tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91210815273229977482024-03-13T21:41:31.231-07:00Apron Strings and Chicken WingsDarlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-63996713510356105722012-10-05T07:09:00.002-07:002012-10-05T07:16:20.096-07:00Registrar I woke this morning, The dream that I had worked my way out of still hanging about my mind and body like a shroud.<br />
I was driving with my husband. The vehicle stopped working in the middle of a busy intersection at a plaza-like shopping center. I volunteered to go into Von's and get change. Why would change help in this situation? Who knows.<br />
I went in, with a large bag on my shoulder. In the bag was my Lulu, my pug that I had to help over the bridge a couple of years ago, and Gemma, my little one-eyed Japanese Chin that currently inhabits the places in my heart reserved for furry babies.<br />
I walked into the store and was transported into a sea of people. All were quite friendly. I saw a piece of paper at my feet and as I was staring at it, a handsome man in his 30's said, "Oh don't worry, I dropped that there." I smiled at him and he looked at me with recognition in his eyes and a warm and happy smile.<br />
I moved on through the people, and then made my way outside across a field of grass to where the truck had been parked in the middle of the road. I couldn't see the truck, or my husband, anywhere.<br />
I was getting hungry, and I walked into a little Chinese place. I ordered soup and coffee. The coffee to-go cups were strange and not all that clean. After waiting much too long for soup, I cancelled my order and told the lady behind the counter about the cups. She just stared at me with large dark eyes. The handsome man was sitting at a table, eating.<br />
I walked out and into another portion of the plaza. People were waiting in lines with placards that hung above them that read "Registrar". I moved through, calling "Mike!", but no one even appeared to hear me. The handsome man was in that room too, I am not sure if I saw him or just felt him there.<br />
The joy at seeing Lulu was palpable. I hugged her warm body and kissed her. She played with Gemma on the lawn. But I was growing increasingly sure that I couldn't find anyone I knew. I didn't feel afraid, but I felt separated. I woke.<br />
As the dream wove around my head like magic, I darted upright in my bed. My heart felt weighted and heavy in my chest, as if it was full of un-shed tears, and so I shed them. I was afraid that the dream meant I do have breast cancer, and that it would take me away from everyone that I knew. As I write this blog, I think about the word registrar. Of course I knew it existed, but I don't think I have ever used it. I looked up it's definition: <i>An official keeper of records that are kept in a register.</i>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-15382008650617671282012-06-06T08:21:00.002-07:002012-06-06T08:46:01.253-07:00A Lesson In The Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So this morning, it is pouring. Yesterday evening the rain started, and it is thick and heavy and concealing, and I love it.<br />
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I felt content in my robe, with organic Montana Morning Coffee from Coffee Traders (The BEST coffee around) in hand and newspaper on the table, it was set to be a good morning.<br />
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My husband and son left the house at 7:30 to make it to the college by 8am. My daughter has to be at work by 8 am as well. The house would be silent and rainy and I could write to my hearts content. I could feel the muse stirring inside my chest. But M'Kayla was late, in-spite of frequent hurry warnings, and so they had to leave her. I was going to have to drive her.<br />
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I wasn't very nice to my sweet girl. I told her I would drive her, but bitched about how she should be able to get ready in the morning earlier. I quizzed her on why she didn't get up earlier, why it took her so long to get ready... she looked exhausted. She's been sick with every single cold that comes around since working at the daycare. We think it has something to do with having had Mono a couple of months ago, because since then, she has been sick. Her immune system took a hit and hasn't recovered.<br />
She was saying, "Mom.. you don't have to drive me, I've walked in the rain before." And, "I tried to get up earlier, but I just couldn't get out of bed."<br />
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I got dressed and got my keys and started the car. Then I came in and looked at her. My heart broke. What in the hell was I doing? Why does my period make me such an awful bitch sometimes? She was exhausted. Her eyes had big dark rings under them. Her nose was stuffy. She is so beautiful and awesome...she has the sweetest soul, the most generous heart, she is the kindest most loving girl I have ever known. I realize I am her mom, and so my opinion is colored with a mothers love. But take that away, she is truly the sweetest soul I have ever met. People stop me and say, "Are you M'Kayla's mom? She is the sweetest girl in the world." No joke.<br />
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I hugged her and told her I was so sorry for bitching. She said "Oh no, mama, its okay, its my fault." Because she will always, and without fail, accept an apology. No matter who it was that did something to her or against her. An apology made to M'Kayla is accepted with open arms and total forgiveness.<br />
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I sliced her some watermelon because she wasn't really hungry. I loaded her up with a fist-full of vitamins and immune boosting supplements, and then we ducked out the door into the rain.<br />
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We darted to the car, and it just so happened that we got in our seats and shut our doors at the exact same moment. The radio was already playing...and as soon as we shut the doors, Supertramp sang the chorus <i>"Oh no it's raining again, and you know its hard to pretend..." </i><br />
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For some reason, it was one of THOSE moments. Tears filled my eyes because I could feel the emotional impact and importance of being aware that this very moment, was special. I looked over at M'Kayla and a tear ran down her cheek. She said "Oh my God, I'm so emotional right now, that song and the rain, it just made me cry."<br />
We both felt it.<br />
It was a moment that we would never forget. It was special and set apart, a gift, given for reasons unknown.<br />
<b>And I almost missed it. </b><br />
It was a lesson for me, if we look around, life is full of them. Lessons, and moments.<br />
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So here is my request:<br />
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Be kind. To everyone. Love. Everyone. Reach out, draw in. We have the amazing power to change the moment, to change the day, to change the life of other human beings around us. Everyone is just trying to get through, doing the best they can. Our greatest power lies in our ability to show kindness to another human being. We can change the world, one kindness at a time. It is a magic that we all possess. <br />
Use your magic today.<br />
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<br />Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-56590631064301247202012-06-03T19:40:00.001-07:002012-06-03T19:40:46.435-07:00Meditation and Spirituality For The Sake Of Being Spiritual<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Since my diagnosis roughly 3 months ago, the spiritual side of me has become more alert and awake. Today when I ran into my primary care physician outside of the office, he asked me how I was doing and I told him I was doing well...that I was "watching & waiting". He said how he would hate that, not being able to actively fight. He looked me in the eye then and said, "It's got to make a person religious."<br />
For me, I do not believe that CLL has made me religious, it has made me spiritual.<br />
I have done religious. Growing up as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, I was very religious. I was so religious that I was terrified that God was going to strike me down the day that I came to the realization that Jehovah's Witnesses do not have sole rights to "truth". I remember the day that I gathered the courage to explore other religions, other denominations within Christianity. I will never forget the fear and exhilaration that I felt when I walked through the doors of a mainstream Christian church. As a JW, we were taught that other Christian religions were of "Christendom", and were the "Great Harlot" and that churches were houses for demons. I was overcome with emotional release at being free from what had felt like chains of mental imprisonment. I felt the love of God as He led me out. Please do not get me wrong. There are many good JW people. People with good hearts who just want to do the right thing. I just feel that they are being horribly deceived by an organization of fallible, imperfect, men.<br />
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My hunger for the spiritual has always been strong. I have always been able to find the spiritual, the awe inspiring, the amazing and unearthly in the mundane. I have always loved God. I devoured the plethora of Christian literature, music and prayers that had been off limits to me before. It was as if I had been starved for years and then thrown into an all-you-can eat buffet. I could not get enough. I had looked outside the box I had been living in, and I was in love with what I found. I felt such freedom. Freedom because no one came to my house in suit and tie to check in with me if I did not attend a meeting or get the required number of hours in the door to door ministry that month. I felt freedom because main stream Christianity seemed to love everyone. Accept everyone. Because isn't that what Christ was about? About love? About acceptance. About reaching out to those who were broken and bandaging them up?<br />
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But within a few years, I began to feel disillusioned. I looked around and realized that most of the followers of Christ, picked and chose which verses they would deem the most important, and then use those verses to make a safe and comfy world for themselves to live in. A world that was filled with people who thought just like they did. I was disillusioned when it seemed to me that the Christian "right" were the one of the most unloving, judgmental, greedy group of people around. More concerned with individual rights than taking care of their brother. More concerned with homophobia than with obesity, greed, lying...etc.<br />
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And perhaps it is my Jehovah's Witness upbringing, but I was never able to wrap my mind around hell. Hell. It is preached in most churches and is the most horrific, awful, gut wrenching, unloving, unkind teaching that anyone could dream up. I mean after all, its not as if your tortured for a moment and then you die. No. Your tortured for eternity. Without let up. Forever. And ever. For a choice you made as a broken hurting human. I've talked about it before, I know. But if God is love...then there is no hell. And if there is a hell...then God is not who He says He is.<br />
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But now, now I feel like I have opened Pandora's box, because I do not know what I believe. Who put the books of the bible together? Are they really the inspired word of God? Because if they are, there are so many questions. So very many questions. I continue to move through the questions, cherishing the journey.<br />
I think that God is bigger than our mistakes. I think that God is bigger than our denomination. God is more than a gender. A race. A religion. A sexual orientation. I do not think we can box God into human form, but I think that we try very hard to do just that.<br />
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Lately I have found peace in Christian Mysticism, in Meditation, chants, peace, stillness. I listen to Jewish Rabbi's and Enlightened Catholic Monks, to Buddhist teachers and spiritual philosophers. I light incense and candles and close my eyes and rest in a stillness that is so profound that I cannot give it words. I can only sense it with my spirit. A connection to life, the source of life, God, other humans, nature...a beautiful connection that requires nothing of me, except that I receive it. And I have decided that it is okay to live with the questions. Questions are part of the great experience of this life. For some, unanswerable questions are more than they can bear, and so they choose to cut the spirituality out of their life like a cancer. For me, I just keep walking towards it, because I love God. Do you think that God could be angry because we chose to worship incorrectly? I cannot put that much humanity into the Source of life.<br />
<br />Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-60781687656911449242012-06-02T12:45:00.000-07:002012-06-03T19:35:36.373-07:00New Blog Just For CLLI have decided to separate cancer from my everyday life. Ha. That was funny. Actually, I have created a blog dedicated to JUST cancer and chronic lymphocytic leukemia. Those that want information about CLL, don't have to wade through piles of chickens to find it. The CLL blog is called <a href="http://chronicallycrazy.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Chronically Crazy: Life With Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia</a> , and if you click on the link...it will take you there! Here on Apron Strings, I will be upping my farm-girl life posts. Walking and talking through life on a city farm. I have some really great recipes, some new projects in the works, new information on gardens and composting, chickens and eggs.
