tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72117224968887456352024-02-19T09:45:46.581-05:00Kathy Likes PinkKathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-75635985187469113392009-03-05T07:31:00.001-05:002009-03-05T07:32:00.742-05:00The Mean Kitty Song<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/Qit3ALTelOo' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/Qit3ALTelOo'/></object></p><p>This is quite amusing! Check it out!</p></div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-78094970603188735962008-11-30T21:06:00.002-05:002008-11-30T21:08:56.956-05:00Hummer? Hmmm.....This has been my opinion for years...but when I saw it on a bumper sticker today, I knew it wasn't just me!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hS8g959usL1fLAekuP1BGgYyEsbrvnLlNVPzzYDWqh_7oBRbIfOybaRHTVOd87bMelCpmLOH0x9E7M6MLvepCHnk5qtIbfndAokcG6F7HEIn3wq8uy45LrY9ocigBebE7Od9ZpvmO7E/s1600-h/Hummer+equals+small+penis.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274637566596598434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 108px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hS8g959usL1fLAekuP1BGgYyEsbrvnLlNVPzzYDWqh_7oBRbIfOybaRHTVOd87bMelCpmLOH0x9E7M6MLvepCHnk5qtIbfndAokcG6F7HEIn3wq8uy45LrY9ocigBebE7Od9ZpvmO7E/s400/Hummer+equals+small+penis.jpg" border="0" /></a>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-75625389395704054562008-11-21T22:04:00.001-05:002008-11-21T22:04:13.301-05:00Send a postcard to the troops<script type="text/javascript" src="http://widgets.clearspring.com/o/47d6d01110aa5765/492776abb72487ee/47d6d0112dde28cb/f8a4e15e/widget.js"></script>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-69334752711994195052008-11-10T08:15:00.004-05:002008-11-10T08:29:24.027-05:00Feliz NavidadI was driving home this morning, after I dropped Darling Daughter off at school. About halfway home, I turned on the radio - just in time to hear José Feliciano singing "Feliz Navidad."<br /><br />There's a phrase used to describe a song that won't leave your head all day. I can't remember what it is...earworm? Earwig? In any case, it's an hour after the fact and that song is still in my head. <br /><br />I think it's going to be a L-O-N-G day.KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-66141627803693702862008-10-04T07:02:00.003-04:002008-10-04T07:52:03.413-04:00Long time, no see<div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">I started this post by trying to write the often misquoted line attributed to Mark Twain about rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated...but <a href="http://www.twainquotes.com/Death.html">I wanted to quote it correctly</a>. So I did a google search, which led me to some really great websites about Mark Twain.<br /><br /></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">T</span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">hen I followed a link about Abe Vigoda using that quote himself; <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/09/23/abe.vigoda/">Abe is alive and kicking at age the age of 87,</a> even though it was reported in People magazine in the 1970's that he had died. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Then I followed a link from the Abe Vigoda site to an interesting story about <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/09/23/the.godfather/index.html">the struggle to get "The Godfather" film made</a>.</span></div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><del>Alice</del> KathyLikesPink has just emerged from the rabbit hole that is the internet. </div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I thank those of you who have inquired about my absence from the blogging world. The truth is, my life has been rather overwhelming of late, and along the way I seemed to have lost my sense of humor. And who wants to read a blog that consists of nothing but bitchin' and moanin'? </div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><em>(Well, okay, sometimes I do - I get a kick out of the Angry Pharmacist and snotty Grocery Clerk and WaiterRant. But mostly, I'd rather not.)</em></div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I've got several more months of potential bitchin' and moanin' ahead of me. The reality is, I filed for divorce mid-September. But I'm starting to feel more upbeat again. I'm emerging from this particular black cloud and I'm starting to laugh again, which is marvelous. I hope to shortly begin blogging on a regular basis. </div><div align="left"> </div><br /><div align="left">Before I sign off, I'd like to tell of something that still makes me giggle to think of.</div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Last night we had a spaghetti supper at my church. There were five guys and three women cooking. I would come to the kitchen door and yell, "Two salads!" or "Three spaghettis, two with meatballs!". </div><br /><div align="left"> </div><br /><div align="left">One trip to the kitchen door I yelled "Three, with balls!"</div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I can still see five guy's heads turn to stare at me. </div><br /><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Dang, I crack myself up.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-70091193698797405972008-09-15T23:40:00.001-04:002008-09-15T23:46:27.653-04:00Today's HairYou guys <a href="http://kathylikespink.blogspot.com/2008/09/vanity-thy-name-is-not-kathylikespink.html">probably thought I was exagerating</a>!! Nope! Finally made it into the ladies room just before I left work at 4:30 - look at the hair I'd been parading around with all day!!!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0ObzW7WFVy4CJCJrWlxdyexcQV8QX1ygG0gujtaPKlRBRGawaUtIbXgNLWySC8qHiiY2DTt6I_qK2H7NCYj1OmwA2F2iDmN7TixpEpw3ZnHTNSFimnM5OU3SndC7bxz6bySqSmEog20/s1600-h/todays+hair.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246459710233092786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0ObzW7WFVy4CJCJrWlxdyexcQV8QX1ygG0gujtaPKlRBRGawaUtIbXgNLWySC8qHiiY2DTt6I_qK2H7NCYj1OmwA2F2iDmN7TixpEpw3ZnHTNSFimnM5OU3SndC7bxz6bySqSmEog20/s400/todays+hair.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-20242864758185306362008-09-15T08:48:00.011-04:002008-09-15T12:31:56.931-04:00A little fireman humor?In a previous post, I told you about the old New England church in which I work, and I showed you a <a href="http://kathylikespink.blogspot.com/2008/07/views-from-my-office.html">few pictures of outside, the views from the church</a>. I didn't show you ONE view - primarily because they were still building it - the new fire station. Standing directly in front of my door, with my back to the church ....