"Oohhhh... the very thought of coming up with a new post makes my head huuurt."


Warning: blog-worthy but a bit bloody

Don't attempt to think up a post for your blog while you're making lunch. One of your ideas may just come true and/or revisit you.

One of my trains of thought was about a certain sister who, without premeditated malice, was the catalyst on two separate occasions for my receiving two substantial wounds. One happened when we lived in a random town in New Hampshire (ask another family member where it was, I don't remember, heh). She asked me to go to the basement to get something for her because, as she later admitted, she didn't want to do it herself. So I, like a good sister, started to make my way down the stairs. Part way down there was a landing on which were a couple bags of trash waiting to be taken to the can outside. In my hurry, I stepped on the corner of one of those bags and met up with a tin can which had been improperly opened (I think she said she was the one who did it... or was it me? I don't remember, but I'll say it was her because it makes for a better story), leaving the top edge perfectly suited for making crecent-shaped cuts on the bottom of bare feet. Weeee!

I remember sitting in the back of the van as my mum drove me to the doctor to get stitched up, with a towel wrapped around my foot. Then in the waiting room... then laying on the doctor's table while he took a needle and stuck it into the wound to numb it before he stitched it up. I wanted to watch, because I thought it was cool. My mum sat in the corner on a chair and felt a little green while she watched someone stick sharp objects in my foot. After I was all put back together, I was sent home with a pair of crutches. I was thrilled! What could be more fun than having to use crutches? Besides, I got more attention that way. I was a weird little kid. I still have the scar, too.

The second event was far less riveting. The previously mentioned sister had broken a mirror by accident. She'd cleaned up the mess and put it in the trash can (what is it with me, trash and sharp objects?). Later that day I stepped up next to the can on my way to do something else and my calf came down on a large shard of mirror that was protruding from the top of the can. Slice. Blood. And a laughing recount of aforementioned story. The end.

So, as I was making lunch for the Bible School students today, I considered this pair of stories as blog fodder, but rejected them as not interesting enough on their own and also because I didn't really want to shed a shadow on any of my sister's reputations. But then something happened to change my mind (sorry, Sister! *grins*).

I was running a little behind in time, so I hurried from the cooler with a two quart jar of apple sauce, shaking it back and forth to mix the thinner sauce at the bottom of the jar with the thicker at the top. I headed around the counter on my way to grab a bowl when it happened. The jar slipped from my grasp and shattered as it hit the edge of the counter. Apple sauce and glass everywhere! Including a fair portion on my *blush* not-wearing-shoes-in-the-kitchen!-stockinged foot and down the front of my skirt. There was a shocked silence (which wasn't surprising, seeing as how I was the only person in the kitchen at the time), and then I let the residual shards of glass left in my hands drop onto the counter. If that jar had been about two inches to the left, I would have included the noun 'blood' in with the "Apple sauce and glass... !"

But, thank God, all I had to clean up was two quarts of apple sauce, mixed with hidden shards of glass, from the counter, down the front of the cupboard and dribbled into a cold, gooey puddle on the floor. Yum.

So, like I said at the beginning, don't dream up blogs while you cook lunch. Your chances of getting a vital appendage cut off increase sharply.


Birthday greetings

Happy birthday, Lisa!

Now, tell me that isn't cool?

This is something

For lack of anything to post, I came up with something else to amuse my masses of admiring readers.

I will open my pictures file, avert my gaze and start clicking. The first picture I come up with I will upload onto my blog. Dangerous, I know.

**commences clicking**

Ok, here we have a coffee maker (obviously). I took this picture while in Israel. It contains some of the strongest coffee known to man. Just add twice as much grounds called for to begin with, then half way through percolation, remove coffee pot and pour coffee back through the grounds. Once it is totally finished, drink. However, if your stomach is not made of iron, you may need to look for something to calm its inevitable ragings.

That was fun... **starts clicking again**

Well, you already know what is wrong with me in this picture.

**more clicking**

This is a donkey. It lives in Nazereth.

**clicks again**

Aaahahahaha! I did this one really small because... well... you understand. Mel, remember? You told me I could post them?? Yes? You do remember, you must!

Eeeh heh heh heh.... I think I better stop while I'm ahead.

There you have it. Your entertainment for the day.


Not much, but at least it's something

Friday, Gerry let me drive the backhoe. Well, not drive it, but mess about digging in a hole. There are four levers to control the movements of the arm (it's an old machine), but it's like trying to braid four strands of spaghetti.

I was bad at it.

But it was fun, so it didn't really matter how bad I was. I guess.


Harvest party

I think I look like a cross between Zorro and a FBI wannabe. Maybe something else. Any ideas?


I am so aweesome.

Just to share my humiliation, I have to let everyone know what world I have been living in recently.

