tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435005194284987482024-03-05T20:45:24.635-05:00Of Lemons and HoneyMy attempt to find balance with the sweets, and the sours, of life.LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.comBlogger283125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-78301684054105944432011-03-02T10:56:00.001-05:002011-03-02T11:17:42.165-05:00I Need to Stop; A GoodbyeI've been thinking about this for some time.<br />
<br />
It is time to say goodbye here, to stop blogging. <br />
<br />
The reason is that I simply have nothing to say.<br />
<br />
Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know that I have been struggling.<br />
<br />
I'm not the same person I was when I began this blog a year and a half ago.<br />
<br />
Much has happened, and much has been lost.<br />
<br />
I feel as if I am in a bit of a state of stun.<br />
<br />
You know how you feel, or would feel, after a hard slap across your cheek? That immediate stun, a moment of incalculable numbness and silence, before you awake and feel and react?<br />
<br />
My whole life is in that state right now.<br />
<br />
It looks as if <a href="http://oflemonsandhoney.blogspot.com/2010/08/about-my-daughter.html">my daughter</a> will never be home here with us again. She is too disturbed, and we are simply not enough for her. She will go on to live with a family more suitable to her needs. <br />
<br />
It looks as if most of my family cannot comprehend this reality and quiet blame and mistrust has chilled into stone-cold silence.<br />
<br />
And I don't know how I'll ever get over this. <br />
<br />
I thank God Almighty for my son and for my husband. For despite all my grief and all my loss, I am still a rich woman. <br />
<br />
But I simply have nothing to say here. <br />
<br />
I have tried to stumble along, trying to find my voice again, my humor, my style. It is not there.<br />
<br />
I can't find anything to say that I think anyone else will care about or that will be worth your time or my time.<br />
<br />
Everything seems trite. The truth is, I have only deeply personal things on my mind and in my heart right now. <br />
<br />
And the deeper things are stuck in a stunned pause.<br />
<br />
So I will have to say goodbye here.<br />
<br />
And thank you all -- every one of you -- who ever saw my name and felt persuaded to see what I had to say that day. You have done me a kindness that I cherish beyond words.<br />
<br />
I will still be around to read your blogs here and there. While I seem to have nothing worthwhile to say, you all certainly do, and I look forward to stopping by to say hello from time to time, checking in on each of you. I would miss you terribly if I didn't.<br />
<br />
I think I will leave this blog here and maybe some day I will be this person again. I can't bear to just delete it.<br />
<br />
So thank you once again for coming by. It has meant more than I could ever, ever express.<br />
<br />
I wish you each peace, joy, and love . . . the greatest of these is love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwjrzFmXk54zOQVlhk6ms_B372u5vvyRoX72n0Rvh-70_Fn0rVfI7XT7UCJZsdNwsr-yRIuxPsECNtxscEx8IhvNz2BD9oQ7AmggvzAldF5o9T34rhrN3W8psvsleLUjCH8FbZgp3b98/s1600/givingheart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwjrzFmXk54zOQVlhk6ms_B372u5vvyRoX72n0Rvh-70_Fn0rVfI7XT7UCJZsdNwsr-yRIuxPsECNtxscEx8IhvNz2BD9oQ7AmggvzAldF5o9T34rhrN3W8psvsleLUjCH8FbZgp3b98/s200/givingheart.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-80842558664495148912011-02-23T09:51:00.001-05:002011-02-23T11:49:57.126-05:00Peace Doves<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_qIuiRetwWnZC-L799ZEoBSQXP4KdF2BrTx9kS7mlnSET6aIm9wQ38QqSd0sCOGVCFOlixXH40QmAeZEHnD1Y3DiXimgEa23orvAc1ZesS6q8ZqEmk7ch7HOuRp93cIKVArYed5YYZk/s1600/IMG_2387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_qIuiRetwWnZC-L799ZEoBSQXP4KdF2BrTx9kS7mlnSET6aIm9wQ38QqSd0sCOGVCFOlixXH40QmAeZEHnD1Y3DiXimgEa23orvAc1ZesS6q8ZqEmk7ch7HOuRp93cIKVArYed5YYZk/s640/IMG_2387.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>My beautiful pigeons.</i></span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>They look like peace doves.</i></span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Peace. . . </i></span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>In the words of the great Jeff Smith today, </i></span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span><b><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"I bid you peace."</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a></div>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-30498784730623411902011-02-16T12:20:00.000-05:002011-02-16T12:20:03.139-05:00Help<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You are worthy of being helped."</span></div><br />
I heard that on television this morning, and it stopped me in my tracks.<br />
<br />
This is an issue for me.<br />
<br />
Whenever I need help with something, I feel ashamed.<br />
<br />
Or dishonest, as if I really could manage without the help and, therefore, I am . . . not worthy of the help.<br />
<br />
I often get defensive or even combative when someone tries to help me with something. <br />
<br />
This has caused issues in my marriage from time to time, for marriage is a lifetime of teamwork, of giving and of receiving. Receiving with an open and free heart is very difficult for me.<br />
<br />
I have begun to realize I feel unworthy.<br />
<br />
Of course, various circumstances in my life have brought me to places where I have been forced to ask for help.<br />
<br />
I do and can ask for help. . . I am certainly not saying that I do everything myself, without help from anyone.<br />
<br />
But all the while I am receiving that help, I secretly and silently browbeat myself for it.<br />
<br />
This adds conflict to my heart, my life. It disquiets my soul. <br />
<br />
My husband is a generous and gracious care-taker, helper. It disturbs him that accepting help is so difficult for me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I could spend many hours and probably many dollars analyzing how this came to be in me.<br />
<br />
But I think my time would be better spent repeating that beautifully illuminating sentence above,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">"You are worthy of being helped,"</div><br />
and working to synthesize it into my heart and into my soul.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> I am worthy of being helped.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXSgAUPQeBW_r0tOdiNObnAwmZenGnXjPj7MMc_699Pt2h49Fy9MruPLS7r7u7Zr9IzyZb3yFCuSMpKUlHIeSmOk1rhz9U5aUo6x6hkkpYZ202PdakxddIU8r70PJapdVBnPaVY8HTtQ/s1600/helpinghandemilerenouf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXSgAUPQeBW_r0tOdiNObnAwmZenGnXjPj7MMc_699Pt2h49Fy9MruPLS7r7u7Zr9IzyZb3yFCuSMpKUlHIeSmOk1rhz9U5aUo6x6hkkpYZ202PdakxddIU8r70PJapdVBnPaVY8HTtQ/s320/helpinghandemilerenouf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br />
<br />
<br />
And so I bring this to you, dear reader . . . do you feel worthy of being helped? <br />
<br />
