What can you do when someone you love has a terrible disease and refuses to admit to it? When she goes to great lengths to hide it? When her many talents are drowned in a flood of booze so that she risks her life, her love and, most of all, her children all for the taste of alcohol? I wish I knew.
Last night I was awake for two hours in the night pondering this question and I felt first hand the helplessness when a loved one is locked in the gripping vise of an addiction. Oh, yes, I've seen it all on Dr. Phil and commiserated with those telling their stories, but never have I really understood it till now. This summer I have finally admitted to myself that the problem is very serious and that something has to be done. The alcoholic--yes, she is an alcoholic--refuses to admit she has a problem. Maybe if I can say the word she will be able to and move on with helping herself.
In the two hours I lay awake last night listening to the comforting breathing of hubby beside me, I realized that tough though it will be, I have to tell this sweet person what I think. I have to come out of the closet. I can no longer be part of the problem, as I have realized my silence makes me. Even though I am frightened to do this and don't have the energy--she is really scary and nasty when she is drinking and anyone crosses her--I know I must, for her sake but mostly for her children. They need their mother and I must do what I can to help her find her way back to them.
So today, whether you are a believer or not, say a prayer for me, but mostly say a prayer for her. Please. Maybe with all our good thoughts she will find the strength to get clean.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Welcome to My Morning
Yesterday was fairly cool, a welcome change from the hot sultry day before, and I merrily biked to the gym to do my hour's workout. Fifteen minutes on the tread, working my heart up, a full circuit of weight machines, ending with the gut-killing one for my abs--which sorely need work. Another five minutes on the elliptical trainer and I was back on my bike for the ride home. Gee, it feels good to start my day feeding my brain and my body!
I had no sooner got in the door than my son came knocking wondering if I was up for wood cutting. I had volunteered the day before but thought I'd back out.
"You won't have to do anything, Mom. Just keep me company because I don't like to cut wood alone in case something happens with the chain saw."
Whack! A punch right in the mother-as-protector part of my stomach. Well, okay, I'd go, but even as I gathered up my jacket, my shoes, and my socks--I was still too hot from my workout to bear putting them on yet, my purse, and my glasses, in the pit of that stomach I felt I really didn't want to go. Too tired, too many things to do, too ready to have some quiet time.
I went. As soon as I got in the truck I was glad. We chatted all the way to the cutting site, a farmhouse with some pretty huge limbs that had blown down some time earlier by the look of the dead leaves on them. Kevin put on his jazzy protector helmet, complete with visor, ear covers and neck cloth, handed me a brand new set of ear things to block out the noise, and we set to work.
Even with the noise protection on we were still in sync communicating easily by pointing and gesturing. Cut this, please. Okay. vroom, vroom, it's done. He moves on to the next piece. I carry the brush to its pile and toss the logs into the truck. We work at this for awhile and then he turns off the saw, takes off his gear, and we do some more sorting and tossing of wood. On go the ear plugs as Kevin starts up the saw and finishes off the cutting. Not too much wood that is usable--barely enough to fill up the truck bed, but it will be okay. Besides he has helped a friend get rid of a mess and this wood will keep Kevin's stove going for a couple of days in the winter. Well, a year from now as it has to dry for a year.
As we pull away from the farm, Kev tackles the messages on his cell phone. Remember this number, Mom. I do and give it back to him when he's ready. Of course, it's gone today! As he talks he drives these back roads and I am mesmerized by the abundance of tent caterpillar nests dotting the trees along the road. They are disgusting and I remember, as a child, having one fall on me, my horror, my lesson learned never to go under the walnut trees on our farm. There are so many nests I think we need to have a mass murder of caterpillers with hundreds of blow torches, like my dad used to use to destroy any infestations we had. It meant ladders and backing the truck up under the tree but he always did his best to get rid of the things. Guess he hated them like I did.
Finally Kevin is finished his messages. "Where are we?" he wonders out loud. I haven't been paying attention at all. We realize we have taken a long route home, and try to regroup. Kevin turns west on a dirt road. Oops! Up ahead the road turns to almost nothing and is blocked by a tobacco picking machine and many yellow-clad workers milling around. Turn around. Go back. Find another way.
Eventually laughing and talking together, we arrive at my door and say good-bye, another close moment frozen in time for us both to remember. I have had lots of great exercise this morning and it is only 10:30. I am so glad I went.
I had no sooner got in the door than my son came knocking wondering if I was up for wood cutting. I had volunteered the day before but thought I'd back out.
"You won't have to do anything, Mom. Just keep me company because I don't like to cut wood alone in case something happens with the chain saw."
Whack! A punch right in the mother-as-protector part of my stomach. Well, okay, I'd go, but even as I gathered up my jacket, my shoes, and my socks--I was still too hot from my workout to bear putting them on yet, my purse, and my glasses, in the pit of that stomach I felt I really didn't want to go. Too tired, too many things to do, too ready to have some quiet time.
I went. As soon as I got in the truck I was glad. We chatted all the way to the cutting site, a farmhouse with some pretty huge limbs that had blown down some time earlier by the look of the dead leaves on them. Kevin put on his jazzy protector helmet, complete with visor, ear covers and neck cloth, handed me a brand new set of ear things to block out the noise, and we set to work.
Even with the noise protection on we were still in sync communicating easily by pointing and gesturing. Cut this, please. Okay. vroom, vroom, it's done. He moves on to the next piece. I carry the brush to its pile and toss the logs into the truck. We work at this for awhile and then he turns off the saw, takes off his gear, and we do some more sorting and tossing of wood. On go the ear plugs as Kevin starts up the saw and finishes off the cutting. Not too much wood that is usable--barely enough to fill up the truck bed, but it will be okay. Besides he has helped a friend get rid of a mess and this wood will keep Kevin's stove going for a couple of days in the winter. Well, a year from now as it has to dry for a year.
As we pull away from the farm, Kev tackles the messages on his cell phone. Remember this number, Mom. I do and give it back to him when he's ready. Of course, it's gone today! As he talks he drives these back roads and I am mesmerized by the abundance of tent caterpillar nests dotting the trees along the road. They are disgusting and I remember, as a child, having one fall on me, my horror, my lesson learned never to go under the walnut trees on our farm. There are so many nests I think we need to have a mass murder of caterpillers with hundreds of blow torches, like my dad used to use to destroy any infestations we had. It meant ladders and backing the truck up under the tree but he always did his best to get rid of the things. Guess he hated them like I did.