I was pushing hard to get TOR done in time to send it out before November rolls around, so last week I was in high gear because I had to have it done by Friday so I could mail it Monday (today). This Monday... because this Monday was the 29th of October. Okaaaay.

It continued. Yesterday, of course, was supposed to be when Daylight Saving Time ended. If today was the 29th, yesterday was the 28th, OBVIOUSLY. Sunday. I slowly got ready for church. I was ready to go with at least an hour and a half extra time, so when I looked out the window about 9:15am and saw Diane walking towards the church I thought to myself, "Oops, I guess she forgot about the time change." A few minutes later, there goes Shawn and sons. "Hmm..." I began to question myself, so I popped online to check to make sure that it actually was the ending of DST. It confirmed that the 28th was indeed correct. A few more minutes, and someone drove up the driveway towards the church. I checked online again, maybe I saw it wrong. Nope, it still marked the 28th. I even changed my clock...

**holds head in hands** gaaahh

So I finally went to my grandma's apartment. She wasn't there. Off to the church I went to scout out the situation. I was still pretty sure I had the date right and was wondering if last Sunday (I wasn't there) they announced church would be at 9:30 this week instead of 10:30... um... I'm not going to go into why I thought that.

I finally made it into church about 12 minutes late. The service had started at 10:30 just like normal, it wasn't waiting for silly me.

Can I blame it on my meds?

Gaaaaaaaaahhhh. I think I'm going to go hide behind the couch. Someone let me know when it's time to eat.


Oh, look, it's Fall!

I made pea soup again today and it came out GREAT. Thank God for crockpots.


Advice for the day

Don't try to sing in a choir when you have a bad head cold and are feeling very miserable.

First of all, some people might think you look like you're going to keel over when you walk into the room. Secondly, others may say you looked fine up front... when you smiled. I'm not sure I want to know what I looked like when I wasn't smiling. And it's not like it's easy to smile while singing anyway. THEN, after all that, when you open your mouth to sing, one tends to "warble". I really hope I wasn't too close the the mic...

warble... good grief. I think I'm going to go into another profession.

To sum it up: When you have a bad head cold, go to bed and stay there for pete's sake! The world will keep spinning without your help.


How not to make pea soup:

follow the recipe.

I was so pleased with myself. There I was at Fairview for the day; I had to make supper for the seniors... how about something easy that I could start earlier? Pea soup, perfect! I could add kielbasa and some other delectable flavors which I would have chosen later.

So, I pulled out a package of dried split peas and rinsed them off (just like the directions said). I then dumped them into the correct sized pot. I measured the water carefully--8 cups. Eight cups to one pound of dried peas. I read it. More than once. Ok, so it (the evil recipe) told me to bring it to a boil for two minutes, remove the pot from the heat and allow it to soak for one hour. Did that.

One hour later: I turned the heat on once again, checked the directions again (just to be careful, I only wanted the meal to come out nice, is that too much to ask for??) and turned the pot on a low heat, just enough so the blasted thing would simmer. It did. Everything was fine, just as it should be. I KNEW it was.

It was then, part way into the three hours it was to simmer, that the Evil Destroyer of Dinners struck. Off sitting in the living room, feeling relaxed and pleased with myself for coming up with such an easy dinner to make, one that the seniors would enjoy, my nose slowly started to pick up a Very Interesting Odor. **sniff**sniff**


I arrived in the kitchen, hair streaming behind me, slid to a stop and lifted the pot's lid. Definitely no water to be seen anywhere. The smell was terrible. After setting the pot in the sink and turning on the stove fan, I dashed about opening windows. Too bad it was cold outside....

I was crushed (or maybe it was the smell that was making me feel so bad, not the fact that my nice dinner had just been destroyed). By this time it was about 4 pm and supper was supposed to be at 5:15. I had to make something out of a box. How anticlimatic.

The veggie platter looked nice, though... heh.

After our inferior supper was eaten and put away, I went to do my duty and clean out the pot. Rachel removed the lid. Rachel passed out on the floor from the horrifying odor. Have you ever smelled burnt on food? It's naaaaaasty, and I think this took first prize in the Ghastly Smell olympics. And you all know (I hope) that I'm not a weak-kneed lass. I can handle things. I'm tough.

Ok, ok, so I handled it. Digging out the first layer of half cooked peas went fine. I then reached the second layer. Charred peas. Half an inch deep, at the very least.

The pot took a long time to get clean.

I DO know how to make pea soup!!!

Pathetic. So pathetic.



Happy Thanksgiving to all you Canadians out there! :-D


Not to worry...

it's a work in progress. I was just getting tired of the pink. Any comments or suggestions are welcome.



I'm looking to update my blog template. Please pardon my mess.



Assorted pictures

Amy for state representative. Yay Amy!
(Well... part of the state anyway.)