Really? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-51587199162588654692011-02-14T07:39:00.001-05:002011-02-14T07:39:51.860-05:00Extra Love Today<div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>Sometimes people bemoan Valentine's Day </i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>as a "Hallmark Holiday" ~</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>Or they say they don't need a special day set aside for expressing love, </i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>that it should be done every day.</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>Yes, it should be done every day.</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>But I think it is lovely to think of Valentine's Day as icing on the cake, </i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>a little insurance, a day to do that little extra thing, </i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>add that extra sweetness ~</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>What a good reminder it is ~</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>And, to me, any reminder to do the out-of-ordinary is welcomed ~</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i>So, then, to you, Dear Readers, I say:</i></div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Happy Valentine's Day.</b></span></i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdDb5Z4jZIBmwlBczJymYYb0OEZssoJYt_uPoT79LQr6X792Jt89RdzwOaIgr5J7u-gP482XLCrtGt2vgiodNDLCHmC3TXoe3cpftihvIhJpWMuvYANXJiLF4fnEDmgAjUn4ZRvXKBXc/s1600/valentineclown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdDb5Z4jZIBmwlBczJymYYb0OEZssoJYt_uPoT79LQr6X792Jt89RdzwOaIgr5J7u-gP482XLCrtGt2vgiodNDLCHmC3TXoe3cpftihvIhJpWMuvYANXJiLF4fnEDmgAjUn4ZRvXKBXc/s320/valentineclown.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: #990000; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Wishing you all much love, today,</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>and</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="color: #990000;">All year long.</span></i></b></span></div><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-17940596987021158892011-02-03T14:03:00.001-05:002011-02-03T14:07:41.170-05:00Inspiration and AspirationEver been to Amsterdam?<br />
<br />
It's one of my favorite cities.<br />
<br />
Bicycles are everywhere, and it is fun to see how people personalize their bicycles to fit their personal styles and functions.<br />
<br />
If I ever move to Amsterdam, or achieve likewise coolness, I will buy myself one of these . . . and then choose a bicycle to suit it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jLtsyeeL2OdCQsMxLPsVJ_7H6NR7L7mUAEhVhaLRsDrEJh3QotEsmymkgzA5JtApXSwoOhu1LK5pGOEEj2UPUt6IKrMdeoEL8735FmyACBrjLBMS-iHIIVQBmnnp1mItT-V7G2EQleE/s1600/bikeguard3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jLtsyeeL2OdCQsMxLPsVJ_7H6NR7L7mUAEhVhaLRsDrEJh3QotEsmymkgzA5JtApXSwoOhu1LK5pGOEEj2UPUt6IKrMdeoEL8735FmyACBrjLBMS-iHIIVQBmnnp1mItT-V7G2EQleE/s400/bikeguard3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
What is it?<br />
<br />
It is a "Crocheted Bicycle Dress Guard," of course -- keeps your skirt or coat tails out of the spokes as you're riding.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtLHLC9dHW3fIMkhwkA2CC2maCqpyIPiGqjkwrphCmMYEm2lyqUcYAzPxw-E_k2WY9Kjus6ienlGoBjWExOjAu5Y6ljnasUpm9IXkTJR6tQLXLHXEW-lN0w6ByV1c7FwgiuYYLB3G4Cf8/s1600/bikeguard2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtLHLC9dHW3fIMkhwkA2CC2maCqpyIPiGqjkwrphCmMYEm2lyqUcYAzPxw-E_k2WY9Kjus6ienlGoBjWExOjAu5Y6ljnasUpm9IXkTJR6tQLXLHXEW-lN0w6ByV1c7FwgiuYYLB3G4Cf8/s400/bikeguard2.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or perhaps I prefer this style . . . can't decide. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvA97lNswW6f4OtA6OvFZNoorSYlBXoVu05u-_cVUfObBuq5sCV6KLTX9mlhHgErvzsKRi8w5yCl3O2WEdiR58AYsqVkNqyE3Aqk5_YBlLTrxen7PQLVjMCrzME6CcnD1DtJNQ8VB-Yro/s1600/bikeguard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvA97lNswW6f4OtA6OvFZNoorSYlBXoVu05u-_cVUfObBuq5sCV6KLTX9mlhHgErvzsKRi8w5yCl3O2WEdiR58AYsqVkNqyE3Aqk5_YBlLTrxen7PQLVjMCrzME6CcnD1DtJNQ8VB-Yro/s400/bikeguard.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Made by <i><a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/58545188/crochet-bicycle-dress-guard">Darkandstormydays on Etsy</a>,</i> they are a vision of beauty and functionality, and I had to show them to you.<br />
<br />
Someday, I aspire to be riding a bicycle in a long, flowing skirt without a care in the world.<br />
<br />
I just decided that. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-52673495338280984642011-02-02T13:32:00.000-05:002011-02-02T13:32:11.932-05:00Chicken Coax<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgzhCjeJ5mEOs7pyd5qSsn-_nexfqdpFoDaleqPmk6Hkw6emjG3cmqZh4D6UHFYIv0m6x9kHZDsn5r-Ax4lCRE4e7iy1SFRfrudyxnWqPGjm623UfbyjUywt-_yN8G2Ajxzimw-US_VM/s1600/JonahCoaxesCrocus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgzhCjeJ5mEOs7pyd5qSsn-_nexfqdpFoDaleqPmk6Hkw6emjG3cmqZh4D6UHFYIv0m6x9kHZDsn5r-Ax4lCRE4e7iy1SFRfrudyxnWqPGjm623UfbyjUywt-_yN8G2Ajxzimw-US_VM/s400/JonahCoaxesCrocus.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="color: #b45f06; text-align: center;"><b><i>Go out and play in the snow . . . don't be a chicken!</i></b></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-67994805233679628702011-02-01T17:08:00.000-05:002011-02-01T17:08:59.869-05:00Chickened Out . . . And InWow, thanks for all the interest and support on yesterday's post. I had no idea this little dilemma was so relatable! I was thinking that maybe I was needing a slap across the kisser to snap me out of it. Well, once again, thanks for "gettin' me."<br />
<br />
What did I make??<br />
<br />
Excuses.<br />
<br />
I am a lucky girl that I have such an understanding husband. He just laughed and shook his head and told me how funny I was. Yah, I'm a laugh a minute.<br />
<br />
Then my sweet boy presented his thing-of-beauty report card and we celebrated by taking him out for dinner. He picked the place, Noodles & Co.<br />
<br />
Now, today I put on my big-girl panties and committed to a meal. Here's what cooking . . .<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDfRn3xTI1Zm7LDqeIIWmmJEq7A2GiHKqm_KaNdouxXU9VnTm-GrtLiliIwbFUnlvfzAw61igWpOxU4fDp9Mi31FdNglhmq14XF8bDfR4SltaaSzlKdMl-IS4elkc4Z5-xU98rR2G77vY/s1600/cookingpinup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDfRn3xTI1Zm7LDqeIIWmmJEq7A2GiHKqm_KaNdouxXU9VnTm-GrtLiliIwbFUnlvfzAw61igWpOxU4fDp9Mi31FdNglhmq14XF8bDfR4SltaaSzlKdMl-IS4elkc4Z5-xU98rR2G77vY/s320/cookingpinup.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br />
<br />
My Roast Chicken<br />
<br />
1 7.5 lb roaster chicken<br />
4 large onions<br />
8 potatoes<br />
4 slices bacon, cut in half<br />
4 TB butter, cut into pieces<br />
fresh thyme<br />
fresh rosemary<br />
salt & pepper<br />
1 8oz carton baby bella mushrooms, quartered<br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 350.<br />
<br />
Wash and half or quarter potatoes and onions, put in bottom of 9 x 13 pan. Rinse chicken and place on top of potatoes. Place one more cut up onion inside cavity along with one half slice bacon and one piece butter. <br />
<br />
Run hands between skin and meat. Salt and pepper in there and push in several sprigs of the fresh herbs. Arrange bacon on top of breast skin. Sprinkle bits of butter over the chicken and vegetables in pan.<br />
<br />
Place chicken in oven, uncovered, for 30 mins for every lb. of chicken. *When there is 15 minutes of cook time left, sprinkle in mushrooms and return to oven for final 15 minutes. <br />
<br />
Allow chicken to rest, covered with foil, for 10 minutes before carving.<br />
<br />
And:<br />
<br />
Spicy Cranberry Chutney**<br />
<br />
1/3 cup brown sugar <br />
1/2 cup raisins <br />
1 cup water <br />
3 cups fresh cranberries <br />
1 Granny Smith apple - peeled, cored and chopped <br />
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest <br />
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice <br />
1/4 cup chopped crystallized ginger <br />
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes <br />
<br />
In a saucepan, combine brown sugar, raisins and water; bring to a boil. Reduce heat to simmer and stir while simmering for 5 minutes. Stir in cranberries, apple and lemon zest; simmer for 10 minutes more. <br />
<br />
Stir lemon juice, ginger and pepper flakes into the mixture before removing from heat. Serve chilled or at room temperature. <br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I was going to bake something for dessert, but the oven seems to be giving off a lot of "newness" smell (yes, I washed it out first), so I covered my chicken and have decided to forgo the baking for a while longer until it is broken in.<br />
<br />