Finally Kevin is finished his messages. "Where are we?" he wonders out loud. I haven't been paying attention at all. We realize we have taken a long route home, and try to regroup. Kevin turns west on a dirt road. Oops! Up ahead the road turns to almost nothing and is blocked by a tobacco picking machine and many yellow-clad workers milling around. Turn around. Go back. Find another way.
Eventually laughing and talking together, we arrive at my door and say good-bye, another close moment frozen in time for us both to remember. I have had lots of great exercise this morning and it is only 10:30. I am so glad I went.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Beader Girl Goes Hot Pink!
Yup! That's right! If you have read my blog before you may notice the change in format. That white background was just too boring and now that I've made my way around the blogger website, help menus and my own section of it, as well as dabbling in HTML, I've decided to juice up the Beader Girl page. Hot pink! You go, girl!
This morning I spent two hours in the kitchen preparing a scrumptious dinner for company tonight. Tomorrow is my daughter-in-law's first day back to chiropractic classes so we are entertaining them tonight as an end to the summer, so to speak. The day is pretty rainy and sultry feeling so I am glad I planned not to barbecue, but to use the oven and eat in. This way, if the weather changes before tonight, we can always eat out but we are not dependent on the barbecue. Besides, hubby has been having some challenges with it this week; better to be safe than sorry--well, faced with raw meat at the picnic!
What are we having for dinner, you ask? We're having a mouth-watering Tuscan Bread Salad that is so good I could eat the whole bowl of a large English cucumber, half a giant white onion, 6 tomatoes and most of a stick of delicious flavored French bread, all drenched with yummy spices, oil, and garlic. Oooh, my mouth is watering.
Also we're having fresh sweet corn from the farmer five minutes away, chicken thighs and breasts, covered with Italian crumbs, fat-free mayo and Parmesan, and a homemade peach pie. Yes, this is the season for fresh fruits and veggies and I love to make the most of it. I try to keep it light by substituting with Splenda and low-fat products, but sometimes you just have to dive into the pie. This is the day for my one peach pie of the year.
I guess, therefore, you could say this is my day to celebrate with vibrancy: the new blog look and the succulent salad and peach pie. Hope your day is as flavorful as mine!
This morning I spent two hours in the kitchen preparing a scrumptious dinner for company tonight. Tomorrow is my daughter-in-law's first day back to chiropractic classes so we are entertaining them tonight as an end to the summer, so to speak. The day is pretty rainy and sultry feeling so I am glad I planned not to barbecue, but to use the oven and eat in. This way, if the weather changes before tonight, we can always eat out but we are not dependent on the barbecue. Besides, hubby has been having some challenges with it this week; better to be safe than sorry--well, faced with raw meat at the picnic!
What are we having for dinner, you ask? We're having a mouth-watering Tuscan Bread Salad that is so good I could eat the whole bowl of a large English cucumber, half a giant white onion, 6 tomatoes and most of a stick of delicious flavored French bread, all drenched with yummy spices, oil, and garlic. Oooh, my mouth is watering.
Also we're having fresh sweet corn from the farmer five minutes away, chicken thighs and breasts, covered with Italian crumbs, fat-free mayo and Parmesan, and a homemade peach pie. Yes, this is the season for fresh fruits and veggies and I love to make the most of it. I try to keep it light by substituting with Splenda and low-fat products, but sometimes you just have to dive into the pie. This is the day for my one peach pie of the year.
I guess, therefore, you could say this is my day to celebrate with vibrancy: the new blog look and the succulent salad and peach pie. Hope your day is as flavorful as mine!
Friday, August 25, 2006
High Tea at the Chateau Laurier
While in Ottawa hubby and I decided to have high tea at the Chateau Laurier, a lovely spot just east of the parliament buildings on Rideau Street. We checked out the times Friday night and learned a reservation was not really necessary--not like high tea at the Empress in Victoria--and planned to lunch there on Saturday.
As we toured the Hill Saturday morning, watching the colourful parade of the military bands strutting their stuff on the gently sloping hill before the centre block of our national parliament, I was struck by the grandeur of those old buildings. They have seen a lot for a hundred and fifty years or so. On this day, however, all was quiet as spectators sweated under the steamy sun, straining to get a glimpse of the band over the heads of the early birds in the front. (In front of them many were sitting on the grass waiting for the parade.) A woman older than I made a nuisance of herself pushing in among people to try and get a place for the little kids with her and her husband. The grandparents obviously had the grandkids for the day. Back and forth she went into the crowd and back out, taking in one kid, then another, pulling in her husband and, finally, the empty stroller! All the while she created quite a commotion, distracting us from the spectacle at hand. As soon as she got her party settled, the band started marching and the whole crowd stood up to see better. The couple looked at each other, picked up their kids and, pushing the stroller, forced their way back out through the crowd. Some people! If we had come late in the same circumstance we would not have disturbed others like that, but would have watched from behind even though I'm pretty short and can't see well. Better than upsetting everyone else.
Soon it was time to head for the Chateau Laurier and air conditioning. By this time I think it was the cool air that was most appealing and not the elegant tea we were about to experience. We walked across the Wellington Street bridge, over the Rideau Canal, pausing to check out the view and into the wall of cool air at the Laurier. No, we didn't have a reservation. Yes, we wanted the high tea. No, we weren't there just for a drink--there seemed a lot of questions before we were admitted to the almost empty tea terrace overlooking Rideau Street. Once there, we relaxed, ordered one 'tea' between the two of us and soaked up the atmosphere. There was no way we were having hot tea but we were easily able to substitute. Hubby had fresh lemonade, to which he added his own sugar, and I had an iced herbal tea. Very lovely. They served a small glass of sugar water to add, so that the sweetener would blend with the cold tea more easily. Out came a lovely fruit cup of real fresh fruit--not that imposter from a huge bottle that has no individual fruit taste but has all melded together--it was succulent! Next came a three-tiered tray of goodies, little sandwiches with the crusts removed, and several varieties of cakes, some sweet, some not so much. And I can't forget the jam pot! Bright red strawberries so tasty they seemed to have been picked that morning were presented in a silver bowl; next to them, some buttery cream that tasted like the Devon cream I first experienced on the long gone Wardair plane from England many years ago. Hubby was a convert!
The experience was restful and sweet, restoring our equilibrium, readying us to, once more, go out and face the heat of the day as we headed for the ByWard Market a few blocks away. A few years ago my daughter and I had enjoyed the tea at the Empress in Victoria and, I have to say, it was better. There was more to eat, and at the end we were presented with a lovely wooden box of the tea we had chosen to drink, a pleasant reminder of the experience. There was no such gift here. Nevertheless, if you like snowy white linen, shining silver utensils, succulent tea munchies and a lovely view of Rideau Street, head for the historic Chateau Laurier for their English high tea.