Feel small?

And you think YOUR job is hard...
(Do click for larger image, it's way better)


Wisdom for the day

While perusing Boundless Webzine today, I ran upon an excellent and thought-provoking article titled Blogging to Worship by Bob Kauflin. It concerns how we Christians ought to use our blogs. It takes a bit of time to read, and some areas may not apply to you, but it is very much worth the time in my opinion.


Hello, this is the real Rachel

What does one do when one isn't very good at face-to-face interaction with others? You end up feeling like the real "you" isn't visable, and if one wants to learn how to become more real with others, it is ANNOYING.


Of dubious worth

Gentle readers,

I was talking to W.C. the other day and upon agreeing that we were both kettles, we proceeded to call each other black (check out the comments on his post titled At Long Last).

Words, of course, did nothing to remedy the sad state of matters. So I must admit when he just yesterday produced a good dose of steel wool for his kettle (*sigh*), my pride and I were consequentially left scrambling about under the sink looking for our own bit of steel wool. After bumping our heads a couple times on the ceiling of the cupboard, all we came out with was a pathetic excuse for steel wool. A blooming wad of rejected plastic shreds.* Grrr.

Ah me. I suppose I wouldn't want to take away from someone else's chance to shine, so I shall make do with what I have.


There's got to be a few great, moral, and life-changing lessons in this. So...

It's healthy to admit you have a problem.
It's even better when you do something beyond talking about it.
Even if the remedy comes in the terribly painful form of steel wool, believe me, it's worth it. And...
You never know who else you might inspire to follow your lead.
All you have to do now is pray that that unfortunate who followed your lead finds a remedy that works just as well as yours did, and not something that seems as good, but the results produced are only half as good. (plastic vs steel)

So there you have it.

*a plastic pot scrubber


Well, how about that

Ok people. If you recall my recent post titled "Why?", I'd like to add an update.

I got excited about something!

The mattress on my bed is very... firm. It is usable, but I'm not thrilled about waking up a little sore in the morning. :-P So, this past Wednesday, Katie and I were out on the town (out to town? in town? at town?) and we stopped at Mart of the Wal type. As I dashed about the store, I remembered the attitude of my mattress (bad). So I bought myself a cushy mattress pad!

As we drove home, I sat in the car thinking about how comfortable my bed was going to be. I turned to Katie and said: "I'm so excited about using this!"


So there you have it, the breaking news today is that Rachel got excited.

How exciting.

Haw haw.



Lending a hand

WARNING: Squeamish people need not apply here.

I have a tale I must tell. It came to pass while I was in Israel. (sorry, I just had to do that)

The day was hot, the sun was strong, and people wilted under its gaze. There was no shade to be had, except for this, where you see the shadow ending across my forearms:

One reason for choosing such self-inflicted torture was Dr. Pfann (pronounced faun like the baby deer), the esteemed professor of the University of the Holy Land, a post-graduate school. He was leading a class of students out on a field trip, and I, and my friend Sarah, chose to tag along. The story opens on this scene:
(This one is worth clicking for a larger view.)

Qumran, an area within sight of the Dead Sea, is overwhelmed by heat and rocks and high, high cliffs. And, here and there, a few noted caves. If you recall the Dead Sea scrolls, this is where they were discovered. These caves and a few nearby ruins were our destination.

Before I continue, however, I must note that in the midst of this seemingly barren desert, there are sometimes bits of life, clinging to life. This was about the size of my fingertip:

As the students made their way up that previously pictured cliff, Sarah and I sat at the base, waiting for their return. Yes, ... I mean, no, we were not being lazy. We both had very good reasons for not climbing. I digress.

One thing that catches your attention soon after entering this wilderness are the bones. Many bones. Large bones. Mostly camel bones. And a few other unidentified types mixed in to add variety. All animal bones, of course.

So, when a student, while high up that cliff, spotted a few small bones, no one was surprised. At first. But then, these were slightly different than the rest of the other bones. Four small bones together, about the length of, say, your palm. Aye, palm-sized. Yes, it WAS a palm! Human. No fingers, just the palm bones held together with, um... are the squeamish people still reading?... with the dried tissue and ligaments.

Understandably enough, the responses among the students were mixed. But, much to their relief, or to some, their dismay, there was no sign of the rest of the body. Just a palm, all by itself, high on a barren, baked cliff.

Conveniently, one of the students was also a forensic scientist. He told us that it was most likely a year or so old. Interesting, I didn't know it took so long for the tissues to, er... go the way of all things. Discussion ensued as to its origin. A murder? Maybe a grave exhumed by marauding jackels, and the hand carried off for later... as a snack? Others wondered about a tradition among the Bedouin tribes of a hand being cut off as punishment for theivery.