It's beginning to smell yummy!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0FNC46EWtRXfE5tHrT4FmrzDSxV5sA9a_ZgDWh4JZt0gMkGgM6YGp8UE1jw77GsGRn02QIO4sZinhc2YZXC9RBRpl47egLZJH0n0UV0_aX_y_NRwAsGLCxd1-4Oz8lCRRUrhpsi6FOQ/s1600/chef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0FNC46EWtRXfE5tHrT4FmrzDSxV5sA9a_ZgDWh4JZt0gMkGgM6YGp8UE1jw77GsGRn02QIO4sZinhc2YZXC9RBRpl47egLZJH0n0UV0_aX_y_NRwAsGLCxd1-4Oz8lCRRUrhpsi6FOQ/s1600/chef.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-91919260890302830392011-01-31T17:10:00.000-05:002011-01-31T17:10:11.629-05:00DilemmaI'm hiding.<br />
<br />
This is one of the stupidest things I've ever done.<br />
<br />
Supper is in one hour.<br />
<br />
And I have no idea what to make.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4neuZ8IREoDZc8TfQwZVpHJaSuXaL7RlVsgxK0Eu0MlP6VuDUL312MzE83uT-AcRiOiqVukrC-_uTHLo8k4YX4TS9g_pXvwQAv9TOi5x9O5OS3klVtRlCFcrys8VkZH0OHb54BvCtj0/s1600/cooking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4neuZ8IREoDZc8TfQwZVpHJaSuXaL7RlVsgxK0Eu0MlP6VuDUL312MzE83uT-AcRiOiqVukrC-_uTHLo8k4YX4TS9g_pXvwQAv9TOi5x9O5OS3klVtRlCFcrys8VkZH0OHb54BvCtj0/s320/cooking.JPG" width="281" /></a></div><br />
<br />
That's not that unusual.<br />
<br />
But it is when you consider that I got a lovely, brand-spanking new stove today. Brand-new. Blue-plastic covering the door-front new . . . <br />
<br />
And it's so pretty!<br />
<br />
<br />
And it's so clean.<br />
<br />
I cannot decide what would be the best thing to make for her maiden voyage.<br />
<br />
A simple, basic supper doesn't seem fitting . . . but it is only a Monday night.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzi2H_SZ1md0SbER-GE0mdHCaypXRFE9Pgk8UWOp58YEoYg-msO3d2GvPiqmFMbcvup30znzdx-80j4ReFC6NH0DziySkOv5nwQphyphenhyphenFpLZOz0bPwOCTSvZjdNQbeArnBusQOgkReobhg/s1600/pinkcook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzi2H_SZ1md0SbER-GE0mdHCaypXRFE9Pgk8UWOp58YEoYg-msO3d2GvPiqmFMbcvup30znzdx-80j4ReFC6NH0DziySkOv5nwQphyphenhyphenFpLZOz0bPwOCTSvZjdNQbeArnBusQOgkReobhg/s320/pinkcook.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Perhaps a cake?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGj9MY-SZ8qrSD_r4wO79L7z3tKlk0NK3KCzQNnwDHnRAlL-u3owvW_qRij9MwnFQtSYSoYc3cILTlWvGNr1XYjgRZ2QcuxXoFGqQWbM_qLfsmme3PpJX6oC4z_KbMX6VVprZRIqFZgV0/s1600/pinkcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGj9MY-SZ8qrSD_r4wO79L7z3tKlk0NK3KCzQNnwDHnRAlL-u3owvW_qRij9MwnFQtSYSoYc3cILTlWvGNr1XYjgRZ2QcuxXoFGqQWbM_qLfsmme3PpJX6oC4z_KbMX6VVprZRIqFZgV0/s320/pinkcake.jpg" width="314" /></a></div><br />
<br />
My husband suggested a roast chicken, but it's too late for that now.<br />
<br />
Now I'm down to easy, I-didn't-put-much-thought-into-this kind of meals.<br />
<br />
But that doesn't seem right.<br />
<br />
And I can't very well put some sort of ghastly frozen thing into it for the first time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAe1CIR2FRer7XT0vxTZqfT0D2gHbUO7NI28EOkJp-12pnIaiMw4H-xEELcfIjg2YI2YE6cjwfBykGGtPajtFK0meTqXgLBPMY3Q-64_RJRFx8Kt3Bwq2Y69SY-Nr1GSo7XrK4ujnrTQ/s1600/ChefBoyardee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAe1CIR2FRer7XT0vxTZqfT0D2gHbUO7NI28EOkJp-12pnIaiMw4H-xEELcfIjg2YI2YE6cjwfBykGGtPajtFK0meTqXgLBPMY3Q-64_RJRFx8Kt3Bwq2Y69SY-Nr1GSo7XrK4ujnrTQ/s320/ChefBoyardee.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><br />
<br />
A cake then?<br />
<br />
But what about supper?<br />
<br />
Would you all laugh if I ended up getting takeout?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Okay, okay . . . never mind.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiggswc3WjmyYngHbtbh3ybz8QE8nV49tjs2xMBoX_WiBn4Bv_XPVLv-V811uEXZQGyarJvAySI4gHU_YR9Ck2FYa3M4lI9CvyYgYLopon_xesxTKSP5gratTRlt8xysYaXOi6wJkKKQ/s1600/cereal.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiggswc3WjmyYngHbtbh3ybz8QE8nV49tjs2xMBoX_WiBn4Bv_XPVLv-V811uEXZQGyarJvAySI4gHU_YR9Ck2FYa3M4lI9CvyYgYLopon_xesxTKSP5gratTRlt8xysYaXOi6wJkKKQ/s200/cereal.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-26905872326281789142011-01-29T10:18:00.000-05:002011-01-29T10:18:42.137-05:00Happy Campers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiy0sOmduh_Fq_QbgvP_8qrVXBuaNTEdqzTvJbSJRJ7Rnja5vN7VTfyTnHzGO1SSnNEG0si1cM_SCvULRkRvqMzpvNX3F4hamnecbaDwigY27ZLVRwLz6mx9OSzyRg_78FqkLHKPcHeoA/s1600/happycamper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiy0sOmduh_Fq_QbgvP_8qrVXBuaNTEdqzTvJbSJRJ7Rnja5vN7VTfyTnHzGO1SSnNEG0si1cM_SCvULRkRvqMzpvNX3F4hamnecbaDwigY27ZLVRwLz6mx9OSzyRg_78FqkLHKPcHeoA/s200/happycamper.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
It is a white, frosty Saturday morning here, and my whole brood is snug inside and all is right in the Lemony Renee' world . . .<br />
<br />
The puppy is dragging around his toy rubber chicken; a Christmas gift. He is systematically chewing the toes off and having so much fun doing it. A little ghoulish, but he's happy. <br />
<br />
Lester is sitting here on my monitor, all puffed up and content. I love this little bird; she brings me peaceful companionship and all she asks in return is that I let her sit on my head every now and then.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXMpTh2YfBTunTaWx7rW5kXucebJh4P0aCatNkunsovTkushd3f149vD_AUS42XFxbid3NcbnoAOBKeaDIER4fiqEpvCqcglOw6tRN-EF95wIlB7XrIpVMq1Cy97H51WepXXfLTNaPGA/s1600/Lester.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXMpTh2YfBTunTaWx7rW5kXucebJh4P0aCatNkunsovTkushd3f149vD_AUS42XFxbid3NcbnoAOBKeaDIER4fiqEpvCqcglOw6tRN-EF95wIlB7XrIpVMq1Cy97H51WepXXfLTNaPGA/s320/Lester.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And my husband and my son are where I left them last night . . . on the floor of the family room, sleeping bags spread out in front of the fire . . . this is their version of winter camping. They cook convenience foods over the open fire of the fireplace and do decidedly "guy things" all evening, night, and the next morning. Last night, I believe there was a late-night sledding adventure, a nature walk, and home to another log on the fire and a first lesson in poker. Ten hours later, the poker continues (I suspect they slept at some point, but I can't be sure) and my son just came streaking through here proclaiming that he just got a straight . . . hair still all askew and wearing his "happy camper" t-shirt, he was quite a sight.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-jHXJtFC0usJ7DXldtH3qG18Utk1vLZp1IyaoKGh2EA1pe6fI-e4BN3ZwpU9q6Mka8_0HjjHdc2guGsp-SlquvXmBWRrpHL-EzrQC4-8YmygDSLEoJVM0VSkCCyZtDhUnefyFEwWiiE/s1600/cards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-jHXJtFC0usJ7DXldtH3qG18Utk1vLZp1IyaoKGh2EA1pe6fI-e4BN3ZwpU9q6Mka8_0HjjHdc2guGsp-SlquvXmBWRrpHL-EzrQC4-8YmygDSLEoJVM0VSkCCyZtDhUnefyFEwWiiE/s320/cards.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
These are the best of days. <br />
<br />
I think I'll pour another cup of coffee and have a bit of that banana bread for breakfast.<br />
<br />
I wish you a contented Saturday . . .<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-71462491442333177322011-01-27T10:39:00.000-05:002011-01-27T10:39:44.158-05:00Snow and Bananas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXImB5drSNkY0Okt9ETAMTTebA60jN4A8ljHRwnNwFxAmoWQdmZr8U3amw6XmgMxVX6GXczCiuZrgJ-q_J8xHy6obWUrUqBS1KNq2nUzOtPH10tSA34ATPN6YNfsf27G4qpwlUVfkXI8/s1600/snowman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXImB5drSNkY0Okt9ETAMTTebA60jN4A8ljHRwnNwFxAmoWQdmZr8U3amw6XmgMxVX6GXczCiuZrgJ-q_J8xHy6obWUrUqBS1KNq2nUzOtPH10tSA34ATPN6YNfsf27G4qpwlUVfkXI8/s320/snowman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
It's snowing . . . and the old man is snoring . . . or something like that. <br />
<br />
We have 10" of snow on the ground this morning.<br />
<br />
Everyone is at work, no one is at school, and it looks like a Christmas card outside.<br />
<br />
There's nothing better on a day like this than baking and warming up the house with the smell of bread and cookies and whatever else I can scrape together the ingredients for.<br />
<br />