As we toured the Hill Saturday morning, watching the colourful parade of the military bands strutting their stuff on the gently sloping hill before the centre block of our national parliament, I was struck by the grandeur of those old buildings. They have seen a lot for a hundred and fifty years or so. On this day, however, all was quiet as spectators sweated under the steamy sun, straining to get a glimpse of the band over the heads of the early birds in the front. (In front of them many were sitting on the grass waiting for the parade.) A woman older than I made a nuisance of herself pushing in among people to try and get a place for the little kids with her and her husband. The grandparents obviously had the grandkids for the day. Back and forth she went into the crowd and back out, taking in one kid, then another, pulling in her husband and, finally, the empty stroller! All the while she created quite a commotion, distracting us from the spectacle at hand. As soon as she got her party settled, the band started marching and the whole crowd stood up to see better. The couple looked at each other, picked up their kids and, pushing the stroller, forced their way back out through the crowd. Some people! If we had come late in the same circumstance we would not have disturbed others like that, but would have watched from behind even though I'm pretty short and can't see well. Better than upsetting everyone else.
Soon it was time to head for the Chateau Laurier and air conditioning. By this time I think it was the cool air that was most appealing and not the elegant tea we were about to experience. We walked across the Wellington Street bridge, over the Rideau Canal, pausing to check out the view and into the wall of cool air at the Laurier. No, we didn't have a reservation. Yes, we wanted the high tea. No, we weren't there just for a drink--there seemed a lot of questions before we were admitted to the almost empty tea terrace overlooking Rideau Street. Once there, we relaxed, ordered one 'tea' between the two of us and soaked up the atmosphere. There was no way we were having hot tea but we were easily able to substitute. Hubby had fresh lemonade, to which he added his own sugar, and I had an iced herbal tea. Very lovely. They served a small glass of sugar water to add, so that the sweetener would blend with the cold tea more easily. Out came a lovely fruit cup of real fresh fruit--not that imposter from a huge bottle that has no individual fruit taste but has all melded together--it was succulent! Next came a three-tiered tray of goodies, little sandwiches with the crusts removed, and several varieties of cakes, some sweet, some not so much. And I can't forget the jam pot! Bright red strawberries so tasty they seemed to have been picked that morning were presented in a silver bowl; next to them, some buttery cream that tasted like the Devon cream I first experienced on the long gone Wardair plane from England many years ago. Hubby was a convert!
The experience was restful and sweet, restoring our equilibrium, readying us to, once more, go out and face the heat of the day as we headed for the ByWard Market a few blocks away. A few years ago my daughter and I had enjoyed the tea at the Empress in Victoria and, I have to say, it was better. There was more to eat, and at the end we were presented with a lovely wooden box of the tea we had chosen to drink, a pleasant reminder of the experience. There was no such gift here. Nevertheless, if you like snowy white linen, shining silver utensils, succulent tea munchies and a lovely view of Rideau Street, head for the historic Chateau Laurier for their English high tea.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
On Becoming Biker Girl
Yesterday two friends and I loaded up our bikes in the back of Olive's van, along with theatre tickets, sun protection, bug spray, wallets and water, and headed for the start of the Lynn Valley bike trail to Port Dover. We parked the van at the trail head south of Simcoe, unloaded the bikes, strapped on our helmets and into the trees we went. An old rail bed, the trail is tree-lined for the most part with sun dappling through, and some open spots. We followed the river on and off and I noted benches placed like sentinels along the way.
"Yippee!" yelled Olive from behind. "I love this trail and I love biking!"
I laughed and called an acknowledgement. I was having a wonderful time, too, and liked being with such an exuberant friend to voice what was in my heart. Up ahead, Karen's white blouse blew in the breeze as her black-clad legs pedalled steadily towards Lake Erie. Bump, thud, big stones spun off my tires and pinged to the sides of the trail, which had become very rocky and I could see that someone had taken some machine along parts of it, probably to smooth it out or something but the result was rough. Eventually it was smoother again and we pedalled more easily, pausing to cross roads as we steadily approached our destination. Being an old rail bed, the trail was excellent for bikers as there were no hills, just a gradual descent to the lake.
When we reached Port Dover we pedalled along back streets as far as we could until quite close to downtown, when we had to use a busy street. I followed Olive as she took the middle lane to go straight through at the light. I jumped as horns blew behind us. Olive called out, "He is angry because we are in this lane but we have every right to be here," and she was exactly right. Confidently I pedalled standing up as I followed Olive through the busy intersection and Karen was right behind. We pulled in to our destination, a wonderful hotdog stand with no pop but instead real fruit drinks. After hooking up with Bev, we bought burgers, hotdogs and fries--a filling fat quotient for the day!--and found a shady place to eat.
We walked out to the light at the point, talking all the way, walked back and straight to a lakeside restaurant for a drink. Mmm. That icy cold went down well. We passed a pleasant hour catching up and it was time for the theatre. We saw a spirited and amusing play called Jasper Station by Norm Foster. A musical, it was very enjoyable with poignant stories for each character, people who met by chance in a railway station. I quite enjoyed it.
The play over we headed back to our bikes, still waiting where we had left them beside Bev's car, locked together around a hydro pole. Lucky for us they weren't stolen. Back on the trail, slightly uphill this time, I followed Karen as she set a fast pace. We started at 4:50 and had a 40 minute ride back to the van. Like horses heading for home we poured on the pressure. This time the ride was a little harder, we were going faster, and it was the end of the day rather than first thing. Nevertheless as I watched my watch the time moved steadily on with the rhythm of my pedals and soon I recognized the approach to the parking lot. We made it! I felt good. The oldest in the group, I kept up with no problem at all. Yippee! I love biking with my friends!
"Yippee!" yelled Olive from behind. "I love this trail and I love biking!"
I laughed and called an acknowledgement. I was having a wonderful time, too, and liked being with such an exuberant friend to voice what was in my heart. Up ahead, Karen's white blouse blew in the breeze as her black-clad legs pedalled steadily towards Lake Erie. Bump, thud, big stones spun off my tires and pinged to the sides of the trail, which had become very rocky and I could see that someone had taken some machine along parts of it, probably to smooth it out or something but the result was rough. Eventually it was smoother again and we pedalled more easily, pausing to cross roads as we steadily approached our destination. Being an old rail bed, the trail was excellent for bikers as there were no hills, just a gradual descent to the lake.