<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246277895168703522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxd2tRyg5JJFBkjte6c-JnlMPG8-be1DDhu0_30v8HIMogeW3StERcVmWBSxz-l7_ks6gZ1RXEHL2hdjv2pnPhTiAJhoZdi77VJGMw5mlt49N5wXHFX-yj5UO3raZ2T99bRFmIdMXeBUg/s320/Office+Door.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />and looking to the right, this is what you see...<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246272582442630818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2r_y4RcvMMX1wnVQjal1JXSiJRcqzGreoyPL1lJD0j7FMUqvPck_wk3nYE6j4zldZqkust-aBpnlnnWLeZbA0vJaO5VVqdY2foBuPwrxMom56Qe7f-SZ-eK0Ty_KBicE3XTFVRe8IVUk/s400/Fire+Station+with+car.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p>Now - this MAY just be a coincidence.... But two days in a row, as I juggled my purse and portfolio and the mail from the mailbox and my ginormous cup of iced coffee, plus trying to get the key in the lock of the big ol' heavy door at the same time as I am pulling on said door with my little finger (it's a real trick to get this door open, I tell ya) ... two days in a row, the firemen have had a truck out on the driveway, and blown the siren at exactly the time I'm at my weakest moment.</p><p> </p><p>Fireman humor? Or coincidence?</p><p> </p><p>Both days, I about jumped out of my hair (my feet definitely left the ground), and I spilled my coffee. There's beginning to be a regular puddle in front of the door.</p><p> </p><p>I've been working here four months and never had this problem. Now, two days in a row. I'm not sure if it was some weird 'testing out the sirens' thing or if they are yankin' my chain. Any thoughts?</p>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-90774839749076306952008-09-13T04:27:00.000-04:002008-09-13T04:27:01.134-04:00Vanity, thy name is NOT KathyLikesPinkOne offshoot of all this construction going on at home is that all the mirrors are down. Down and gone. We didn't have a lot of mirrors to begin with, and now those that we did have are gone. Where? I'm not sure. Will they show up again? I don't know that either. Perhaps they ended up in the dumpster. I just don't know.<br /><br />The only mirror I can find is a small one with a magnet, meant to go in Darling Daughter's locker but attached to the side of the 'fridge.<br /><br />I have to leave the house and go out in public each day. I'm not a vain woman, but I do wish to avoid looking foolish if at all possible. Apparently it's not possible.<br /><br />When looking in this tiny mirror, I see an eye, an eyebrow, a small <span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(very small)</span> patch of hair. I shift my head right, then left, then take the plunge and hit it with hairspray.<br /><br />I arrive at work and get right to it. At Job # 1, I am "balls to the walls" busy, if you will pardon the expression. It's generally a couple of hours before I head to the ladies room. And then ... yikes!<br /><br />I look in the mirror - a big, normal mirror - and realize I'm sporting an Alfalfa 'do:<br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245300224230558274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="244" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9gzQTg4Cy6q3CQifoYfBvN1dTDfaAsMXRfJmfjBPWA2r1AofVW1mnTwg2EaL3B0vQrB39DSZk_J3SD5ArE6Soc369XokQqTmzkhbwl77LwR9rHl7KCVk_9nUwEDJ08t263SMH1aCbCs/s320/alfalfa.jpg" width="198" border="0" /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Or a Rod Stewart younger-days just-got-out-of-bed tousle...</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245300415989710434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7g3O5wyuS5XZjDBjsVP9xkfWn-ubXwE5OFsBG8vGRowuJJ0tmjbgRqrHJjZttQ1f4PtIFsOaVWXQLo2kHaSLO3qKXHIrNcjcRHk1MAPNaAmWv9gCve_VllpoCVoMeLV2cxP-p2n-Hh8/s320/rod_stewart.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div>Or a Groucho part and wave...<br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245301738722345954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="150" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWd_4615hbagMo9_iVoayn4EYhEqZyM-M2Nbwd0bBucyRrcwMWx7qk-mANBd8I9rhsra36KCrD_QzIvIfGJshsG7VgBd6Dj74rP6LlWfBz7A3SF4FRm3Pco61gIEQSYCxrMo47WEdymI/s320/Groucho-Marx.jpg" width="145" border="0" /></div></div><br /><p> </p><p>Or worse yet - the MOE....</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245301927890824258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 153px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="215" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJV53uxeSLXKUOdQeLWey8ijbT8yMreBwDgHVg2xH7cpGRhrCEpQStoGD0VaTTnPSfOT-i66Rnh9dic9tptAUupVdNkBq0YRzSKMDsiNYveCrrtgmkIiE2ZYaWPD5oU9clrjfRPGdgiA/s320/Moe.jpg" width="159" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, I work in a church. They're very forgiving about many things. Goofy hair doesn't faze them in the least.</p><p>Or maybe they just think of me a comedy relief.</p>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-36746201210762977092008-09-11T07:59:00.004-04:002008-09-11T08:05:35.585-04:00Back in the Zone..the Construction Zone, that isAfter a month of vacation, the renovations of our house have swung back into action. This is the second week of coming home to surprises.<br /><br />Last week was mostly more wall demolition, and setting the new light switches and fixtures.<br /><br />Monday came home to find the tub and shower out. <strong>Surprise!</strong><br /><br />We have a very narrow, short, tiny (you get the idea it's small, right?) shower in our cellar that The Hubs installed years ago. The idea was that when he came in from doing yard work and other manly stuff he could wash up downstairs without tracking crap through my kitchen. <em><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Unfortunately with his health problems, the yard work stopped shortly after the shower was installed so it's mostly not been used.</span></em><br /><br />I don't want you to get the idea that this is a finished basement, or anything cozy. This is a nearly 100 year old house with a cellar to match. <span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>Spiders, anyone? Anyone?</em><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"> It's also pretty chilly down there.