I'll keep a link over to the side for easy access to the CLL blog, Chronically Crazy: Life With Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia.
Thanks everyone!Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-34085577260332226362012-02-26T07:43:00.000-08:002012-06-03T19:36:46.088-07:00Solitude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been quiet the past few weeks. I have felt the need to wrap myself in a protective bubble of solitude. Our world is so full of noise. Cars, sirens, televisions, radios, crowds of people, phones, iPods....everywhere I listen, there is noise. Maybe it has been longer than a few weeks. Maybe it has been since my diagnosis. I am not quite sure.<br />
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Noise isn't necessarily bad, and some sounds cannot really be classified as noise. Bird song for instance, invites solitude and reflection. Laughter lifts the spirit and can be shared or experienced solo. And even the cacophony of life ...genuine noise...can be good, because noise = life!<br />
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But there are times, when I need to pull inward and reflect and meditate on the things I have learned amid all of the noise. When I lived in Florida, I would go out early in the morning just as the sun was rising, and walk in beautiful silence along the ocean shore. There were sounds, my feet moving through thick white sand, the gentle shush of the Gulf Coast as it touched the shore, gulls and sea-birds, and even a quick hello as one morning sojourner passed another in their morning quiet. My walks never failed to bring peace, to find beauty, because it was there...no matter which direction I turned.<br />
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Here, I do the same. I get up and walk and I try very hard to enjoy the stark beauty of winter. Every day I find something peaceful, a bird, a deer, or just the sound of my footsteps as my feet crunch through the snow. It is difficult at times though, because I crave the sun as if it were my breath. Day after day of heavy low clouds weighs on my spirit and infringes on my attempts at peacefulness. If I had to choose, I would choose to be walking on that beach right now.<br />
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But we can't always choose. Sometimes we must take what we are given and craft something lovely out of it, no matter how bleak it seems in the beginning. Sometimes the end result is far more magnificent than we ever could have imagined. And sometimes it isn't. I will be so grateful when spring is here, the snow is gone, and there are blue skies to lift my heart. Until then, I will revel in the winter wonderland at my doorstep and breathe in each moment of peace where I find it. I will continue to use this diagnosis to transform myself and my life into something magnificent that otherwise would never have been possible.<br />
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<br />Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-11211003512349938182012-01-21T17:46:00.000-08:002012-06-03T19:45:12.047-07:00The Meaning of a Florida Panther<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On a Tuesday evening, just as the sun was setting in Naples, Florida, I was blessed to have a Florida Panther cross my path. I was in a hurry, a quick trip to the grocery store to grab something for dinner and some kitty litter. We had just moved into the home we would be watching for the next 6 months. Tonight would be our first night sleeping in the luxury of this multimillion dollar home. I didn't want to begin our time there without kitty litter (and the series of unfortunate events that could occur without it), so after getting our things settled in, off I went. As I was rounding the curve to exit past the guard gate, there she was. She had emerged from the edge of the trees walking slowly, as if she were out for an evening stroll. She was large, and heavy with muscle, and her long, dark-tipped tail moved gracefully behind her as she went. She crossed the road without a glance in my direction. Her grace and beauty slow my world, and in that moment, I knew I was in the presence of something special. I was amazed to have encountered such an animal here, just steps from grocery stores and Target. </div>
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For the past three nights, I have met a panther in my dreams. In each dream, chaos is taking place. I didn't write it down, so I cannot remember what was happening, only that it was loud and confusing and full of colors that were too bright and too many people. As I am standing in the middle of this chaos, the panther walks through. She is determined, and sure, and walks past me and down a corridor and then turns to the right and is gone. As she moves past me, and down the corridor, I am mesmerized by her strength and her purpose. I am entranced by the gentle movements of her strong tail. I am compelled to follow her, but I wake up. She seems full of purpose, without hesitation, as if she knows exactly where she is going.</div>
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So this morning, with the dream fresh on my mind, and it having been the third morning of dreaming of a panther, I looked up the "dream" meanings of panthers. Here is what I found:</div>
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<span style="color: #8e2bc8; font-size: small;"><strong>When it shows up as a totem it
may be time to learn about owning your own power—albeit by trial and
error. This testing is what hones your skills and strengthens your inner
power. Cougar is a solitary animal, and you may feel alone when going
through these tests to prepare you for your ascent to the higher realms
of knowledge and spirituality.<br /><br />When Cougar appears, much of the
trial is usually already worked through—the ground work has already been
laid out; now it’s time to ascend, to assert your own power and
demonstrate what you have learned from the test or trial period. Cougars
may be associated with trees, as they climb to higher ground. Trees are
naturally archetypal images of knowledge and growth. Cougar scales the
heights to higher knowledge and security when other animals cannot. It
is grounded in the Earth, but can easily scale into the loftier realms.
Wolf may often precede Cougar, guiding and teaching you along the way
until you have found your path. He may then hand you over to Cougar so
you can now “climb” to a higher position or state.<br /><br />This would be
the time to break out of your shell or the “category” that you might be
stuck in, or that others may try to keep caged into. It is your choice
to remain as such, or to flex your muscles and reveal your newly found
courage, strength and capabilities. There is a choice to be made; but
Cougar leaps at any opportunities quickly and with strength. Cougar
teaches to be swift and decisive about using personal power; to not
hesitate either to defend or to attack—with equal effectiveness.</strong></span> </div>
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Interesting stuff. Wonder if she will show up again tonight. I would like to see where she goes after she rounds the corner.</div>
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Speaking of sleep, I've slept poorly the last few nights. I seem to feel angst and worry like the princess felt the pea. Hoping that I can get a solid night of sleep tonight and not wake up in the weee early hours of the morning with nothing but my whirlwind of thoughts to keep me company</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM06oiilidJH6rKHnGkhTX2NMTHmD5l1nMk55EVhOFCY0yLPTOk73NpkdJGERedmOUYGhI_-toUSBKEX8imDy4kN2u8YcOMa0IHjYzCwUKWvlSRCqomgwRiIr40Kgk7EfskXcyr8eI9Kw/s1600/Photo_00028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-81449319479691359252011-03-13T09:21:00.000-07:002011-03-13T11:13:02.456-07:00Post Traumatic Sadness. . . and then Spring.I have no right to be sad, but I am.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVNmK_K9T8-0HYOCZ1AqTQlWKCmoTvbfpuNLp4YzTP0TiHnqWgvMJKbcuHlc_WZXB3XvwbuG_dIU1TR_joic-91v_Oqbag-qQAk2DZPPHQRY72s01AVqhJhikEzHrrhM-x8CFmi9VymI/s1600/lulu+bird.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVNmK_K9T8-0HYOCZ1AqTQlWKCmoTvbfpuNLp4YzTP0TiHnqWgvMJKbcuHlc_WZXB3XvwbuG_dIU1TR_joic-91v_Oqbag-qQAk2DZPPHQRY72s01AVqhJhikEzHrrhM-x8CFmi9VymI/s200/lulu+bird.bmp" width="160" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lu on my bed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <i style="color: #990000;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><b> In late September of last year, Lulu my precious pug died in my arms.</b></span></i> She was only 3. She developed liver failure in August and made it until the end of September. I was devastated. It is hard to put into words how much Lulu meant to me. We connected the moment we met. It was as if we had been together always. She was my little black shadow, always going wherever I went. She followed me out to do the chores, helped me in the garden and got into mischief constantly. She was always up for anything as long as I was there. Our morning walks were pure meditation, she loved to be outdoors. She was my confidant. She listened tirelessly with those warm brown eyes to my tales of woe. I complained about school, about my relationships, about my life and she listened and crawled onto my lap.<span style="font-size: large;"><b> <i style="color: #990000;">If I cried, she would slowly and gently crawl up on my lap and lift her face to mine, and very softly lay her pug cheek on mine.</i></b></span> What a gift she was.<br />
When I came to realize that I was going to have to say good-bye. . . I panicked. I had said good-bye to my one year old daughter 21 years before, and the suffocating feeling of not being able to escape the reality of the situation was hauntingly familiar. Lu knew I wasn't ready, and she tried to stay. It was a beautiful sunny Sunday morning in late September that I woke to her panting for breath as fluid built up around her tissues. I knew the time had come. I drove her to the emergency vet that sunny Sunday morning, and helped her over the bridge, all the while whispering over and over into her soft black pug ear the words I knew would make her happy.<span style="font-size: large;"><b> <i style="color: #990000;">"Good Pug, you are such a Good Pug and I will never ever forget you."</i></b></span> Just as I did with my daughter, I kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, memorized her smell and held her until I was ready to let her go. God Bless that wonderful vet who cried tears with me. I will never forget that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-QQNgcutLNeKoXU4MFPbD871ktJBRCVPOuhf83wZIbpzYavLxX-287cGrurlB9QTMjUYL2Q_yUc4OvjkcGJ4iVCFWXw1d14IOcdQ6heToHkfaMm9X_kRsQf5vKc_9vmiVpH5l62ZCuI/s1600/IMG_2566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-QQNgcutLNeKoXU4MFPbD871ktJBRCVPOuhf83wZIbpzYavLxX-287cGrurlB9QTMjUYL2Q_yUc4OvjkcGJ4iVCFWXw1d14IOcdQ6heToHkfaMm9X_kRsQf5vKc_9vmiVpH5l62ZCuI/s200/IMG_2566.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lulu and Opus at Granny's</td></tr>