When we reached Port Dover we pedalled along back streets as far as we could until quite close to downtown, when we had to use a busy street. I followed Olive as she took the middle lane to go straight through at the light. I jumped as horns blew behind us. Olive called out, "He is angry because we are in this lane but we have every right to be here," and she was exactly right. Confidently I pedalled standing up as I followed Olive through the busy intersection and Karen was right behind. We pulled in to our destination, a wonderful hotdog stand with no pop but instead real fruit drinks. After hooking up with Bev, we bought burgers, hotdogs and fries--a filling fat quotient for the day!--and found a shady place to eat.
We walked out to the light at the point, talking all the way, walked back and straight to a lakeside restaurant for a drink. Mmm. That icy cold went down well. We passed a pleasant hour catching up and it was time for the theatre. We saw a spirited and amusing play called Jasper Station by Norm Foster. A musical, it was very enjoyable with poignant stories for each character, people who met by chance in a railway station. I quite enjoyed it.
The play over we headed back to our bikes, still waiting where we had left them beside Bev's car, locked together around a hydro pole. Lucky for us they weren't stolen. Back on the trail, slightly uphill this time, I followed Karen as she set a fast pace. We started at 4:50 and had a 40 minute ride back to the van. Like horses heading for home we poured on the pressure. This time the ride was a little harder, we were going faster, and it was the end of the day rather than first thing. Nevertheless as I watched my watch the time moved steadily on with the rhythm of my pedals and soon I recognized the approach to the parking lot. We made it! I felt good. The oldest in the group, I kept up with no problem at all. Yippee! I love biking with my friends!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Beader Girl Broils
I've been to London to visit the Queen. Well, not quite. I've been to Ottawa to see the parliament and many other things. Miss me? I missed writing but have lots of new tales to tell. First is our beading adventure.
In the heat of Friday afternoon hubby and I struck out from our hotel to walk to a bead store whose address I had got on the web. It was in the 700's so we thought it would be about 3/4 of a mile. As the pavement got hotter, the breeze evaporated. Three blocks of our route were beside massive construction machinery ripping up Bank Street. The noise of some of them pounded into my brain and I pushed myself to walk faster to get by. Finally we were past and now beside cars darting to and fro. The address numbers went up painfully slowly...123...169....199...finally the 200's and then a long time till the 300's. I began to wonder just how good an idea this was. Why didn't we take the bus? And we weren't even half way there yet.
We ducked into a variety store for some icy water. When I took the first sip it was cool but not icy. Never mind. It would keep us hydrated. Back into the heat. Walking under the 417 highway was a shady break and we reveled in it. Not too far, now. Wonder how far we've walked? Those buses we keep seeing sure look good, air-conditioned and all. Walk, walk, walk, more walking, we're definitely taking the bus back. Why didn't we ask how far this was?
Eventually we came into a little nicer area, kind of a mini village, and we spotted the Sassy Bead Company. Gratefully I breathed in the cooler air inside. Hubby spotted a stool to sit on while I browsed. So many beads, so little money! Oh, I could feel moisture running down my back as I stood and picked out bright and lovely beauties. Oooo, now I'm standing over an ancient grill register and the cool air finds my legs, my butt, my whole body. I stand here looking and reaching, thinking if I just stay here for a while I'll get cool.
To some extent it works but I have to move. So much to see and touch. Have to experience it all. Back to the register. Oh, that's better. After 25 minutes picking out pretties I'm still hot as I make my way to the cash with my basket of treasures. I pay and head outside to join my hubby. We wait in the sun for the bus, relieved when it arrives, and head back to the hotel. God bless air conditioning and cold showers!
In the heat of Friday afternoon hubby and I struck out from our hotel to walk to a bead store whose address I had got on the web. It was in the 700's so we thought it would be about 3/4 of a mile. As the pavement got hotter, the breeze evaporated. Three blocks of our route were beside massive construction machinery ripping up Bank Street. The noise of some of them pounded into my brain and I pushed myself to walk faster to get by. Finally we were past and now beside cars darting to and fro. The address numbers went up painfully slowly...123...169....199...finally the 200's and then a long time till the 300's. I began to wonder just how good an idea this was. Why didn't we take the bus? And we weren't even half way there yet.
We ducked into a variety store for some icy water. When I took the first sip it was cool but not icy. Never mind. It would keep us hydrated. Back into the heat. Walking under the 417 highway was a shady break and we reveled in it. Not too far, now. Wonder how far we've walked? Those buses we keep seeing sure look good, air-conditioned and all. Walk, walk, walk, more walking, we're definitely taking the bus back. Why didn't we ask how far this was?
Eventually we came into a little nicer area, kind of a mini village, and we spotted the Sassy Bead Company. Gratefully I breathed in the cooler air inside. Hubby spotted a stool to sit on while I browsed. So many beads, so little money! Oh, I could feel moisture running down my back as I stood and picked out bright and lovely beauties. Oooo, now I'm standing over an ancient grill register and the cool air finds my legs, my butt, my whole body. I stand here looking and reaching, thinking if I just stay here for a while I'll get cool.
To some extent it works but I have to move. So much to see and touch. Have to experience it all. Back to the register. Oh, that's better. After 25 minutes picking out pretties I'm still hot as I make my way to the cash with my basket of treasures. I pay and head outside to join my hubby. We wait in the sun for the bus, relieved when it arrives, and head back to the hotel. God bless air conditioning and cold showers!
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
The Monster in My Yard
There is a monster in my yard. You can easily see it behind the diving board. See the gangly green arms with pinky purple flowers dangling like painted fingernails? Well, maybe you'll have to enlarge the picture but, believe me, the monster is there! And it came on its own. I let it grow for two reasons: I wasn't sure what it was--a flower, maybe?--and I seldom get my weeding all caught up as there are too many other things to do. (Beading, anyone?)
The lesson is to wait and see. I did and the monster is a flowering thing, unnamed by me, but first given to me a few years ago by my buddy, Olive. Of course, the lesson could have been don't wait, get it out asap. A few years ago I had a 7 foot monster in another garden. I couldn't remember planting it but I waited to see what might come up. It fairly flew out of the ground, every day growing a foot. What was it? I took a picture and went to the local garden centre to get it identified. They had no idea what it was but were sure it wasn't a flower. I came home and chopped down that monster before it could get me and my family!
Oh, by the way, I actually took this picture today to remember how gorgeous my window view is, when I think of looking out. The sky was brilliant blue, without the whited out part in this over-exposed picture. It still is beautiful with fluffy clouds watching over our peaceful village. I am lucky today. All my monsters are friendly.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
You go, girl!
This one today is for Barb. So who's that, you say? She and I go way back to university residence where we were 'john' mates. (That means our two rooms shared a bathroom stuck between us.) What great times the four of us had for that first year together!