</span></span><br /><br />Darling Daughter says it's just like when she spent a week at Girl Scout Camp.<br /><br />Each morning we gather our little collection of personal items and traipse downstairs to shower. The first morning was a bit of a shock but it's amazing how quickly you adjust. <em><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">First thing I do is check the stall for spiders.</span></em><br /><br />It's amazing how big the bathroom is without the encumbrance of tub and cabinets. Our house is so small, it's hard to look at the now-empty space and not think, "Man, we could put a computer desk in here and use it as an office!"<br /><br />Wish we could! But I'm not willing to rebuild the outhouse out back, so a bathroom it will be.<br /><br />One last thing before I head off to work at Job # 1.<br /><br />Came home Tuesday to be told "I took the toilet out today to do some work. I put it back but it's not bolted down, so don't wiggle".<br /><br />Don't wiggle.<br /><br />Words to live by.KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-91192283772145803402008-09-10T05:09:00.001-04:002008-09-10T05:09:30.114-04:00I'm so tired<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/ei6AQLwgE1E' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/ei6AQLwgE1E'/></object></p><p>To quote Lily Von Schtupp from "Blazing Saddles"....I'm tired! <br /><br />Here's how I feel - only replace the sexual innuendos with "church secretary"....</p></div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-90683131054480033662008-09-08T00:01:00.001-04:002008-09-08T00:01:01.002-04:00A BAD DAY IN WHO-VILLE...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05DgQAivq0y54_l9WqVcQSUK4W9DOcmqd6F_GWpAGt5Kox2zZ0yML8_mWcGAbPwivWV7AeZbJdlRUUqH_3L2y3_VA1daDby0ry3Ad3jaN3L-8N93kTmJAdj2DxaQo_lsVPlaf8ZGqEjU/s1600-h/Today+I+am+50.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234958275678772354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05DgQAivq0y54_l9WqVcQSUK4W9DOcmqd6F_GWpAGt5Kox2zZ0yML8_mWcGAbPwivWV7AeZbJdlRUUqH_3L2y3_VA1daDby0ry3Ad3jaN3L-8N93kTmJAdj2DxaQo_lsVPlaf8ZGqEjU/s400/Today+I+am+50.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKLvYeUieHNFOqLDKDty_HwOPPBhg4lbrSzrVB4E7uGUldeXbcDMQ65PYoPEVo-LAUjFZJKiCxCV2o4Vbrl4KACoii1qGT4uB9GpWVRzz7blB-esTYkSGnl4yI4onrz7bH3FbzQp1KWg/s1600-h/beats+alternative+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234958184276550930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKLvYeUieHNFOqLDKDty_HwOPPBhg4lbrSzrVB4E7uGUldeXbcDMQ65PYoPEVo-LAUjFZJKiCxCV2o4Vbrl4KACoii1qGT4uB9GpWVRzz7blB-esTYkSGnl4yI4onrz7bH3FbzQp1KWg/s400/beats+alternative+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0B9HlILm9KvHy5yHopel8tJsnqIVDKAMP9r7IMa90BSRjsJiVcIFqrZnlni7ZkVsQhOr5cyLBVpGXHhJjcxXspY5Fi7yqLfO2MxIVXTuesUpb_ALZEqgbE8ow96N0meWyF1cfQcxnVs/s1600-h/I'm+not+happy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234958087860129602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0B9HlILm9KvHy5yHopel8tJsnqIVDKAMP9r7IMa90BSRjsJiVcIFqrZnlni7ZkVsQhOr5cyLBVpGXHhJjcxXspY5Fi7yqLfO2MxIVXTuesUpb_ALZEqgbE8ow96N0meWyF1cfQcxnVs/s400/I'm+not+happy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-38099007392733505842008-09-07T11:21:00.001-04:002008-09-07T12:37:07.833-04:00I'm poopedThis has been one long week. I work at two churches, and both were gearing up for the first day of the new church year (today). I worked at Job # 1 (the BIG church) from 8:30am to 8pm. I wanted to get it all done before leaving because I didn't want to have to go in on Saturday. And everything HAD to be done by Sunday!<br /><br />The new church year means that all the vacationing and wandering families are back, Sunday School begins, the choirs are back in full voice and full complement. This Sunday is a big day!<br /><br />Here's an example of the difference between the two churches I work for...<br /><br />During the summer months, Job # 2 (here in Tiny Town) had, on their most crowded summer Sunday, 35 people in church. Job # 1, same criteria, had 161.<br /><br />In planning for today's crowd, Job # 2, we made 75 bulletins for the expected crowd. Job # 1 ... I made 400.<br /><br />Since Sunday School started, and I teach Sunday School, I spent Saturday cleaning and organizing my classroom. Whoever used it during Vacation Bible School left it in a huge mess.<br /><br />This year I will teach the 3rd and 4th graders. I'm looking forward to it. The past few years I've had the older kids. I look forward to the age where kids still actually LISTEN to a grown-up. Oh, you may think they don't - but believe me, they listen a lot better than the 5th and 6th graders!!!<br /><br />And now, after a very busy week and weekend, I think I feel the pull of a nap. I need to rest up so I can watch Big Brother tonight!KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-36363009277776372352008-09-06T05:24:00.002-04:002008-09-06T05:24:00.773-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRiaiX4mRE-uV7tjZ0zMQdE9zs0dMUn7kr7r1Fny2EEwA57ySgTNhzztaBt_8T9UsLkU2KjUZBc7PLu8MAFI17KJOOR7L5pWHIa0v8w4dDcU-7X7fMHNevVV3-YtezMjvtYESgg_QQCY0/s1600-h/barney+fife.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242467938460144034" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRiaiX4mRE-uV7tjZ0zMQdE9zs0dMUn7kr7r1Fny2EEwA57ySgTNhzztaBt_8T9UsLkU2KjUZBc7PLu8MAFI17KJOOR7L5pWHIa0v8w4dDcU-7X7fMHNevVV3-YtezMjvtYESgg_QQCY0/s200/barney+fife.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Another week of crime in the <del>big city</del> tiny town:<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Tiny Town Police Log</span><br /><br /><strong>Wednesday, Aug. 20</strong><br />12:11 p.m.: [xxx] Street, purse was found.<br />1:47 p.m.: [xxx] Street, man requested assistance while he got his boat out.<br />5:40 p.m.: [xxx] Road, caller reported heavy black smoke coming from a chimney.<br /><br /><strong>Thursday, Aug. 21</strong><br />3:11 a.m.: [xxx] Road, tree down in road.<br />8:40 a.m.: [xxx] Road, third person stopped a dog, was not sure if it was sick; the dog was chasing people and biting them.<br />10:15 a.m.: [xxx] Street, man said a fuse blew on the telephone pole.<br />8:21 p.m.: [xxx] Road, ambulance needed for a male with chest pressure and headache.<br />3:19 p.m.: [xxx] Road, woman reported a dog had been hit and went under the railing.<br />6:32 p.m.: [xxx] Street, ambulance needed for a female with stomach pain.