</tbody></table> We buried her that morning at my moms house behind the garden. She loved going to "granny's" and running on the property there. She loved the BBQ's where she always got a bite of burger, we knew it was the right place.<br />
My heart was sad for two weeks.<i><b style="color: #990000;"> <span style="font-size: large;">It was two weeks before the trial that trumped Lulu would enter my life.</span></b></i><br />
It was at about the two week mark when my son Garrett became ill. At first we thought it was the flu. But there were no other symptoms except exhaustion, fever and chills. We were repeatedly at the physicians office. Blood work, x-rays... nothing showed up definitively. Until the day that we went in to get the second set of blood test results. Garrett had been annoyed because they wanted him to actually come into the office to get them. When we got there, the doctor was puzzled as to why the nurse would have him come in, as nothing in the blood work was that alarming. He decided to give him a physical exam again, and I saw it in his eyes when he heard it. A heart murmur. A murmur that had not been there 4 days before. All of a sudden our lives became a flurry of activity. Garrett was immediately admitted to the hospital with a diagnosis of bacterial endocarditis. So many tests. Echo-cardiograms showed that he now had a severe mitral valve leak and that the infection had eaten through the flap in his heart.<span style="font-size: large;"><b> <i><span style="color: #990000;">The only remedy was open heart surgery and valve replacement.</span></i></b></span> But before that could happen, Garrett needed to be on IV antibiotics for 6-8 weeks to clear the infection from his heart valve. He had a PIC line inserted and we moved him into our living room so we could help care for him. 2 weeks later a bit of the infection from his heart flew off and traveled to his leg where infection developed in the deep muscle of his thigh. There were ER visits in the middle of the night, 3 separate hospital stays and daily trips to the infusion room for a refill on antibiotics.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 day after surgery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSDp4h_AaRkDv_MU9xt0eal3guuemtRrG-SXo_v-lAC7x3pkCVBGvCgWCcUrn74jQxH0NeXY3C5GZLL-xt_HkcOUU5qlWNxkUGCuP0CzKPGJCwA4Gx3NXYUyckNLA2GtRHL2XwA2o-Gg/s1600/IMG_4403-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSDp4h_AaRkDv_MU9xt0eal3guuemtRrG-SXo_v-lAC7x3pkCVBGvCgWCcUrn74jQxH0NeXY3C5GZLL-xt_HkcOUU5qlWNxkUGCuP0CzKPGJCwA4Gx3NXYUyckNLA2GtRHL2XwA2o-Gg/s200/IMG_4403-1.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painful Recovery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bnJHPi4eDFnAFwW5VMF4kO3bm0GOGrtWT94Eq2Ns6OM9oOOOciD0XhGREOXRMMMBzWhKBzzgENQakMSrcwXPIWoMZwPWEfouiWma22NereTSJRUNHJ6OGYDUW0LGxO8rzqJaow21mMk/s1600/IMG_4450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bnJHPi4eDFnAFwW5VMF4kO3bm0GOGrtWT94Eq2Ns6OM9oOOOciD0XhGREOXRMMMBzWhKBzzgENQakMSrcwXPIWoMZwPWEfouiWma22NereTSJRUNHJ6OGYDUW0LGxO8rzqJaow21mMk/s200/IMG_4450.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home and recovering</td></tr>
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<i style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>And then on January 7th, he had open heart surgery.</b></span></i> It was harder than I had ever imagined it would be. The hours of waiting during the surgery, the ICU, seeing him with a trach tube in his throat. He was in so much pain, and there was nothing we could do but wait for time to pass. He was in the hospital 6 days and then thanks be to God we had him home again. His recovery was slow, but before we knew it he had recovered. Thank you God, for my son. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.<br />
During the events of this past fall and winter I held up well. I was strong. I was empowered by God I believe to keep moving. It is now, after all has seemingly gone back to normal that I have let myself feel the trauma.<br />
I started this blog entry 2 weeks ago and only finished it today. I am no longer sad. Spring is here. There are the beginnings of buds on my lilac tree and there is garlic sprouting in my mostly snow covered garden beds. Renewal. Rebirth. Spring. The promise that all will not be dark and cold forever. The promise that there is light, that there is hope.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> <i><span style="color: #990000;">In a few days I will have to go to the hospital and have a test on my heart.</span></i></b></span> While studying EKG's in anatomy and physiology at school, I realized that there was something not right with mine. My cardiologist wants to rule out an abnormally formed coronary artery. So I will have a CT angiogram with iodine (which I am allergic to). If it turns out that my artery is not formed correctly, the fix will be. . . . open heart surgery. What are the odds? Probably astronomical. <span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="color: #990000;">Could I not just win the lottery instead?</span></i> </b><span style="font-size: small;">And then I realize, I already have. My son survived open heart surgery. My husband and I are still passionately in love after 25 years. My bright beautiful sunny daughter is healthy and well. I am the luckiest woman on earth.</span></span>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-90231361740660874682010-10-11T06:42:00.000-07:002010-10-11T06:42:19.335-07:00Stop!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGbgGva8TyWVOriPjQ_0d3gDYy_kWWaIQXm17YaKEcbhGW7i3wwlIY2opw8f_V1VV1o2x9QDMXFBiqFYTqaUwJ3tvET-FMw-g4cMnRLDa6xYoTvzbIcM0tpMj4feAku7kueKzzjeZ2R8/s1600/stop,humor,stress-f72c0bc109097eef41a4654c8c58bda0_h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGbgGva8TyWVOriPjQ_0d3gDYy_kWWaIQXm17YaKEcbhGW7i3wwlIY2opw8f_V1VV1o2x9QDMXFBiqFYTqaUwJ3tvET-FMw-g4cMnRLDa6xYoTvzbIcM0tpMj4feAku7kueKzzjeZ2R8/s320/stop,humor,stress-f72c0bc109097eef41a4654c8c58bda0_h.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Tension Tamer, the name of the tea I am drinking this morning instead of my usual black coffee. My taste buds, while not at all averse to the pleasant play of lemon and herbs is wondering where in the heck the coffee is. My mind is sort of wondering too, although lately its been so busy running an endless cycle of worries that I am surprised it even noticed.<br />
I'm stressed. School is stressing me out. Up until this point in my college career, I have enjoyed the scholarly mayhem that is academe. I have enjoyed the stress of doing well, of completing assignments on time, and achieving goals I had set for myself. I was a dedicated, hardworking smarty-pants that had no fear she could complete this and become a Nurse. That was before Anatomy and Physiology.<br />
My life is being consumed by this class. My worry cycle, usually hung up on mundane things like the power bill, is now fully focused on this subject! The intensity of the class is beyond anything I was prepared for. I remember over the summer months, worrying about how I would handle seeing and working with cadavers.I had images of the TV medical student holding the vomit back with one hand while reaching for the door with the other. I should not have worried, their silent presence is peaceful in comparison to the chaos of my mind. They are a beautiful representation of how we are fearfully and wonderfully made, nothing to fear. Not that worry is ever good, but I should have concerned myself with how I would incorporate and memorize volumes of information, terms and knowledge into an already pretty full 42 year old mind. I am here to admit that things have begun to drop out the other side. Its like a vending machine: quarters in, candy out. Only the candy in my mind doesn't drop into a neat little containment section, it falls into vast empty space never to be retrieved. The candy happens to be rudimentary things that were learned early in life, and the ratio of importance seems to be about equal. For instance: <i>Semitendinosus muscle <b>in,</b> how to tie my shoes...<b>out</b></i>. Not a serious issue. Easily fixed by Velcro or flip-flops. However: <i>Spatial and Temporal summation of post-synaptic potentials<b> in</b>, how to speak in complete sentences <b>out.</b></i> A bit of a problem. My professor has taken to tilting her head and squinting her eyes while I speak. I believe she sees me like a species similar to the Dodo, silently wondering how I have lived this long. And while we are on the subject of my professor, may I just inquire how it is that this woman can turn her eyes toward me and I have to fight the urge not to pee my pants and roll over on the floor? I really cannot go into a retelling of actual events that have caused me to feel this way, as the recall may actually spiral me into a vivid post traumatic flashback from which I will likely never recover.<br />
Yesterday morning though, as I sat and tried to hear God amidst the chaos that is my mind, I was reminded that it is not me. It is Him. It is not me. Its HIM. I am not doing this alone. I am not doing this under my own power. I have known that from the moment that God planted this seed of nursing into my mind. I have Fibromyalgia, I have Undifferentiated Connective Tissue Disease with a high probability of Lupus. Nursing school, and the career that follows does <span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">not</span> </b></span>seem the ideal career choice. But I didn't choose. I listened. And so I will continue to listen. And I will be reminded daily as I close my eyes and meditate on His word, that I am never alone. His power is made perfect in my weakness. With Him, all things are possible. I will continue to work hard, and I will probably even continue to stress over this class. But I am determined not to let the stress take over my life. I will do all that I can, without compromise to my time spent with my God or my family, and I will let him take care of the rest. Now....quick...someone email me and remind me... I've got the bread in the toasting machine thing, but I can't remember how to make it work.<br />
Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-56097088361986087792010-06-22T06:36:00.000-07:002010-06-22T06:36:30.335-07:00Early Morning ThoughtsI love morning. I always have. When I go to bed at night, I often wish it was already morning. Many of you are probably rolling your eyes, and my husband is rolling them right along with you. My husband cannot understand my love affair with mornings. We still laugh about our life when we were first married. As soon as the sun came up I would be bouncing on the bed in an attempt to wake him up to explore the world with me. I have since learned that just because I am fond of mornings, does not mean my slumber loving husband is equally as fond. Now I let him sleep while I get up and meet God and greet the world. <br />