Anyhow, Barb tells me she is moving, that she has built a new house in a new town, half way between where her mother lives and where her daughter lives. I am flabbergasted! (That means all my flab is standing on end in amazement!) Hubby and I have talked about relocating but hate to give up the wonderful friends, family, etc. etc. etc. that we have here. Yet here is Barb, widowed a few years ago, and she takes the gutsy move to a new place. Hats off to you, Barb.
In the early part of our lives together we moved quite often, every two or three years, and learned one major lesson: when you move to a new place, you need them much more than they need you, so you had better get out and join all you can to make new friends. Of course, hubby had grown up moving every few years, being the son of a banker, so he knew this lesson already. Like Barb, I had always lived in the same place, meaning I had to change.
Well, I did and loved meeting the new people everywhere we went for those years. I know Barb will do well as she is such a friendly person who loves to do things, to be out and about, to take part in all that's happening. Barb, you go, girl!
Anyhow, Barb tells me she is moving, that she has built a new house in a new town, half way between where her mother lives and where her daughter lives. I am flabbergasted! (That means all my flab is standing on end in amazement!) Hubby and I have talked about relocating but hate to give up the wonderful friends, family, etc. etc. etc. that we have here. Yet here is Barb, widowed a few years ago, and she takes the gutsy move to a new place. Hats off to you, Barb.
In the early part of our lives together we moved quite often, every two or three years, and learned one major lesson: when you move to a new place, you need them much more than they need you, so you had better get out and join all you can to make new friends. Of course, hubby had grown up moving every few years, being the son of a banker, so he knew this lesson already. Like Barb, I had always lived in the same place, meaning I had to change.
Well, I did and loved meeting the new people everywhere we went for those years. I know Barb will do well as she is such a friendly person who loves to do things, to be out and about, to take part in all that's happening. Barb, you go, girl!
Monday, August 14, 2006
Still Waiting?
My niece showed me a great story on Saturday. Yes, that's right, showed me. As we were walking back to the parking lot after the Wonderful Wacky Wedding we all attended, she showed me, in the distance, her van. I still didn't get it.
"Mom was sitting on the passenger side and I was driving. When we were nicely sitting in our chairs down by the river, waiting patiently for the wedding to start, Mom asked if I had locked the van. She was worried about something she had left in it," Tracy patiently explained.
I took another look at the van. The sliding door on the right side was wide open! Tracy's mom had not even closed the door, let alone locked it.
How often do we get somewhere and wonder if we have turned off the stove, locked the car, closed the windows against the rain, and a million other things? We just don't seem to be able to remember those things we do repetitively. Hubby and I have a system with the car. When he's driving, he locks it. When I'm driving I lock it. Yet still we get a block away and can't remember doing it. Grrr!
The worst is getting away on vacation and wondering about the house back home. Strangely, I am sure we have never left our house open or in jeopardy from the stove being on or something of the like, but still we wonder. Why is that?
Okay, this is the point where I come up with a great pearl of wisdom and you all say, "Aha! Isn't she clever?" ................still waiting? ........................... nothing yet..................mmmm...........
Well, I think I'll go and check to see if I left the water running in the pool.
"Mom was sitting on the passenger side and I was driving. When we were nicely sitting in our chairs down by the river, waiting patiently for the wedding to start, Mom asked if I had locked the van. She was worried about something she had left in it," Tracy patiently explained.
I took another look at the van. The sliding door on the right side was wide open! Tracy's mom had not even closed the door, let alone locked it.
How often do we get somewhere and wonder if we have turned off the stove, locked the car, closed the windows against the rain, and a million other things? We just don't seem to be able to remember those things we do repetitively. Hubby and I have a system with the car. When he's driving, he locks it. When I'm driving I lock it. Yet still we get a block away and can't remember doing it. Grrr!
The worst is getting away on vacation and wondering about the house back home. Strangely, I am sure we have never left our house open or in jeopardy from the stove being on or something of the like, but still we wonder. Why is that?
Okay, this is the point where I come up with a great pearl of wisdom and you all say, "Aha! Isn't she clever?" ................still waiting? ........................... nothing yet..................mmmm...........
Well, I think I'll go and check to see if I left the water running in the pool.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Wonderful Wacky Wedding
I met a girl at a wonderful, wacky wedding reception last night and she stuck out in such a cool way. Her hair was about 1/2 inch all over her head. She looked really cute, her eyes exuding friendship as she told me why she had shaved her head a while ago. Apparently she was washing her soul free of detritus and symbolized her new beginning by shaving her head and having a burial service for her hair. Off with the old hair, in with a new person. I didn't have time to ask--nor did I feel it was polite!--what she was getting rid of, but I felt completely taken in by her need to do so. I love to meet individuals, people who think for themselves, and especially people who dare to be different.
Which brings me to the picture above. This is part of the wedding invitation. An obvious takeoff on the American Gothic, the bride and groom shine from behind the pitchfork as they contemplate their new life together. Guests were told to dress down, the ceremony was to take place by a stream in a wonderful glade of towering maples on a carpet of soft green grass. Guests brought their lawn chairs or stood to the rear and watched the play unfold.
The groom's father, a smiling, happy man was in charge. He is not a minister but assured us the legalities had been taken care of and proceeded to marry the two. But not before lots of speeches, sweet words, sweeter music and some downright tomfoolery. The groom's brother topped off his funny talk with a toast to the couple but not in the usual way. Instead he jumped in the shallow stream behind, rolled frantically from side to side all the while saying something about the bride and groom. I have no idea what. Not because I couldn't hear but because I was so completely surprised and taken in by his exuberant display. To roaring laughter and thunderous applause, he jumped out of the stream, pushed his hair out of his face and sat calmly down with the rest of us wedding watchers.
Finally Sherry and Kelly stood up and repeated their vows to each other, a wonderful trio of talented family performed on guitar, keyboard and voice, and soon that part of the day was over.
We headed to my brother's farm for the reception in a huge barn. You heard me. A barn. Complete with bride and groom arriving behind beautiful Belgian horses in the family wagon with so much history. (Have to talk about that one another day.) People milled about through the food barn where successive courses of the best meal I've ever eaten at a wedding were displayed and devoured. You could move from there to the horse stall section where the bar was set up and run by paid people, and then to a huge drive barn, cleared of all its usual implements and set up with picnic table, sound system, and dance area. Well you had to dance on gravel so that was not too interesting to me. It's a lot of years since I drank enough to want to do that!