<br /><br /><strong>Friday, Aug. 22 </strong><br />12:44 p.m.: [xxx] Street, woman reported a motor vehicle that was driving all over the road.<br />Saturday, Aug. 23 12:31 a.m.: [xxx] Street, officer with a tractor trailer parked on the lawn by the Route [xxx] off ramp.<br />8:19 p.m.: [xxx] Road, caller reported fireworks being set off.<br />10:53 p.m.: [xxx] Street, caller reported a baby bull loose.<br /><br /><strong>Monday, Aug. 25</strong><br />4:56 p.m.: [xxx] Road, caller said her child was locked in a vehicle.<br />5:11 p.m.: [xxx] Street, [next town over] Police Department reported an erratic driver heading into Tiny Town.<br />7:16 p.m.: [xxx] Street, caller reported a Sirrius Radio was stolen from his vehicle. <em><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">(this happened to the husband of a friend of mine. They have teenage sons, and they live in the country - I think someone who KNEW he had this radio specifically came to his house to steal it)</span><br /></span></em><br /><strong>Tuesday, Aug. 26</strong><br />4:17 a.m.: [xxx] Street, report of a loud party.<br />10:08 a.m.: [xxx] Street, Bolton Police Department reported a bicyclist was run off the road.<br />7:57 p.m.: [xxx] Road, two calls for a black Toyota vehicle with two men yelling and jumping around, then got in vehicles and took off at a high rate of speed.KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-34873700678805434532008-09-03T22:48:00.000-04:002008-09-03T22:13:25.911-04:00In the company of womenTonight was the first Women's Evening Guild meeting of the new church year. This is a woman's group, connected to our church but open to all woman of the community. The Evening Guild began in 1948. Men were back from the war and a woman's job was no longer in the factories or building airplanes, but "in the home". After a few years of this <span style="font-family:arial;"><em>staying-home-all-day-with-the-kids</em></span> stuff, the women in town decided they needed a night out sans husband and children, and so began the Women's Evening Guild. It meets one evening a month, September through June. Tonight was our 60th anniversary.<br /><br />Guild evenings begin with what is usually called a potluck supper, but since 1948 the Guild has called it a "covered dish supper". Sounds a little more refined, I guess. After dinner we have our business meeting, and after the meeting there is a program of one sort or another.<br /><br />I have been involved with this group since 1995. I am the youngest member. <span style="color:#cc0000;">Have I mentioned that I will be 50 years old in a couple of days?</span> I am the <span style="font-family:arial;color:#663366;">YOUNGEST MEMBER</span>.<br /><br />This is the hardest working group of women I've ever known. A couple of them are in their 60's; most are in their 70's, and a good handful are in their 80's. Yet they work harder than the younger women in our church. They bake and sew and knit and paint and hammer and glue, and it all creates one heck of a Friendship Village Fair every November.<br /><br />Whenever our church asks the Guild for money, whether to help pave a driveway, buy a commercial dishwasher for the church kitchen, mend the 150 year old plaster ceiling, the Guild comes through. They've bought the past two computers used in the church office and are about to purchase another one. They bought the folding chairs, the 200 sets of dishes in the cupboard, and paid for the church kitchen to be repainted. Not to mention, they put on one HECK of a funeral collation (reception after a funeral).<br /><br />Have I mentioned the ages of these ladies? I'm the YOUNGEST MEMBER!!!<br /><br />I love going to the Guild meetings. I've learned so much from these women. We talk about men and children and what's going on in town. I've learned the history of women whose children are older than I am. I've learned to knit (poorly - I am the only remedial knitting student). I've learned how to pound a nail into old horsehair plaster to hang a picture in such a way that the plaster doesn't crumble. I've been given trusted family recipes. I've grieved with them when husbands have died, and I've cried when some of these wonderful women have left this mortal realm to join them.<br /><br />My life is deeply enriched by knowing these lovely ladies, and I'm blessed to have known them.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em><strong>A story told to me tonight by one of my closest lady friends, a woman in her mid-80's: When she was a young bride, she was hosting Thanksgiving dinner at her house. The day before Thanksgiving, her mother dropped by, and found her vigorously washing the windows. Mother asked why she was killing herself washing windows in addition to all the cooking. My friend replied, "Because Laura [so-n-so] is coming for Thanksgiving dinner and I know she's going to look to see how dirty my windows are." My friend's mother replied, "Honey, if Laura comes looking for dirt...let her find some!"</strong></em></span>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-52797735907560295292008-09-03T05:13:00.000-04:002008-09-03T05:13:00.641-04:00Wordless Wednesday: Inflatable Church<div align="center">The Inflatable Church<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisT-Ya50N7e0dJ5x4KanNXPupXMkJ9ilZ8iI3zqKTlubqkjQv_mT7qIgQv89KI8hrV4FoEzQKc6W6AcwNK7Bm0WN5lWqvimOeWBBoJB2yurJIE6n_fH9J8ds7q82vITfcyXOW-lYIlUSQ/s1600-h/Church+deflated.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238428606467825682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisT-Ya50N7e0dJ5x4KanNXPupXMkJ9ilZ8iI3zqKTlubqkjQv_mT7qIgQv89KI8hrV4FoEzQKc6W6AcwNK7Bm0WN5lWqvimOeWBBoJB2yurJIE6n_fH9J8ds7q82vITfcyXOW-lYIlUSQ/s400/Church+deflated.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238428273362504962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC736gqngU8NalqcTOvrnVyWqAk6PDm0VRIJnCN3AHZYWingEqrXge7ZDhiQ2pCoLATJa0gaY8w_yv7m_etIO8pxOtFtWoKGkL3aqpJrh6CqOliGeFliXjYOkFWtr19riW4Lig63yG__Q/s400/inflatable+church.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238428382462842418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh73iKDKHmtGHYTKqlI2bJMQsr6DdzK5x-RV3nYKyilNsYvmlIx7uu-3qyGCvf1RowSq1YBeQXYY4W1d23A-FFq24HNMSigFwWJ9SiHVfk9pCVmogR428CY2pKoefN0Fj6SjCmu-EVuKgE/s400/Inside+inflatable+church.