Each season has its own delicious morning beauty, enhanced by a steaming mug of hot coffee.<span id="goog_391035622"></span><span id="goog_391035623"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> <span style="color: #6aa84f;">SPRING</span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_94R4eQhii-I/TCC4FXeMOrI/AAAAAAAAD7s/OkYFYZT_k1o/s1600/IMG_2739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_94R4eQhii-I/TCC4FXeMOrI/AAAAAAAAD7s/OkYFYZT_k1o/s320/IMG_2739.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>In the spring I am so thankful that there is no snow and I wrap in a quilt and sit on my porch just admiring the waking of the world after a long winters nap. I note the buds on the trees and the warming of the soil and the anticipation of planting my garden fills me with joyful impatience.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">SUMMER </span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_94R4eQhii-I/TCC3Y7EPFRI/AAAAAAAAD7g/7JxRwSt311k/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_94R4eQhii-I/TCC3Y7EPFRI/AAAAAAAAD7g/7JxRwSt311k/s320/019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>In the summer, I wake early with the sun and with coffee in hand step outside and just breathe deep lung-fulls of Montana air. Its all mountain and pine, cottonwood and earth, and a sweetness I have never experienced anywhere else. I watch my garden grow in the summer, always in awe of God's gifts that grow from a tiny little seed.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>AUTUMN </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2gGRmlT-54Ez9gJdhjL7BYuXpAY28hgI_kPFvUvXoEeW5lEKQSB0sdwi0pEBjvkv-iYU_dFzbjfwpG7jN-IgSPh5h8RacJ0pzjwVUV7izAYBOjhdCgvCVyNhmLkgydkJVojJW4S-Oh7kl/s1600/DSC00198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2gGRmlT-54Ez9gJdhjL7BYuXpAY28hgI_kPFvUvXoEeW5lEKQSB0sdwi0pEBjvkv-iYU_dFzbjfwpG7jN-IgSPh5h8RacJ0pzjwVUV7izAYBOjhdCgvCVyNhmLkgydkJVojJW4S-Oh7kl/s320/DSC00198.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Autumn mornings greet me with glorious color, woodsmoke and the magic of seeing my breath while wrapped in my quilt. Sunrise in the colorful contrast of autumn is one of my very favorite things.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;"><b>WINTER </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_94R4eQhii-I/R3VbLHWfVxI/AAAAAAAAAEU/iN-zjCz6gQU/s1600/DSC07112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_94R4eQhii-I/R3VbLHWfVxI/AAAAAAAAAEU/iN-zjCz6gQU/s320/DSC07112.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Winter mornings are something unique. I enjoy them from my kitchen window. A cozy tucked away feeling comes over me as I observe the stark cold landscape and curl up in the bliss of being safe and warm inside my precious home. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkijSSLkFjnCh5N2DgwaFkLaG2uNiwVRw-hibihXKX6hPKg7lN2rbdNNZVNLnCAmXs5Gv_eSJfz_aPz3GJVKAwb_hwYwhFDauprOPqVhHN0_UFyMkMAmcZr07hyphenhyphenfx2KFC_5p6fTw_L1n-r/s1600/DSC07051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkijSSLkFjnCh5N2DgwaFkLaG2uNiwVRw-hibihXKX6hPKg7lN2rbdNNZVNLnCAmXs5Gv_eSJfz_aPz3GJVKAwb_hwYwhFDauprOPqVhHN0_UFyMkMAmcZr07hyphenhyphenfx2KFC_5p6fTw_L1n-r/s320/DSC07051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I am thankful for mornings. All things are new. All things are possible in the morning. I see them as manifestations of God's grace. His mercies are new each day.Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-13154698947282768742010-05-20T11:35:00.000-07:002012-06-02T14:36:48.654-07:00Farm-Girl Genes<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ok_O-kh8sVX2hvKv-jFEKyZdIpgQfwOJJLpcEdAeOdszHHQ6znH4uvXKcazInbisiiTiKVmHVEoQXUUgob1eAJfFBPLgSbvcPm6CeYhbu0zBj_FreMIiCQmSwMTJLiBd-3xhgsja5-s/s1600/1-IMG_3434-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ok_O-kh8sVX2hvKv-jFEKyZdIpgQfwOJJLpcEdAeOdszHHQ6znH4uvXKcazInbisiiTiKVmHVEoQXUUgob1eAJfFBPLgSbvcPm6CeYhbu0zBj_FreMIiCQmSwMTJLiBd-3xhgsja5-s/s320/1-IMG_3434-001.JPG" width="188" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My daughter holding Elsie</td></tr>
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</style> I have always dreamed of being a farm-girl. When I lived in the city in Florida, I would line my journals with poems and pictures of the life that tugged at my soul. The desire to connect with the land and nature in this way overwhelms me at times. I have pondered, during moments such as these, where that particular dream may have come from. <br />
The obvious answer is that I inherited it from my once upon a time Farm-Girl Mother.<br />
Were those my formative years then? I was 8 years old when my mother and father moved us from the pavement smothered, smog filled highways of San Diego to 14 living breathing acres in the Flathead Valley, to Montana.<br />
I watched as empty barns and faded out-buildings were dressed in fresh red paint. I played in the dirt as fences were repaired and painted, and I caught frogs in the deep shade of the gulley while, as if by farm-girl magic the animals appeared. 50 hens in the coop, goats in the paddock, 2 cows for milk and 1 for meals, pigs for bacon and horses for riding, a farm dog for companionship, and a striped little barn cat to handle the mice.<br />
I can see her now, bandana kerchief holding back her beautiful chestnut hair, blue jeans and a flannel shirt. She is walking to the barn as the sun rises with milk pails in her hands. The cat follows with her tail raised high. There is bag balm near the sink, sterilized gallon jars lined up neatly on the counter top, waiting for their morning fill of creamy fresh milk.<br />
She is on her knees in the pea patch, nearly 1/2 an acre of garden around her. She is grinding grain, selling eggs, putting food by in glossy happy jars. She is mixing herbs, and making tinctures, plucking feathers, and bottle feeding goats, sewing aprons, and baking bread. She is a living example of everything I would grow up wanting to be.<br />
Of course! I think to myself, it is her. My mama, the starter for my farm-girl loaf. And then I pause, my chickens scratching about the yard in the early morning light leaves me breathless with a contentment that reaches far beyond my bones, deep deep into the marrow of my existence. This is bigger, much larger than me, larger even that the remembered perfection of a little girl for her mama. I can feel in moments such as these, a connection. I am all at once connected to the women before me. It is as if our apron strings stretch out across time, and I am feeling a breath of their contentment with their own farm-girl life. It’s like electricity traveling along a wire. I hear strains of music from their life-songs~ it is sweet and mournful and it mingles with mine. I haven’t asked her, but I imagine that my mom felt much the same thing. What I do know, is that I am blessed to love this. I am blessed to have this. I am blessed.<br />
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<br />Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-42100296362667639882010-02-19T14:26:00.000-08:002010-02-19T14:49:40.535-08:00Cute Overload and Over-run!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1NvHMKT91UEhyphenhyphen_RZ17f1bU-kBr5jf1OqfKN-ZswikSLwqxcq4y4l_Vq9tI4BPfx08nXpU4yB1TAG_SxyecpBQttbvTLL9M8cAF-drUIByXbN02pyKvC7-mH1jHTqtOIPN2NZymqkJqM/s1600-h/IMG_1736.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1NvHMKT91UEhyphenhyphen_RZ17f1bU-kBr5jf1OqfKN-ZswikSLwqxcq4y4l_Vq9tI4BPfx08nXpU4yB1TAG_SxyecpBQttbvTLL9M8cAF-drUIByXbN02pyKvC7-mH1jHTqtOIPN2NZymqkJqM/s320/IMG_1736.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440088381854590402" border="0" /></a><br />On November 15th, Sampson B. Bunny realized he was lonely. Being the enormous Flemish Giant that he was and full of bunny brand testosterone, Sampson wanted to. . . make bunnies. Being the brute that he is, he easily broke into the girls dorm and got married. Only, he married two lady bunnies. Naughty Sampson.<br /><br /><br />30 days later on December 15th, Lady Christmas was the proud mama of 9 little pink babies, and Lady TS was the proud mama of 5. I am not sure if you are up on your arithmetic, but that equals 14 baby Sampsons. 14. Fourteen. F O U R T E E N! After discussing child support and house duties, Lady Christmas and Lady TS decided it was best if they did not dorm together any longer and Lady TS moved into another dorm in the same building.<br /><br />2 weeks later when the little guys decided to venture out from the nest on shaky little legs, we were AMAZED at the seriously high level of cute going on. 7 weeks after that, (today) we are AMAZED that they are the size of mini lops and poop and pee and eat with maniacal vengeance.<br />I placed an add in the local trader and have already sold 5 of them. The neighbors will thank me. The bunny urine was beginning to get quite odiferous. I am praying we can find homes for all but one. We will keep the little runt that we bottle fed.<br /><br />One can easily see how raising rabbits for meat is a very very cost effective way to feed ones self. My husband and I have decided however, that it would need to be an absolute necessity. As it isn't for now. . . we are shipping the bunnies of to boarding school. Yes.. thats it. Boarding school! *wink*<br /><br />They did leave me an enormous pile of little fertilizer pellets that I will use in the spring!Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-55305490646230925062010-02-06T13:04:00.000-08:002010-02-06T13:08:28.978-08:00Longing for Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wLjaCthQSnoDmEbCasSmXupr1WS-GrvVYP5dg1DohviLcfeeTWDwVZti4GsnK400QKabX9ENoc1ZG2QmWDzknQVXs46L_F2ej1ZHKci9_esWpTrI43vMkApq88lNUdIRoXUcL4yigQQ/s1600-h/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wLjaCthQSnoDmEbCasSmXupr1WS-GrvVYP5dg1DohviLcfeeTWDwVZti4GsnK400QKabX9ENoc1ZG2QmWDzknQVXs46L_F2ej1ZHKci9_esWpTrI43vMkApq88lNUdIRoXUcL4yigQQ/s320/020.JPG" width="320" border="0" height="179" /></a></div>I am lonely for Spring. I walk about my house, listless, hopeless, and sad. It is as if my love left, promising to be back soon, never to return.<br />In some strange twist of reality, it feels as if this winter has gone on for a full year now. I miss the sun, I long for the birds, I am in desperate need of verdant green.