Anyhow, the whole event was fantastic, low-key and different enough that people were enthralled. Kids and adults alike loved looking at the little calves that were penned across the laneway, each in its own plastic house. The wedding wagon did double duty becoming a ride to the fields for anyone who wanted to go. While I have ridden in the wagon many times, I had never gone up on the big seat, so this time I asked for the top spot. It was so awesome. Having hoisted myself up using the small steps, I found myself way above the horses on a broad leather seat with nothing to hang on to! There was virtually nothing between me and the huge rumps of two big Belgians. My brother, Keith, beside me was some comfort but my hands searched for something to grasp before the ride began. Then Steve hopped up on the other side of me and I felt a little more secure as we headed off for the fields. Clop, clop, the horses moved doggedly on, tired from their day's work, Keith's soft gee, gee, steadying them and keeping them on course. It steadied me, too. Someone was actually in charge of these great beasts!
Soon the ride was over and I hopped down, well, climbed down, my feet looking for the next steps as I descended to terra firma. So cool. Such a great day! Loved it all.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Morning Medley
Early this morning I woke up cool and pulled up the blanket, quickly drifting off to sleep again. Next thing I knew I was awake again and glanced at the clock. It wasn't there! Wondering where it had gone I forced my eyes to focus in the early morning gloom. There was the book I'm currently reading but, no, I couldn't see the clock. Brain flash. It was actually there but no red numbers popped out at me. The hydro was off.
I drifted back to sleep again thinking there was no point in me worrying about the hydro being on or off. Nothing I could do. Eventually I woke again, let myself drift to full consciousness, and started thinking about my day. What would I do? Laundry waiting for me in the basement, my day for the gym, swimming, work on Classroom Puzzler pages again--almost finished the Accounting book!, clean out some kitchen cupboards, write in my blog--what???--oh so many ideas floated through my head. And, of course, beading. I would finish off the set I started last night.
With the power still off, I made my breakfast--juice, vitamins, tall glass of ice water, fresh strawberries from last night--but couldn't make my hot chocolate in the microwave. Well, just put some milk over the berries. Suddenly the frig beside me started to hum and little beeps percolated through the house as the power came back on, just in time for me to pour my mug of milk and nuke it. Patience paid off. So often that is the way life is. You just keep going till the situation improves.
Off to the gym, now that the power is on! I look forward to making the treadmill do my bidding. Have a great day!
I drifted back to sleep again thinking there was no point in me worrying about the hydro being on or off. Nothing I could do. Eventually I woke again, let myself drift to full consciousness, and started thinking about my day. What would I do? Laundry waiting for me in the basement, my day for the gym, swimming, work on Classroom Puzzler pages again--almost finished the Accounting book!, clean out some kitchen cupboards, write in my blog--what???--oh so many ideas floated through my head. And, of course, beading. I would finish off the set I started last night.
With the power still off, I made my breakfast--juice, vitamins, tall glass of ice water, fresh strawberries from last night--but couldn't make my hot chocolate in the microwave. Well, just put some milk over the berries. Suddenly the frig beside me started to hum and little beeps percolated through the house as the power came back on, just in time for me to pour my mug of milk and nuke it. Patience paid off. So often that is the way life is. You just keep going till the situation improves.
Off to the gym, now that the power is on! I look forward to making the treadmill do my bidding. Have a great day!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
My Messenger
In days gone by that title would suggest I had my own personal pony express or at least a long, leggy guy on a bicylce rushing to my door with the latest missive. Not so, today. The Wonderful World of Computers has brought us MSN Messenger and many other versions of the same thing.
When our daughter was in China several years ago on a six-month grant from the Canadian government, we discovered ICQ. On Sunday nights at 9 pm, we would sit down at our computer here and log in to ICQ. Beth would go to work an hour early on Monday mornings--9:00 a.m. her time--and we would connect. Via a split screen we would catch up on all that had been going on. Her screen was on the top and ours on the bottom and as we were typing a reply to her last question we could see in real time her reply to what we were typing, a really cool phenomenon. Made us both glad we were good typists.
Well, of course that concept has been greatly improved. Now our MSN Messenger allows us to see each other as Beth sits at her Victoria computer and I at my Ontario one. With headphones, we can hear each other, too, although I still don't have my microphone working so I have to type while she can just talk. Never mind, it is all good. The technology is increasing amazingly.
This morning as I work at my machine, I get little pop-ups every so often telling me who has logged on. Oops, there's Kevin, and there's hubby again. Now we're all three connected and catching up on each other's lives. So quick, so easy, and so much fun. Just sent a thumping heart to hubby! And the water balloon is cute, too.
Hubby has left the conversation to get on with his day. Kev and I 'talk' a little more and say good-bye. So quick, so easy. We're so connected. Love my Messenger!
When our daughter was in China several years ago on a six-month grant from the Canadian government, we discovered ICQ. On Sunday nights at 9 pm, we would sit down at our computer here and log in to ICQ. Beth would go to work an hour early on Monday mornings--9:00 a.m. her time--and we would connect. Via a split screen we would catch up on all that had been going on. Her screen was on the top and ours on the bottom and as we were typing a reply to her last question we could see in real time her reply to what we were typing, a really cool phenomenon. Made us both glad we were good typists.
Well, of course that concept has been greatly improved. Now our MSN Messenger allows us to see each other as Beth sits at her Victoria computer and I at my Ontario one. With headphones, we can hear each other, too, although I still don't have my microphone working so I have to type while she can just talk. Never mind, it is all good. The technology is increasing amazingly.
This morning as I work at my machine, I get little pop-ups every so often telling me who has logged on. Oops, there's Kevin, and there's hubby again. Now we're all three connected and catching up on each other's lives. So quick, so easy, and so much fun. Just sent a thumping heart to hubby! And the water balloon is cute, too.
Hubby has left the conversation to get on with his day. Kev and I 'talk' a little more and say good-bye. So quick, so easy. We're so connected. Love my Messenger!
Monday, August 07, 2006
Say What You Mean, Mean What You Say
Grrr! &*##^#$@$ (Those are swear words, in case you didn't get it.) Have you ever just wanted to stamp your feet and scream in frustration? Hubby was in charge of the money throughout this whole 2006 edition of the local Lions' fundraiser, the rodeo. Yessirree, right here in downtown Ontario a bit of the Wild West comes to visit each Civic Holiday weekend. And it's a big hit with people for miles around, thus being now the biggest Lions' fundraiser here every year.
For four years this event has gone on and you'd think it would be seamless. Everyone would know their jobs, lists of duties would have been written and carefully followed. People would work together to make this event happen without a hitch. In a perfect world, maybe.
Anyhow, hubby's accounting heart really gets pumping with his CFO Rodeo job. He plans early how much money for each of the many floats needed. He makes detailed sheets of number of bills, rolls of loonies and toonies and delivers the floats to each section head. He contacts them all, making arrangements for pickups and deliveries. He delights in serving the club in this manner. He is a numbers man to the core.