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238428472878266418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLjNinlzJMXhnSVKRa4gPTMOBfP42GwKD2qavjm5PA1_dasWjZN-kHNlsMnoc_tIVYV56wfjNwTNyQrReeY4YPCEdxOTsjIyb26IJ_OFYjWzK7y-uRkvPv0WHjr26pSo85XRXvJZDoSE/s400/Inflatable+church+interior.jpg" border="0" />KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-35284386631517675122008-09-02T00:54:00.000-04:002008-09-02T00:54:00.873-04:00IF MY BODY WERE A CAR<div align="center"><span style="color:#993399;">IF MY BODY WERE A CAR ...<br /><br />If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about trading it in for a newer model.<br /><br />I've got bumps and dents and scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little dull, but that's not the worst of it.<br /><br />My headlights are out of focus and it's especially hard to see things up close.<br /><br />My traction is not as graceful as it once was. I slip and slide and skid and bump into things even in the best of weather.<br /><br />My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins.<br /><br />It takes me hours to reach my maximum speed.<br /><br />My fuel rate burns inefficiently.<br /><br />But here's the worst of it --<br /><br />Almost every time I sneeze, cough or sputter....<br /><br />either my radiator leaks or my exhaust backfires!!!</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="left"><em><span style="color:#993399;">[Sent to me via email]</span></em></div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-65470117878834624182008-08-31T23:00:00.004-04:002008-08-31T23:53:52.133-04:00Late afternoon adventureI was working around the house today, getting ready for the construction to start up again this week. Darling Daughter was getting a little cabin fever, so mid-afternoon we set out on a drive, no destination in mind. One of us will say, "Let's get lost" and we set out.<br /><br />Today we ended up in Boston at Logan Airport. We ate at the airport and watched planes take off.<br /><br />Here are a couple of blurry pictures taken with my <del>crappy</del> high tech cell phone camera.<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240888117067171954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8n97XkFYD3MR9LKn91fmG7U6uQcQG9k6XonIPsdLEDHEUJpB7zg8YvLYB6CbsGkXiKl1LFekefNNx434XevWEbCSkyS7h8eVIbSo0beSMeZ4_QSSE_tleyNmi9i91VRxyVquee1CWRmA/s400/Logan-Airport-1.jpg" border="0" /></p><p></p><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240888542339347746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVip4nw4cl_ORKun9xO5Lsa0gZ2gZSyL_o7DJTEoqbF2zYRwrWuqqxnoayw9AfJfVIivZMUxR3hSOCShfw3g5QWc2Q5ChrfQgho99zGF1a3LZxFr4XGCySWrGq3RPMknfWhrT776_pUH8/s400/Darling+Daughter+at+Logan+Airport+2.jpg" border="0" /></p>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-35220367706842981992008-08-31T10:22:00.000-04:002008-08-31T10:22:00.845-04:00Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bedThis morning I was scheduled to usher at church. This means you arrive a half hour early, turn on the elevator, turn on the lights, turn on the sound system, light the candles, and hand out the bulletins as folks arrive. Unfortunately, I stayed up late the night before, as I couldn't put my book down. I got out of bed already running late, and jumped in the shower.<br /><br />Got out of the shower, frantically drying off and looking for underwear at the same time. Couldn't find any. What the heck? Then I remembered that I had done laundry the evening before and they were still in the dryer, downstairs in the cellar.<br /><br />Everyone else was still asleep. I went downstairs to retrieve my clean undies from the dryer. (Did I mention I was still nekkid? How's THAT for putting a lovely picture in your head!) I reached in the dryer and discovered that everything was still wet. Apparently when I asked Darling Daughter to go downstairs the night before and put the clothes in the dryer - she didn't.<br /><br />I turned on the dryer but realized I really didn't have time - I was already late for church, so I reached in and grabbed one pair and headed back upstairs to get dressed.<br /><br />And that, my friends, is how I came to be sitting in church with wet underwear. It was, shall we say....memorable.KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-61598377001103597672008-08-30T10:06:00.003-04:002008-08-30T10:29:19.761-04:00The Naked Bagel (maker)Ok, so I didn't actually MAKE the bagel, I merely toasted it.<br /><br />I was on the phone with my mom until after 1am last night. <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">(<em>It had been a long time since we'd talked and there was a lot to talk about!)</em></span></span> I got up much later than usual today <em><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(sleep! I had some!)</span></em> and so took my shower late in the morning.<br /><br />As I was toweling off after my shower, the phone rang. It was Darling Daughter's BFF. Which meant she would be on the phone in her room for a L-O-N-G time. <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>(<span style="font-family:arial;">I wonder where she gets her 'long phone conversation' gene from?)</span></em></span><br /><br />Since it was much later in the morning than I usually get up, my tummy was growling. I got this great <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>(<span style="font-family:arial;">yeah right)</span></em> </span>idea. Darling Daughter's busy on the phone in her room ... I could sneak out and pop a bagel in the toaster and get it back to my room and THEN get dressed. <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Did I mention I was nekkid</em>?<br /></span></span><br />As so often happens when I put one of my brilliant ideas into play ... it didn't work out so great.<br /><br />While still chatting on the phone, Darling Daughter came into the kitchen and caught me red handed<em><span style="font-size:85%;"> (<span style="font-family:arial;">and bare assed)</span></span></em> in front of the toaster.<br /><br /><span style="color:#993399;"><strong>"ARGH! MOM! MY EYES! MY EYES!! AHHHH!"</strong></span><br /><br />Oh, the humanity!<br /><br />Of course every detail was shared instantly with her BFF.<br /><br />Ah ... the memories we create for our children. My nekkid bagel-making will not be soon forgotten.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Good times, good times.