<br />This is the fourth year that I have been back amongst the four seasons. For 12 years prior to those 4, I lived in Florida. It was sunny, partly sunny or going to be sunny 365 days of the year. I was tired of all that yellow bubbly happiness. I wanted autumn, and winter. I wanted piles of leaves, curls of smoke in the air and nights where the snow just fell and fell and fell. It was so romantic at first. So dark and mysterious.<br />But dark mystery turned out to be just cold, lifeless and dead. I am done with you now winter. Your short days and endless nights have lost their charm.<br />Its as if my chickens feel the very same. I opened the door to collect the eggs and they rushed me, cackling and gabbing as they hurried past me and out the door and into the snow covered yard. I don't know what they were expecting. I imagined them inside, talking about how their run was covered in snow, and how surely the yard was brilliant green with grass and teaming with delicious insects. They rushed out into the white landscape and then just stood there, bawking quietly and looking up at me. I knew what they were thinking. I nodded to them and then walked to the little barn and filled a small pail full of sunflower seeds.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFXrADbpqpeaYxMYUDWEJR6OIb4AEXbwmVo0RvYJwZcVCET304krwOlifzvkI9uPwCdbqBKTHyQ0RTJYFyM006SoxHsg7ykaj7FzJysF25QGsbj9-oKFtpzgR6zqvUhWu4tqgHc5izIc/s1600-h/bunnies%20031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFXrADbpqpeaYxMYUDWEJR6OIb4AEXbwmVo0RvYJwZcVCET304krwOlifzvkI9uPwCdbqBKTHyQ0RTJYFyM006SoxHsg7ykaj7FzJysF25QGsbj9-oKFtpzgR6zqvUhWu4tqgHc5izIc/s320/bunnies%20031.JPG" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div>"Here you go girls," I said quietly. "Its not the sun, but there is sun in the name and maybe that will get you through."<br />Hurry Spring, I miss you.Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-83793491929987437632010-01-08T17:20:00.000-08:002010-01-08T17:20:06.368-08:00Dear Blog, If you were a goldfish you would be dead. I have been so neglectful of you, and for this I apologize. You might be suprised to hear this, but I do think of you. In between classes, I think of you. While wrestling piles of textbooks and writing epic essay's, I think of you. Sometimes I even think of you in a rare moment of free time. Sadly, when I have those rare moments where nothing is required of me, I usually sit and stare, my mouth slightly agape. You see I have become so accustomed to doing, doing , doing... that when I sit still I fall directly into a catatonic state. I believe it has something to do with the 437 things in my personal life that need to be done and have been neglected just like you. Out of a mountain of 437, where do you begin?<br />
We have a bit of catching up to do so I will just skim the top and give you the highlights. Halloween. M'Kayla took her neice and nephew trick or treating, and Lulu decided (wicked pug that she is) that she would go too. In the chaos of the evening, I didn't know that she had slipped out the door. I wandered the neighborhood feeling like a character in some creepy B movie calling Lulu and asking the random mummy or ghost if they had seen a rotten black pug. Just when I was sure she had been dog-napped, she came running down an alley to greet me. She was full of exictement and most likely dropped candy.<br />
My wonderful mama prepared 2 Thanksgiving Feasts as we couldn't eat with my sister and her family due to some of us having colds and baby Nicolas's fragile health. She prepared two dinners and hand delivered both, eating twice. We are so blessed with our awesome mom!<br />
The day after Thanksgiving was tree day! We found our tree's in the woods once again. This year was special as M'Kayla and Garrett now have their own apartment and got a tree of their own!<br />
Finals came and went, the stress nearly sent me over the edge. The pressure on pre-nursing students is quite high as we must have as near a 4.0 GPA as possible. There are only 16 slots open each year in the program I am applying for and grades are the deciding factor.<br />
After finals, a break. . . where I think I mentioned I spent much of my time staring at the TV in a semi trance. I did manage to crochet and knit a few pair of hand-warmers for gifts, and crochet a hat for my sister and my daughter.<br />
Christmas was fun, we decided no gifts this year. I did make the hand warmers for my mom, M'Kayla and a good friend, but that was it. It was very nice not having the pressure of buying gifts, but at the same time it was surreal and made if feel almost as if Christmas came and went very quietly.<br />
Two more weeks off and then I was back in class. I am currently taking Interpersonal Relations and Communications during the intersession. Its two weeks of full day classes, but at the end I will have earned my 3 required credits for the subject.<br />
On January 18th I am all set for Chemistry 101, Probability and Linear Mathmatics, Sociology and Developmental Psychology. I am not looking forward to the Linear Algebra!<br />
We have had colder than normal temps like the rest of the country. Many nights in the -10 to -20 temperatures. Its been cold. We've been filling rabbit waters and even having to knock ice out of the heated chicken waterer. <br />
Oh and how could I forget! We've had 9 new additions to the farm. Christmas had a litter of kits, and they are the sweetest little babies in the world. I am a bit concerned about finding homes for them. . . and won't be repeating this process again while I'm in school!<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-MVNDG03pGgiY4EcKhWs9K9C4fVYLQtytUjRY2AEZI6TisRk9AbvOS8nVigcwYb6HXb7oM5t4lEHNZwmwcFqX1hRNSmkGqtJikGhBjoRZTe1nqjrC2HAGMbfD1aYXwLqj-dw6pbkGtg/s1600-h/IMG_1845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-MVNDG03pGgiY4EcKhWs9K9C4fVYLQtytUjRY2AEZI6TisRk9AbvOS8nVigcwYb6HXb7oM5t4lEHNZwmwcFqX1hRNSmkGqtJikGhBjoRZTe1nqjrC2HAGMbfD1aYXwLqj-dw6pbkGtg/s320/IMG_1845.JPG" /></a> Much love to you dear blog. You are faithful thats for sure. I will try to feed you weekly words and water you with photos! Here are a few from the months gone by... see you soon! <br />
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</div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-10795582252323182222009-10-12T10:13:00.000-07:002009-10-12T10:13:04.416-07:00Forecast: 100% Chance Of Freezing Bunny Water<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3xY1QDqtSsMFNNOGszNhmO521TEDZTJ2E2P_Dxh_ZAtJJY7KqNzrDMu33oNhyRz7__wivi0R9e5AtZo7zCWGdz57Y3B96Gi_FeO-nWEBMsLdNya5TXsjVw3fHcYjEzxtKbMsY31W9IY/s1600-h/IMG_1418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3xY1QDqtSsMFNNOGszNhmO521TEDZTJ2E2P_Dxh_ZAtJJY7KqNzrDMu33oNhyRz7__wivi0R9e5AtZo7zCWGdz57Y3B96Gi_FeO-nWEBMsLdNya5TXsjVw3fHcYjEzxtKbMsY31W9IY/s320/IMG_1418.JPG" /></a><br />
</div>Brrrr! 5 degrees F this morning when I woke up. Its not been above freezing once since the snow came in. I've made trips out to the rabbit hutches 4 times a day to replace frozen waterers. I am SO happy that on October 8th, before I knew all this cold was coming, I had purchased 4 extra rabbit waterers to use in the winter. I just bring the frozen ones in, and replace them with the thawed ones. Its been working great.<br />
The chicken water was another thing entirely. I had recently purchased a 5 gallon galvanized waterer. When 5 gallons freezes in a few hours, you know its cold! I didn't have the funds to spend the $50.00 on a heater base for the waterer, nor did I want to buy one of the plastic ones that you plug in. I have not had much luck with the plastic waterers holding up over time, so I wanted to go with the galvanized. On the <a href="http://www.backyardchickens.com/">Backyard Chickens Forum</a> , we found the tutorial for constructing our own heated base. It was extremely easy!<br />
<br />
Ingredients: Metal Tin w/ a lid. (we used a cookie tin)<br />
<a href="http://www.nationalartcraft.com/images/sub-0005-04.jpg">Corded Socket Set</a> like the one shown here. We picked it up at the hardware store for $8.<br />
Drill and tin snips to make the 1" inch hole in the tin to insert the socket.<br />
Silicone to hold the Socket in place if you do not get a snap in model.<br />
40 watt bulb (the ones shaped like a candle)<br />
<br />
Directions:<br />
1. Drill a hole in the side of the tin (midway between top and bottom), just to give your tinsnips a place to start.<br />
<br />
2. Cut a one inch hole where you will insert your socket and bulb.<br />
<br />
3. Mount the socket, either with the clips that come on the corded set, or with silicone if yours doesn't have clips.<br />
<br />
4. Screw the bulb into the inside of your tin and replace the lid.<br />
<br />
Thats it! It has kept my 5 gallon waterer from freezing in near 0 degree temps! <br />
Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-55234212685229740322009-10-09T10:45:00.001-07:002009-10-09T10:45:22.989-07:00Good Morning Hens!<object height="405" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5nPQDhywi60&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5nPQDhywi60&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object><br />
I love how when I talk to them, they talk back to me. Sweet chatty girls!Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-88097391855281363842009-10-09T07:16:00.000-07:002009-10-09T07:16:32.677-07:00We Wish You a Merry. . . October?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2Stw1mMQmhHo-f7ytNFioka8_EWiBaSyh7ZALwYAwl-StFalZ4L9PCg17FwqhQvzyV9Hld4TZVzQgetElirQrYo_t5UEtdGtzvIhfFUjAIWGFW1D2FxTEhksJUTlNh1Dywl3CRWzq80/s1600-h/IMG_1369.JPG"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2Stw1mMQmhHo-f7ytNFioka8_EWiBaSyh7ZALwYAwl-StFalZ4L9PCg17FwqhQvzyV9Hld4TZVzQgetElirQrYo_t5UEtdGtzvIhfFUjAIWGFW1D2FxTEhksJUTlNh1Dywl3CRWzq80/s400/IMG_1369.JPG" border="0" /></a> We usually get our first little skiff of snow by Halloween here in North West Montana. Last night we <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">received</span> several inches! You can see in the photo how the leaves are still green on many of the trees.<br /><br />While the first snow most <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">assuredly</span> heralds the coming of winter, and October 8th is too soon for such a thing, I cannot deny the beauty of quietly falling snow.<br /><br />I am blessed to have a streetlight watching over my intersection each night. Besides the obvious saftey of having him around, he provides spectacular light for watching snow fall.<br /><br />Very late last night, in the middle of this kiss of a snowstorm, I went out to my backyard and tucked the chickens in. I was moved to tears by the peaceful beauty that surrounded me. The glow of the lamp in my kitchen as I stood at the coop looked warm, inviting and safe.<br /><br />I am so very blessed with my backyard farm. With my hundred year old quarter of a house, and with the family that all lay sleeping safe and warm inside. I am blessed to love and care for my many animals. Chickens, bunnies, dogs and cats, what an amazing gift God has given me.