challenge time . . .

at the Spraground. Here's my entree:


Credits: Template: Jana, Stitching: Anna Aspnes, Circles: Dawn Inskip, Font: Georgia

Click on the Spraground button and come play with us!!!!

and then there was . . .

FOOD!!!

and a lot of left overs still to be eaten. Tonight's menu is ham Po' Boys ala Mother's in New Orleans. Stacked ham, julienned cabbage, Cajun mustard, pickles and mayo on a thick loaf of french bread. Woo-eee. A food group all of its own.

Meanwhile, we waded through this:



and you can't have that without this:



and some of this:



and of course this:



oh, and can't forget this:



and my favorite:



The eggs, not the icky beets.

Somehow shots of the peas and grilled asparagus were forgotten, sort of like the veggies themselves. I gobbled down the asparagus. Poor lonesome peas . . .

Oh, and then of course these two:





and before attacked:



and the 9TS came home with these:



and I would have had shots of the pumpkin pie, turtle brownies and apple crisp but somehow the camera got forgotten and poof! they were all gone.

and of course this, the requisite football tossing around!


(most shots compliments of Katie the cameraman, but obviously not this one unless this is her evil twin.)

even if I did forget to change the setting on my camera from indoor lighting and managed to turn Ryan and Katie into smurfs . . . .

It was a good Thanksgiving and my soul is full.

the first line says it all . . .

"We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing;
He chastens and hastens His will to make known;
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing,
Sing praises to His name: He forgets not his own.

Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
Ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine
So from the beginning the fight we were winning;
Thou, Lord, wast at our side, All glory be thine!

We all do extol thee, thou leader triumphant,
And pray that thou still our defender wilt be.
Let thy congregation escape tribulation;
Thy name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!"

I still remember sitting on folding chairs in the gym/cafeteria/auditorium of the Pines Lake Elementary School, watching the lyrics up on a screen and following along, eyes glued on the bouncing ball. We sang with vigor, we sang out of tune, we sang with joy. Life in the 50's was good. I am thankful for growing up in the era.

I am thankful that today I got to sit at the table with the 9TS, Katie, Ryan, Jackie, Joe, Craig, Stephanie and Kaitlyn. That the 9TS is healthy. That there was bountiful food. That we are all safe.

Doing a little happy dance in my head while everyone else is at the car show.

Thankful part trois . . .

Yesterday we camped out at the vets. We had to move Snoop's appointment for his sonogram up two weeks. He is barely eating. He now only weighs in at 8 point something pounds. And when I dropped off the very drugged up little beastie, I asked to talk to the vet about Moak whose puffed up little face and mostly closed right eye are not looking any better. She asked me to bring him back in when I picked up Snoop.

An hour later, she called with the results of Snoops test. He has thickened intestines and she suggests Inflammatory Bowel Disease or it could be cancer. (cancer sucks) He has a bladder stone, an enlarged spleen, and benign cysts on his right kidney and liver. He is now on high doses of prednisone. Hopefully it really is IBD and this will do the trick. At 15 and being the freak that he is, I will not put him through the surgery to confirm cancer.

Moak's medicines have changed. And she added prednisone to his regime. He refused to take his two pills in the office. Spat them out three times each. The poor vet told him to stop embarrassing her, be nice and swallow. Moak did not oblige.

I am thankful for a good vet. A kind vet. A empathetic vet.

I am also thankful for my next door neighbor Nancy, who knocked on our door bearing a still warm out of the oven, cinnamon and nut loaf, that I immediately slurped down. Then when we returned from the movies, I inhaled some more.

I have much to be thankful for. Have I mentioned Thanksgiving is my favorite season?

I am thankful part deux . . .

The chair frames loved their bath. They were pleased to be clean and shiny . . . very happy, dancing around inspecting themselves and each other . . . vain little creatures that they are. The cushions were not so enthused. They enjoyed being rubbed down and scrubbed but grumbled about being left out to drip dry on a cloudy day. I didn't pay them much mind . . . they have a tendency to complain. They are bad tippers anyway. The tables were ecstatic and stood taller in their cleanliness. "Sit at me!" "Put your book on ME!" The pool deck was grumpy too for some reason. I heard a couple of squares complaining about losing their "character" and being bleached into oblivion . . . 'just one of the crowd now'. Geesh, you can't please everybody.

But the 9TS and I are delighted. The carpentry is all done on the back wall of the house and looks great. The furniture and deck are sparkling. The screens are back to their normal color and everything is ready for Thursday.

