tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80914139068018125322024-03-10T08:16:01.050-04:00A new day A new experiencekyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.comBlogger728125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-64038127098889716692011-04-06T12:30:00.001-04:002011-04-06T12:30:01.348-04:00All for Ten Cents!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBTMqReEUPdgUy7LwKlHBAWmEU5i9Rg-25dDBg6vA4hT2NNVlq34kBiRNDdmhDBZmepjW0v_LST8tfbZQiK-Pu8PrapL4u1wbmKcy4lHxZm7WZ4UKxeFEwZqtIAkI-FTRomcR40V__D_0/s1600/taxi-driver-accused-of-raping-teen-6242016.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 219px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592282122932437426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBTMqReEUPdgUy7LwKlHBAWmEU5i9Rg-25dDBg6vA4hT2NNVlq34kBiRNDdmhDBZmepjW0v_LST8tfbZQiK-Pu8PrapL4u1wbmKcy4lHxZm7WZ4UKxeFEwZqtIAkI-FTRomcR40V__D_0/s320/taxi-driver-accused-of-raping-teen-6242016.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhceRcR6S0lqHeHOVZXDBCMMedpEsGrU7aiFCSYPNZVJpjGKmymZCtmgqkHp0PrkD4FQ4lQOT8XCNbQ-4WekK5YlX7eVGu7wHyfcXSitR0jlo-hBa2AMdhVJIoeoUXozh0EIAP3CmE6Ciw/s1600/1164715501qU4cXA.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592282020331200722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhceRcR6S0lqHeHOVZXDBCMMedpEsGrU7aiFCSYPNZVJpjGKmymZCtmgqkHp0PrkD4FQ4lQOT8XCNbQ-4WekK5YlX7eVGu7wHyfcXSitR0jlo-hBa2AMdhVJIoeoUXozh0EIAP3CmE6Ciw/s320/1164715501qU4cXA.jpg" /></a> <br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Back many years ago when My Mother and Dad first got married they had a book shelf which for some reason they didn't want to use any more. They offered to let my Uncle Jim, my Dad's brother, and his wife, Marie, use it. My understanding is that it was a loan until they needed it back.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Uncle Jim and Marie used the book shelf for several years. Then one day I was thinking about it and I asked my mother if we could get that shelf back. I wanted it to keep my books in. My mother said I could go get it but I would have to ride a taxi there and bring the shelf home in the taxi.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">So I called a taxi and went to Uncle Jim's place. I told them we wanted the shelf back. Uncle Jim was fine with that but I don't think Marie was very happy about it. Anyway, The shelf wouldn't go in the taxi. The driver said he could take the shelf apart and just bring the planks home for me. That is what he did. So he knocked the whole thing apart and loaded the planks into the trunk of the taxi.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Then we set out for home. He unloaded the shelves for me and charged me a dime. I am sure his work was donated.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I can't believe the taxi company could make any money charging just a dime even back in those days. But I am sure they did or they wouldn't have been in business. The last time I heard anyone mention using a taxi it cost them $15 just to ride about 15 miles here in Fort Wayne.That was several years ago. I am sure it would be more by now.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">After all that, I had my book shelf and only spent a dime! You would think that for a dime the least he could have done was nail the shelves back together for me!</span></strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-5295120974839620982011-03-31T12:30:00.000-04:002011-03-31T12:30:01.034-04:00Cold Hands--Warm Heart<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaPrd-IDyxJAvwsssBDF1XQtMlbRN5ghLah_jgg_E6da3ZD1qqpfCAkloxGemIRWLy1gJbZYEy3fVFwj_pRot_oBVCT2WFaIlgwNUkKtEDuyl8BxUDqTn-XYrZtmImYLpdDflnM9HuJE/s1600/imagesCA5M05XZ.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 224px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590036139271295506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaPrd-IDyxJAvwsssBDF1XQtMlbRN5ghLah_jgg_E6da3ZD1qqpfCAkloxGemIRWLy1gJbZYEy3fVFwj_pRot_oBVCT2WFaIlgwNUkKtEDuyl8BxUDqTn-XYrZtmImYLpdDflnM9HuJE/s400/imagesCA5M05XZ.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUabVmSSfERGW6tqQa4HNn04T0U4yzoRR_URbNqLc_SUCjcQTkrpncAESLK5xNTpORf6yIy_x-uByGSSbwc34_XUl-EO-gnJZZiFIsddLJ_8s7qYfNBE0K9suxCFZV3C7WACDU6kumXho/s1600/imagesCATFAKIF.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 278px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 182px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590035955421371410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUabVmSSfERGW6tqQa4HNn04T0U4yzoRR_URbNqLc_SUCjcQTkrpncAESLK5xNTpORf6yIy_x-uByGSSbwc34_XUl-EO-gnJZZiFIsddLJ_8s7qYfNBE0K9suxCFZV3C7WACDU6kumXho/s400/imagesCATFAKIF.