<br /><br />So to all of my lovely friends, Merry October! I'm not sure wether to carve the pumpkin or bring out the twinkle lights!<div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-38282985648286994212009-10-08T08:22:00.001-07:002009-10-08T08:23:58.322-07:00Paper Hearts<DIV id=vgvo style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><IMG style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN-LEFT: 0px; WIDTH: 320px; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em; HEIGHT: 213px" src="http://docs.google.com/File?id=dgbm8znz_13g2837vcm_b"> <br /><DIV style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">She would be 21 today. Who would she have been? Who is she now in heaven? Instead of blogging today I thought I would post the paper I wrote for my College Writing class. Whitney Nicole, your mama misses you.</DIV></DIV><br /><P> Paper Hearts</P><br /><DIV style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><P dir=ltr align=left> It is strange, the details that one's mind takes hold of in the midst of great crisis. I can see the room as if I am not in it, as if I am watching from the doorway. I can see the weak florescent light from the room as it tries to hold back the darkness outside of the hospital window. I can see the tears brimming in our physician's eyes, my little boy kneeling at my lap, and my husband standing silent behind my chair, his hand resting on my shoulder. I see me, sitting in the sterile confines of a hospital room, holding the whole of the human condition in my arms. I watch as we whisper our last goodbyes to our daughter, Whitney.</P><br /><P dir=ltr align=left> I had lived in terror of this moment. My dreams had been haunted with chaotic versions of this very thing. The physicians had warned me of its coming, cautioned me on its inevitability. I knew. My mind knew. It was my heart that had refused to believe. As I held her now, her last breath long ago mingled into the air of the room, my heart struggled to learn its new beat in the presence of this great letting go. The old sheltered beat it had kept up for so many years, could never survive in this place.</P><br /><P dir=ltr align=left> We are all born dying. Some are just moving that way at a much greater pace. Whitney was on the accelerated track. When first I held her newborn form in my arms, there were a few blissful moments when she was the child that I had carried for nine months. Thinking back, I am sure that the nurses allowed me that grace. Flowers bloomed, sunshine spilled from the windows, and butterflies danced on the Morning-Glory vines. The possibilities before us were painted with whimsy and light as I held new life in my arms. It was only a few moments though, before the child I held had nothing in common with the one I had grown so familiar with. The words of the medical professionals created a stranger, a changeling. I resented the graveyard images they brought to my world, bare trees and howling winds heralding a long and icy winter. Extra physicians were brought in to bear the load of confirmation. So many words came from their mouths in a great whirlwind of destruction: Severe heart murmur, Down's Syndrome, weak reflexes, genetics, mental retardation, tube-feeding, and early death. The words swirled about in the icy wind, coating the bare trees like leaves. </P><br /><P dir=ltr align=left> It took just a few hours for my heart to adjust its beat this time. It took her opening her dark eyes and looking directly into mine. Worlds of knowledge seemed to be just beneath their surface. Instead of mental deficit, I saw beauty and truth. She belonged to me, and I to her. We were bound to weather this hostile landscape together. I would forever champion her cause, and she would teach me the truth about being human. There were so many mountains to climb in this new place. Each surgery, test, and infection threatened to throw us bodily down the jagged slopes. Through one of the many tests, the physicians were able to tell me that by a genetic fluke, Whitney would have less than a year to live. So it was, with Death perched on our doorstep, that we began to see the splendor in the sparse and colorless winter.</P><br /><P dir=ltr align=left> As it always does, life bends to accommodate so that the uncomfortable becomes the comfort. We had routine, we had laughter, and we had love. I was her nurse, my son her jester, and my husband her devoted knight. We decorated the bleak winter landscape with paper hearts and gumdrop trees. We made colorful paper chains and draped them playfully over the shoulders of Death, who had become a constant in our world. We grew used to his waiting presence outside our door, but we never invited him inside. It was with horror that I watched him walk in from the cold in the lonely hours of that December night. Like so many times before, we raced our girl to the hospital. This time was different. Our physicians response was not the same. He examined her and then looked up at me and simply stated, "It's her time." My sad heart beat protest at the inevitable.</P><br /><P dir=ltr align=left> Gently, he disconnected her from the heart monitors. He took the oxygen from her nose, and the tiny cuff from her arm. He then wrapped her in a cocoon of blankets and handed her to me with tears in his eyes. I watched, powerless, as her breath came slower and slower. I kissed her face and whispered my devotion in her ears. I smelled her hair and cried tears that washed down her cheeks as I lay my lips against hers, willing her to breathe just once more. I felt as if I were drowning. As if, by extension, my lungs were being deprived of oxygen were hers. My chest felt heavy and hungry, and I wondered if Death was claiming me as well. Then, nothing. Her next breath did not come. I looked about the room as if I could find the air that had left her lungs and put it in a box to keep forever. The room was still. The hour late. A life was lost from the world, and our sad little party was the only one that had noticed. Reality unhinged, and time unfastened. I do not know if I held her for one hour, or five. I could not leave. I could not walk away. For fourteen months I had been her greatest defender. I had been on the front lines fighting each and every battle that she could not win herself. I was her champion! How could I leave her alone? I looked up at the nurse who had known Whitney all of her life, and she knew. She offered to stay with her, holding her, until "they" came for her. I placed Whitney's little form into her open arms, every instinct inside of my soul screaming in protest. I gave her one last kiss and turned to walk from the room.</P><br /><P dir=ltr align=left> I am always amazed at the resilience of the human race. I am stunned when life moves forward after all seems lost. I had expected to need straight-jackets and tranquilizers, but instead I felt an overwhelming peace. I took the hand of my son, and the arm of my husband, and put one foot in front of the other until at last I was outside. It has been twenty-one years, and I am still putting one foot in front of the other. Whitney's life taught me compassion and empathy. Through her, I was gifted with the ability to decorate the bleak landscape of change and loss. I feel her presence whenever I am overcome with compassion at the plight of another. When I see someone now, lost in the vast, wild storms of tragedy, I can teach them how to plant a gumdrop tree, and hang a paper heart.</P> </DIV><BR>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-49590591524171682262009-09-25T17:17:00.000-07:002009-09-25T17:17:34.850-07:00Homework Ate My Blog!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIsmmEslvUK3C1Pt_U9SFgk_KYtRunj9tpNeoc_9cXvRA2eyIfiBrbwbF2Auo7ICowuQ-k0hFD-pcojDRc14TPp3mFRyn8t7UtMmwQGUlcyPVZr1owR6iKvkeFGBLmayEvRAxdu_xRsw/s1600-h/009_220-144~I-Love-Lucy-Posters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" iq="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIsmmEslvUK3C1Pt_U9SFgk_KYtRunj9tpNeoc_9cXvRA2eyIfiBrbwbF2Auo7ICowuQ-k0hFD-pcojDRc14TPp3mFRyn8t7UtMmwQGUlcyPVZr1owR6iKvkeFGBLmayEvRAxdu_xRsw/s320/009_220-144~I-Love-Lucy-Posters.jpg" /></a><br />
</div> Looking at Lucy in the photo to the left, I have to smile just a little, because she looks just like I felt today.<br />
I have recently picked up my books and headed back into the big world of academe in an attempt to achieve a Bachelor of Science in Nursing Degree. When I started this journey back in June of this year, I was excited! Crisp new text books, number 2 pencils and sturdy new notebooks, the possiblities and excitement of finally embarking on a journey I feel God has led me to, had me nearly floating to and from class and delving into my homework with educational hunger.<br />
Fast forward to September. My second semester. Things are getting sticky. I actually cried real tears today as I tried to grasp the concepts in my college algebra class. Today was exam day and I felt anything but prepared. I looked outside into the early fall paradise that is my backyard. The chickens were clucking about eggs they had layed, the rabbits were anxious to be let out into the yard. Seeds were ready to harvest and fruit needed to be picked, and the morning sun lay itself so gracefully across the sunflowers. It is my absolute favorite time of year and I feel just like Lucy looks at the thought of missing it in favor of homework that tangles my brain like fishing line.<br />
It is now, when school is no longer a thing of joy, that I must dig my heels in and stand firm in the knowledge that this is where God wants me to be right now. It would be so easy just to quit. To go back to my world of knitting and crafting, letter writing and farming in my backyard. Oh I still knit and craft and farm, its just that its relegated to the spaces between classes and weekends.<br />
I have kept busy in my backyard throughout the summer and I've photo's to prove it! I'll post some of them in the coming days to show you the chokecherry syrup canning day, the new rabbits, and my little chicken girls first eggs!<br />