Someone pulled out a zip-lock baggie, and the palm was put away for the time being. You can't exactly leave it behind...

Later, once we had returned home, it was pulled out and I got a close-up look. Fascinating. Quite. But weeeird at the same time.

Before you being to think we were treating it carelessly, because it was part of somebody once, we kept it carefully tucked away until someone delivered it to the police the following day. I never heard what, if anything, happened about it after that.

And that is the end of my tale.


Opinion of the day

I don't like chocolate covered cherries.

It's because the cherries have got to be something other than a fruit. I can't see how those identically red and sickly sweet orbs could possibly be anything but plastic.

They ruin the chocolate.

The end.



Just so everyone knows, doing layout for Times of Restoration is a LOT of fun.

Also, if you find any mistakes in the next issue (September/October), it'll probably be my fault.




There is something I wish to understand. How is it that many of you are able to write about your normal, everyday lives and have it come out in a scintillating manner? Is it because your lives are (very possibly) more interesting than mine? Or is it because I lack the ability to engage in a fascinating soliloquy about what I had for breakfast, or the person I so inelegantly ran into while tripping over my own feet? (I've never done that...)

"Well, Rachel, maybe it's because you don't talk much in the first place."

Uhm, true, I suppose, ...but no. Maybe it's because I find so few things in daily life that interest me that I unconsciously decide they are not worth writing about. This could be why! My point of view. Hmm.

So, a new view...

Today I woke up and groaned as I immediately rolled over and turned my back on my clock. (Speaking of inelegant, that was an inelegant sentence.) Why can I not wake as a bird does: singing? Can you imagine? Somehow I don't think my trills would carry any clear, shining tones. Grate, screech, groan... cough. Bleh. Next subject.

It rained the other day. I love rain. In fact, I love rain so much that I am now going to make a stunningly selfish comment about that rain. It was all for me. Every drop. MY rain. Buckets of rain. Enough rain to make a miniature Grand Canyon at the edge of the driveway between Fairwood and Fairview. God likes me so much that He caused a butterfly in Africa to flap it's wings which in turn changed a breeze from one direction, to another. Then that breeze changed a wind pattern. That wind stirred the waves of the ocean. The waves of the ocean created a new breeze over on our fair shores. The new breeze... etc. You get the point. And it was all for MEEEEEEEEE! Aha haha! Heh... er... anyway. Sorry about that.

[Whether or not our rain storms originate in darkest Africa is not my point. Thus, if I have my facts wrong, please understand I'm not a complete idiot, I'm just too lazy to commence a long and involved research project on the subject.]

So far I have managed to apologize for most of what I have written. Rats. Let me try again; this time with my new point of view and no apologies.

It came to me the other day that one reason I rarely, if ever, get excited about anything or even enjoy life that much may be because I have a terrible case of Fence-sitting. I have my little perch in life where I am going to stay, thank you very much. To use energy to get excited takes away from my reserves which are labeled for staying with my tipsy seat atop the fence. Sounds utterly depressing, and it is.

The view from atop is actually quite nice, though, with green pastures on one side and greener on the other. You can see a long crystal stretch of a cool, peaceful brook. Great green trees and shade, beautiful shade. The carnival on the other side of the fence looks like loads of fun, too.

It's all good to look at.

But I sure wouldn't mind drinking some of that cool water. Sitting in the shade, on the grass. Relaxing a little. And then maybe getting a little excited about something, or whatever. Boy, that sounds great.

I spend a lot of my life on a fence, I want something different.

How does one do that?





This is not good

Humans frequently insist on deliberately doing things to themselves that are painful. This brings up a question:

Am I human?

The answer must be yes, thus:

Why am I making myself run?

My aunt challenged me to enter a three mile race with her in eight week's time. I've hardly exercised in a year.



The end of June

Well people, I'm moving. I don't suppose that's too terribly surprising, considering I'm an Ad____'s.

So. I'm off to the wilds of New Hampshire. Fairview calls, and who knows what else will come up.

I'm so HAPPY! I will be closer to some more of my peers, all of whom I love and respect. I've felt a bit like a wilty plant for lack of fellowship. Though there are a few down here who have been like cool water to me. These I wil miss. :) Grr, this is all so inconvenient, why can't we all live in the same state at least? Hee hee. I jest. But heaven will sure do the job well...

Boy, that all sounds a bit flowery and sentimental. Oh well, it's the truth and I'm sticking to it.

In any case, I've contracted a case of succinctness and must heed it's call.

Laus Deo!