</span></em>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-65497493918899567712008-08-29T20:20:00.003-04:002008-08-29T20:34:54.206-04:00Our Evening's ExcitementI picked Darling Daughter up at school about 5pm, after her Field Hockey practice. We went out to dinner in a larger town, then headed back to Tiny Town. I take the "back way" everywhere, so the trip involved going through the neighborhoods of several towns.<br /><br />Imagine our surprise when we saw a hot air balloon floating very low over houses and trees. It was so low at one point we pulled to the side of the road and jumped out to watch - it looked like they were looking for a place to land and that it might be that very back yard! Then they turned on the burner and they went up a bit, coasted around the neighborhood, barely skimming tree tops. We followed in the car, winding around neighborhood streets. At first we were the only ones that seemed to know it was there, but as it got lower and lower, and the noise of the burner caught people's attention, eventually everyone came out of their house to see.<br /><br />We followed it for some time before I thought to hand my cell phone to Darling Daughter and tell her to take some pictures. The trees are so thick we had to wait until we found a clear shot. Here are two photos taken by Darling Daughter (she wanted me to be sure and let you know that SHE took the pictures!!)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs9V4bdCEtrqN-HdytKTwk9HuqmiWLk-BcMSlwCNVHWUtInZslKCXUG6LRbNxgBCmJIddBpjWxCE7N0ZLekeb2BUPg4g6tWz-Yjd0XE5kAlr8QiT1RJj4itSzlViOlCrZX-bKNEuqJmI/s1600-h/Hot+Air+Balloon+in+the+neighborhood.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240099700179120674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs9V4bdCEtrqN-HdytKTwk9HuqmiWLk-BcMSlwCNVHWUtInZslKCXUG6LRbNxgBCmJIddBpjWxCE7N0ZLekeb2BUPg4g6tWz-Yjd0XE5kAlr8QiT1RJj4itSzlViOlCrZX-bKNEuqJmI/s400/Hot+Air+Balloon+in+the+neighborhood.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK32QYhg7nsVGHPJcxEuispBqSEHVsVKZF2HwMjSXB7fjZ4IW-CRd1UMbcOAZUknFK2uLvVf1EcacAluvwvHE3dcsIKl0E94GAO-V0FQAhYmAYuu0Mm_T85CVSaomKhGa6XXliqSbvFnA/s1600-h/0829081852a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240099172996771842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK32QYhg7nsVGHPJcxEuispBqSEHVsVKZF2HwMjSXB7fjZ4IW-CRd1UMbcOAZUknFK2uLvVf1EcacAluvwvHE3dcsIKl0E94GAO-V0FQAhYmAYuu0Mm_T85CVSaomKhGa6XXliqSbvFnA/s400/0829081852a.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />And I'm sure I don't have to point this out...but it was a lovely shade of <span style="color:#ff6666;"><strong>PINK</strong></span>!!!!<br /><div></div></div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-11809812297209641362008-08-29T04:42:00.009-04:002008-08-29T06:51:23.331-04:00Sleep. I hear it's pretty great...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVMtfnT0C7GZuxHFSJSVysmeiLajkosvZ8lNHzNCo8EgLMgGmMHsszf54OKfbQVFA2X6q_29NA4MKaMFrcBuEx5iw1Eyfy8nAG8wx79A_2dObcqIGQw-X0ZWOXE2WuvgdYRhcU3D-3u8/s1600-h/Woman+Yawning.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239877050856312994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="140" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVMtfnT0C7GZuxHFSJSVysmeiLajkosvZ8lNHzNCo8EgLMgGmMHsszf54OKfbQVFA2X6q_29NA4MKaMFrcBuEx5iw1Eyfy8nAG8wx79A_2dObcqIGQw-X0ZWOXE2WuvgdYRhcU3D-3u8/s200/Woman+Yawning.jpg" width="128" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="left">I'm tired. I'm always tired. I yawn all day. I sigh with weariness as I tote that barge, lift that bale*. If I'm always so tired - why is it I can't sleep at night? <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Well, ok, I do sleep SOME. But no more than five hours a night.</em></span> And it's killin' me!</div><div><br /></div><div align="left"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239877240072267330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 154px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 121px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="87" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSZNHHBujv06UH_wj0MEXIYiwV6-b7CLIb2613LxRlLMAMEXSxJcae-R51RHnbGDbpzAQVlLFBO50aRMv0gSRs9bveNOdFNQQL5pOUqvl4S1zuz-vzMT3o6nOfEFoBPpSDa8Y_X4Yu8M/s200/Man+Yawning.jpg" width="156" border="0" /><br /><div align="left">Today is a good example. Yesterday I worked at both Job # 1 and Job # 2.(I should mention, I'm a desk jockey - these are not strenuous jobs). I left Job # 2 at 7:15 pm and immediately went to an evening meeting, which didn't end until about 9:30 pm. I came home tired; went to be about 11pm. By 3:30 am I was wide awake and have been ever since (It's currently 5:50 am). I can't fall asleep for the life of me. But I guarantee you that when I'm driving to work at Job # 1, I'm going to be yawning and wishing I could take a nap.<br /></div><div align="left"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239877424760763634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="146" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAnD8MyvvcgvfLPUofKAUIaMdr5BRRApL0ZESJFN68g6mhgowEk3jAMg7poe89tdAVfaqfAXsFEQXKLjgUYj1jBcWQlXMfBvZFtN5kWIlMKLTmDaGi7R22ZkbtVdrHe3N9wSboLr0qKE/s200/Baby+Yawning.jpg" width="108" border="0" /><br />I'm sure this ties in to getting older. Everything seems to be connected to getting older.<em><span style="font-size:85%;"> Can you tell turning 50 is bothering me just a little bit?????</span></em><br /><br />Well, here it is, time to wake Darling Daughter and get our day started. And guess what? I just cut loose with a giant yawn.<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />===========================</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">* <span style="font-family:arial;"><em>"Ol' Man River", from the musical "SHOWBOAT"</em></span></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Ol' Man River, Dat Ol' Man River,</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>He mus' know sumpin', But don't say nuthin',</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>He jes' keeps rollin', He keeps on rollin' along.</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>He don' plant taters, He don' plant cotton,</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>An' dem dat plants 'em Is soon forgotten,</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>But Ol' Man River, He jes' keeps rollin' along.</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>You an' me, we sweat an strain, Body all achin' an' racked wid pain -</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#3333ff;">Tote dat barge!Lift dat bale!</span> <em>Git a little drunk, An' you land in jail...