I am thankful that task is done even if there was a lot of whining from the decking . . .

I am thankful . . .

The grocery shopping is all done in preparation for Thanksgiving . . . undeniably my favorite holiday of the year.

There is just nothing better than having the family seated around the table . . . although it will be cockeyed in the dining room since that is the only position that will handle all of the leaves. No one seems to mind the odd angle, or the squishing behind and over other chairs to find their own, or the fact that once they are seating there is no moving until the meal is done because everyone is so wedged in and the few extra pounds that have sneaked in around each waist don't help.

I love the politically incorrect stuffing made in the bird. Sorry, it just tastes so much better and I haven't sent anyone home recently with ptomaine. And gravy . . . I have to make a double portion. I think someone . . . eyeballing Katie . . . sucks it up through a straw. All the other goodies: the actual turkey, ham, peas, grilled asparagus, salad, beets, deviled eggs, hot rolls and butter, all the chips and dip, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie and brownies are beside the point. Just let me at the stuffing and gravy. Oh, and the apple crisp, fresh out of the oven topped with vanilla ice cream. I have my eyes on that too.

But the best thing . . . the VERY best thing . . . is having family here. So Happy Thanksgiving one and all. May Thursday bring you health, happiness and that warm fuzzy feeling that tells you down deep, life is good.

Oh, and Kel, there is always room for one more.

things that make me happy . . .

waking up in the morning and finding this on the home page of Jessica's blog:

Blog - JS.Com Articles

Written by Kristen Creech

Friday, 20 November 2009 05:58

Let me just say - I am loving this week's Scrapbook Challenge led by Creative Team member Linda (lindsan)! Are you ready? "Ten Things that You Love Right Now". Well this challenge would be on my top ten list! The layouts submitted were amazing I tell you Amazing. Go have a look. If you happen to see JeanneD, tell her I said her page rocked the house.

WOOHOO!!!! Thank you Kristen!!

meow . . . ow . . owie

Moak is sick. He always gets sick when he comes home. It's stress from putting up with Alpha Cat Bear. My mild mannered Maine Coon-ish cat turns into monster cat when faced with competition. Bear hisses and Moak hides . . . and then his herpes rears its ugly head. The poor boy gets a horrid eye infection, his nose stuffs up and his face swells. The vet pumped him full of antibiotics, kitty Valtrex and eye gel. And then . . . are you ready . . . practiced a little acupuncture.

So there was Moak, plopped up on the table with little tiny kitty needles sticking at odd angles from his mug. He was not a happy camper and is at no time in the future planning a trip to Asia. Please wish him well.

breakfast and a movie . . .

Why is it that each doctor has his own version of what tests are required prior to popping out my recalcitrant gall bladder? My PCP ordered the original ultrasound and the CT scan. Ok, no biggie. Then the GI guy ordered a Hyda-Scan, a colonoscopy and an endoscopy. I'm still game.

Then, somehow, I ended up with another doctor in the same practice. He decided he also wanted a Gastric Emptying Scan. A what? At least this time, they gave me fair warning . . . 2.5 hours for completion.

So there I was this morning, fasting since the night before and a tad grumpy. But not for long. They made me a scrambled egg sandwich . . . with a little something something hidden within and told me to pick out a movie. The tech was such an accommodating soul. I don't think I will ever tire of listening to the score of West Side Story. Two hours later, I was a little stiff but none the worse for wear. And out the door snapping my fingers to the Jet Song.

Now who'd a thunk the radiology department would flip for breakfast and a movie . . . with a warm blanket to boot? I think I'll just order two tickets for Saturday night . . .

10 favorite things . . .

Linda has a new challenge up at the Spraground. Pop on over and check out the rules and come play. Here's my entree:


Credits: Paper: Joyce Paul, Staples: Pattie Knox, Frames: Katie Pertiet, Heart: Amanda Taylor, Date Stamp: Dawn Inskip, Fonts: Adler, Jaime, Georgia.

indian summer . . .

Those wonderful autumn days when the temperatures warmed for the last time before winter closed in. Wearing red flannel lined jeans, toe capped Keds, someones hand-me-down college sweatshirt . . . Raking leaves with the neighborhood kids in Ricky Klein's yard, piling them on 'taters wrapped in tin foil. Watching the flames lick high into the sky warming our faces. Breaking into those chestnuts of goodness, plumped with goblets of butter. Best taters ever. Or baked apples dusted with cinnamon and sugar, eaten on the stoop with a spoon . . . still hot from the fire . . . my mouth watering.

