Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
perspective . . .
I grew up in the Garden State and as we would say in the 50's, "Golly, it was fine." And it truly was. Apple orchards, fruit farms . . . oh how I loved the fruit farms, especially in the fall. We'd load into the family station wagon, wearing blue jeans, toe capped Keds, long sleeved waffle T's with pictures of Roy Rogers or Hopalong Cassidy
emblazoned on our chests and head over toward Wycoff and Franklin Lakes on the winding back roads.
After parking in the dirt lot in front of the ancient faded red barn, we'd quickly unload and head for the basket table. Each size basket was a different price. There were pint baskets, bushel baskets and the in betweens. In late September, we grabbed the ten cent bushel baskets and headed out into the apple orchards. Once among the bountiful limbs, dripping with their red goodness, we would grab, pull and twist until the apples let go and dropped lightly into the woven wood baskets with their worn red dowel handles. My sister and mother were both taller than I which meant I was often relegated to the less than perfect lower limbed pomes. Not to be outdone, I would shinny up one of the trees, nest in an upper crotch where the pickings were better and drop my treasures gently to the ground. Life was good.
Later at home, my mother would start peeling and coring the apples, measuring Crisco from the can, rolling the dough, and mixing until the end result appeared at dessert hot out of the oven. I was however, not a connoisseur of apple pie. What I did love was what was referred to in our house as 'squiggles'. Little strips of dough, twisted and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and baked until light and crispy.
Which all leads me to the debacle today of shows such as Jersey Shore, The Real Housewives of New Jersey, Jerseylicious and Jersey Couture. Who are these people and what have they done to my home state? The Real Housewives of New Jersey is particularly irksome because it is filmed in my neck of the woods: Wayne and Franklin Lakes, right in the center of what was once my fruit farm heaven. Progress? I think not.
The women of Pines Lake did not speak as if from Brooklyn. Not to knock Brooklyn, but really, let's get our geography straight. I can't image the women I grew up with uttering the "F" word with the ferocity and complacency in which it is tossed on these shows. And although that particular word has crossed my lips more times than I like to admit, there is a time and a place and on national television is not one of them.
And so I have trouble reconciling the image of Danielle Staub or Teresa Giudice scampering through the orchards singing, "A Tisket, A Tasket, my Green and Yellow Basket", while collecting apples to make homemade pies. 'It just ain't happening', she said, tongue in cheek!
And while I should end there, I cannot help but admit that I do stay glued to the TV during RHNJ. It is my guilty little pleasure. Something perverse in me has to see what they are up to now . . .
emblazoned on our chests and head over toward Wycoff and Franklin Lakes on the winding back roads.
After parking in the dirt lot in front of the ancient faded red barn, we'd quickly unload and head for the basket table. Each size basket was a different price. There were pint baskets, bushel baskets and the in betweens. In late September, we grabbed the ten cent bushel baskets and headed out into the apple orchards. Once among the bountiful limbs, dripping with their red goodness, we would grab, pull and twist until the apples let go and dropped lightly into the woven wood baskets with their worn red dowel handles. My sister and mother were both taller than I which meant I was often relegated to the less than perfect lower limbed pomes. Not to be outdone, I would shinny up one of the trees, nest in an upper crotch where the pickings were better and drop my treasures gently to the ground. Life was good.
Later at home, my mother would start peeling and coring the apples, measuring Crisco from the can, rolling the dough, and mixing until the end result appeared at dessert hot out of the oven. I was however, not a connoisseur of apple pie. What I did love was what was referred to in our house as 'squiggles'. Little strips of dough, twisted and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and baked until light and crispy.
Which all leads me to the debacle today of shows such as Jersey Shore, The Real Housewives of New Jersey, Jerseylicious and Jersey Couture. Who are these people and what have they done to my home state? The Real Housewives of New Jersey is particularly irksome because it is filmed in my neck of the woods: Wayne and Franklin Lakes, right in the center of what was once my fruit farm heaven. Progress? I think not.
The women of Pines Lake did not speak as if from Brooklyn. Not to knock Brooklyn, but really, let's get our geography straight. I can't image the women I grew up with uttering the "F" word with the ferocity and complacency in which it is tossed on these shows. And although that particular word has crossed my lips more times than I like to admit, there is a time and a place and on national television is not one of them.