A tale

Once upon a time there was a... oh forget the traditional opening sentence for a story! How about: The thunder crashed! The waves, like dancing elephants, dwarfed the vertically challenged vessel (now that's as PC as it can get...) as it was flung about like a racket ball in a heated game (and that is a poor attempt at an idiom). Its occupants (we are still talking about the vessel here) were terrified (no duh) and burrowed deeper beneath the tarp under which they were hiding. Their cries for help were lost amidst the roaring of the wind and the crashing of the mighty waves. And why were they going unheard? Because the vessel was lost to the grip of a force 9 hurricane in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. One wonders why they even bothered to waste their strength making noise.

Try and place yourself within this story. Smell the salt of the sea, the wood of the vessel, the scent of fear. Feel the icy water and the furious gale on your face, whipping your hair into un-imagined styles. See the foam at the crest of the towering waves and watch as they pour down into the vessel, threatening to bury it forever. See the spray, which for a moment turns into glistening diamonds in the staccato flashes of lightning. Taste fear, salt, the skin of the one next to you because you are waaaaaay too squashed together... (Did I get all the senses? Let me see... smell, touch, sight, taste... that's four, what's the missing one? Oh! Hearing.) Hear the roar of the waves and the cries for help. Tune your ears to the screaming of the wind and the anger of the waves. (Hmm, that last parentheses really shattered my attempt to pull your senses into my story. Rats. And this one totally ruined it. Guess I'll just abandon the tale.)

It's ok if I do quit, however. Because it was only a couple of rats in a discarded barrel.


About pictures and, um, me I guess

Well, I was going to post more FL pictures, but when I started to rummage about in my stash, I realized I didn't have that many, except a few Melissa took of herself (evil laugh). Saddness and WOE! Why don't I have more? I mean, I DID have a camera the whole time!

Why? Because I was BUSY! Busy busy busy.

Oh, and while we are on the subject (whatever the subject is...), I haven't forgotten my blog, honest. I've just been... experiencing life. So please don't give up on me yet.


Woohoo, I love my friends

Sorry about the glare
(sorry AFM, heh :-)

The happy couple


Daily wisdom #3

Are you sure it's for the right reasons?


Daily wisdom #2

Be joyful in hope,
patient in affliction,
faithful in prayer.
Romans 12:12



Well, I'm flying off home today... er... Wednesday morning @ about 8:15 am.

See you all on the flip side!

You call it "The last hurrah"

Fun in the sun.

The great blue Mediterranean

Just a step away

Aaaaah! Scary hollyhocks!

This is a rose. At least I think it is...

That's all, folks


Words that don't exist, but really should

1. AQUADEXTROUS (ak wa deks' trus) adj. Possessing the ability to
turn the bathroom faucet on and off with your toes.

2. CARPERPETUATION (kar' pur pet u a shun) n. The act, when
vacuuming, of running over a string or a piece of lint at least a
dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then
putting it back down to give the vacuum one more chance.

3. DISCONFECT (dis kon fekt') v. To sterilize the piece of candy you
dropped on the floor by blowing on it, assuming this will somehow
'remove' all the germs.

4. ELBONICS (el bon' iks) n. The actions of two people manoeuvring
for one armrest in a movie theater or airplane.

5. FRUST (frust) n. The small line of debris that refuses to be swept
onto the dust pan and keep backing a person across the room until he
finally decides to give up and sweep it under the rug.

6. LACTOMANGULATION (lak' to man guy lay' shun) n Manhandling the
"open here" spout on a milk container so badly that one has to resort
to the 'illegal' side.

7. PEPPIER (pehp ee ay') n. The waiter at a fancy restaurant whose
sole purpose seems to be walking around asking diners if they want
ground pepper.

8 PHONESIA (fo nee' zhuh) n. The affliction of dialing a phone number
and forgetting whom you were calling just as they answer.

9. PUPKUS (pup'kus) n. The moist residue left on a window after a dog
presses its nose to it.

10.TELECRASTINATION (tel e kras tin ay' shun) n. The act of always
letting the phone ring at least twice before you pick it up, even
when you're only six inches away.


Daily wisdom #1

Don't poke yourself in your eye, it hurts.


Once upon a place called Caesarea

This, students, is a foot. Can you say foot?
Very good!!


Checking my e-mail...

Oy vah voy, can it be...!?
It is!
Lisa, they found my false teeth!!


Two views from Mount Gerizim

looking down...

looking up


Better late than never, I say

It was Palm Sunday yesterday. This says it all. :-)


Happy Sabbath

you're going to have to (s)quint to read the sign... yeah...

sorry it's another flower...


A fairly stupid tale

Once upon a time there was a little girl and this little girl had a curl right in the middle of her... chinny chin chin (which is really gross, so let me hurry on...). One day, this little girl - let's call her Ash - skipped off into the woods on her way to visit her poor, sick... chicken (he had a big problem with paranoia, you know, the sky is falling type). As little Ash skipped on through the woods, she sprinkled crumbs on the trail behind herself as a precaution against losing her way when she trotted homeward. What she didn't know however, was that a ways back down the trail followed... the seven dwarves. They had taken the day off from their mine work to carry out the weekly forest parole because, despite their energetic tunneling in the mines, they were actually rabid tree huggers. So today they carried little black trash bags over their shoulders in which they placed bits of trash they discovered here and there. Which of course included Ash's crumbs, poor lass.