Those wonderful days of scampering down into the Glen trying to scale the shale walls or searching for fossils or clumps of soft moist moss. Digging in the clay, making homemade pots and dishes. Picking Jack-in-the-Pulpits and skunk cabbage . . .

Pulling apart our roller skates and nailing each section to the bottom of a scrap of wood scavenged from a newly constructed house, we'd tear down Green Knolls Drive on our bellies. Skinned knees and elbows a badge of the warrior in us all. Over and over again until one by one our parents beckoned us in for dinner.

Florida is not quite the same as growing up on the lake but was reminiscent. Bright clear skies, cool breezes, a kiss of warmth in the air. Sigh.

hytormum . . .

hytormum, indeed. I have had a love affair with words for years thanks to Miss Moulding, my junior year English teacher. I love the way some words sound . . . how they roll off my tongue. How they convey their message. And some are just plain funky and make me giggle . . . or snort. I am prone to snorting.

Today I ran into hytormum. Great word. Great rhythm. Sounds like something a young British soldier would say, while saluting goodbye to his mother before heading off to war in March of 1942.

Or a rare breed of flower, taller and larger than the norm. Yellow with white tips, plumply growing unheeded in the small yard of a horticulturist in Iowa . . . named after his uncle Hiram.

Perhaps the title on the door of an obscure inner sanctum of the fossil and relic department, on the fourth floor of the Museum of Natural History in NYC, rarely open to the public, but the dusty domain of one bent and gnarled old man who has happily dedicated the last 67 years of his life to the mysteries of the past.

So I looked it up. Non-existent. Mr. Webster wants to know if I meant Tomium? or hummum, hordeum, holmium, hydnum, homam, hydroma, hadoram, or possibly hoodlum? But no hytormum. Hummmm. snort.

So who is it who sits around and makes up the passwords that authenticate your validity to post on someones blog? Because that is where I found hytormum. It may not be a real word but I think I will start slipping it into my vocabulary and see if anyone notices. "The fluctuation in low lying hytormum is causing a drop in temperature. Don't you agree Mrs. Jones?"

I'm just saying . . .

the british are coming . . .

well, in fact, they are not. At least not to my house. But that phrase always invokes a sense of urgency and urgency is what I feel. Katie announced at 1:30 a.m. last night that Ryan is coming tomorrow . . . meaning today. And as we all know, I don't clean unless we have guests. ACK! Not a lot of lead time to vacuum up three corrals full of steroidal dust bunnies . . . clean the kitchen the Mad Hatter has been moving to the next seat in for the last three months . . . wash the Mount Everest of clothes overwhelming the laundry room . . . erase the dust messages on the table tops that say, "clean me, please" left by the 9TS sometime last season.

And what am I doing about this crisis of mammoth proportions? Kvetching to you my dear readers, as the dust grows ever deeper. As I ponder, it seems I have several options. I could let my fingers do the walking and hire an industrial cleaning service . . . preferably one specializing in hazmat. I could get my buns in motion, drag out the Dyson "animal" I bought two years ago in a fit of dirt remorse but never used, and attempt to make a small dent in my entry for a Clean House episode. Or, I could simply consider Ryan family and not clean at all.

And we know which way I am leaning. Don't we?

love is in the air . . .

Is it true that "opposites attract"? Or is it more "fighting like cats and dogs"? Come on folks, make up your collective minds.

Well, in our case, it seems that opposites attract beats the cat versus dog thing. Bear is in love.

I had to grab my camera to catch the object of his affection. A very staid lass. A stalwart gal of few words. A somber citizen. Demure. Solid. Sedate. Grave. Well, if the truth be known, even a little dull. But who am I to pass judgment on she who puts a sparkle in Bear's eye. She who warms my cat's heart. May they be happy for many years to come.



Seriously, what an adorable pair. Their offspring may be a little, um, less playful than most but they will be adorable.



Have a wonderful life you two!

yesterday was not my most favorite day. I take that back. Thursday was not my most favorite day. Friday was a piece of cake in comparison. Thursday, I not only got to starve to death. I got to swallow four nasty little pills that made numerous trips to the porcelain goddess mandatory. Then I got to drink four quarts of very salty cherry favored mystery potion and visit the goddess some more. Three rolls of toilet paper later, I was ready for the next day's adventure. Oh and not only did I refuse to cook for he and Katie, I made them eat in exile so none of the delicious aromas could waft my way. I am so mean.