And so I have trouble reconciling the image of Danielle Staub or Teresa Giudice scampering through the orchards singing, "A Tisket, A Tasket, my Green and Yellow Basket", while collecting apples to make homemade pies. 'It just ain't happening', she said, tongue in cheek!
And while I should end there, I cannot help but admit that I do stay glued to the TV during RHNJ. It is my guilty little pleasure. Something perverse in me has to see what they are up to now . . .
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
at last . . .
starting Monday, the cave will be cleaner and shinier and more spotless than in any of the years since we moved in. It is reported that the couple we bought the house from started cleaning on Saturday mornings and did not stop until everything had been polished to a high shine . . . except of course, the carpeting, which would be, just plain silly. Somehow, I managed to take that enthusiasm to a new low. Nary a rag has flown since that day in September back in 1994.
I am getting help!!! No, let's tell the truth. I probably will not help at all. She will work, the cats will shed, and I will do whatever it is that keeps me far distant from anything resembling dust, cat hair, ring around the tub or a vacuum cleaner.
Tomorrow, I will head out with a list of all the cleaning supplies she requires. I will probably have to borrow a truck . . . it seems I am supply challenged . . . the one empty cabinet in the entire house being labeled: Cleansers.
In truth, I have made two other forays into the world of domestic assistance. My first husband hired one of those brand companies to help me out after Katie decided to make her grand debut via C-Section. That lasted all of two weeks. Somehow they seemed to confuse the Windex with the furniture polish and it was more trouble than it was worth.
The second was a referral from a friend and as it turns out, the girl just happened to be married to an acquaintance. The best part was that for $20 she would pop in every two weeks and leave things spotless. Unfortunately spotless had a new meaning and the missing things left a spot if you get my drift.
That was twenty some odd years and a mountain of dirt ago. This woman seems to know her Endust from her Glass-Plus and works for several of my neighbors who are happy with her ability.
Like her predecessor, she will come every two weeks . . . I would prefer to see her shining face more often, but the economy just . . . well, you know . . .
I am getting help!!! No, let's tell the truth. I probably will not help at all. She will work, the cats will shed, and I will do whatever it is that keeps me far distant from anything resembling dust, cat hair, ring around the tub or a vacuum cleaner.
Tomorrow, I will head out with a list of all the cleaning supplies she requires. I will probably have to borrow a truck . . . it seems I am supply challenged . . . the one empty cabinet in the entire house being labeled: Cleansers.
In truth, I have made two other forays into the world of domestic assistance. My first husband hired one of those brand companies to help me out after Katie decided to make her grand debut via C-Section. That lasted all of two weeks. Somehow they seemed to confuse the Windex with the furniture polish and it was more trouble than it was worth.
The second was a referral from a friend and as it turns out, the girl just happened to be married to an acquaintance. The best part was that for $20 she would pop in every two weeks and leave things spotless. Unfortunately spotless had a new meaning and the missing things left a spot if you get my drift.
That was twenty some odd years and a mountain of dirt ago. This woman seems to know her Endust from her Glass-Plus and works for several of my neighbors who are happy with her ability.
Like her predecessor, she will come every two weeks . . . I would prefer to see her shining face more often, but the economy just . . . well, you know . . .
Sunday, September 19, 2010
and so . . .
while reading my morning 'odd blogs', I noticed two recurrent themes: getting caught naked or semi naked by someone other than family and lists of thankfulness.
Since, blessedly, no one has seen this 62 year old body naked . . . talk about being scarred for life . . . except the 9TS . . . who has enough scars of his own . . . that leaves me with thankfulness, of which I have plenty.
*Thankful, that I haven't had to post a story about being caught naked!
*Thankful, of course for the 9TS, who warms my soul on a daily basis.
dollar store dehydrated wash clothes that are just the perfect size and thinness . . . washing your face with Snoopy ROCKS!
coconut oil infused with essence of patchouli!
kosher salt!
tweezers that work!
a good book!
white cotton dish clothes!
a straw hat collection!
furry creatures!
wood floors!
quirky finds!
yoga!
and when I start to freak about dirty kitchen floors, unmade beds, ring around the bathtub, I am simply thankful to have a home that has these things!
