tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30271871835372323472024-03-05T03:34:38.386-08:00PostHasteBarstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.comBlogger179125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-55444819100342289322011-10-31T08:50:00.000-07:002011-10-31T08:50:00.744-07:0010.31.11<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6296751137/" title="Little Monkey by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6095/6296751137_328acc1761.jpg" width="400" height="260" alt="Little Monkey" /></a></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-41741977299647876812011-09-24T17:18:00.000-07:002011-09-24T17:28:26.629-07:00Georgetown<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6179099989/" title="Pull by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6164/6179099989_6fcf93c1b7.jpg" width="400" height="260" alt="Pull" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6179100415/" title="Brick by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6162/6179100415_c96ee502f1.jpg" width="260" height="400" alt="Brick" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6179627144/" title="Fence by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6173/6179627144_e1f613a6ea.jpg" width="400" height="260" alt="Fence" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6179627518/" title="Moulding by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6177/6179627518_c9dc1bede1.jpg" width="260" height="400" alt="Moulding" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6179100329/" title="Amber Lamp by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6164/6179100329_9652620136.jpg" width="400" height="260" alt="Amber Lamp" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6179100929/" title="Masonry by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6176/6179100929_e3d33e01b8.jpg" width="260" height="400" alt="Masonry" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6179099799/" title="Fence by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6176/6179099799_0813091f28.jpg" width="400" height="260" alt="Fence" /></a></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-61972253100963735522011-09-04T20:24:00.001-07:002011-09-04T20:24:35.888-07:00My Heart<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/6115022092/" title="My Heart by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6067/6115022092_c1943d9ec9.jpg" width="332" height="500" alt="My Heart" /></a></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-62470851223251476212011-06-23T18:38:00.001-07:002011-06-23T18:39:28.234-07:00Handsome<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5865316304/" title="Wispy by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3080/5865316304_663930ca2f.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Wispy" /></a></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-21613288935305088972011-06-04T18:43:00.000-07:002011-06-04T18:45:35.745-07:00Breakfast In Bed<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5798033583/" title="Cohen Riley by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2383/5798033583_6ac8e43337.jpg" width="332" height="500" alt="Cohen Riley" /></a></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-55700204297171440352011-05-28T08:49:00.000-07:002011-05-28T08:51:54.721-07:00Crayons!<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5768049899/" title="Crayons! by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5186/5768049899_bce6790273.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Crayons!" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">These were one of the many birthday gifts Cohen received. So far, I think I've enjoyed them for their intended use more than my son, who has no interest besides chewing the crayons to sad misshapen nubs of color. </div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-45008353587461559422011-05-02T18:54:00.000-07:002011-05-02T18:57:28.029-07:00CAKE!<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5594015588/" title="Cake! by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5310/5594015588_b542954cce.jpg" width="332" height="500" alt="Cake!" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Cohen's official day of birth, I nipped to the bakery across the street and got him his very own cupcake. This was the result. Not too shabby for a newbie to the likes of cake and frosting.</div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-12744174389927028492011-04-27T18:56:00.001-07:002011-04-27T19:08:33.878-07:00Epic AwesomeAs a rule I don't post other people's designs, photographs, or creativity but this was just too good not to share. The design team behind this campaign is BRILLIANT and if you happen to be a nerd, like me, that loves the magic that can be created with technology, you will share my appreciation:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="425" height="300" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tu0TRA6a21Q" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-47971632174275075502011-04-24T03:07:00.000-07:002011-04-24T18:32:48.533-07:00"Eggs"cellent<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFX854DsuJMKbWUugWDceeL-AwtxXYoCYk4Os1cbTWmhe3qO7CUvcXHyrmSQXnJtyqusI0goYOHIW29rgHKaWqebSUplj4U-K7_KRKS6HzoLLaPgX_pegHNFeytYHpM5X6TnwxvlUDwHUu/s1600/Easter_Bunny_2011.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFX854DsuJMKbWUugWDceeL-AwtxXYoCYk4Os1cbTWmhe3qO7CUvcXHyrmSQXnJtyqusI0goYOHIW29rgHKaWqebSUplj4U-K7_KRKS6HzoLLaPgX_pegHNFeytYHpM5X6TnwxvlUDwHUu/s320/Easter_Bunny_2011.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598904271170997746" /></a>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-35740742435571009962011-04-21T06:01:00.000-07:002011-04-21T06:01:01.062-07:00Cohen's First BirthdayI had all kinds of grand plans for Cohen's first birthday, mostly gleaned and snipped from Martha Stewart Living, that I had been hoping to bring together without the help of her assistants, planners, coordinators, and designers, at noon on Saturday, April 16. Well, it turns out Martha Stewart I am NOT, but in true creative "I'm An Artist" fashion I didn't go down without a fight. Originally, it would have been a garden party with Kris at the grill and our dear friends and family frolicking in our backyard. Except we don't have a backyard, much less a garden, just a barren plot of earth that spits forth an inordinate amount of prickly weeds. So, frolicking was definitely out. After issuing invitations, I discovered that my original restaurant of choice was going to be closed that particular Saturday, this realization was immediately followed by furious internet trolling for an equally, hip, kid-friendly, affordable, and yummy place to crash. <div><br /><div>Success! <a href="http://www.pasquinis.com/">Pasquini's on Broadway</a> fit the bill to perfection and the best part, they were willing to house our group of loud, fun-loving friends and a one-year old with a penchant for total and utter destruction. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now, to figure out the cake. It had to be special but not tacky, delicious but not boring, and I had the design all drawn out. Of course, I know nothing when it comes to pricing a cake and after visiting several well-known bakeries I'm still none the wiser. Why exactly is a square cake <i>more</i> expensive than a round one? Is fresh fruit really that difficult to work with to warrant such a price hike? Fortunately, I stumbled across a little bakery off of Sante Fe called <a href="http://www.frillscakeshop.com/">Frills</a> and talked to the baker himself. The guy was so gracious and even offered to let me take of giant slice of cake from the fridge, for FREE!, so I could get a sense of their flavors, textures, and general deliciousness. An offer that hadn't even been suggested or uttered at any of the other shops, just a non-committal shrug toward their $8 cake pops if I "wanted to try something". </div><div><br /></div><div>Next item on the list: Party Favors! I was really looking forward to these I just wasn't happy with the garish plastic options provided at my local Target and then I stumbled across a <a href="http://www.lovelydesign.com/downloads/lovely_giftbag_pattern.pdf">simple pattern</a> for goodie bags you could fashion out of the fabrics of your choice. Great! Except our current sewing machine crapped out on the last project we tried to coax from it's needle. Not that it was such a tragedy, the only thing I'd ever attempted to sew in the past was a curtain that looks like something Ray Charles cranked out one night after one too many drinks. After spending a whole evening hand sewing one shaky seam, my dear husband took pity on me and purchased a new sewing machine (a la Martha Stewart!). I then spent the following evening getting acquainted with aforementioned sewing machine and after several less-than-stellar attempts I could sew a goodie bag in 6 minutes flat, skewed seams and all!</div></div><div><br /></div><div>I was feeling pretty good about my plans thus far when I ran across <a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/04/mr-humperdinks-birthday-party.html">this party</a>...a party for a cat. A CAT. Not that I don't think cats aren't awesome, I was just having a little bit of anxiety that this feline was obviously having a MUCH more posh party than my human son, the apple of my eye, was about to have. To top it off, the whole thing looks like it was photographed by a professional and all guests look like they just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. What I <i>did </i>love about this particular party was the little moustache on a stick that several party goers are sporting in some of the photos. It turns out I already possessed all the necessary craft supplies to whip out my own "funny face" creations for guests to use for their own little photo ops. Score!</div><div><br /></div><div>All that was left were the balloons. I figured the Party City down the street would be more than happy to inflate a dozen or so party balloons while I ran around getting the odds and ends I was going to toss in my newly sewn goodie bags. Did you know that Party City needs a week in advance for balloon orders? Neither did I. I found two frazzled employees furiously inflating balloon after balloon who were quick to point out their balloon policy. I was okay with not having balloons, disappointed but okay, after all, it was my fault for not going through the proper balloon-ordering channels. Did you know that having a good attitude in the face of disappointment can get you what you want? Neither did I. Because after I said I would just make my purchase sans balloons the manager offered to inflate the balloons of my choice, right then and there. Blessings on thee, Party City manager! You MADE my son's birthday as is evident from this face:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5639546180/" title="Balloon by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5265/5639546180_3f766cc6a8.jpg" width="265" height="400" alt="Balloon" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5638970025/" title="Pasquini's by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5302/5638970025_34b683e9a8.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Pasquini's" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5639546510/" title="Cake by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5183/5639546510_ebed9981fa.jpg" width="265" height="400" alt="Cake" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5639546254/" title="On Display by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5102/5639546254_4a09b09179.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="On Display" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5638978575/" title="DSC_0692 by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5229/5638978575_ecf5303b32.jpg" width="265" height="400" alt="DSC_0692" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5638969883/" title="Melt Down by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5225/5638969883_2a47b0bfe6.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Melt Down" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">All of these photos were taken before the guests arrived and before Cohen decided sitting in his high chair was just not what birthday boys do. I didn't have a moment or spare hand to take pictures of our guests, gift openings, candle blowing, but I <i>was</i> able to spend every minute enjoying our friend's company, the food, and most importantly, celebrating Cohen, which is all I really wanted. A true success, indeed! </div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-10340175480303372752011-04-20T17:55:00.001-07:002011-04-20T18:00:19.352-07:00Crabapple<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5638807125/" title="Crabapple by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5143/5638807125_3ffa754baf.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Crabapple " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This is one of my favorite times of year, when all the flowering trees in Denver start to bloom and we are lucky enough to have a giant crabapple tree at the end of our driveway. Right now it is covered in a million delicate pink blossoms and I couldn't help but slip out the other morning, just after a spring rain, snap a few photos, and appreciate it's beauty and magnificence.