You would think with so much planning that I would have nothing to say regarding my title. I wish! Saturday morning at 8 we headed out to Lion Chief's farm to pick up one float, a plan made the night before. They had a garage sale going on but no Lion Chief and no float. It was down at the rodeo grounds. No choice but to head down there and find him to pick it up, making us late for our trip to the city to exchange some of the coin we had for fives. As the day went on, I accompanied hubby to the event and saw first hand how disorganized some people were regarding money. They would come running up to him, saying they needed a float for something else. Someone would need more change than they originally wanted. Where are the cash drawers? Who is going to take over for me? The questions flew fast and furious about many more things than hubby's finance job.
On it went through the next two days. One person forgot to call the people who had signed up to do the bar, so no one from that Lions' club showed up. That meant others had to leave their jobs short and take over the bar. Where were the bar chips? No one knew? We had them last night. Do you have extra Lions' vests? You can't take that fence down till the bar is closed. No! You can't. Oh, what's it matter? There's no one here checking.--The list goes on and on of the mayhem over the whole weekend. Several times hubby arranged to pick up money one place, only to find someone else had changed the plan.
Yesterday, the Monday after, three of us were cooling off in the pool rehashing the event. Now you have to remember this was three teachers, used to organizing not only ourselves but hundreds of students all the time. We shared stories like the ones above. We had to get it all out. Why don't people stick to the plan? Say what they mean and mean what they say? Finally with a resigned laugh we decide the event came off well anyhow. So many of these people don't plan but the rodeo is a huge success for yet another year. Just goes to show you we humans stumble through and make things happen. Sort of like life, I guess.
For four years this event has gone on and you'd think it would be seamless. Everyone would know their jobs, lists of duties would have been written and carefully followed. People would work together to make this event happen without a hitch. In a perfect world, maybe.
Anyhow, hubby's accounting heart really gets pumping with his CFO Rodeo job. He plans early how much money for each of the many floats needed. He makes detailed sheets of number of bills, rolls of loonies and toonies and delivers the floats to each section head. He contacts them all, making arrangements for pickups and deliveries. He delights in serving the club in this manner. He is a numbers man to the core.
You would think with so much planning that I would have nothing to say regarding my title. I wish! Saturday morning at 8 we headed out to Lion Chief's farm to pick up one float, a plan made the night before. They had a garage sale going on but no Lion Chief and no float. It was down at the rodeo grounds. No choice but to head down there and find him to pick it up, making us late for our trip to the city to exchange some of the coin we had for fives. As the day went on, I accompanied hubby to the event and saw first hand how disorganized some people were regarding money. They would come running up to him, saying they needed a float for something else. Someone would need more change than they originally wanted. Where are the cash drawers? Who is going to take over for me? The questions flew fast and furious about many more things than hubby's finance job.
On it went through the next two days. One person forgot to call the people who had signed up to do the bar, so no one from that Lions' club showed up. That meant others had to leave their jobs short and take over the bar. Where were the bar chips? No one knew? We had them last night. Do you have extra Lions' vests? You can't take that fence down till the bar is closed. No! You can't. Oh, what's it matter? There's no one here checking.--The list goes on and on of the mayhem over the whole weekend. Several times hubby arranged to pick up money one place, only to find someone else had changed the plan.
Yesterday, the Monday after, three of us were cooling off in the pool rehashing the event. Now you have to remember this was three teachers, used to organizing not only ourselves but hundreds of students all the time. We shared stories like the ones above. We had to get it all out. Why don't people stick to the plan? Say what they mean and mean what they say? Finally with a resigned laugh we decide the event came off well anyhow. So many of these people don't plan but the rodeo is a huge success for yet another year. Just goes to show you we humans stumble through and make things happen. Sort of like life, I guess.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
The Great Blue Heron
This bird has always meant mystery to me. Sighting one was like seeing a prehistoric pterodactyl or something. And the solitary nature of the bird meant we rarely saw one, and if we did, it kept its distance. Not so anymore.
A few years ago we spent a thrilling spring day trekking through a farmer's field back to a bush filled with heron nests up in the tops of the trees. As we walked the wondrous birds were flying to and from the nests, anxious to fill the hungry mouths waiting for them. We could hear the raucous sound of their cries from time to time, but for the most part, the giants glided soundlessly over our heads, probably wondering if we were something to eat or something to fear. I tried to take pictures because I was so anxious to capture my excitement but I knew my camera just couldn't do the job. I have lots of shots of birds in the far distant sky, but none that accurately show the scene I remember from that day.
On a houseboat trip on Pigeon Lake, we were also thrilled to catch a silvery blue-grey heron alone, silent and watchful on a fencepost jutting out of the water. In my mind's eye, I can picture the heron standing on one leg, but wonder if time and memory have blurred to edit my imprint. No matter. They are majestic creatures both ways.
Just a few weeks ago, I stopped my gardening to walk to the end of the drive and chat with a neighbour out for his morning walk. It was a beautiful day and a friendly chat, but suddenly Keith's attention moved away from my face. "Look on your roof!" I turned in time to see a king-size heron walking about on my roof ridge, looking for all the world like that was not my roof but his fiefdom. As we drank him in, he spread his wide, bent wings and, dragging his feet beneath him, took off into the sky. Like Santa waving from his sleigh, the great giant circled overhead as though to say 'good-bye' to his admiring audience, and then gracefully dipped his wings into the distance. We ogled, and then finally were able to talk again, although nothing we said could equal the thrilling flight of my heart.
Yes, the planet is changing and often not in a good way, but this change seems positive. We do see more herons. Hopefully that means there are more of them around, making the happy sighting of them more likely to occur. Check out that noisy scratching on your roof. It might be a wonderful great blue heron.
More of My Ontario
What's in a picture? In this picture are stories of our life. For instance, in the foreground you see 4 Muskoka chairs (not Adirondack--we're in Canada, you see) in vibrant colours that reflect the bright and varied personality of the person who painted them--hubby! Fittingly, those chairs lift up the heart and speak of fun.
And, of course, you see the sparkly blue waters of our pool, cool, refreshing and pretty. We love to look at it, sitting in the chairs, to swim in it, and to soak in it, letting the world worries ebb away. I swim my lengths there for the sheer pleasure of feeling the cool water slither along my body, refreshing me as I get my exercise. I feel clean when I climb out, as well as proud that I've done my lengths. There is a confidence attained when I look after my body.