Here's what I just popped in the oven -- the best banana bread, ever, and it's whole wheat!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0NLbv6fkOEcjJGRtNj5A-_7qisdQe1L4MBZSAd4y2TLYp2ASjADOCz3icOb5viwGiw6OgZ_qM2Ya8LUk5c9ESs1qy1V64SUGo-ie9OEXT1aPReKYwqEq6GjAhJU8oaO-MMLJOkdSjQY/s1600/banana+bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0NLbv6fkOEcjJGRtNj5A-_7qisdQe1L4MBZSAd4y2TLYp2ASjADOCz3icOb5viwGiw6OgZ_qM2Ya8LUk5c9ESs1qy1V64SUGo-ie9OEXT1aPReKYwqEq6GjAhJU8oaO-MMLJOkdSjQY/s320/banana+bread.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #7f6000;">Whole Wheat Banana Date Bread</div><div style="color: #7f6000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">2 1/2 c. whole wheat flour</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">1 1/2 c. mashed very ripe bananas (about 4)</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">1 c. packed brown sugar</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">1 c. chopped dates</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">2/3 c. plain (or vanilla) nonfat yogurt</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">2 eggs</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">1/3 c. canola oil (or applesauce if you really want to be *good*)</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">1 tsp. baking soda</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">1 tsp. salt</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">1 tsp. vanilla</div><div style="color: #7f6000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">Mix it all up however you want and put it in 2 greased loaf pans (1 if you have a 9 x 5 x 3 pan). </div><div style="color: #7f6000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">Bake at 350* until a toothpick comes out of the center clean, which, in my oven, is approx. 1 hour. </div><div style="color: #7f6000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #7f6000;">Cool 5 minutes on a wire rack and then invert to de-pan, if you desire. </div><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>You're welcome!</i></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-90826669497857735752011-01-24T14:44:00.001-05:002011-01-24T14:46:03.747-05:00Summer Over Already?If you are not currently in the parenting business . . . parenting school-aged children, that is . . . you may not realize that it is camp-enrollment season.<br />
<br />
I know.<br />
<br />
Despite the current frigid temperatures and constant threat of snow and ice, we have spent the past week reading activity descriptions, comparing swimming lessons, confirming dates for things like the county fair and the scouts' camp-out, and trying to pin-point what my boy's interests will be come this summer.<br />
<br />
And today I spent this morning enrolling him in several fabulous-sounding experiences. Sports, explorers, horses, music. Sounds great!<br />
<br />
But I always get a bit of a heavy heart as I color in the various weeks that have been scheduled for my boy. It seems like, with a stroke of a pen, I have spent his entire summer for him. Already. And, somehow, I miss him. Already.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_2EoHLeVyslB46ul94UW17vXtuxUAjCK2q0KOrbNQQ0ymdE13AAaWwEKOMHv-iQUZJ9hgdzwMFd0uTPpYfuNGMfeYdO8siAx1PVbUoDywi_eZNlcB5AyC-M6Vy1Ft3nmPowZP73kSDY/s1600/summer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_2EoHLeVyslB46ul94UW17vXtuxUAjCK2q0KOrbNQQ0ymdE13AAaWwEKOMHv-iQUZJ9hgdzwMFd0uTPpYfuNGMfeYdO8siAx1PVbUoDywi_eZNlcB5AyC-M6Vy1Ft3nmPowZP73kSDY/s320/summer.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*** </div> <br />
Before I allow myself to become completely depressed, I must remind myself that my boy has plenty of unscheduled time mixed in this summer. We will laugh and we will hang out together. We will go blueberry picking and fishing. We will clean out closets, too, and pick through the mountain of papers that have come home from school. <br />
<br />
I always strategically leave the cleaning of closets and the organizing of dresser drawers for the last day before a busy camp week . . . somehow, it eases the blow of time apart, if you know what I mean. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSFsZoqa4Mc4eGO8IWsLa8-XCfM20pByOi_0sIF33Ch9hLxZC73TC44XRbvr4PS-wGw3HAG6in6ye1WfVtnAz9XGkVx0AZCgm6VyEA3EkViBZ90OKqPfZC3CoB2DnS0y0zh4VAzA5P8M/s1600/cleaning11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSFsZoqa4Mc4eGO8IWsLa8-XCfM20pByOi_0sIF33Ch9hLxZC73TC44XRbvr4PS-wGw3HAG6in6ye1WfVtnAz9XGkVx0AZCgm6VyEA3EkViBZ90OKqPfZC3CoB2DnS0y0zh4VAzA5P8M/s320/cleaning11.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-81517050254968809852011-01-23T14:37:00.001-05:002011-01-23T21:01:56.338-05:00Go Pack!<div style="color: #274e13;">The biggest game of the most bitter rivalry will be played today . . .</div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXF1txa9Oc12H4V3BAKrYr5vpq_IftQ9rTXsbI7_eKLuA-3GpoZyT3DEzqNTHQyQw5dLSKj3szDbeLIf1f6ZEPicYx_SPUkZHNP-SwUfOTzg6SJSatmySsOqY_CRKmq6C4Zlr7W3R6n5E/s1600/packers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXF1txa9Oc12H4V3BAKrYr5vpq_IftQ9rTXsbI7_eKLuA-3GpoZyT3DEzqNTHQyQw5dLSKj3szDbeLIf1f6ZEPicYx_SPUkZHNP-SwUfOTzg6SJSatmySsOqY_CRKmq6C4Zlr7W3R6n5E/s400/packers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #274e13;">Chicago, we're coming for you . . .</div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_02Dwx3p7njb3GRNvnqPL15ZUQuDxeCGgE461EOv15wcGwFJFW-d-GTiwAui292K_-4jjLC9LwgO_66087yBP-4hxfmGsEPSGDa7-nJiN4iJvNR9kMw4KNeafLjkBzKmNljFks7C5Yvo/s1600/cutler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_02Dwx3p7njb3GRNvnqPL15ZUQuDxeCGgE461EOv15wcGwFJFW-d-GTiwAui292K_-4jjLC9LwgO_66087yBP-4hxfmGsEPSGDa7-nJiN4iJvNR9kMw4KNeafLjkBzKmNljFks7C5Yvo/s400/cutler.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="color: #274e13;">Da-Bears = Da-Feat!</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">GO PACK!</span></b></span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow;">*******</span></div><br />
<div style="color: #274e13;">Updated post-game . . .</div><br />
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<div style="color: #274e13;">Thank you, boys . . .</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOQoB_lRJOqVXUGO3GNkb0Zesj7SvEKljnu3sTuRRUab3adKr5aIPnvseV2E0aiSA3AScZ4B7kxz-ldHK5NBLK39fTElpWwOqUk2puFG2EabYADVzw__3a91frYrNsBnn9EwAbAb1Jxo/s1600/packerspinup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOQoB_lRJOqVXUGO3GNkb0Zesj7SvEKljnu3sTuRRUab3adKr5aIPnvseV2E0aiSA3AScZ4B7kxz-ldHK5NBLK39fTElpWwOqUk2puFG2EabYADVzw__3a91frYrNsBnn9EwAbAb1Jxo/s400/packerspinup.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="color: #274e13;">See you at the SUPERBOWL! </i></div><br />
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<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-55181730918038080672011-01-21T11:55:00.000-05:002011-01-21T11:55:07.917-05:00VHS Tapes, WhyI, like legions of others, am embarking on that ubiquitous new-year ritual . . . yep, you guessed it . . . de-cluttering. <br />
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Today, I turned my sights to the ottoman and it's dirty, little secret . . . it houses a herd of dinosaurs, known in aged circles as VHS tapes. Yes, tapes. We bought tapes, can you imagine?<br />
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Space-wasters, easily damaged, and overly heavy when stored en masse. . . extinct some time ago, though many still lurk around my house.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJ5e62InEZJ-S9fWXaxesUDiYbSEDvvQVqK3Wyu4Q8jtRJZ5spQDpo8gVBGhITQHpmmponSZlYHQTnpZk1WusqqRYwt54XFb8Cpi-XT7pzl6Q3F1c2R5ggeDCMqh2_eeeGORaPxsmwaU/s1600/IMG_3877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJ5e62InEZJ-S9fWXaxesUDiYbSEDvvQVqK3Wyu4Q8jtRJZ5spQDpo8gVBGhITQHpmmponSZlYHQTnpZk1WusqqRYwt54XFb8Cpi-XT7pzl6Q3F1c2R5ggeDCMqh2_eeeGORaPxsmwaU/s320/IMG_3877.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Culling them today was an illuminating experience, bringing forth many, many questions. Like . . .<br />
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When in the world did I like <i>that </i>movie?<br />