For now though, its back to the books!Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-64897860362612190542009-07-28T20:28:00.000-07:002009-07-28T21:20:01.216-07:00Where Eleanore Acquires Botulisim from the Compost Pile<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Her name is Eleanore. Eleanore A. Chicken. The A. stands for amazing. One Friday, on a trip around the yard, dear Eleanore decided to make a quick stop off at the compost pile. Now the compost pile is usually well fortified against chicken entry, chickens not being old enough to discern the good from the bad within it. On this particular Friday however, Eleanore noticed a small opening that one of the dogs had made. Delighted with her find, Eleanore wasted no time. In she went, eating delicious bugs and fruit. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Later while lying paralyzed on the chicken run floor, Eleanore wondered <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">whether</span> it was the barely recognizable half of orange that gave her the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">botulism</span>, or the aged broccoli remnants. "No matter," she thought, "whatever it was, it accomplished its job very well. Not a muscle would obey her command. Limp as a, well . . . as a dead chicken, Eleanore lay on the gritty run floor, waiting for the nasty bacteria to finish her off.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>What Eleanore didn't count on was Food Lady coming out to check for eggs early Saturday morning. Food Lady usually came out later in the morning, today however, she was up early to attend the Farmers Market. Crossing the lawn from the house to the coop, Food Lady took one look at Eleanore, let out a small shriek, opened the run and grabbed her up with no regard for her freshly washed clothes. Not knowing where she was going to put her, Food Lady brought her into the food barn. The food barn, being the dark and quiet place that it was, seemed a much better place to Eleanore than the run floor. Being <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">trampled</span> and pecked by high and mighty snobbish chickens was no way to "fly the coop". Food lady laid Eleanore in a largish cage, with fresh clean bedding. Being <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">paralyzed</span> as she was, Eleanore decided not to even try and protest. She just looked up at Food Lady with the only outwardly working part she had, her eye. Food lady was horrified. Never had she seen such a sick chicken, and she hardly knew what to do! <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Google, being the wanna-be farm girl's best friend, quickly told Food Lady that it was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">botulism</span> that she was dealing with. It also told her that dear Eleanore was already a dead duck. Not prone to believing everything she reads, Food Lady rifled through her cupboards and brought out some highly digestible fish <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">protein</span> capsules, some strong <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pro-biotics</span>, some vitamin E capsules, and some trace mineral drops. She then cracked a fresh egg, and mixed the yolk with the other ingredients and added a splash of Glacier Ice Gatorade to thin it down. Armed with the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">concoction</span> and an eye dropper, she set out for the Food Barn, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">whispering</span> prayers all the way.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Upon her return, Eleanore could see that Food Lady's faith had wavered. She noticed that Food Lady continually looked toward the axe that leaned against the wall. Her eye being all she could command, Eleanore looked up pleadingly at Food Lady. It must have done the trick, for once again Food Lady seemed in command of herself, and got to the business of being a chicken doctor.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Poor Food Lady, her heart broke to bits as she held the limp neck of Eleanore. She noticed that Eleanore's comb was blood red and that she burned with fever. Squeezing the bulb of the dropper, Food Lady filled it up with the fishy yellow <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">concoction</span> and filled dear Eleanore's crop. After each dropper full, Food Lady would hold up Eleanore's noodle neck and let it drain down to what was hopefully the proper area. After gently laying the dying Eleanore's head down and encouraging her with soft soothing get well words, Food Lady closed the barn door and whispered <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">another</span> prayer as she went in for the night.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Food Lady woke with the sun the next morning, and still clothed in her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">jammies</span>, she sprinted to the barn. Slowly she opened the door, fully expecting to find a dead hen. Eleanore jumped in fright at the intrusion, only her jump was a barely noticeable wiggle of her head. Food Lady took the wiggle with great hope and ran inside to make another batch of Chicken-Get-Well-Goo. Even at this hopeful stage however, Eleanore noticed Food Lady eyeing the axe. What she didn't know was that Food Lady felt awful for keeping Eleanore alive in such an awful state.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Every two hours Food Lady mixed and stirred, squeezed and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">droppered</span>. By nightfall, dear Eleanore had regained enough of her faculties to protest with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">squawk</span> and a slight wave of the feathers. By Sunday evening, Food Lady required assistance in getting the goo down the not so floppy neck of Eleanore.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>Monday morning found Food Lady jumping for joy as she peered inside the barn. Eleanore stood on her own, preening her feathers. It seemed to Food Lady that Eleanore was saying "I am a mess, please do not let anyone see me this way. Food Lady remembered being very ill once herself, and recalled that when the time came that she could worry about how awful looking the ordeal had left her, she was well on her way to being mended.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>After one more day in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">convalescence</span>, Eleanore returned to chicken society, missing only a few feathers from the botulism incident. In the heat of the day, all of the hens gather under the plum tree and listen to Eleanore tell her harrowing tale. Food Lady cannot help but smile as she sees Eleanore standing tall upon the tree stump inside the run, just a few short feet from where she came upon her limp body days before. God, is good.<br /></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-70471363258758276272009-07-09T19:55:00.000-07:002009-07-09T19:55:29.233-07:00Morning Bliss<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWM-GsLZvsXj5HDPfcjg6sT3c3V4E1i4PcNjBVE6Sj0VTjFxhjkRjgxwjCEFqQVXKdiEQSOJito2lkfr7ERUwCKHTGNy0vsFDbe0c8TQgCcx9lFF5TGvywk2J_wo39Sh4wYLKemhtMKI/s1600-h/IMG00146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWM-GsLZvsXj5HDPfcjg6sT3c3V4E1i4PcNjBVE6Sj0VTjFxhjkRjgxwjCEFqQVXKdiEQSOJito2lkfr7ERUwCKHTGNy0vsFDbe0c8TQgCcx9lFF5TGvywk2J_wo39Sh4wYLKemhtMKI/s320/IMG00146.jpg" zj="true" /></a></div> I woke this morning at five am to the gentle soft light of early dawn. Robed and slippered, I made my way to the kitchen and brewed delicious fresh roasted coffee. By the time the coffee was finished brewing and the house smelled like a coffee shop, it was time for my son Garrett to get up. My daughter M'Kayla woke early too, and we all took our coffee and sat out on the back porch. (that is my kids in the photo to the left) It was thirty minutes of bliss. It was a morning that I will treasure and cherish forever, and the best part was, I was present enough to realize it at the time. What made it so special? There was nothing but my kids, my coffee, and my life. That <em>is</em> special.<br />
If we look, there are incredible moments just begging to be noticed, but that are hidden inside the mundane tasks of our everyday exsistance. The sad thing is, as humans, we just do not take notice often enough, or if we do, it is usually too late.<br />
One day, in the not too distant future, my kids will have set sail into the world. They will pack their belongings, leaving only a few bits and pieces for me to cherish, and begin the amazing exploration that is life. They are already on the deck, waving their good-byes to their childhood. I am on shore, blowing kisses with tear stained cheeks, and reminding them to write. I am so excited for all that God has planned for my kids. They are incredible human beings full of compassion for others, and a desire to be about God's work. But even in the midst of my excitement at what is to come, the mama inside of me aches to have them small and safe once again, tucked under my wings. It is this transition most likely that causes me to take notice of a morning like today. I am so thankful that I was given the presence of mind to notice it.<br />
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Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-13994354015900126642009-07-06T18:54:00.000-07:002009-07-06T18:54:00.645-07:00See Me Run.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejxpr-8igWxwaio4wB-DbZhTB86eovAIGg8LBRl4ju7CWzcxhnshUYBdV2s6EudS1X7PQ_YAo1ZR8Jsj7r8IyBCza0lxWjhgAzhKiNylVlO6PBa_vIGYXH15BxojCEGxEXBJe4hKQwZo/s1600-h/most-dj-sally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejxpr-8igWxwaio4wB-DbZhTB86eovAIGg8LBRl4ju7CWzcxhnshUYBdV2s6EudS1X7PQ_YAo1ZR8Jsj7r8IyBCza0lxWjhgAzhKiNylVlO6PBa_vIGYXH15BxojCEGxEXBJe4hKQwZo/s400/most-dj-sally.jpg" xj="true" /></a>Hmmm, May 12th, 2009. That is the last time that I made a new post, over 6 weeks ago! Summer is officially here in Montana, but I haven't been able to see much of it. I finally (and I say finally because it is something I have wanted to do for a very long time) went back to school and am working on my RN degree. I have only just begun, as the song goes...(my english professor would be mortified at my awful misuse and over-indulgence in elipses!) but am having a wonderful time.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I have been close to panic a few times, feeling overwhelmed and conflicted between home and school, but all in all, it is working out very well. (If you can call stacks of dishes, hair in the sink and piles of neglected laundry well) I am able to catch up on Friday's as I am only at school Monday through Thursday.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The chickens are growing, and as soon as I replace my dearly departed camera with one that doesn't take purple pictures with lines through them, I will post some photos. The baby girls are now as big as the big girls. The time I had, trying to integrate the two flocks was maddening. Maggie, my big girl bantam, was wicked to the little ones when they were introduced. I had to seperate her from the rest of them until the size factor evened out a bit.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div>On a sad note, as I sat outside yesterday drinking my morning cup of coffee, I heard a distinct crow coming from the henhouse. I am not sure yet who is masquerading as a girl, but I am attempting to discover who it is...he does not crow when I am looking, that much is sure.