Since, blessedly, no one has seen this 62 year old body naked . . . talk about being scarred for life . . . except the 9TS . . . who has enough scars of his own . . . that leaves me with thankfulness, of which I have plenty.
*Thankful, that I haven't had to post a story about being caught naked!
*Thankful, of course for the 9TS, who warms my soul on a daily basis.
*Thankful for my kidlet, who although she makes me crazy at times, owns my heart.
OK, so you knew those, didn't you?
Then there are the day to day goodies:
coconut oil infused with essence of patchouli!
kosher salt!
tweezers that work!
a good book!
white cotton dish clothes!
a straw hat collection!
furry creatures!
wood floors!
quirky finds!
yoga!
and when I start to freak about dirty kitchen floors, unmade beds, ring around the bathtub, I am simply thankful to have a home that has these things!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
more playing . . .
 |
| Credits: Paper/Frame: Katie Pertiet, Butterflies: Dawn Inskip/Amanda Taylor, Stitches: Anna Aspnes, Fonts: CK_Ali's Handwriting/Georgia, Alpha: Pattie Knox. |
scrap lifting . . .
. . . in case you are unfamiliar with the term, is taking someone else's work and copying it as your own . . . being certain to give credit where credit is due.
This morning, I was going through my morning reads, and Karenika had THE most adorable layout of her two boys. The thief sitting on my left shoulder whispered, steal it . . . steal it. And so, I did.
It was the perfect fun thing to do with a still limp kitten cuddled in the crook of my elbow.
EDIT: Here is Karenika's original. I was waiting for permission to post it here!
I loved the look of hers and wanted to see if it would translate from paper to digi. I still need to work on my shadowing. Thanks, Karenika for sharing!
This morning, I was going through my morning reads, and Karenika had THE most adorable layout of her two boys. The thief sitting on my left shoulder whispered, steal it . . . steal it. And so, I did.
 |
| Credits: Paper: Vinnie Pierce, Frame: Julia Makontinsky, Stitches: Anna Aspnes, Bird: Ellie Nash, Clouds: Dawn Inskip and Cinnamon Design, Journaling Block: Dawn Inskip, Tree: Ida Astrid, Felt Letters: Pattie Knox, Font: Magic Forest. |
EDIT: Here is Karenika's original. I was waiting for permission to post it here!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The pluckless Pippin . . .
The normally plucky Pip is home and feeling profoundly punky. At a meager 4.69 pounds, she is a pathetic little puff of moroseness. She is on both antibiotics and pain meds . . . sigh. The two of us spent the afternoon nesting on the bed snuggling and sleeping. Get better soon you little rascal. We miss our minnie monster.
Mother Nature, you are on my poop list. Big time!
Mother Nature, you are on my poop list. Big time!
Monday, September 13, 2010
poor baby pippin . . .
Friday night, while out to dinner, Katie texted to say what a loud kitten Pippin turned out to be. She yowled all night. By Saturday afternoon, we thought she might be having trouble passing something she shouldn't have eaten and so we followed her every trip to the litter box. Picture two grown adults peering down at a small kitten, eyes and ears still too big for her head, trying to do her thing with spectators vying for the best seat in the house. I would have howled too. But, everything seemed normal in that respect.
By late Saturday night, she was really singing, and rubbing on everyone and everything . . . very affectionate but noisy. She started doing a little dance with her tail and rump in the air, back paws marching to some inner beat, punctuated by her ear splitting cacophonous vocals. Both the 9TS and I were worried about the little pipsqueak.
At 3:00 a.m. the light bulb finally went off. Could little Pippin be in heat? I have no point of reference for this having raised nothing but males until Ninja and she was spayed prior to starting her . . . erm . . . cycle. My suspicions were growing. I might add that Pippin too, has an appointment with destiny on Wednesday morning. Apparently, I had pissed off Mother Nature and she was implementing her revenge. As it happens, YouTube has a plethora of videos available on "queen's" hot to trot. Too much information!
Sunday was anything but quiet in the cave.
This morning, I was on the phone with the vet's office at 7:30 a.m. which ended with a spontaneous trip in to eliminate any other possibilities. The verdict? Pip is definitely in heat.