</div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-73047062666867816302011-04-17T18:03:00.000-07:002011-04-17T18:28:17.790-07:00April Wedding<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629747104/" title="Groom by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5101/5629747104_283d48ce8e.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Groom" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629747012/" title="Gazebo by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5188/5629747012_2c016b3fdf.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Gazebo" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629165409/" title="Bride by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5228/5629165409_8c45b72982.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Bride" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629775402/" title="Father/Daughter by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5223/5629775402_f1f257f9c1.jpg" width="265" height="400" alt="Father/Daughter" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629193951/" title="Vows by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5228/5629193951_5aab4dabe1.jpg" width="265" height="400" alt="Vows" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629193839/" title="Rice by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5101/5629193839_e573bcf41f.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Rice" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629193755/" title="NewlyWed by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5262/5629193755_bb27616898.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="NewlyWed" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5629193683/" title="Handfasting by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5308/5629193683_4d053509dc.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Handfasting" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> David and Linette</div><div style="text-align: center;">04.10.2011</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-2719859072615605462011-04-15T05:21:00.000-07:002011-04-15T05:24:56.701-07:00Porch<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5621788804/" title="Rockers by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5265/5621788804_d41af69741.jpg" width="332" height="500" alt="Rockers" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We spent last weekend in Orlando, Florida for my dear brother's wedding and in the bustle of our return and getting details organized for Master Cohen's birthday party this weekend I haven't had a chance to post about it...in the meantime, I leave you with this image, a porch where I would be happy to spend all of my lazy afternoons.</div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-7857507622247790982011-04-05T15:14:00.000-07:002011-04-05T18:21:30.430-07:00Journal: 12 MonthsDearest Bean:<div><br /></div><div>We survived the FIRST year! Thanks for letting me tag along, little bean!<br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5065307302/" title="Hours Old by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4109/5065307302_6b8c11cc2b.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="Hours Old" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5593458404/" title="1 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5176/5593458404_bf944c53e0.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="1 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5593458662/" title="2month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5106/5593458662_e7786b342d.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="2month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5592868219/" title="3 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5184/5592868219_097710cc2a.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="3 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5592868469/" title="4 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5069/5592868469_112d85b646.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="4 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5592868569/" title="5 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5222/5592868569_c617851b0f.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="5 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5592868681/" title="6 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5070/5592868681_f400e861c5.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="6 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5593459122/" title="7 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5178/5593459122_f1b98f3101.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="7 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5592868941/" title="8 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5180/5592868941_006ab33d6e.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="8 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5592869081/" title="9 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5265/5592869081_61ca88857d.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="9 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5593459704/" title="10 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5094/5593459704_b6f2cd8de5.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="10 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5593459568/" title="11 month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5141/5593459568_ef4075a3bc.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="11 month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5593427085/" title="12 Month by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5221/5593427085_1183d67448.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="12 Month" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Love Forever:</div><div style="text-align: left;">Mama</div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-88060578425850158732011-03-31T18:04:00.000-07:002011-03-31T18:25:22.916-07:00The Passing Of Time<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">My Ideal Girl Friend</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">What is she like? She is everything I wish I were. She has a wonderful sense of humor, which is very important, and she has a good disposition. I have never seen her angry all the time I have known her. She is smart and not lazy or afraid to work. She is a wonderful athlete and is friendly with every one. When I say friendly, I don't mean with just the people she knows, but she goes out of her way to help others and make them feel as if they are not as ignorant as is sometimes implied by others.