Friday, 9:00 a.m. and I am laying on a gurney waiting for my colonoscopy and endoscopy. 11:21 and I am on my way home. Aren't you glad I skipped that whole section? I wouldn't have. You know me. But I was sleeping.

We stopped at Sorrento's on the way home for a massive meatball sub to fill the equally massive empty void that was my stomach. When that wasn't enough, we went to Carrabba's for more intake. Yummo.

This morning it is all just a bad memory but the 9TS is quaking in his boots because it is his turn next. I promised him I would not eat food in his presence when he too was starving. See how nice I am to him . . . snort . . .

or why I hate trips to the vet . . .

I have to type the word 'vet' . . . softly. If I type normally, it is something akin to a telegraph for cats. Dot. Dot. Dash. Scoot! And if I were to even think about saying it out loud, there would be a cloud of dust and a mighty Hi Ho Silver away, whilst three cats scamper off in three different directions. Today Snoop was due for his yearly checkup . . . the twins appointment the following day.

Snoop is psychic. Really. He smells 'vet' like some pungent hideous green gas permeating the house. He started twitching an hour before I intended to hide a lovely little acepromazine in his chicken flavored Pill Pocket. He dove under my bed and that was that. Not to be daunted I called the vet to ask if I could bring the twins in today and let Snoop take their appointment tomorrow. They were agreeable.

First I picked up Bear and shoved him in cage 1. As a side note, whenever Bear is caged, he grows 15 more legs . . . each trying to make its own escape. Finally, with the help of the 9TS, we got all 19 legs, one body, one tail and one head tucked away. Our first mistake was thinking that Bear and Ninja would be calmer if they shared a crate. Not our best idea. Ninja escaped and ran back upstairs. And, when I turned my back, somehow Bear managed to push his way out too. Back to square one. After several more attempts, Bear was mournfully bleating from cage 1 and Ninja echoing back from cage 2. The 9TS was sweating and we were both covered in a thick layer of fur.

They did reasonably well at the vet, with Bear settling down on the office scales . . . all 18.8 pounds of his big self and Ninja hiding her head in a corner and refusing to budge . . . ostrich style. Silly beastie. They were both dubbed healthy, if plump, and told to return again next year. Two down one to go.

The missing Z . . .

we rose at 4:30 a.m. Got in the car and headed to Tampa. Yawn. The 9TS was immediately whisked away leaving me alone in the freezing waiting room. Yawn. Chatter. Three hours later, he returned: A frozen popsicle. Yawn. Chatter. Shiver.

We were now late for our appointment with Dr. Z. Yawn. Chatter. Shiver. Run. A student doctor came in and asked all sorts of questions then left to get Dr. Z. Yawn. Chatter. Huff. Puff. Shiver. Dread. Then the door opened and Chris came in. Happiness. Joy. Excitement. Relief. Breathe. Life is good. Life is very good. Chris only arrives when Dr. Z. is not required. Although the PET scan had not been read by the powers that be and a conference held, yada yada . . . it showed no cancer. Yawn. Chatter. Shiver. Jumping up and down. Warmth in our bones and soul.

Got back in the car and drove home. Yawn. Hit the bed. Crash.

Wake up this morning and remember . . . the 9TS shows no sign of cancer! Sigh of relief.

Now technically, he will still be considered a cancer patient for the next three years. If nothing reoccurs by then we are home free. And every three to four months we will continue to trek back over to Tampa at the crack of dawn for PET scans. Yawn. But for the moment, he is free. FREE. FREE.

morning meanderings . . .

this morning, before really being awake, I wandered downstairs having heard the 9TS rattling around. I glanced out the sliding door to the pool and spied Ninja and a squirrel each on different sides of the pool cage. It took my befuddled brain a few seconds before I realized what was wrong with the scene. The cat, apparently not Ninja, was on the outside of the screen and the squirrel was on the inside. Said cat really, really wanted that squirrel and the poor squirrel could not find the hole whence he had arrived in this predicament. Frantic beastie needed help.

Again, without thinking . . . not a forte of mine in the early hours . . . I opened the slider with the intent of opening a side pool door to let him escape. The ear splitting wail reminded me that I had forgotten to disconnect the alarm system. I'm sure the neighbors loved that.

Once outside I opened the door but now the critter was beyond terrified. Cat on one side, human in with him. ACK! I had to herd him toward freedom. He finally raced out, chattering and cussing the entire way, to the top most branch of the nearest tree. You're welcome squirrel.