Wednesday can not come too soon. I swear every Tom, Dick, Harry and Fluffy are lined up behind the house holding an office pool to see who gets first dibs. Not with my sweet baby, you cads. There will be no pre-teen pregnancies in this house!!
So now if the 9TS and I can only get a little sleep and survive the next 48 hours, hearing intact, all will be right with the world.
By late Saturday night, she was really singing, and rubbing on everyone and everything . . . very affectionate but noisy. She started doing a little dance with her tail and rump in the air, back paws marching to some inner beat, punctuated by her ear splitting cacophonous vocals. Both the 9TS and I were worried about the little pipsqueak.
At 3:00 a.m. the light bulb finally went off. Could little Pippin be in heat? I have no point of reference for this having raised nothing but males until Ninja and she was spayed prior to starting her . . . erm . . . cycle. My suspicions were growing. I might add that Pippin too, has an appointment with destiny on Wednesday morning. Apparently, I had pissed off Mother Nature and she was implementing her revenge. As it happens, YouTube has a plethora of videos available on "queen's" hot to trot. Too much information!
Sunday was anything but quiet in the cave.
This morning, I was on the phone with the vet's office at 7:30 a.m. which ended with a spontaneous trip in to eliminate any other possibilities. The verdict? Pip is definitely in heat.
Wednesday can not come too soon. I swear every Tom, Dick, Harry and Fluffy are lined up behind the house holding an office pool to see who gets first dibs. Not with my sweet baby, you cads. There will be no pre-teen pregnancies in this house!!
So now if the 9TS and I can only get a little sleep and survive the next 48 hours, hearing intact, all will be right with the world.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
buy nook or crook . . .
Friday night, after dinner at Carrabba's, the 9TS and I wandered into Barnes and Noble in search of the newest model railroad magazine. Did I ever mention that the 9TS makes model railroads? Yup, indeed he does. So while he was scanning the periodicals, I was nose deep in journals. I want them all. every.single.one. And since I couldn't decide amongst all the pretties, I left them be, and went in search of the now long lost 9TS.
I found him standing entranced in front of the Nook display. (Now might be a good time to insert that when I met the 9TS, he was not much of a reader, but since Katie and I always seem to have our noses buried in one, he too started to inhale typography.) The resident Nook expert proceeded to extol the virtues of said Nook. So she . . . meaning me . . . who held e-readers in great disdain . . . paper ruling all . . . began to melt. It was after all, a hairs breath away from my birthday and who could resist 92K and counting free titles? Really!
Saturday morning, the 9TS officially wished me a happy birthday, and off we started on our usual Saturday routine. During the day, I noticed sentences like, "I need a new book to read." or "We should have picked up a new Brad Thor book." or "So how much do you like your Nook." and such. By 4:30 we were back at B&N buying the 9TS his very own, non-birthday, Nook. And happily, we could meld them to the same account so whatever books he buys or rents, appear on my Nook and vice versa. Over night, we were a two-Nook household with Katie asking if they offered text books as well. Gah!
It was a good birthday, with a bucket of Cherry Slices . . . my personal favorite which are almost impossible to find and I usually resort to carefully picking all the red ones from the 'assorted' bags and relishing each bite of red goodness, leaving the lemon, lime and orange for the rest of the world - and a copy of Playhouse by Pink from Katie. Love me some Pink!
A hand-made card from Sue. A perfect kitty card from 'Susan and Jeffrey' aka Joanie and Edd. Some really cute e-cards and a plethora of facebook well wishes. Toss in some just-out-of-the-oven apple crisp with vanilla ice cream and I was indeed a happy camper. Thank you one and all.
Pardon me now while I put my nose back in my Nook!!!
I found him standing entranced in front of the Nook display. (Now might be a good time to insert that when I met the 9TS, he was not much of a reader, but since Katie and I always seem to have our noses buried in one, he too started to inhale typography.) The resident Nook expert proceeded to extol the virtues of said Nook. So she . . . meaning me . . . who held e-readers in great disdain . . . paper ruling all . . . began to melt. It was after all, a hairs breath away from my birthday and who could resist 92K and counting free titles? Really!