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">She dresses nicely, wearing clothes that suit her, and she is very pretty. Pretty is a rather common word but it carries so much meaning that I think it is the word to use.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">She was my best friend in grammar school. We called her Corky, which is a nickname for Corrinne, and is not a very common nickname. She is thin like me, and I always felt better when I was with her. She is the only child in the family, but that does not mean she is spoiled; in fact, she is just the opposite. She was raised better, and is as unspoiled as some children in a large family are spoiled. I haven't seen her for some time, but I hope to see her soon. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">*****</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">My Ideal Boy Friend</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">At this particular time, I am rather glad to say, I do not have a boy friend, but I know what I would want him to be like. For one thing he would have to be mannerly.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">These boys that you see going around talking loudly and, in many ways considering the girl as another boy, are rather out of line. It doesn't matter whether the boy has a lot of money, whether he can take you to the high spots or just to a show. If he is a nice boy, that is all that counts.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">A sense of humor means a lot and most boys have it but not all, so if a boy expects to become an ideal boy friend that is one quality worth having. He should dress well and be neat. He doesn't have to wear expensive clothes to be nice and neat, but clean clothes, carefully kept.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">This will give an idea of how my ideal boy friend has to be like. As I read it over, it strikes me as rather wishful thinking, but then every girl does a lot of wishful thinking, especially where boys are concerned.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">*****</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">My Summers</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Almost every summer since 1929 our family has spent its vacation at Chain-o-Lakes, Indiana. It's about eight miles this side of South Bend. Each summer I'd get acquainted with some people, and the next summer they'd be gone. There was always more to take their place.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">There are two girls though, whom I see every summer. They are Louise Larson and Ruth Neilson. Louise lives out there, and Ruth goes out every summer the same as I do.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">One summer we decided to take a hike around the lake. The lake isn't very big, but there isn't any kind of path at all leading around it so we did just what the big and famous explorers do. We broke trail. We not only broke the trail but ourselves as well. Between climbing over the bob-wire fences, rolling down hills, and being chased by cows (or so we thought, but the poor cows were just looking for more grass) we decided we had a very uneventful hike.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">My brother and sister always went too, but they graduated last year so I took my cousin, Shirley Urquhart, with me. We had so much fun that we didn't want to go home. We went swimming every day, took a long walk, and we went down to the Stand (Mr. Larson runs a candy, pop, and ice cream stand) and had a lot of fun with the other girls and boys. Sometimes we went into South Bend.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">This year we might not be able to go out there on account of gas rationing, but I hope we will. </span></div><div><br /></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-15906333385173101632011-03-17T17:36:00.000-07:002011-03-17T17:38:16.922-07:00Luck O' The Irish<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkxOH-_z9a33QvLYWr9M6rFHyGOyonrZWz2CDya2gtDOLHsNXj8d1WHRJR8MklMN2ET8at1vRtDRTeY6gB1z8PzmjHByqdOfGFdaMXp_GvH5pdPf9HLY35_gOhbXG8BRu4gnKiXqPSRop/s1600/stpats_2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkxOH-_z9a33QvLYWr9M6rFHyGOyonrZWz2CDya2gtDOLHsNXj8d1WHRJR8MklMN2ET8at1vRtDRTeY6gB1z8PzmjHByqdOfGFdaMXp_GvH5pdPf9HLY35_gOhbXG8BRu4gnKiXqPSRop/s320/stpats_2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585212655505394898" /></a>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-17906137196198359142011-03-13T10:15:00.001-07:002011-03-13T10:15:48.728-07:00Diner<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5522720265/" title="diner by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5015/5522720265_4e334b5d96.jpg" width="400" height="399" alt="diner" /></a></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-47350865479932901562011-03-08T19:14:00.000-08:002011-03-12T10:07:16.131-08:00Journal: Tenth and Eleventh Month<div style="text-align: left;">Dearest Bean,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">How the last two months have flown and, now, we are less than four weeks away from your first birthday! Incredible! Back in January I mentioned that I was going back to work full time and just two weeks later your Dada started his new job and he was no longer home to help get you ready in the mornings. I didn't really anticipate the change and so for the first week your mama was late to work every single day. Oops.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5510616075/" title="glee by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5294/5510616075_704e41d54f.