After a while, Ash tired from her skipping, so she seated herself upon a convenient mossy log and pulled out her handy dandy insulated lunch bag with sparkley racing stripes across the lid. From it she removed a big beautiful red... apple (which was poisoned, only she didn't know that. Yet). She held the apple up into the light of the sun and laughed (I'm still not sure why..). Just as she was about to take a bite, a knight on his shining charger - complete with rippling muscles (I'm talking about the horse, not the knight)- thundered by and... knocked her over. Which was a good thing in a strange way, because it kept her from eating the poisoned apple, but not in other ways because it gave her some wicked bruises.

In pain, she stumbled further down the trail until she came to a cute little cottage with large ugly fake gumdrops attached to the outer walls and roof. After knocking on the door and getting no answer, she timidly stepped into the house. On the table were... bowls of porridge. (And if you went throughout the house, you'd find three of most things, all of which she either ate or sat on.) After completing her tour of destruction, she fell asleep with her face in one of the porridge bowls. While you where sleeping - I mean - while she was sleeping, the three... blind mice (aka three myopic rodents) came home. Upon sensing her presence, the papa mouse thundered as only a mouse can: "Fee fi fo fum, I smell the... shampoo on someone's hair and it's not any of ours because we don't use shampoo!"

But Ash did not awake because as any smart person would know, mice, no matter how loud they thunder, just aren't loud. At all. So Ash, poor lass, was carried out the door, down the dale and across the stream to... somewhere that was definitely not grandmother's house. Whatever the place was, it doesn't matter because they left her there and she kept sleeping for a really long time and it was so long that there's not enough room on this blog for the end of the story to fit, which is sad because it was going to be really cool and now you will never know, which means you're going to be left hanging, waiting, weeping, for the conclusion that you're never going to get! Hahahahaaha!

The End


MORE pictures, bwahaha!

Remember the British Cemetery?

The eclipse on Tuesday (!)



101 ways to keep from loosing your readership

Write something, say something to stave off the downward tide.
Ok, that wasn't 101 ways, but I think four will do the job. Yes?

So, how about this. The other day we were searching through our rather bare cupboards for something to make for supper (the cupboards were somewhat bare because we don't like grocery shopping, can you believe that??). We had several partial meals; beans, but no ground beef to make chili; potatoes, but no cheese or sour cream to make yummy baked potatoes. We also had chicken breast, but nothing to eat it with. We were in a pretty dismal predicament. Lisa, Sarah and I may have been able to scrounge about and find some strange combination to stave off hunger, but we also cook for The Boss, or Steve-the-forensic-scientist. Anyway, as I was saying it really wouldn't be nice for him if we tossed him out to the wolves, so on we searched. If only we had some rice... then we could make a delicious stir-fry, but no...... But wait! We looked at each other with wild surmise! ...No... we shouldn't, no way, baaad idea... but we need rice... One of us had recently put some rice into a CLEAN sock to use as a heating pad (microwave it) to keep oneself warm in the chill of the evening. A lot of rice. ...Oooh boy, the temptation grew. We didn't mind that it had been in a sock, but what about the Boss?? Would he understand? Would he care? Would he be grossed out by rice from a sooock??

We needed rice for supper, so we used the rice for supper. The rice for supper did not kill us. And we "forgot" to mention to the Boss from where the rice for supper had originated. Now the question is: Will we go to hell because we didn't tell him?




A real post, whatever that is

Who here likes mosquitos? .....I didn't think so. Thus I am sure you'll all be happy to know I just killed one. Which means, hopefully, that I have kept between 100-300 new beasties from hatching. Isn't that exciting!?

Let's see... what else did I do today? Ah yes, with great vim and vigor I mopped our kitchen-hallway-living-room floor, the outside entryway to our apartment and on down the stairs to the walkway. The water which I poured on the floor in the house I squeegeed (I love that word!) around and out the door which has no threshold, across the entryway and then I chased the miniature waterfall down the smooth stone/marble stairs. Hey, it was great fun. Especially since I did not slip on the wet stone and fall head over teakettle down the stairs. Aaaaaaaah! However, if you like running and hydroplaning down a slick hallway, then all this is right up your alley (yes, yes, pun intended, couldn't help it, didn't want to help it).

And now I don't know what to write. I fear that now I have access to a camera my conversational abilities, which were never well developed, may begin to atrophy. I love to draw pictures with my words because I think in pictures, which is made possible because I often look at the world as through a viewfinder... what do I do? Posting a picture (picture=1,000 words) is way easier than writing something... *shrugs*

Have camera, will be lazy.