</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Ah gits weary An' sick of tryin'; Ah'm tired of livin'An' skeered of dyin',</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>But Ol' Man River, He jes' keeps rollin' along.</em></span></div>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-69735428252117042162008-08-28T00:50:00.003-04:002008-08-28T00:50:00.993-04:00Mama's having a pity-partyToday, Darling Daughter heads off to school.<br /><br />She is officially an 8th grader, her last year of Junior High. She's nearly as tall as I am (She's 5' 6-1/2", I'm 5'8") and has transformed into a beautiful young woman.<br /><br />When did this happen? What happened to my baby girl?<br /><br />I became a mother late in life. In all honestly I decided years before that I never wanted children. Other people had children and most of them annoyed the heck out of me. Co-workers would have babies, bring them in to the office for a visit, and ask me if I'd like to hold the baby...and I always said no.<br /><br />What did I know? Or rather, what didn't I know? For one thing, I didn't know that when you have a child of your own, your love for that child is so strong and all-encompassing that it eliminates all those other "annoying-child" distractions.<br /><br />I had Darling Daughter late in life, and I didn't even know I wanted children. However, because I <em>was</em> older, with more life experience, I knew enough to savor every moment with this little creature who now owned my heart. I knew time was fleeting, and I cherished my time with her.<br /><br />As she was an only child, The Hubs insisted she go to nursery school. He said she needed to interact with other children. He was right, of course. But my heart wanted her home with me for as long as possible. Nursery school turned to Kindergarten which became Elementary school. I went back to work part-time but I still had my summers free. Darling Daughter and I would go on what we called Our Adventures. The Hubs is a workaholic so I made it a point to show Darling Daughter that there was more to life and the world than Tiny Town.<br /><br />Time passed, and she grew up, and grew more independent, and then the teen years started and she didn't want to spend time with me at ALL. I remembered feeling the same way about my parents so I understood. But that didn't make it any easier.<br /><br />Last summer she became a Creature Of The Night. She went to Girl Scout Moonlight Camp, which meant they stayed up till the wee hours and slept most of the day. Coming home after a week of this camp changed her sleep pattern completely. I might see her if I got up to use the restroom in the middle of the night - otherwise, she slept till noon, or later if she could. I tried to break her of it, but couldn't. I felt like I spent the whole summer waiting for her to wake up and come with me someplace - any place! But she didn't snap out of it until school started. There were no more Adventures.<br /><br />At the beginning of this summer, I began a new job which entailed working during the summer. I hated the thought of Darling Daughter being home alone every day, but after the experience of LAST summer, decided maybe it wasn't such a big deal. The job is part-time and I'd probably be home shortly after she got up. Still, I worried.<br /><br />But a surprising thing happened. She actually wanted to be with me. (<em>Not that she would admit it, you understand</em>). By mid-July she'd come to work with me occasionally . (<em>That's one of the great things about working for a church-they understand children exist and are part of our lives!</em>) By the first of August she was coming with me every day. She brings her laptop and some books; there's an empty office she spends her time in. She occasionally comes across the hall to give me a hug or touch base about something.<br /><br />It's been WONDERFUL. We have made a habit of swinging through a drive-up window each morning, I get my iced coffee and she gets a muffin. On the drives to and from work we sing along to CD's (Stevie Nicks and Elvis are our current favorites). We joke and laugh. We run errands together after work. On a couple of Fridays we even had pizza delivered to the office for lunch (<em>there are no restaurants in Tiny Town, so Darling Daughter has rarely experienced "delivery").</em><br /><br />Now - today - she goes back to school. It's like a double-whammy. Not only do I have the mother-sadness that goes with sending your child off to school, but I'm really going to miss my "sidekick". We've spent more one-on-one time this summer than we have in a long time. I feel like I just got my kid back and now she's off again.<br /><br />Dang, motherhood is hard.KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-61297387865763937282008-08-27T01:45:00.000-04:002008-08-27T01:45:00.878-04:00Wordless Wednesday: The Class of 2013<div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>The Class of 2013</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>Fire Safety Week, 1998</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Darling Daughter is 2nd from left</em></span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlzpchlZNschd7NO85sJLXSiuXsHe6C08ebP0dXdkpNzOuTM7cAfX1ROBNnnY6Wt-AkPsnjwdVCZmCQQlES902xF7aDoq4ech0TdiWJD2P36ODLEfMhjS2i7w2VwhLD846D2yy95wHYzE/s1600-h/Class-of-2013--in-nursery-s.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238145578230832306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlzpchlZNschd7NO85sJLXSiuXsHe6C08ebP0dXdkpNzOuTM7cAfX1ROBNnnY6Wt-AkPsnjwdVCZmCQQlES902xF7aDoq4ech0TdiWJD2P36ODLEfMhjS2i7w2VwhLD846D2yy95wHYzE/s400/Class-of-2013--in-nursery-s.jpg" border="0" /></a>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-56492438339698347992008-08-26T07:39:00.001-04:002008-08-26T07:39:00.664-04:00Mama is doin' the HAPPY DANCE!I loves me some Mexican food. My first husband (<em>Have I mentioned that there was a</em> <span style="font-family:arial;">The Hubs, version 1</span>? <em>Trust me - we were infants!)</em> was from southen California and his family really got me hooked on homemade Mexican food. We cooked a Mexican meal for dinner a couple of times a week, and tacos once a week. We even fried our own tortillas.