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="glee" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The following week was the coldest on record for something like 75 years and the snow didn't melt for ages. This was also the week you got a mysterious bumpy red rash ALL over your back. Two days later when I picked you up from Janice's you were sporting a temperature of 102. Your first temperature EVER. I was a teeny bit concerned but I know I can't keep the viruses and bacteria away from you forever so we stocked up on children's tylenol and tried to get you to bed as early as possible. Not two hours after you had been tucked in you woke up, a most uncommon occurrence nowadays, and so I went to check on you and that's when I realized you were a roasting little inferno. So, I took your temperature which was not nearly as easy as it sounds considering we had to put the thermometer in your armpit and hold it there for an eternity before we heard the wretched little finishing "beep" and that's when we realized your fever had spiked to 103. In less than 4 seconds I had Children's Hospital on the phone while surfing the Internet about fever's in babies because I didn't have A CLUE what to do or if this was normal. It turns out your temperature can reach 104 before we needed to take you into the ER but seeing as we were just one tiny infinitesimal degree away from that number I was prepared to keep the midnight oil aflame and hold you until you were able to fall asleep.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5511215066/" title="outside by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5136/5511215066_23465cd80f.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="outside" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Except you never fell asleep for more than 39 seconds at a time and then you'd wake up in a burst of tears and I had to carry you around while you struggled to get comfortable, drooling and dribbling all over my shoulders, face, and hair. It was a long night, I didn't get to bed until 5 am when you had finally crashed out of sheer exhaustion. You were up again at 7 am and so was I. We scheduled an appointment with Dr. Stein and went in around 9:30. And after you were poked, prodded, and swabbed we found out that you had THE FLU and it turns out there's nothing other than "rest and fluids" when it comes to flu treatment in a baby. So, that's what we did. You were a real trooper though, after that terrible, terrible night, your fever continued to drop and after a few days and lots of extra naps you were back to your old self. I, however, was no so fortunate and suffered through the flu the following weekend. I didn't have the luxury of being carried around and held all night but the liberal doses of Nyquil and Theraflu made up for it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5510616123/" title="beanie by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5137/5510616123_825ab15072.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="beanie" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It turns out that the same time the flue was working it's way through your system 4 teeth were attempting to make their presence known. You are now the proud owner of two dainty little bottom teeth, and two razor sharp top teeth, one of which came in much more quickly then the other and you have a bit of Quasimodo thing going on and it looks like you've inherited the Cachares "gap". Yes, I think you're in for some serious orthodontia work in the future but for now your the most charming toothy baby that ever was. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5511227506/" title="boo by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5219/5511227506_4d1bd5c8cf.jpg" width="265" height="400" alt="boo" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Your vocabulary is a whopping 4 words now: Mama, Dada, Baba, Ba (Ball) with a few random words thrown in the mix like Mon-Mon for Bonnie. You've started giving hugs, we call 'em squeezes, and you get SO excited by this, you hug everything, your ball, Henry, the furniture, , a head of lettuce. There have been a few attempts at kisses but it's more of an open-mouth slobbery mess and your always aiming for the chin. You still have a lot to learn in that area. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5511214928/" title="shapes by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5093/5511214928_286b7691d2.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="shapes" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have a feeling you'll be walking on or before you first birthday. You hardly hold on to us when we hold your hands and have you step around the house (there's was one evening where you goose-stepped everywhere, these high, straight-leg kicks, it was rather hilarious) and you've got the cruising thing down. The other morning we were all in the family room, spending a lazy Sunday morning together, when all of a sudden you hoisted your blue ball up over your head and you stood up all on your own and then casually attempted to toss your ball across the room! Your Dada and I were amazed! We had no idea you had it in you, we just sat their with our eyes like saucers, jaws gaping. Meanwhile you were as nonchalant as ever, like, "Geez, people, ever seen a baby before?! Sheesh." I swear, if you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5510615917/" title="flash card by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5056/5510615917_47412ef8f4.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="flash card" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Your fascination with the cats has grown and with it their aversion to you. I think it's your volume and the fact that you haven't mastered "gentle hands" yet but still have a bone-crushing grip when it comes to grabbing their fur, ears, or tails. Bonnie will at least let you pet her with my close supervision while Amelia bolts for the nearest exit just at the idea that you might be sharing the same room. In spite of their lack of enthusiasm you are always excited to see them and continue your efforts at catching them, never getting frustrated or upset no matter how often they run away. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5511227444/" title="orange by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5259/5511227444_5c299a24f6.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="orange" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm amazed by you every single day. You've changed from a poopy, fussy, slug-baby, into the most charming little boy, full of personality and light. You shine, little bean! People notice you wherever we go! At the Cherry Creek play area you'll crawl up to total strangers and give them your 1,000 watt smile and you're willing to try anything, crawling through a tunnel, going down a slide, flying on a swing, anything goes! I can't wait to see where that sense of adventure takes you and I'll be there, cheering you on!