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Have we ever watched <i>this </i>movie?<br />
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Why don't we <i>ever </i>watch this movie?<br />
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Why can't I just be honest with myself and admit that <i>I don't get</i> Doctor Zhivago! <br />
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So I thinned the herd considerably. (By the way, Hubbo, if you're reading this, you need to review your John Wayne collection, methinks.)<br />
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And I am left with still a number of these darned things . . . and yet more questions . . .<br />
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<i>Are we the only ones with a VCR still hooked up?</i><br />
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And, the most burning question . . .<br />
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<i>Why can't I let go of all of them?</i> <br />
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Pathetic, I am.<br />
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What about you? <br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-81034528076704590972011-01-19T16:49:00.002-05:002011-01-19T16:54:56.348-05:00The Roses at Westminister Hall and Other Mysteries<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4tCpw-I6nGhQjeZj420dfiAc9jeOlTN165ieRYowTRFYloogYn9vNnBrxeu1un-n356o3-XOkJrV9lpXwCei_07ozpCsLEqXmmLj_5VCFbUlhldKKUTFe1H3Mbkcb8M_ahm1zyTi714/s1600/poe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4tCpw-I6nGhQjeZj420dfiAc9jeOlTN165ieRYowTRFYloogYn9vNnBrxeu1un-n356o3-XOkJrV9lpXwCei_07ozpCsLEqXmmLj_5VCFbUlhldKKUTFe1H3Mbkcb8M_ahm1zyTi714/s1600/poe.png" /></a></div><br />
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Warmest birthday wishes to one of my favorite writers, Edgar Allan Poe. As a literature major, I often felt that he and I shared a little wink and an eye roll whenever he was referred to as "a writer of the macabre." <br />
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Though most people refer to Edgar Allan Poe as a writer of macabre, I never agree. My interpretation of Poe's work often separated me from my contemporaries and professors, but I insist to this day that I am not wrong. When you read Poe's work, do not take the graphic horror literally. Do not believe for a moment that each character actually exists in the flesh. Almost every Poe story and poem is actually about profound loneliness. Loneliness is most often a character in Poe's work; it lives and breathes and taunts and creates and destroys. Read that way, there is so much more to Poe's work. A "writer of the macabre" is an insulting over-simplification of a brilliant body of work, an ode to loneliness.<br />
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Poe was born January 19, 1809; died October 7, 1849. He was only 40 years old.<br />
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What many people may not know is that Mr. Poe has been as fascinating in death as he was in life. Quite predictably, there are many rumors and suspicions surrounding his precise burial plot and headstone. Most intriguing, however, may be an individual affectionately referred to as "The Poe Toaster." Beginning in 1949, a mysterious man dressed all in black, save for a white scarf, approached Poe's grave at the stroke of midnight each January 19th. He would say a few words and drink a toast of cognac. Thereafter, he would leave behind the partially empty bottle and three red roses.<br />
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This ritual continued, each January 19th, for sixty years. The man seems to have paid his last visit on January 19, 2009. <br />
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He did not return in 2010. <br />
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The keeper of the cemetery and those who make the pilgrimage each year to witness the tribute hoped that it was an aberration and waited all night this past night, January 19, 2011.<br />
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The man, again, was absent. <br />
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It is sad and disappointing to see this very soulful tribute come to an end, and now begins the speculation about what, perhaps, has happened to the toasting man. <br />
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Personally, this tribute has intrigued and comforted me ever since I learned of it years ago. To think that Poe has had visitors to his grave site, celebrating his date of birth, more than 150 years after his death is so ironic and so tragic that it is beautiful. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNss4z-7EqbgH6ZPhew2wUogShL8uFKoQXz5sTpJcry7aW59IIXOr_0ijIEPSqDCfEqVB2M7BiR2rzDS8jaWwVghFyX8KyFmTNnBY2s4eqZ0ZeYEFtuKjOoL9hMU3A1eJ2GEtNtxIuXEI/s1600/poegrave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNss4z-7EqbgH6ZPhew2wUogShL8uFKoQXz5sTpJcry7aW59IIXOr_0ijIEPSqDCfEqVB2M7BiR2rzDS8jaWwVghFyX8KyFmTNnBY2s4eqZ0ZeYEFtuKjOoL9hMU3A1eJ2GEtNtxIuXEI/s320/poegrave.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><cite id="captionCite" style="color: #999999;">AP/Steve Ruark</cite></span></div><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-27437742735367913322011-01-19T08:03:00.000-05:002011-01-19T08:03:49.935-05:00(Almost) Wordless Wednesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgdnoxXimbclic5Vhvsx-lxId1pal5ycs3jfjJkhJup4JfKIACaIuT_AXzJcgfB07etIDVMLi8dgJlvg5Uua7QIkKwrn2fTewgqNrUtZkBlTNgQWJ8laJIRXKsSKXXDz_lGMxm1f0p2q8/s1600/IMG_3799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgdnoxXimbclic5Vhvsx-lxId1pal5ycs3jfjJkhJup4JfKIACaIuT_AXzJcgfB07etIDVMLi8dgJlvg5Uua7QIkKwrn2fTewgqNrUtZkBlTNgQWJ8laJIRXKsSKXXDz_lGMxm1f0p2q8/s400/IMG_3799.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Osbourn Family Light Spectacular</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Disney Hollywood Studios, 2010 </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #38761d; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Farewell, Christmas magic . . . until next year.</i></span></div><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-31941055630378344612011-01-16T14:07:00.001-05:002011-01-16T15:07:48.969-05:00My Boy's a Blogger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkMhf8tkju8wsl8S1NLV152IGZJhixjue1ujbhx64pzG1-afXbKgH9nlBmSPi_aJjc7ICYZHgHV56GeioHvakyD5Xo91U5wh8KGh0sl673GcyoJ2QY6yMErGM8wJFS21-3sShUZGKFLY/s1600/Jonah%252C+Snowman%252C+Snowdog%2521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkMhf8tkju8wsl8S1NLV152IGZJhixjue1ujbhx64pzG1-afXbKgH9nlBmSPi_aJjc7ICYZHgHV56GeioHvakyD5Xo91U5wh8KGh0sl673GcyoJ2QY6yMErGM8wJFS21-3sShUZGKFLY/s400/Jonah%252C+Snowman%252C+Snowdog%2521.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
My little guy has decided to start his own blog!<br />
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He plans to write the blog from the puppy's point of view and, somehow, that seems right . . . boys and dogs, especially puppies, seem to have quite a lot in common.<br />
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If you can spare a moment now that then, he would be thrilled if you'd stop by and say hi: <a href="http://puppylifebyabbott.blogspot.com/">A Puppy's Life</a>.<br />
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Thanks! <br />
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<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-86752367251291517182011-01-15T10:12:00.000-05:002011-01-15T10:12:57.952-05:00What's the Kindest Thing a Stranger Has Done?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJcstt4C4A0tk2-XLAQvclg-_W2KlATBXo8zipRqRGbIzD5pL4lkGO7zd8lbBSZfDe7bIy3-m8xnGKOeJndhSVT020PADhSkujAIblnBE3pNTw36LVZkJ1_clTBXwgDGBo0ODieWNkR-U/s1600/happynewyear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJcstt4C4A0tk2-XLAQvclg-_W2KlATBXo8zipRqRGbIzD5pL4lkGO7zd8lbBSZfDe7bIy3-m8xnGKOeJndhSVT020PADhSkujAIblnBE3pNTw36LVZkJ1_clTBXwgDGBo0ODieWNkR-U/s400/happynewyear.jpg" width="276" /></a></div><span style="color: #a64d79;"> </span><br />
