. Now, that's funny right there, I don't care who you are. Maybe if it were a bloggers' Halloween party, we'd go there . . . but not this one. Whaddya got?

Monday, October 03, 2005

Harvest Festival

On Saturday we went to a Fall Harvest Festival, and did fally things. My cheeky monkey got a monkey on her cheeky:

I liked this little girl's T-shirt:

White is the new orange . . .

And although I haven't made these yet this year, this is probably as good a time as any to share with you . . .

You don't so much "make" these as "assemble" them, and when you do, adults and children alike will think you are oh-so-clever:

Take Keebler Fudge Stripe Cookies, Hershey's Kisses and orange frosting from a tube or aerosol can. You can get orange frosting right now, if you hurry, before other Halloween-minded cookie makers grab it all.

Simply smear frosting on the bottom of the Kiss to "glue" it on the cookie (an excellent job for little helpers), then press it on the chocolate side of the cookie. Next, using one of the fancy plastic tips you get with the frosting, wrap an orange frosting ribbon around the kiss, and "draw" a bow. After a few practices, you'll be "tying" frosting bows like a pro. Enjoy :)

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Sunday Post ~ "Generosity is not giving me that which I need more than you do, but it is giving me that which you need more than I do." Kahlil Gibran

Mark 12:41-44

file under: &Sunday Post