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Love Forever:</div><div style="text-align: left;">Mama</div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-38097212435836534092011-03-07T10:14:00.000-08:002011-03-07T10:31:59.357-08:00Date NightKris and I had the opportunity to enjoy our SECOND date night since Cohen was born. Of course, we jumped at the opportunity to spend several hours away from the house sans bebe and to make the night even more memorable we tried a new restaurant, Ted's Montana Grill. Honestly, we could have dined just about anywhere and I would have given the meal 5 stars simply because I was able to use both hands to eat and not pick Cheerios out of my water glass. I took photographs throughout the meal to commemorate such a monumental achievement and after we overcame the nagging feeling that we had indeed forgotten something we had a fantastic time. Like all good things, they must eventually come to an end, and even though we had no curfew we returned home just before nine, because we're boring old people who find it difficult to keep our eyes open without the aid of toothpicks after about 8 pm. <div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5506932622/" title="logo by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5173/5506932622_1f2fbfbcbb.jpg" width="400" height="399" alt="logo" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5506335335/" title="cucumbers by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5214/5506335335_c531c68087.jpg" width="399" height="400" alt="cucumbers" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5506335541/" title="straw by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5020/5506335541_9370c257da.jpg" width="399" height="400" alt="straw" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5506334357/" title="buffalo bill by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5053/5506334357_0768af4b74.jpg" width="400" height="399" alt="buffalo bill" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5506334097/" title="delicious duo by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5217/5506334097_ddac136ed4.jpg" width="400" height="399" alt="delicious duo" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5506931246/" title="apple crisp by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5175/5506931246_ed534c2d58.jpg" width="400" height="399" alt="apple crisp" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5506972600/" title="twinkle lights by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5175/5506972600_b8c63b5154.jpg" width="400" height="399" alt="twinkle lights" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; ">Photos taken with the Retro Camera App for Droid</span></div></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-59865527354154748202011-02-25T08:07:00.000-08:002011-02-25T08:07:00.276-08:00The Passing Of Time<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Easter 1943 (April 25)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">This year Easter was a great disappointment. For one thing, it was dark and damp. Nobody want to go parading in her best clothes when it's raining. Then, the war prevented many of the gay things that usually go with Easter. There was none of the gaily colored Easter eggs, great big chocolate eggs or rabbits, or baskets filled with eggs. Cookies and cake made a poor substitute for young children. It's too common. They can have it everyday. Easter is a special day, and they should have special food.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">The first thing we did on Easter morning was to go to church. My little cousin, who is only four months old, was baptized. My uncle was carrying him because it is customary for the father to carry the baby. All the fathers, mothers, and babies were lined up in front when my cousin decided he wanted to cry. My uncle did everything he could to make him stop crying, but Harry cried until just before he reached the minister. Jean, who is about five, got excited because her brother was crying that she got up and tried her best to see up to the front.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">After church it was too damp to go out so I stayed at home and finished a library book that was due the next day. This Easter was so different from other Easters, since my brother wasn't at home, that it seems as if Easter is still to come. I suppose our boys feel the same way. They'll do a lot of celebrating when they come home to make up for the celebrating they've missed. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; ">***** </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; ">My Greatest Ambition</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>All my life I have had but one great desire, and that is to travel all over the world. The places i have the greatest urge to visit are: India, Africa, China, and Tibet. I will give my reasons for wanting to visit these places in particular.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>India always made me think of Maharajhas or of the different classes of people refusing to mingle or intermarry. Not only the people but the country itself draws my attention. Forest, or rather jungles, wild animals, and the cities.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Africa makes me think of deserts, unexplored country, and heat--definitely heat. I'd love to go into unexplored country and discovery new things and see beautiful animals and scenery.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>China, the oriental section of the world, always makes me think of silks, and incense. The weird buildings and the superstitions. The long pig-tails the Chinamen wear have always held a special attraction for me, but only the people who live further inland wear them nowadays.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Tibet, that land of mystery holds a great fascination for me. I have read stories about men going into the unexplored mountains and never coming back. It is said that some of the high priests are over a hundred years old. They put great store in the proverb that the older you grow the wiser you get. It is all this mystery and unexplored regions that attracts me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Those are the places I would like to visit first if I could ever travel. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">*****</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">My Faults According To My Family</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>To my family I am one big fault, although there are times when they are glad I'm around, that is, when I do something for them. Maybe, though, it isn't s bad as it seems to me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>For one thing, I make too much noise. No matter what I do, it sees as if I can always find some way to make it noisy. If I do the dishes, I make an awful racket; when I do housework, I make a terrible din; even when I sing, I make an ear-rending sound, not heart-rending, although in some ways it could be very heart-rending. the harder I try the more noise I make.