<div style="color: #990000;">1. What's the nicest thing a complete stranger ever did for you? </div><br />
An older woman, a stranger, once approached me in a store and said, "I feel a little funny saying this, but feel I must. . . You are really beautiful. Really a beauty. Such a pretty, pretty girl." I was so taken aback, I'm not sure I said even a word. I don't think I am beautiful, and I'm not accustomed to that kind of commentary from anyone (other than my sweet husband, God love him). But I had just been through a devastating time in my life, a time when I was shaken to my core and felt as if I wasn't worth the dirt I walked on. Whatever moved that woman to do that for me that day, it picked my spirit out of the trash and gave me something to smile about again. <br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">2. What one thing always speaks deeply to you, to your spirit, no matter your mood or what else is going on in your life?</span><br />
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Perhaps it sounds schmaltzy, but when I hug my son tightly and kiss his cheek, my soul recharges. <br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;">3. How many jobs have you held in your life? How many of those were part of your chosen career field?</span><br />
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I've had six jobs total. Two were in the dentistry field which, at the time, was the career path I was on. Two were in the legal field, including having my own small practice, my ultimate career of choice. <br />
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<br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">4. Of those jobs, how many did you leave voluntarily?</span><br />
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Of the six jobs, I left five voluntarily, but I was never fired or asked to leave. One job required full-time hours when I could only spare part-time hours. <br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;">5. How did you discover Saturday 9? How long have you played? (Thank you for joining in!)</span><br />
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On a different blog. I think I have participated, on occasion since last fall.<br />
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<br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">6. What's the worst beverage you've ever tasted?</span><br />
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<div style="color: black;">Room temperature milk, uck. </div><div style="color: black;"></div><div style="color: black;"></div><br />
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<span style="color: #990000;">7. Is there anything in life you are "certain" about? Firm in your beliefs? Strong in your convictions?</span><br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><br />
</div>I have found that the older I get, the less sure I am of anything . . . except that my husband loves me. <br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">8. How did you come up with the title of your blog's posts?</span><br />
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I knew that I would never be able to have one of those always-cheerful, the-sun's-always-shining blogs, so I needed a title that would signify that. I've always loved the novel title, "Of Mice and Men." Beginning a title with a preposition seems to suggest that the reader is going places; I like that.<br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">9. Would you consider yourself a good cook?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;">When I have the time, the interest, and the focus. My natural tendency is not to be, but when I apply myself I can be. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #6aa84f;">If you want to play along, or merely read more replies, pop over to Crazy Sam's </span><a href="http://samanthasaturday9.blogspot.com/2011/01/wouldnt-it-be-nice.html" style="background-color: #6aa84f;">Saturday 9.</a><br />
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<i>Happy Saturday!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-49798874571884948012011-01-14T08:28:00.004-05:002011-01-14T10:03:09.470-05:00Meet My New BoyfriendOnce our eyes met, I knew I would belong to him forever . . .<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GEdcLYvFeVyhPZroUZXZQOY2e9HT5KiuOm7xBDN_rGQrCNLUkOAC4uNRoRavxUO0yfQVI1EvzyAnq74ltQcv9vqgFWOoGeAzuB3a5JhO5bW6KrFTrFYcMjkV0SNQtqhZrUxt7PDxR1o/s1600/Halloween+Abbott.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GEdcLYvFeVyhPZroUZXZQOY2e9HT5KiuOm7xBDN_rGQrCNLUkOAC4uNRoRavxUO0yfQVI1EvzyAnq74ltQcv9vqgFWOoGeAzuB3a5JhO5bW6KrFTrFYcMjkV0SNQtqhZrUxt7PDxR1o/s320/Halloween+Abbott.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
A Boston Terrier, he's my gent in a tux.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRBmb1K0zQIFVwEmfXPo8V0G1sX-uYSvpkz_VsK3VhcjHI8Nxfy_2iYiCZUBDuwJwOvWoiANdPxrUjDBQM3EfjwvY7wlHm3f_-g7twhs7odB5VdGcBicABwEVyZuRRZFliImiPjrOGUw/s1600/Licking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRBmb1K0zQIFVwEmfXPo8V0G1sX-uYSvpkz_VsK3VhcjHI8Nxfy_2iYiCZUBDuwJwOvWoiANdPxrUjDBQM3EfjwvY7wlHm3f_-g7twhs7odB5VdGcBicABwEVyZuRRZFliImiPjrOGUw/s320/Licking.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <br />
He's 6 months old.<br />
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He follows me everywhere . . .<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJ2wtB5a9pdhCdhbR2Ln23tQEONlzqkIIYs4VF0HuBwCiWNyUk4S4HkSafA39BotGHvMFl_EE2m4juZ8zAWaHm06gdVb1zeoGULbqT2cbNzqxILs9dJ-nA7td-9hW0-hM-aoANNanF0k/s1600/My+Halloween+Puppy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJ2wtB5a9pdhCdhbR2Ln23tQEONlzqkIIYs4VF0HuBwCiWNyUk4S4HkSafA39BotGHvMFl_EE2m4juZ8zAWaHm06gdVb1zeoGULbqT2cbNzqxILs9dJ-nA7td-9hW0-hM-aoANNanF0k/s400/My+Halloween+Puppy.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
He smells like gingerbread, somehow. . .<br />
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His name is Abbott . . .<br />
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And I love him madly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5glqAomI5eEft5znIKkgQxSMKmHTDTrbK7jMA-HYf9L7bveZMR-2C1R0T7MydhfKYxMKvHFDV3bhXbpjN-WRJjWq9Dqt_9_2l8_-KSXXUENrnVKgEgWaKVUu_u0xgEdKVdRogSkRSOoc/s1600/bttruefriend.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5glqAomI5eEft5znIKkgQxSMKmHTDTrbK7jMA-HYf9L7bveZMR-2C1R0T7MydhfKYxMKvHFDV3bhXbpjN-WRJjWq9Dqt_9_2l8_-KSXXUENrnVKgEgWaKVUu_u0xgEdKVdRogSkRSOoc/s320/bttruefriend.gif" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<br />
P.S. Hi <i style="color: #990000;"><a href="http://fromsophiesview.blogspot.com/">Sophie</a></i>!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-61268072208411061772011-01-12T10:56:00.000-05:002011-01-12T10:56:37.960-05:00A Little Sunshine<i>After being pretty down about the harshness of life yesterday, I thought I owed a little cheer today.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Look what a child can do for even the most cynical and tired . . . </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/QWNoiVrJDsE?fs=1" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Lovely</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-21689083123488384452011-01-11T17:19:00.000-05:002011-01-11T17:19:17.177-05:00When They HurtI remember when my son was learning to walk. I was relating to my mother how difficult it is to watch him fall, flinching every time. I hated to see him hurt, even if it was only a momentary jostle. My mother empathized and then added, "If you think you it's hard to take when he deals with that kind of hurt . . . just wait until someone hurts his feelings. That is excruciating." <br />
<br />
I know what she meant now. <br />
<br />