Along the left side of the pool are slender cedars and various potentilla. They are planted in the midst of river rock to keep the weeds down. Guess you can see how I hate to weed! Further back is my rock garden, a splash of colour, varying with the plant season, showing primarily the black-eyed Susans I was given by a very dear friend. Like her, they are striking, original, and beautiful. Thanks, Olive!
Behind the fence, barely visible on this calm day, is our Canadian flag. One July 1st we had a great Canada Day party where we raised the flag for the first time. The warm weather that day was rained on a bit but people stood under the trees and the kids kept swimming--a great party to celebrate a great country. Hubby takes pride in keeping the flag fresh and flying high.
In the shadows cast by our two big maples are some lovely shrubs and our patch of green grass, small enough that hubby can cut it in about 10 minutes. He tears around the yard, pushing the mower, enjoying the movement and the clipped green lawn he creates. No riding mower for him!
Finally, to the right of the foreground you can just make out one of our original design benches, made from scrap lumber by hubby and me. He and I share projects according to our abilities with me doing the planning, him cutting the boards, and both of us working together to put it all together. Sort of like our lives. Gotta love that.
And so, this is another part of my Ontario, the part I walk every day, the part I call my home. May the sun always shine on it so brilliantly!
Friday, August 04, 2006
Our Place To Stand
Ontari-ar-i-ar-i-o! It was a place to stand and a place to grow and they called this land Ontario! These are some of the words from the popular song from Expo '67. Newly adult, newly married, just starting out on our life journey together, hubby and I loved the exuberance of the music and the words we really believed. Not much has changed.
Returning from our trip to China a few years ago, we were delighted to set foot on Canadian soil once more. In fact we wanted to get out and kiss the ground. Not that we hated our trip but we loved coming home more. It seems every time we set our sights for home after time away we are always happy. We love where we live. Let me take you on a journey through part of my Ontario.
Of course best known is the 401 corridor where highway 401 slices from Windsor to Cornwall, passing by the most populated areas. You cross the flat fields of Kent County, see the tomatoes and sugar beets rising to feed the world, and maybe get a whiff of natural gas around Petrolia and Oil City. The terrain changes to hills and more trees. Large wooded crown lands and manicured farmers' fields line the highway, broken up by homes and farm buildings, some stately, some not so much, but all showing activity.
As you approach the tree-lined 'Forest City' of London, you are nearing cow country. Huge mega farms vie for space with industry. New subdivisions push the limits of the highway. Near Dorchester, there is even one especially set up for home-based businesses with the business space included right in the plans for the new homes.
The city is a great place to visit and to explore but my heart is in the fields. The openness of it all, the patchwork quilt of green soybeans, yellowing wheat, spikey corn, and third-cut hay, all so neatly partitioned and covered with big patches of blue above--these things reach into my soul and fertilize it like honey bees do clover. I am at peace.
We turn off the 401 and drive the quiet back roads, paved but not busy, for the twenty minutes to reach home. We see the golf course with players lining up to putt on the first green, the little grouping of houses left over from a village of days gone by, the flashing light marking Hamulecki's corners--not on any map!--and the reduced speed limit for our village. Look our son has cut our lawn--great kid, eh?--and we turn in to our home, burnt orange door and all. Oh, it's good to be home!
Returning from our trip to China a few years ago, we were delighted to set foot on Canadian soil once more. In fact we wanted to get out and kiss the ground. Not that we hated our trip but we loved coming home more. It seems every time we set our sights for home after time away we are always happy. We love where we live. Let me take you on a journey through part of my Ontario.
Of course best known is the 401 corridor where highway 401 slices from Windsor to Cornwall, passing by the most populated areas. You cross the flat fields of Kent County, see the tomatoes and sugar beets rising to feed the world, and maybe get a whiff of natural gas around Petrolia and Oil City. The terrain changes to hills and more trees. Large wooded crown lands and manicured farmers' fields line the highway, broken up by homes and farm buildings, some stately, some not so much, but all showing activity.
As you approach the tree-lined 'Forest City' of London, you are nearing cow country. Huge mega farms vie for space with industry. New subdivisions push the limits of the highway. Near Dorchester, there is even one especially set up for home-based businesses with the business space included right in the plans for the new homes.
The city is a great place to visit and to explore but my heart is in the fields. The openness of it all, the patchwork quilt of green soybeans, yellowing wheat, spikey corn, and third-cut hay, all so neatly partitioned and covered with big patches of blue above--these things reach into my soul and fertilize it like honey bees do clover. I am at peace.
We turn off the 401 and drive the quiet back roads, paved but not busy, for the twenty minutes to reach home. We see the golf course with players lining up to putt on the first green, the little grouping of houses left over from a village of days gone by, the flashing light marking Hamulecki's corners--not on any map!--and the reduced speed limit for our village. Look our son has cut our lawn--great kid, eh?--and we turn in to our home, burnt orange door and all. Oh, it's good to be home!
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Jewelry Pictures (4)
16. Creamy lilac glass beads with clear glass rondelles and round beads, set off by violet rainbow seed beads make this necklace, bracelet and earring set gorgeous. I love it!
17. Blue swirls in large clear beads are spectacular with silvery rondelles and shiny black seed beads in this necklace with matching earrings.
Jewelry Pictures (1)
1. Spiral Bracelet, pearlized button in blue and pink, matching earrings. 2.Three bead netted bracelet in mauves, pearlized button.
3. Costume beads in black, gray, gold necklace. 4. Spiral bracelet and earrings in golds and greenish blue colours. 5. Peyote bracelet in gold and multi-purples with black/purple button.
Jewelry Pictures (2)
6. Red Swarovski crystals with silver and clear beads, necklace and earrings.
7. Earrings and spiral Delica bead bracelet in lovely vibrant pink and silvery whites. 8. Multicolour pinks, yellows, lilacs in three bead netted, seed bead bracelet with pink/gold button. 9. Blue rectangular beads, enhanced by multi-colored seed beads and small square irridescent whites, earrings to match.
Jewelry Pictures (3)
10. Red, black and silver seed beads enhance white round glass beads in long necklace and earrings to match.
11. Pink Swarovski bicone crystals are set off by silver and clear crystal beads in necklace, bracelet and earrings. 12. (see description 6) 13. Indian red Swarovski crystal bicones in different sizes are matched to shiny black and silver seed beads, separated by large silvery pinwheel rondelles. Stunning.
14. Blue cat's eyes are matched to silver filigree balls and clear beads in this necklace, bracelet and earring set.
15. Lovely pink Swarovski crystals highlight this set of necklace, bracelet and earrings to match. They are enhanced by silver filigree and plain balls with small clear seed beads.
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