Where was I?


"Here there be giants"

I think they need to cut the grass along the walls of the Old City.

Or maybe it's just that I have suddenly contracted a raging case of osteoporosis.



If anyone is bored, I have just the thing for you!

Just go here.

Come on, you know you want to...


Sadness and woe

Oh noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, I think for some reason my blog isn't saving comments on my two latest posts. At least I think it's not. Unless of course no one did comment on them. In any case, if there was some way that I could know if anyone tried to comment or not, it would be lovely. I think a lot of you have my e-mail address; so maybe a lil e-mail just to say yea or nay wouldn't hurt. :-D


Here, you tell me

You see, for a jet-lagged brain, wouldn't you have had trouble picking the right one? Especially if you only had one in front of you.


A word to the confused

Ok, that was weird.

This morning, after I'd dragged myself from my bed at a scary 1 AM according to my befuddled body clock, I slowly made my way down stairs to find something for breakfast. I really didn't want to eat much, so I grabbed a tangerine from the basket on the counter. My fingers sank into its flesh; it was rotten at the top. Oh yuck! Off to the trash it sailed as I turned quickly to wash the grossness from my fingertips. After drying my hands, I carefully chose a firm tangerine. With that in hand, I opened the fridge and bent down a little to peer in. Hhhm, I think we need to go shopping... aha! Yogurt.. yum.

The container had only Hebrew and Arabic on its sides, which is not unusual, so when I realized it was yellow instead of light blue, I called over my shoulder to ask Sarah if she knew what flavor it was. "Is it banana?" Anyone who knows me well will remember how I abhor bananas. Sarah didn't think it was, so I figured it was another strange Israeli flavor like butterscotch or raisins and brandy. So, I decided to be brave and opened the container. It seemed a little bit creamier than usual, but then who was I to question it? Yogurt in Israel is always thicker and fattier than in the US. I stirred it and took a small preparatory taste. Huh, usually plain yogurt doesn't have this much tang. But plain yogurt in Israel is a little sweeter than in the US. So maybe it's ...sugarless? Oh well. I also figured it might taste sharper than usual because I'd just brushed my teeth.

I shrugged and carried it upstairs to eat while sitting on my bed, computer on lap, checking my e-mail and a few blogs. I ate the yogurt slowly with small bites because it still seemed a lil bit thicker and tangier than usual. I finally set it aside to ask Lisa to read the Hebrew for me once I'd finished my current task. My stomach was complaining a little, but I figured it was merely an offshoot of jet lag/stomach shock. E-mails checked and blogs visited, I walked to Lisa's door and with a plaintive tone I asked her to tell me what flavor the blooming stuff was. One glance at the container sent her into a burst of laughter.

"Ha hahaha, Rachel, that's sour cream!"


How on earth was I supposed to know? It didn't taste like US sour cream. The containers even look practically the same. Sigh.

I carried it down stairs again, feeling a bit silly. I told Sarah about my mistake and we both started laughing. Ha hahaha!

Thank you, thank you... it is my distinct pleasure to bring a ray of sunshine and laughter to an otherwise cold and gloomy morning (even though my stomach still isn't very happy with me...)

I love us.


A new view

Today I ate a chocolate. It was really good. Then I ate another and that one was really good, too. Isn't amazing how some things never change? Then, of course, there is another side. The side where some things do change. Or at least aren't the same all the time (I wonder is there's a difference between the two?). In any case, there is something I wish would change. *looks pitiful* It's cooooold, and the stone floors are cold, and the plaster walls are cold and the air is cold, and my feet are cold, and my fingers are cold, and the heat is controlled by the people living beneath us, and they only put it on for a bit in the evenings. Boo. Hoo. And you thought Israel was always a land of sun and sand and the warm, blue Mediterranean sea dancing along the white sands of the beach. Wrong. Think again. Now I understand why tickets to Israel in the winter/early spring months are so much cheaper. No one in their right mind would want to spend much time in this bone chilling wet cold.
But, you know, who in their right mind would even go to Israel anyway? Dunno...
Anyone want a chocolate?


Mildly intelligent

I'm here (in Israel) all in one piece, though not with all my smarts as yet... I know I just set myself up for some teasing. The trip was uneventful except when we flew over the Eiffel Tower as we left the Charles DeGaulle airport. Twas interesting. Probably the only time I'll see it. :-) Thank you everyone for all your prayers, it's obvious they were heard.

Ugh, I just ate breakfast and it was 1:30 or 2 AM your time. My stomach doesn't like me anymore.

Have a grand day you all!


I apologise for this...

Jane, your riddle.