My son is, of course, extraordinary. He is perfect in every way. To set your eyes upon him is to feed your soul with joy and contentment. At least that's how I see him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA8jJImVfYkXdcVqZdHG3rbLX4MwscGzANvb6ZuApFQ8712d8w-VLr-jCwxSm-NUbar6rR5DN9fI7U8zXsjuEokdqR2_sKRj09Nq6KIopSXJ4Y04_X___du-QqFsqFa1_BlKGwuXVXaLo/s1600/Jonah.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA8jJImVfYkXdcVqZdHG3rbLX4MwscGzANvb6ZuApFQ8712d8w-VLr-jCwxSm-NUbar6rR5DN9fI7U8zXsjuEokdqR2_sKRj09Nq6KIopSXJ4Y04_X___du-QqFsqFa1_BlKGwuXVXaLo/s400/Jonah.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<br />
But I also know that my son is a bit different around his peers. He is quite reserved. And, being mostly a nature-nick, he is a bit out of the loop with many of his compulsive-gaming classmates. <br />
<br />
That is not to say that he has no friends. He does. He has a small circle of friends. He's more into the scout crowd than the sports crowd which is a considerably bigger and more raucous group. <br />
<br />
Imagine our joy when a new boy joined the class last year. A very polite boy, very science minded, very studious. He and my son became fast friends. An answer to my prayers. <br />
<br />
Imagine our anguish when this same boy simply decided one day that he no longer wanted to be my son's friend. No reason given. He just dropped him. We even inquired with the boy's parents about there perhaps being more to the story. No. They were no more helpful than the boy. And now, the worst of all -- if you're 10, anyway -- he did not invite him, despite inviting nearly everyone else, to his birthday party. <br />
<br />
My son, who is usually quite reserved and stoic when it comes to displays of emotion, is notably sad and hurt. <br />
<br />
Being a proper mama-tiger, I, of course, am incensed. How could someone treat my boy this way? I thought it was teenage girls who did this sort of thing? Isn't this supposed to be one of the advantages of being a boy, simple friendships? And after all our coaching and cajoling to our son about being more outgoing, trusting his friends enough to really be himself. This was his first "best friend." I am crushed for him. <br />
<br />
Thanks for listening.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-5764633706526475902011-01-10T09:53:00.000-05:002011-01-10T09:53:34.885-05:00Approaching NormalIs it getting too late to say, "Happy new year?"<br />
<br />
Every year, I think I go a little overboard wishing everyone I see for the first time in the new year a happy one. I seem to have an almost superstitious compulsion to collect as many "happy new year"-s as possible, hoping that each one will feather my new year's nest and make for an even more wonderful year. So, if I haven't wished you one yet: Happy New Year!<br />
<br />
The reason for my tardiness in this regard is a nasty, nasty cold I came down with on 12/29 and only just yesterday (1/9) began feeling human again. Yikes! My advice to you, dear readers: If you feel yourself coming down with a cold right now, take it seriously -- run, don't walk, to drink your fluids and buck up those vitamins. It is a bad one. People around here have been being laid up for at least a week with it and the symptoms run the gambit, leaving none of the classic bad-winter-cold symptoms unsounded.<br />
<br />
Finally, I have turned the corner. I got out yesterday -- dressed, make-upped, even shoes on. It felt wonderful. In my celebration of life yesterday -- a.k.a. leaving the house for the first time in more than 10 days -- I took my family out for pancakes, the first non-saltine or broth food in almost a week. Do you realize how delicious pancakes are? Heaven. Too good, really, to be eaten so casually . . . not that I let that stop me. I had a nice little stack.<br />
<br />
Then, off to the movies. <i>The King's Speech</i>. Wonderful film. The performances of Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush were just magnificent. Geoffrey Rush's nonverbal performance in this movie is breathtaking and, on occasion, heartbreaking. Really, a beautiful movie. Well worth the time and the ticket price -- a rare thing these days. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfpzMhEfMsw5UpH9mk-sUbOHMZ9G4-FJY8fO4xlsDtk6-5WCxP9y59bl5hyphenhyphenvq1oZPNBD6OBAKr5z2gpplLjMuTCcnkOuAT06r8K3l0c6rZcKvgFC4kPP7YBCev4eYrKOHQp0wYgX1A8k/s1600/Kings_speech_ver3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfpzMhEfMsw5UpH9mk-sUbOHMZ9G4-FJY8fO4xlsDtk6-5WCxP9y59bl5hyphenhyphenvq1oZPNBD6OBAKr5z2gpplLjMuTCcnkOuAT06r8K3l0c6rZcKvgFC4kPP7YBCev4eYrKOHQp0wYgX1A8k/s400/Kings_speech_ver3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <br />
<br />
Now that I'm back among the living, I have much to catch up on. Never have I been happier to do laundry!<br />
<br />
Have a great day,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-74626452198214533602010-12-30T12:38:00.000-05:002010-12-30T12:38:25.864-05:00End of Year Thunks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZ_d7_SKtoRsrHW6CRbeFeozjr1zee5TsRzEqDheWr08oFytsyRzx1n7Cx8lIsLV6Ptl2tFjsMAU5r4wMrq36L3_C4lG_Yh0KnYOFtJHqcLs95aCQ9PtqRVhAlDwa7SBRFJffm2RAIXE/s1600/tts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZ_d7_SKtoRsrHW6CRbeFeozjr1zee5TsRzEqDheWr08oFytsyRzx1n7Cx8lIsLV6Ptl2tFjsMAU5r4wMrq36L3_C4lG_Yh0KnYOFtJHqcLs95aCQ9PtqRVhAlDwa7SBRFJffm2RAIXE/s1600/tts.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">1. What did you do in 2010 that you’d never done before?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">I began seeing things as they really are.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">I probably did not keep my new year's resolutions for last year. It was not a year for refining, more a year for surviving. This year, though, I will have some good and serious resolutions. </span><br style="color: #990000;" /> <br />
<span style="color: #666666;">3. Did anyone close to you give birth?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">No.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">4. Did anyone close to you die?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">No.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">5. What countries did you visit?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">None other than my home country.</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Peacefulness.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">7. What dates from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">4/25/10, a day I began seeing truths. 8/20/10, a day of new beginnings. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Coming to grips with realities and taking steps toward accepting and advancing them. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">9. What was your biggest failure?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Not being the one capable of fully healing my daughter. (But I am most proud of finding the people who can.) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">10. What was the best thing you bought? </span> <span style="color: #990000;">Piano lessons for my son; they have cracked open a whole new facet of his being. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">11. Whose behavior merited celebration? </span> <span style="color: #990000;">My son's, my husband's. I am a lucky woman.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">12. Whose behavior made you appalled and disgusted?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">If I were to name names here, I would be disappointed in myself. Several, though, unfortunately.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">13. What song will always remind you of 2010?</span> <i style="color: #990000;">Ave Maria</i><span style="color: #990000;"> by Noa.</span><br style="color: #990000;" /> <br />
<span style="color: #666666;">14. What do you wish you’d done more of?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Relaxing, trusting, accepting. </span><br style="color: #990000;" /> <br />