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>For another thing, I always seem to be getting in to way or doing things wrong. in the kitchen I'm more of a hindrance than a help. When I walk I always seem to bump into something or someone or find something to trip over.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I sincerely hope that my family will, in some way, come to appreciate me for what I am. they always laugh when I say that. I wonder why?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-41962471325561860112011-02-23T05:36:00.000-08:002011-02-23T05:43:45.194-08:00Orchid<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5470559521/" title="Orchid by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5214/5470559521_d4215b710d.jpg" width="400" height="260" alt="Orchid" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This was my Valentine Gift, presented to me at work, last Monday, and I just wanted to show, for the record, that this stunning and delicate plant has not yet died in protest knowing it has me for an owner, and the black thumb that I possess. In fact, out of spite, three more blooms burst open, and several more are on the way. I'm keeping it at work for the time being, I feel its chances for survival are greater outside our home where tiny little baby hands and sharp little kitty teeth have a tendency to crush and nibble all things that cross their paths. </div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-51161487473092216072011-02-14T12:16:00.000-08:002011-02-15T12:17:27.294-08:00Carried Away By Love<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5449066670/" title="VDay 2011 by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4077/5449066670_2a8225416c.jpg" width="400" height="600" alt="VDay 2011" /></a></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-12945879703263401142011-02-11T18:10:00.000-08:002011-02-11T18:34:45.657-08:00The Passing of Time<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; ">December 7, 1942</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"December 7, 1941! Flash! Pearl Harbor attacked by Japanese."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">America was dazed. Pearl Harbor bombed? Impossible! But it was true. Shockingly true. Men, women, and children practically murdered in cold blood while resting on the Sabbath. A horrible, cold blooded killing which could be accomplished only by ruthless people. That was how America entered the war one year ago today.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">The only effect that the war has really had on our family is: one of my older brother's being drafted, the gas rationing, and my younger brother, George, being eligible for the draft. Sugar rationing has had no effect on us because we get more sugar than we usually use. Coffee rationing isn't so bad because we get enough of that each week too. The gas rationing, though, really hit us in a vital spot. I believe my father will still be able to ride to and from work, but he will not be able to take my mother and her friends to meetings and he will not be able to go out to Indiana on the week-ends to the cottage as he has been doing all summer. All in all, we have not been affected by the war, but other people have suffered severely by losing loved ones.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I have not been affected at all by the war. It seems that the same people are being hurt all the time. The people on the coast and those within reach of the enemy planes are the ones who suffer most. The people in the Middle West are not being touched and may never know what war really is if our borders are always so well guarded.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Looking back on the things the Japs have done since the war started, I sometimes wonder what made us send so much war material over to them. It ought to be a lesson to us not to put too much faith in people we know are liable to stab us in the back. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">*****</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Christmas 1942</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Christmas Eve was the night my father picked to finish his shopping, and since my mother was fixing the turkey, my sister at work, and my brother sick in bed, I was the one elected to go along with him. Now to be candid, I didn't want to go, but did I say so? You can bet your sweet life I didn't. I didn't want my father angry with me at Christmas, so I went along peacefully. Since most of the stores were closed we didn't get much shopping done. When we got home I had to help wrap packages, so to make a long story short, I got to bed at 11:00 P.M.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Christmas morning dawned but our house was quiet. Why? Because we were all so tired we didn't want to get up - a great difference between this Christmas and last Christmas. We finally dragged ourselves out of bed and gathered around the tree, oh yes, and the presents. Did I say presents? And how! But maybe there seemed to be a lot because some of them were so big. Well, it took us a while to get them all opened, and then, of course, we had to sit and talk for a while before getting breakfast. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>After we had cleaned up, my sister went downtown to meet a sailor whom she had a date with. I sat and listened to records and my brother went over to his girl friend's house.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I didn't mention the turkey did I? Well that's something worth mentioning. I guess everyone will agree that an eighteen pound turkey is worth mentioning. It was 2:00 P.M. before it was ready and then three of us sat down to dinner; my mother, father, and I. My brother doesn't count since he couldn't eat much. After dinner we lay down for a rest. There's an old saying that only pigs lie down after they eat. Well, I must admit that I made a hog of myself that day. I couldn't look turkey in the face for a week after that, but maybe that's because we had it almost every night for a week after that.