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The garden is growing, although not as well as last year. Its as if the plants have noticed my absense and shrugged in apathy, if I don't bother to show up, why should they grow? My planting choices were rather chaotic this year as well, all last minute as having surgery right before planting season put a damper on my planning.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div>I promise to update more...I really am more motivated when I am taking photographs!<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-70061952620663014762009-05-12T17:56:00.000-07:002009-05-13T10:01:53.611-07:00Ripples of Memories (with link to Ripple Afghan Pattern)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUj1H2et9jH8jr-s2Yva18Ng4WXSHAdq_8phNp039w97pAD9qX-fY5YnHcB9KKoue4ZnbZSzx4bw0H0-cnUcf2CjCDR33nkct9XMq8UUy-Zx36RLurkzNA5V9p1Nw5GCwoOw5Nfm1Lg64/s1600-h/framefc943064cca194c99ba1b8d138f8fd5c39911efc.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 344px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335116293792428914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUj1H2et9jH8jr-s2Yva18Ng4WXSHAdq_8phNp039w97pAD9qX-fY5YnHcB9KKoue4ZnbZSzx4bw0H0-cnUcf2CjCDR33nkct9XMq8UUy-Zx36RLurkzNA5V9p1Nw5GCwoOw5Nfm1Lg64/s400/framefc943064cca194c99ba1b8d138f8fd5c39911efc.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">I have been crocheting and crocheting and crocheting some more. I was completely and mindlessly addicted to making this easy ripple blanket. You can see my sweet Boston Terrier Opus posing on the ripples. I have only made one other blanket in my crochet history, a pretty flowered granny afghan for my moms birthday two years ago. I can usually be found working on projects that can be completed in one or two sittings, its a patience thing. :-SS</span><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">I had such a great time making this because my daughter <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">M'Kayla</span> was right along side me knitting a baby blanket for her friend. We would take any empty time slot, throw a movie in and "yarn" away. Such good memories all stitched together. I had originally planned to give this blanket away. I wasn't sure to whom, but I usually don't hang on to the things that I make. But as I thought about it, I came to the realization that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">M'Kayla</span> being 18, will not have so much time in the future to knit and crochet with her mama. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I think that this will be a mothers day present to myself. A weaving of memories.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I used up so much of my yarn stash, which is what I had intended to do. Some of the yarn was probably 7 years old and left over from projects that I had made for my family. Again, so many memories and woven together. We watched some great movies including Penelope, Twilight, Blast From The Past, Lord of the RIngs, Becoming Jane, Emma, Love Comes Softly, I Am Legend, I Robot, Hancock, Transformers, Kate and Leopold and more that I can't remember right now.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I used this great simple pattern <a href="http://home.att.net/~susanBinKC/patterns/ripple.html"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;">here</span></a> if anyone wants to give it a go. Its easy, mindless, and great relaxation :) </span></div></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-39175826819978415882009-05-08T18:47:00.000-07:002009-05-08T19:06:47.529-07:00Note to self...<table style="WIDTH: auto"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Nx0ZYT1mlHoV5z2ZwojplQ?authkey=Gv1sRgCJqrprXqwYDmhgE&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_94R4eQhii-I/SgThjREK2aI/AAAAAAAADF8/9YbZ4ECRv9A/s144/vintagetips.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="TEXT-ALIGN: right; FONT-FAMILY: arial,sans-serif; FONT-SIZE: 11px">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/Darlene.Jacobson/MyPictures?authkey=Gv1sRgCJqrprXqwYDmhgE&feat=embedwebsite">My Pictures</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p>When you pour bleach into a tub of water....look away! Ask my eye how it knows this. Today as I was adding a few drops of bleach to a tub of water, the bleach hit the water just right (or wrong depending on how you LOOK at it) and splashed directly into my eye.<br /><br />Yes, there was squealing and running in circles and throwing huge splashes of water into my eye to clean it out. After a while my eye realized it was going to live and stopped shutting without my permission, and then the bleach decided it wasn't a great place to hang out and the burning eventually subsided.<br /><br />The "bleach incident", as I will hereto<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">fore</span> refer to it, really made me think though, about accidents and how fast they happen, and how a small bit of "slow it down girl you don't have to clean the kitchen in 6.2 seconds flat" goes a long way in being able to think before you act.<br /><br />So.. the new me is slower, more cautious, and wearing safety goggles when I clean. Okay so it isn't the new me, but I am going to be more careful! </p><p>Breaking News: It is with great sadness that I report to you that my Snug Black T-Shirt was damaged in the bleach incident and will no longer be appearing in my wardrobe. An innocent bystander, Snug Black Tee took a direct hit to the front and will be layed to rest in the rag drawer. Snug was a good tee, full of life and elasticity. I accept full responsibility for her demise. She will be missed.</p>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-86046894578921031632009-05-05T09:36:00.001-07:002009-05-05T15:13:39.730-07:00Operation Christmas Child<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyE8Opwz8Cnvb5H3jeFAyfjtAiwqrSIW__AzMARSvhshTNXm_RtYLg5WIlUKFVYKVVSFgqMP_khlQnYiuwP0WZqSvoo6RlFGFYbLpKL3RFMLD2kNdipy487ruw2st4tYSNXvmwz9Z0_Zg/s1600-h/occmain.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 364px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 289px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332465389624491778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyE8Opwz8Cnvb5H3jeFAyfjtAiwqrSIW__AzMARSvhshTNXm_RtYLg5WIlUKFVYKVVSFgqMP_khlQnYiuwP0WZqSvoo6RlFGFYbLpKL3RFMLD2kNdipy487ruw2st4tYSNXvmwz9Z0_Zg/s400/occmain.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday I received in the mail a letter from someone I had never heard of. It came from the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Philippines</span> and so I was very curious as I opened it. Inside I was delighted to find a letter and a photo from a little girl named Arabella Angel who received one of the shoe boxes we donated last year at Christmas time to <a href="http://www.samaritanspurse.org/index.php/OCC/">Operation Christmas Child</a>. If you haven't heard of it, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">OCC</span> is an amazing organization that is part of Samaritans Purse, which is a nondenominational evangelical Christian organization providing spiritual and physical aid to hurting people around the world. Since 1970, Samaritan's Purse has helped meet needs of people who are victims of war, poverty, natural disasters, disease, and famine with the purpose of sharing God's love through His Son, Jesus Christ.</span> (This was from their mission statement)<br /><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At Christmas last year we had so much fun putting together shoe boxes full of toys, candy, clothing items, pencils, paper, stickers, tooth brushes and tooth paste, hair ribbons and books. Our family went shopping together carefully choosing the items that we would place in the boxes. At one point I broke down and could not contain my tears because I knew these precious babies had next to nothing and I wanted to make these boxes perfect for them!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">We enclosed Christmas cards in our boxes and a little note to each child that might receive the box. We also enclosed photos of our family and Montana and a return address <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">in case</span> they might want to correspond with us.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">To our delight Arabella wrote to us with the help of her aunt! Her letter was decorated with the crayons and pencils we had sent her. When my daughter and I read it, we were both in tears. It is amazing how close we feel to this precious little 6 year old girl!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">If I get my scanner working I will scan the cute little letter.</span></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9121081527322997748.post-50553282113854131832009-05-04T11:00:00.000-07:002009-05-04T11:00:56.402-07:00My Daughters First Knitted Baby Blanket<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUcPypOMCC012YVMh1KsKUZOZGlnFcN_5TfStMbfk5EqA9q-D_10l7ns9hGA2gCTMTCphAQO5gaQSztU7veKerXA5d4pT-b5FdIjmJ1-2BIpKJVfR1Gcy1BiX2yqNfqETWVbmDL5HDMY/s1600-h/HPIM2129.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CLEAR: both" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUcPypOMCC012YVMh1KsKUZOZGlnFcN_5TfStMbfk5EqA9q-D_10l7ns9hGA2gCTMTCphAQO5gaQSztU7veKerXA5d4pT-b5FdIjmJ1-2BIpKJVfR1Gcy1BiX2yqNfqETWVbmDL5HDMY/s400/HPIM2129.JPG" /></a> This morning, my daughter <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">M'kayla</span> put the finishing stitches on the baby blanket she has been knitting for her friend Kayla who just had her baby.<br /> She chose the colors purple and black because when Kayla first found out she was pregnant (which seems ages ago but was just 9 months) they were both working at Taco Bell.<br /> I think it turned out fabulous! She chose to crochet scalloped edges to make the blanket look more finished.<br /> I am SO proud of her! She loves to knit, finding it much more relaxing and much easier than crochet. I on the other hand, love to crochet. I like knitting okay... but when I have to do more than knit and purl it makes my brain cry.<br /> For the past month, she and I have been partners in fun, she knitting, me crocheting as we watched gobs of movies, some old, some new and some well worn favorites.<br /> She wants to start next on a baby blanket for her hope chest. I love the idea!<br /> I will find the pattern that she used and post it here in a few days.<br /> I am still in work mode on the vintage feel ripple scrap blanket that I am crocheting. When I finish, I'll post it here as well.<br /> Happy May!!<div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02012571030722674937noreply@blogger.com3