Saturday morning, the 9TS officially wished me a happy birthday, and off we started on our usual Saturday routine. During the day, I noticed sentences like, "I need a new book to read." or "We should have picked up a new Brad Thor book." or "So how much do you like your Nook." and such. By 4:30 we were back at B&N buying the 9TS his very own, non-birthday, Nook. And happily, we could meld them to the same account so whatever books he buys or rents, appear on my Nook and vice versa. Over night, we were a two-Nook household with Katie asking if they offered text books as well. Gah!
It was a good birthday, with a bucket of Cherry Slices . . . my personal favorite which are almost impossible to find and I usually resort to carefully picking all the red ones from the 'assorted' bags and relishing each bite of red goodness, leaving the lemon, lime and orange for the rest of the world - and a copy of Playhouse by Pink from Katie. Love me some Pink!
A hand-made card from Sue. A perfect kitty card from 'Susan and Jeffrey' aka Joanie and Edd. Some really cute e-cards and a plethora of facebook well wishes. Toss in some just-out-of-the-oven apple crisp with vanilla ice cream and I was indeed a happy camper. Thank you one and all.
Pardon me now while I put my nose back in my Nook!!!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
911
Everyone remembers where they were that day. I was at Katie's middle school counting money from our fund raiser when the news shot across the television. We all stopped and just stared. And there in front of us live, was the second plane heading into the tower. Mouths open we watched like we did as kids at the Saturday morning monster movies at the movie theater, riveted in horror, unable to comprehend what was on the screen. One of the teachers wandered in, in tears. Her cousin worked at the WTC. She was in shock. Non-functioning. Slowly throughout the next several days and weeks, the enormity of the event sunk in and along with it the feelings of helplessness, violation, fear and finally born from the ashes, strength. God bless us all and help us to use that strength to find peace in this world.
911, is also, she said in a tiny voice, ripe with guilt, my birthday. More on that tomorrow.
911, is also, she said in a tiny voice, ripe with guilt, my birthday. More on that tomorrow.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
a day in the life of the medically hounded 9TS . . .
Wake at 4:30 a.m. 4:35 a.m. wake grumpy wife. Eat breakfast, shower and hop in the vette for a 2.15 hour drive to the other side of the state, dodging speed traps and bored Staties.
After a quick check by Dr. K, head down to apheresis. That's their name for sucking the blood out of one arm and putting it back in through the other. Why you ask? To remove some of the white blood cells to make sure everything is OKEY-DOKEY before first round of vaccines. Isn't the 9TS glad his wife shares? Is there no privacy in a the man's life?
11:30 a.m. Down to the Moffitt basement for a Philly Chicken Cheese sandwich . . .
12:15 p.m. Back up to the 3rd floor to the Clinical Research Unit for more lab work, leaving wife and camera behind. Hooray!
Bad news, no one told the 9TS that after the vaccines are injected, there is a six hour wait before being released. Bummer.
Wife gets tired and appears with camera: Another bummer . . . worse than no one to play fetch with.
labwork:
Vaccine shots:
It seems even she-with-camera-welded-to-right-eyeball didn't want to watch the seven needles. Some wife she turned out to be.
Dinner:
Hospital Cafeteria food leaves much to be desired. Spaghetti and meatballs. Sort of.
Schedule: Report back to CRU every hour for vitals.
Departure: 8:15 p.m. YAY!!
Arrival: Home 10:45 p.m.
Snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . woof
After a quick check by Dr. K, head down to apheresis. That's their name for sucking the blood out of one arm and putting it back in through the other. Why you ask? To remove some of the white blood cells to make sure everything is OKEY-DOKEY before first round of vaccines. Isn't the 9TS glad his wife shares? Is there no privacy in a the man's life?
12:15 p.m. Back up to the 3rd floor to the Clinical Research Unit for more lab work, leaving wife and camera behind. Hooray!
Bad news, no one told the 9TS that after the vaccines are injected, there is a six hour wait before being released. Bummer.
Wife gets tired and appears with camera: Another bummer . . . worse than no one to play fetch with.
labwork:
Infusion:
Vaccine shots:
It seems even she-with-camera-welded-to-right-eyeball didn't want to watch the seven needles. Some wife she turned out to be.
Dinner:
Hospital Cafeteria food leaves much to be desired. Spaghetti and meatballs. Sort of.
Schedule: Report back to CRU every hour for vitals.
