Sunday, I took my mother to a beginner’s class on beading. We both quilt. I create mostly pieced quilts, and Mother appliqu

It seems we have had some night visitors. Since the air-conditioning is on during the summer, we don’t hear what’s going on outside, but DH had a tale to tell when he came in today.
We have a storm moving in tonight, so DH decided to get as much mowing done as possible before dinner. We have quite a large yard, so he was only able to do part of it. As he was mowing, he found some evidence that “people” have been using our front lawn to “party” at night.
First, there were tire tracks through a section of my driveway garden which is down for renovation. A small to mid-size car might be able to drive through that area leaving the drive and traveling across the lawn. He felt they had parked behind a pod of lilacs that would have shielded them from the road. Secondly, they left used rubbers behind.
DH thought they may have visited several times before they came with the car. Of course, we think it’s likely that kids from one of the new neighborhoods to our east or west have found us. I’m going to have to put stakes in the garden to discourage them from passing through again. We’re going to use black plastic to do a solar burn off of that portion of the bed, and they won’t be able to see that at night. Maybe I should put up a scarecrow in the center!
We were talking about this as I fixed dinner. DH said we should take an empty disposable camera one night, sneak up on them and click the flash. Actually….that sounds like a fine thing to be doing at 1:00 in the morning. *G* Have you any better suggestions??

I was listening to WGN this morning. Kathy and Judy, the wacky female duo who command the morning airtime were discussing what protocol NASA should have for astronauts who discover they won’t be making a safe return.
That’s a really tough subject. Suppose you have risked all to be among the select few who have gone into space, and Mission Control tells you that you might not make it back. You have three doors to choose from. The option behind the first door is to ride a flaming shuttle to your death. The second door is that same ride, but miraculously, you make it back safe and sound. The third door holds a pill that allows you to take your own life before you suffer.
What a choice to have to make! How many of us have the fortitude to tough out a death like that? I believe I’d want to hang on to the last moment, trying to do everything I could, to save the mission (and my life!). I don’t believe that in less trying situations I’d opt for suicide, but if NASA had supplied me with a tablet that would make my death quick and painless…..could I hold out, in the face of what was to come?
Another issue they discussed was whether NASA should suggest to the astronauts that they need to have a final communication with their loved ones. If the situation is bleak, and the chance of getting home is slim, should they be up front about it? I followed Apollo 13’s trials when I was younger, and I’ve seen the movie about it dozens of times. There was never any suggestion made public that those men talked with their families. Do you suppose that NASA felt that admitting the gravity of the situation might lessen the efforts of the men to get back? If you loose hope, do you quit trying?
I’d be a wreck having what might be my last conversation with my family, but I’d want it. Think about the men and women on 9-11 who called their loved ones from the Trade Centers or from the planes, to say goodbye. I don’t think that conversation would keep me from making every effort to make it back. It might make me redouble my efforts.
So…….would you take the easy way out, or ride the shuttle down? Would you talk to your spouse or not? Should NASA let the astronauts decide for themselves what the protocol should be? Talk to me.

I was on-line in the office today, when my eyes started to tear up. Then my nose wrinkled, and I started to gag. I stood up to start the fan, and looked over to confirm that Defer was lying in the doorway of the office, with his hindquarters in the office. I’ve GOT to get that dog off canned dog food!
My mother had some very strict ideas about raising children, and what was acceptable. We did NOT chew gum, burp, or pass gas, and if we up-chucked….we cleaned it up ourselves. I do not remember ever hearing my father fart. As a matter of fact….that word was not part of my vocabulary until I met my present husband.
DH was very restrained the first six years I knew him. Then we married and the honeymoon was over. I should have realized what I was going to have to deal with when his partner asked if he disappeared from the room frequently. He started out letting small sounds escape, and gradually progressed to the louder, more prolonged productions. There have been days when I wasn’t sure who was worse, DH, or the dog.
We’ll be sitting in the living room and he will shift on the couch, lifting a hip, and sigh with satisfaction. I’ve developed a series of expressions to convey the depth of my displeasure, to no avail. The worst, though, are the silent deadlies. Lord spare me from the silent ones!
Explain to me why he NEVER does this in front of my mother? It’s not like he’s afraid of her. Why is it okay to do it to me? You’d think if he loved me he’d treat me better.
DH has a lot to commend him. He doesn’t cuss or smoke; he drinks sparingly. He has a long list of sterling attributes, and this failing. For our next wedding anniversary I’m going to help him with that one failing. His present will be a big cork!

Speaking of eloquent comments on the Fourth of July, go visit Sgt. Hook’s blog. He did a spectacular job of focusing on what’s really important about the Fourth of July.
Happy Fourth, everyone!

I hesitate to post on this subject. So much has been so eloquently written by others that I almost feel I have nothing to add. But…..I NEED to say how thankful I am that I was born in the USA. We so frequently take our freedom for granted, breaking laws right and left, trying to get out of tolls and taxes, not voting, leaving issues to be decided by others, and the only reason we DARE to do things like that, is because we are free.
Our freedom was hard won. Many of the men who signed the Declaration of Independence lost everything, homes, wealth, loved ones. They knew the risk they were taking, and signed anyway. We suffered through Civil War to end the custom of slavery, so that others could have the same freedom we enjoy. We’ve gone to war for other countries to try to give them the freedom we hold dear.
Is the USA perfect? Not hardly. We make mistakes left and right. It’s the nature of the design of our government that we must come to compromise in all our decisions. Only the test of time can tell if the decisions are right, or wrong. But, underlying every law and rule and action we take is the concept of personal freedom.
Spend some time today thinking about all the things we are able to do because we are free. Think about what life in the USSR was like, or Afghanistan, or China, or in Iran under Saddam’s regime and compare it to yours. The fact that you are allowed to say you don’t like what the government is doing, and that you want changes made, may be the most precious freedom of all.
To those of you who do not reside in the U.S., I ask that you forgive us our pride in being free. That pride defines us, and unites us, and is the core of every patriotic American. When we shout from the mountain tops “I AM FREE,” it’s because it’s our most valuable asset.
I hope that you all have a great Fourth of July, and remember what it took to get us here.

I’ve been thinking about skin today. Actually, I’ve been envisioning skin. Little snapshots have been interrupting my train of thought, and what they all have in common is skin. Texture, temperature, taste, color……it’s really very complex.
Don’t you find it amazing that you once were a baby with skin that begged to be nuzzled? You had skin crisscrossed with miniature veins, little rivers of blue carrying your lifeblood. Your skin was plump and moist, with a sheen that was luminous. When you had been bathed, every woman in the room wanted to hold you and sniff that clean baby smell. That beautiful skin begged to be touched.
As a young adult, your skin begs to be touched in a different way. Women watch construction workers with a six-pack of muscles and fantacize away their lunch hours. Rivulets of sweat trickle down chests and backs and draw attention to muscle and sinew covered with skin kissed by the sun. Men dream of tasting, and touching and inhaling the scent of a woman, and an experienced lover knows the value of skin as an erotic feast.
And then our skin begins to change. We loose elasticity, and the plumpness of youth. We gain wrinkles, and blemishes. Our hands look like road maps from too many days in the sun and not enough moisturizer. We show the wear of our years.
But…..our skin is still receptive to touch. No matter what age we are, we never out grow the need to be touched. The warmth of another hand holding ours is more important than all the material things in the world. Who would have thought that skin touching skin is one of the great wonders of our world?