<br /><br />At that time, it was hard to find many of our favorite brands or spices, so when the grandparents of <span style="font-family:arial;">The Hubs vs. 1</span> came to visit us in Oregon, they brought us care packages of our favorite sauces, and even brought us tortillas as they were hard to find in Oregon. It was a great day in our household when we finally started finding our favorite products on the store shelves in Oregon. (<em>That was the late 70's, early 80's. Now, it's very common place.</em>)<br /><br />In 1993 I moved to New England to marry <span style="font-family:arial;">The Hubs vs. 2</span>. (<em>yes, there was a divorce in between husbands. And four years of dating a very sexy Navy guy! Pardon me, I need to take a little mind vacation.)</em> .................. (<em>ok...I'm back</em>)<br /><br />Where was I...yes...1993, moved to New England...and guess what? No Mexican products on store shelves. Not even any Mexican restaurants! Cuban, yes. Puerto Rican, definitely. Brazillian, affirmative. But Mexican? The only Mexican restaurant I could find was in another state! (<em>Fortunately the states are small back here</em>) I would make <span style="font-family:arial;">The Hubs vs. 2</span> drive me from our home in Massachusetts to <a href="http://www.lahaciendanh.com/">this restaurant in New Hampshire</a>. Sometimes we'd get there and it would be closed. Or it wouldn't open for another two hours. Or the owners had gone to Florida for January.<br /><br />When I went home to Oregon for visits I would buy my favorite taco sauce, carefully wrap it up, and bring it back in my suitcase. Any visitors from out west were required to do the same - bring me my sauce! (<em>This was obviously before every item in suitcases had to be picked up and inspected by Security</em>).<br /><br />In 1997, when we got the internet at home, I started ordering my favorite sauce online and had it shipped to me. Which was a pain. Until fairly recently, the shipping costs were as much as the product (<em>heavy glass bottles needing special packing</em>). I did this right up through July of this year.<br /><br />One time I was actually able to find my taco sauce in a grocery store, but it was a fluke. They never carried it again. My daughter looked at my face when I realized it wasn't on the grocery shelf the next time I shopped, and said, "Mom, you look like you're gonna CRY!"<br /><br />Perhaps you underestand my jubilation when last week, while shopping at a major New England grocery chain I was able to find my favorite taco sauce on the shelf! I feel I must give a big shout-out to <a href="http://www.shaws.com/">SHAW'S Supermarkets </a>for making me one happy mama! Shaw's, you have made a new and loyal customer in me!<br /><br />And here is my Holy Grail. .. <a href="http://www.lavictoria.com/en/history.asp">La Victoria Taco Sauce</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238109832501637330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="308" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUZUxfPxiDBZq4E9rC0gWOX2FCDdUQnlHiUCFU5nsP9qy7iYX8Nj6PRW4U2gQQp7m6zdR0LyRSSVFltdgcbQdAwbvEhabm5pPq3cMzNILt8lPngamuuxZLXTUIUHX15pzDz75y5RX2rM/s400/La+Victoria+Taco+Sauces_edited-1.jpg" width="290" border="0" /><br /><p>And when I finally begin seeing THIS in the local grocery stores...</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238110301367063698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="217" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYC0_Y28EtQSUn7nNc_rsrWaStGKluwMMHrw1Qi5E6N-tlM_GraZGxP3ccrV2K1gl8q3YIhQlcXxP4T5supO0awvfs2Tz7G-xGkgKzk2TuPov6oGDf3tsmJq3OM1mQ8Msh6PNjuw4JCpA/s400/La+Victoria+Enchilada+Sauces.jpg" width="293" border="0" /></p><p>I will think I've died and gone to heaven.</p>KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7211722496888745635.post-18152307110063596092008-08-25T06:26:00.000-04:002008-08-25T06:26:00.877-04:00The Original SeatbeltMy new car has the annoying feature that if the car is in drive, and you move forward, it <span style="font-family:arial;">BING BING BING</span>s loudly until you fasten your seatbelt. Since I've worn a seatbelt religiously since it became law when I was living in California <span style="font-size:85%;">(<em>about 1985</em>)</span> I didn't think this would be an issue. But when you're doing quick "in and out" things like repositioning cars in the driveway, that <span style="font-family:arial;">BING BING BING</span> gets real annoying, real fast. Still, annoying as it is, I think it's a good feature, because I definitely put on the belt just to shut the damn thing up.<br /><br />Darling Daughter and I were running errands today. Of course every time we got back in the car we put on our seatbelts. We even wore them in the car wash. We didn't really NEED to as the car was in neutral, but it was force of habit.<br /><br />This got me thinking <span style="font-size:85%;">(<em>yup, I'm thinking again</em>) </span>about how friggin' OLD I am <span style="font-size:85%;">(<em>with 50 coming up in a few days, everything makes me think how friggin' old I am</em>)</span> that I can remember when cars didn't even HAVE seatbelts. In fact I remember when my family got our first car that had seatbelts. It was pretty exciting. How modern! <span style="font-size:85%;">(<em>the term high-tech hadn't been invented yet</em>)</span>. <span style="font-size:85%;">(Damn, I'm old!)</span> <span style="font-size:130%;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">(<em>In another post I'll tell you about when we got our first color television set. Good times</em>!)</span><br /><br />Even with seat belts in the new car, they were only lap belts. Which brings me to the title of this post.<br /><br />Is anyone else old enough to remember when you were a kid and riding in the front seat of the car, and your mom had to suddenly stop, her right arm would whip out and across your chest to stop you from falling off the seat and flying through the windshield? <span style="font-size:85%;">(<em>Good God, that was one long, continous sentence</em>)</span><br /><br />My daughter couldn't believe it, as I demonstrated the technique to her. In fact her first instinct was to bat my hand away. <span style="font-size:85%;">("What the heck are you DOING, Mom??")</span><br /><br />Herewith, I would like to extend to all the moms of a certain age, who were in fact the <span style="color:#3366ff;">ORIGINAL SEATBELTS</span>, a big <span style="color:#ff0000;">THANK YOU</span>! I'm sure lives were saved thanks to your actions!KathyLikesPinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07390044790753392243noreply@blogger.com8