Departure: 8:15 p.m. YAY!!
Arrival: Home 10:45 p.m.
Snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . snore . . . woof
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Labor Day . . .
we had our world famous Labor Day Weekend family pool party and BBQ blow out yesterday and not one single shot was taken. How did that happen you ask?
Well, it might have been because Katie, the 9TS and I were busy dancing the Watusi, the Swim, the Frug, the Bristol Stomp, the Pony and the South Philly Shuffle in the kitchen while grooving to some oldies.
Or it might have been because we were making turtle brownies, baking beans, tossing pasta salad, roasting corn on the cob, grilling dogs, hamburgers, chicken wings, ribs, frying french fries, wrestling coleslaw, chilling soda and beer, putting out the condiments and slicing ice cold watermelon.
Or maybe we were busy drowning each other in the pool, playing bumper cars on floats, blasting water falls out of doodles, cannon balling and generally lowering the water level in the pool by several inches.
Or wiping sweet juice off our faces, sucking sticky BBQ sauce off fingers, gnawing on bones, and most generally wallowing around in over fed bodies.
Or maybe we were too busy catching up with Stacie, Jackie, Joe, Stephanie and Kaitlyn. Stories were flying, tales told, histories caught up upon.
No matter what the reason, it was fun, and I am ready to do it all over again next year.
Oh and the best thing . . . the house is still clean, the deck still sparkles and life is good.
Well, it might have been because Katie, the 9TS and I were busy dancing the Watusi, the Swim, the Frug, the Bristol Stomp, the Pony and the South Philly Shuffle in the kitchen while grooving to some oldies.
Or it might have been because we were making turtle brownies, baking beans, tossing pasta salad, roasting corn on the cob, grilling dogs, hamburgers, chicken wings, ribs, frying french fries, wrestling coleslaw, chilling soda and beer, putting out the condiments and slicing ice cold watermelon.
Or maybe we were busy drowning each other in the pool, playing bumper cars on floats, blasting water falls out of doodles, cannon balling and generally lowering the water level in the pool by several inches.
Or wiping sweet juice off our faces, sucking sticky BBQ sauce off fingers, gnawing on bones, and most generally wallowing around in over fed bodies.
Or maybe we were too busy catching up with Stacie, Jackie, Joe, Stephanie and Kaitlyn. Stories were flying, tales told, histories caught up upon.
No matter what the reason, it was fun, and I am ready to do it all over again next year.
Oh and the best thing . . . the house is still clean, the deck still sparkles and life is good.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Yesterday, the 9TS and I scrubbed, bleached, sprayed, whisked, and exfoliated the pool deck. Today it rained. Makes you chuckle . . . God's sense of humor.
Today, I cleaned the house . . . you know company is coming. Family really, because they're the best.
And after a major grocery store run, all is ready for tomorrow. YAY!!!
And so I finally relaxed and played:
Today, I cleaned the house . . . you know company is coming. Family really, because they're the best.
And after a major grocery store run, all is ready for tomorrow. YAY!!!
And so I finally relaxed and played:
 |
| Many thanks to: Manu, Dawn Inskip, Anna Aspnes and LB_Typewriter!! |
Friday, September 3, 2010
may the spirit be with you . . .
Today I dragged the eyeball rolling 9TS to Cassadaga. If you are not familiar with it, Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp is the oldest active religious community in the Southeastern United States. It is also on the National Register of Historic Places. Enough reason for my camera and I and the cynical sloth, to go day tripping.
A beautiful day in the neighborhood. I immediately wanted to move in here:
Or if not available for immediate occupancy, maybe here:
I am loving this town.
Meanwhile, the 9TS, whom I had to drag out of the gift shop (surprise, surprise) was pointing out other signs like this:
and this:
and even this, which happens to be my favorite:
and don't forget this:
but I was busy shooting here:
and here:
and, of course here:
But my favorite spot was here: Spirit Pond!
We wandered all over until I was afraid the 9TS would lose his eyeballs all together and we headed back to the car.
We wandered all over until I was afraid the 9TS would lose his eyeballs all together and we headed back to the car.
Don't tell, but I am going to sneak back over week after next and get a reading. I am fascinated! Oh, and after leaving the gift shop, I smell like patchouli!!!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