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>After washing the dinner dishes, it was about 4:30 P.M., my mother, father, and I sat dow to play pinochle, and I must say we ended our Christmas quietly. </span></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-83891193448106559422011-02-08T18:52:00.000-08:002011-02-08T18:57:19.623-08:00Fragments<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40783319@N02/5429340777/" title="fragments by barstow snaps, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5058/5429340777_f053a961cf.jpg" width="400" height="265" alt="fragments" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was lucky enough to find this under the Christmas Tree and read it, cover to cover, within 48 hours. It's extraordinary and riveting. The depth and sincerity in Marilyn Monroe's writing is amazing and reveals a complex woman that was very human and was never truly given the credit for being more than a bubble-headed pin up. And in spite of that she persisted with her reading, tackling books that I have yet to crack a cover on due to their cerebral and academic content. Just one more quality that makes her fascinating and endearing, even after all these years.</div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3027187183537232347.post-27317061328675746842011-01-14T18:50:00.000-08:002011-01-14T19:20:59.141-08:00The Passing Of Time<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new'; ">Chapter IV</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">View Points And Opinions</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Thanksgiving, 1942</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">On Thursday morning November 26, 1942, I woke up and wondered why I hadn't put my hair up the night before. I thought, "Well, I'll just have to fix it so I'll at least be presentable in school today." Then it came on me in a flash. There is no school today! I rolled over and went back to sleep.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Later I was awakened by the rattle of dishes in the kitchen and my mother calling to everybody to get up. With a curious feeling in the pit of my stomach I sat down at the table with the rest of the family. I sat there looking around. This was the first time since Christmas, I think, that the whole family had been at the breakfast table together.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">After breakfast I rushed around getting ready for the game. I mean, of course, the Thanksgiving game between Pullman Tech and Fenger. I had to be at school early, because I was going to sell meghophones(sic); so I left all the cleaning up to my mother and sister.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">When the girl who was going to sell the meghophones(sic) with me came, we gathered them up and went out to the field. We were only out about ten minutes before our toes and fingers began to get numb. We stood there yelling to the people that if they had any school spirit they would buy a meghophone(sic) and help cheer our team to victory. We even accosted some of the Fenger cheerleaders, but, no soap. Oh, we sold some, but not as many as we had hoped. Why even my brother and his boy friend wouldn't buy one.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Just before the game started, however, we gave up trying to sell them and went to get a place to watch the game. Gosh! How we hoped our team would give Fenger a tough time. According to us, we were going to slaughter Fenger, but you can have an awful lot of spirit and optimism and still not have the size and power to do a thing. That is Pullman all over. Siprit (sic) and optimism? Oh, we have plenty, size and power? Oh, we wish we had plenty.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Even so, we gave Fenger a scare in the second half when the score was 13-7. They thought we were going to get another touhdown, in fact so did we, so they started putting in fresh men and pushig our team back to our own goal line. Numb feet or no numb feet, I jumped up and down yelling my lungs out to "Hold that line." They did. Talk about spirit! Boy, oh boy! We showed it that time. Then our hearts dropped to our boots, even though we couldn't feel them we knew that's where our hearts dropped, because Fenger was shoving us back. Back, back and further back we went. We thought we were going to hold them. We were jumping and screaming to "Hold that line." Fenger made another play; there was a pile up; we thought they hadn't made it; the referees gathered around; we were yelling "They didn't make it;" and then--the referee held up his arms. A touchdown! The score--19-7. They didn't make the kick but, so what! they made a touchdown, that's all that mattered. Who cared about the kick? They were still winning. But! we were still cheering our team on. Even though we had been hoping with all our hearts that we would win, we had known that our team wasn't quite up to par. Down deep we had known Fenger would win but we were hoping they would have a tough time doing it, and they did. They were scared out of their wits for a minute, thinking we might tie the score or even beat them. Can we help it if the lion is stronger than the cub? The cub could have the spirit and the will but still be defeated because of the lion's greater strength.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">The game over, I trudged home. My feet seemed like blocks of ice riveted to my ankles. When I reached home the smell of turkey and other food that makes up Thanksgiving dinner soon made me forget my feet.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">As we sat down to a bountiful meal, my mother remarked, "Sitting down to this big meal makes me feel selfish when I think of the poor folk over in Europe who will be eating whatever they can get and be glad to get it." That made me stop to think. Over here in America we had turkey, sweet potatoes, white potatoes, cranberry sauce, two vegetables, milk, cake, cookies, and a dessert, while over in Europe the people would be glad to get what they could and be grateful for it. It suddenly made me realize how this war is wrecking the lives of people all over the world, not only by killing thousands but ruining the health of thousands through inadequate and improper food.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">After dinner we did the dishes and went to a show. The picture was all right, but the stage show was awful. We got out of the show early and came right home, had a cup of tea, and played pinochle for the rest of the evening.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Taking all things into consideration, I think I spent a very pleasant Thanksgiving.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Barstowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07689849862704628040noreply@blogger.com0