<span style="color: #666666;">15. What do you wish you’d done less of?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Worrying, lamenting.</span><br style="color: #990000;" /> <br />
<span style="color: #666666;">16. Did you fall in love in 2010?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Yes. I saw yet another side to my husband that makes me love him even more.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">17. Who did you miss?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">My grandmothers, my mother-in-law, my younger self.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666;">18. Who was the best new person you met?</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Shasta. You amaze me, Sweetie. </span><br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJKqrVSg1jURNaozCH173bKjCbW6AaKr09ZgdkA6EwDvAQLjvdhtPw6mG_3uf8JfBRw_1B5vIclMvEKIOEwFTdhFt3fS4xk5xvy3RQY4PIolhqjRuwh2Oc1dYwIYbEur8hfvSETI12J0/s1600/momscout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJKqrVSg1jURNaozCH173bKjCbW6AaKr09ZgdkA6EwDvAQLjvdhtPw6mG_3uf8JfBRw_1B5vIclMvEKIOEwFTdhFt3fS4xk5xvy3RQY4PIolhqjRuwh2Oc1dYwIYbEur8hfvSETI12J0/s320/momscout.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div style="color: #990000;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">I am looking forward to this new year more than most. </span></i></div><div style="color: #990000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #990000;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">How 'bout you? </span></i></div><br />
<br />
<br />
My thanks to Thursday Thunks. Click <a href="http://thursdaythunks.blogspot.com/2010/12/new-years-edition.html">here </a>to participate or to lurk. LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-36395080862990905992010-12-20T12:18:00.003-05:002010-12-20T14:53:30.946-05:00Heavy Hearted Holidays<div style="color: #666666;"><i>When I was a child, all my Christmases were merry.</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><i> I was very blessed.</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><i>Now my life is more complex, and this Christmas will be tinged with melancholy and sadness,</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><i> But I am still blessed.</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><i><span style="color: #666666;">And I also know I am not alone.</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjlB2Y3gPQ9AyiyFNCdNWp5XZD1qe8zVrQ0B0qXet4fxF-HHNTnGke0ybBq7qrFL_CT3ozWkFo8J9ykHwinV6PQEgiMVs_1M1D8ubxZjjWVg67rr_gepaiZ2u6rHFDWJXd3XxlQcfuaA/s1600/skating2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjlB2Y3gPQ9AyiyFNCdNWp5XZD1qe8zVrQ0B0qXet4fxF-HHNTnGke0ybBq7qrFL_CT3ozWkFo8J9ykHwinV6PQEgiMVs_1M1D8ubxZjjWVg67rr_gepaiZ2u6rHFDWJXd3XxlQcfuaA/s640/skating2.jpg" width="376" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #666666;"><i>I dedicate this post to those out there with hearts heavier than their packages this year,</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><i>To the walking wounded who will smile and laugh in spite of their darkness,</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><i>And to those who will not smile or laugh, but perhaps weep and be still.</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><i>You are not forgotten.</i> </div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><i>These days will pass, I pray,</i></div><i><span style="color: #666666;">As I whole-heartedly welcome a new year, </span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #666666;">And wish you <span style="color: #666666;">peace and comfort and joy.</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/58/535538169DCC6E20D23282A82CC708D7.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /></a>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-19557885011095678692010-12-16T10:47:00.003-05:002010-12-16T13:57:05.474-05:00Whose Watchful Eye<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><b>A Soldier’s Christmas Poem</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">~ written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">'Twas The Night Before Christmas, <br />
He Lived All Alone, <br />
In A One Bedroom House <br />
Made Of Plaster And Stone. <br />
<br />
I Had Come Down The Chimney <br />
With Presents To Give, <br />
And To See Just Who <br />
In This Home Did Live. <br />
<br />
I Looked All About, <br />
A Strange Sight I Did See, <br />
No Tinsel, No Presents, <br />
Not Even A Tree. <br />
<br />
No Stocking By Mantle, <br />
Just Boots Filled With Sand, <br />
On The Wall Hung Pictures <br />
Of Far Distant Lands. <br />
<br />
With Medals And Badges, <br />
Awards Of All Kinds, <br />
A Sober Thought Came Through My Mind. <br />
<br />
For This House Was Different, <br />
It Was Dark And Dreary, <br />
I Found The Home Of A Soldier, <br />
Once I Could See Clearly. <br />
<br />
The Soldier Lay Sleeping, <br />
Silent, Alone <br />
Curled Up On The Floor <br />
In This One Bedroom Home. <br />
<br />
The Face Was So Gentle, <br />
The Room In Such Disorder, <br />
Not How I Pictured <br />
A United States Soldier. <br />
<br />
Was This The Hero <br />
Of Whom I'd Just Read? <br />
Curled Up On A Poncho, <br />
The Floor For A Bed? <br />
<br />
I Realized The Families <br />
That I Saw This Night, <br />
Owed Their Lives To These Soldiers <br />
Who Were Willing To Fight. <br />
<br />
Soon Round The World, <br />
The Children Would Play, <br />
And Grownups Would Celebrate <br />
A Bright Christmas Day. <br />
<br />
They All Enjoyed Freedom <br />
Each Month Of The Year, <br />
Because Of The Soldiers, <br />
Like The One Lying Here. <br />
<br />
I Couldn't Help Wonder <br />
How Many Lay Alone, <br />
On A Cold Christmas Eve <br />
In A Land Far From Home. <br />
<br />
The Very Thought <br />
Brought A Tear To My Eye, <br />
I Dropped To My Knees <br />
And Started To Cry. <br />
<br />
The Soldier Awakened <br />
And I Heard A Rough Voice, <br />
"Santa Don't Cry, <br />
This Life Is My Choice; <br />
<br />
I Fight For Freedom, <br />
I Don't Ask For More, <br />
My Life Is My God, <br />
My Country, My Corps." <br />
<br />
The Soldier Rolled Over <br />
And Drifted To Sleep, <br />
I Couldn't Control It, <br />
I Continued To Weep. <br />
<br />
I Kept Watch For Hours, <br />
So Silent And Still <br />
And We Both Shivered <br />
From The Cold Night's Chill. <br />
<br />
I Didn't Want To Leave <br />
On That Cold, Dark, Night, <br />
This Guardian Of Honor <br />
So Willing To Fight. <br />
<br />
Then The Soldier Rolled Over, <br />
With A Voice Soft And Pure, <br />
Whispered, "Carry On Santa, <br />
It's Christmas Day, All Is Secure." <br />
<br />
One Look At My Watch, <br />
And I Knew He Was Right. <br />
"Merry Christmas My Friend, <br />
And May God Bless You This Night." </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="color: #38761d;"><i>Come home soon, safe, and successful.</i></div><div style="color: #38761d;"><i>Merry Christmas</i></div><br />
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</div>LemonyRenee'http://www.blogger.com/profile/07200070770150819952noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843500519428498748.post-67918178809582549342010-12-14T11:19:00.001-05:002010-12-15T16:44:08.267-05:00Smooooooch!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #cc0000; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Consider yourself Christmas-smooched!</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMKoSpEB8cFrsNFIfl82lDxSm37EyrJBgv6DkAPlhjOuBOtLZ1_wlrSJ6ytvZJjLVABKZsjL1DLXqncaK9Hsofo0xztcxk0QRzY9eDfdahfSM98M6tHpN-8vIkbegG5XFKmk79Y4bVpc/s1600/blowkiss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMKoSpEB8cFrsNFIfl82lDxSm37EyrJBgv6DkAPlhjOuBOtLZ1_wlrSJ6ytvZJjLVABKZsjL1DLXqncaK9Hsofo0xztcxk0QRzY9eDfdahfSM98M6tHpN-8vIkbegG5XFKmk79Y4bVpc/s1600/blowkiss.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #cfe2f3; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><br />
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