A pink hairless tethered-to-keep-from-escaping, frightened-for-its-life-cousin-to-a-blowfish (because of the spikes :)

[The spikes belong to the blowfish, btw; not the pink hairless thing.]

(I think I'm going nuts)


Eleven days and counting

Eleven days until I leave. For Israel, that is. I thought I ought to mention it. :-)

I'm really sorry about the major lack of posts on my part. I have all kinds of great excuses, but I will not bother you with any. I miss blogging, so hopefully once I arrive in Israel and get myself settled in, I'll try my hand at it again in a more frequent manner. I humbly, on my knees, ask my readership to hang in there and not write me off.

As you wish.

P.S. Jane, a riddle coming soon. :)



Bend, grasp, yank, toss. Bend, grasp, yank, toss. WHOMPH. Charlie's breath was knocked askew as he made unprepared contact with the Warden's bulbous knee. "Whadd'ya doing, boy?" the Warden challenged, his high-piched voice cracking with effort in an attempt to sound tough. Excuuuse knee, thought Charlie. Glaring, the Warden grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him towards The Cage. "Get your tail away from those flowers. You know you ain't supposed to be foolin' with 'em!" Charlie rolled his eyes in an attempt to look pathetic, maybe gain a little sympathy from the pseudo tough guy. But, no such luck. Off to The Cage it is again. Again. One would think the Warden didn't like him, or something.

Charlie sighed as the door crashed shut with finality. Depressed, he turned, walked to the corner and sat, leaning back against the wall. Was he ever going to get out of this place? It was either in The Cage, out side in a tiny yard, or, worst of all, in a small room where they poked and prodded, brandishing long shiny needles. He still couldn't understand why his family had left him here. Feeling sorry for himself, he lay down and idly studied The Cage's door. Soon, sheer boredom set in and he fell asleep, trapped by its warm, smothering arms.

Hours ticked away and still he slept. Just as he'd started to drift back into consciousness, loud voices jerked him totally awake. A rumbly deep male voice asked, "How is he doing?" "Oh, much better," shrilled the Warden. Then, a small child's voice joined in with an excited, "Can he come home now?!" "Please! Take him away... I mean, yes, he's ready, heh..." The Warden quickly corrected himself, but muttered under his breath "...and good riddance."

Friendly faces came around the corner; the Warden pulled out his key with a great show, and with much rattling and banging unlocked The Cage door. Charlie ran through the open portal and into the waiting arms of his family. He was going home! He was free! He was so happy and excited that he couldn't help but run in circles, tongue out, tail wagging and barking gleefully.



I think the world has been made a better place, just because some genius created this site. (Not my blog, silly. That's a link to another site)

Ok, beyond that.

I've found a new way to bring excitement to a bleary existence. Write blogs! Thus, considering the distinct lack of posts on my part, I must be leading a stunning and fabulously astounding life. "Please define your term". What is a stunning, fabu' and astounding life? You tell me. There are many ways to look at it. All of which I am going to leave to your imagination.

Swiss chard is sooooo good. It's somewhat like spinach, only not quite as slimy when steamed. It has the most divine smell as it cooks... I haven't had it in ages, however, my mom bought some today and fair memories have flooded my senses. If you haven't had the privilege of consuming some, dash to the store immediately!

Today I spent a Very Long Time in a Huge and fascinating antique store. Penny and Melissa oooed and ahhed along with me. It was a dandy way to spend part of an afternoon. I didn't buy anything, but as I was looking through a book titled Greems Dictionary for Shorthand which was published some time in the late 1800s, I discovered a poem written in the front cover (in longhand :). Because I liked it so much, and didn't want to buy the book for $30 just to get the poem, I read it aloud as Melissa copied it onto a tidbit of paper she'd had in her purse. So, if you get bored in the middle, you hereby have my permission to skip the remaining stanzas.

No time for God?

What fools we are to clutter up
Our lives with common things,
And leave without heart's gate
The Lord of life and Life itself--
Our God.

No time for God?
As soon to say no time
To eat or sleep or love or die.
Take time for God
Or you shall dwarf your soul.
And when the angel Death
Comes knocking at your door,
A poor misshapen thing you'll be
To step into eternity.

No time for God?
That day when sickness comes
Or troubles find you out,
And you cry out for God,
Will He have time for you?

No time for God?
Some day you'll lay aside
This mortal self,
And make your way unknown,
And when you meet Him face to face,
Will He, should He, have time for you?

There was no author noted, so I'm wondering if it was an original to the long ago owner of the book.

And this is the end of what I had to say. Please hold your applause. :-P



There is a melody I long to hear,
the song of peace.
I wish for it to shine from my eyes,
to flow from my lips,
to envelope me within its living folds.
So, when my being cries out for peace,
peace meets me,
and together we laugh with joy
and with tears
as we dance in the rain.