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>My whole life I have had to deal with cold hands--in cold weather. I don't think I have a cold heart.</strong></span></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Ford, my husband, had a very warm heart and he also had warm hands. His hands were always warm even in the coldest weather. He would sometimes hold my hands in his to warm them up for me. </span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The saying is not always true. It is said that the saying was made up to say to people who were embarrassed about their cold hands. It is embarrassing to shake some one's hand when your hands are like ice. As I write this my hands are cold. It is cold outside but I am inside my heated house so my hands shouldn't be cold. I put my hands under my arms a lot to help keep them warm. </span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I have several pairs of warm gloves which I make much use of during the winter. Even with gloves my hands are not always warm. But I hope my heart is!</span></strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-48652167704799686982011-03-30T12:30:00.001-04:002011-03-30T12:30:02.175-04:00Mister Bubs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBb4IwgNMOjzzB1aRRN0yYHyiKvYtbZoCCUfN_XVtLIAVYJIAuTqMUM2LllCILRzN6_F9V4pc5fsseBnxMwcT7fSsh9-hlkVBjyJpzjkn9ggeP97WlsECzcA45uJYk_Wy-YaOeeGq6JQ/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 295px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589349350576160098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBb4IwgNMOjzzB1aRRN0yYHyiKvYtbZoCCUfN_XVtLIAVYJIAuTqMUM2LllCILRzN6_F9V4pc5fsseBnxMwcT7fSsh9-hlkVBjyJpzjkn9ggeP97WlsECzcA45uJYk_Wy-YaOeeGq6JQ/s400/IMG_0001.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrCDd6MIkHynjy3q4q8tJAXkfkrtSpMywFQDLvoqkGiCKby3qJJTS9bhstHjELBR125qvZnDrBkYD42QErDJ6YDaK5wyWhoNFRqIAmyMl1_S7Z8G9TM_72ldyN5gtPj-JDBsBldMKuAc/s1600/IMG.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589349223659717842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrCDd6MIkHynjy3q4q8tJAXkfkrtSpMywFQDLvoqkGiCKby3qJJTS9bhstHjELBR125qvZnDrBkYD42QErDJ6YDaK5wyWhoNFRqIAmyMl1_S7Z8G9TM_72ldyN5gtPj-JDBsBldMKuAc/s400/IMG.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><strong>Mister Bubs is my grandson, Brett's cat. So I guess you would call Mister Bubs my great grandcat.</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>Mister Bubs took an unexpected long absence from home a few days ago. Mister Bubs is strictly a house cat and has never been out on his own. </strong><strong>He probably would not know how to catch a mouse for his food.</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>Mister Bubs was annoying Brett while he was trying to take a nap. Brett got nasty with him and told him to get out and leave him alone. Mister Bubs did just that!</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>When Brett got up from his about a two hour nap he went in the kitchen and was going to feed Mister Bubs. He got out the cat food bag and wondered why Mister Bubs was not in there ready to eat. Usually when the cat heard the rattling of the bag and would be right there.</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>Brett started to look for him and he was nowhere to be found. Then Brett went to the front door and opened it. The storm door was not latched and then Brett knew why Mister Bubs was not there. He had gone out the unlatched storm door.</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>Brett went out around the neighborhood and looked but no Mister Bubs. He called Carla and Tony and they went over right away to help hunt for the cat. They all spent a couple of hours around the neighborhood searching for Mister Bubs. Brett was sure he was gone for good.</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>Finally, just two doors away they thought they saw something behind a bush. Brett looked and there behind a bush was Mister Bubs scared to death. Brett got him and was so relieved that he had found his beloved cat. Mister Bubs is about 14 years old and Brett knows he will not be around that many more years but at least he won't have to lose him without knowing what happened to him. I think Brett makes sure the storm door is latched at all times now.</strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-32968191925115321382011-03-28T12:30:00.001-04:002011-03-28T12:30:02.296-04:00ODDS AND ENDS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwKMSoxXAujcl0GT3QhDuQrl-LXydj41u9q-J3F0j9BUd0RyfJbMEhp_A6HPuxwRvhsXKBcB6WX_0KvYb9HkDTotVjP9eIZJB0DmRi91tpsuUrAoZH4_y9tKMP3sAiJIc3tFhhAUMbCY/s1600/IMG_0002.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588964776317796002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwKMSoxXAujcl0GT3QhDuQrl-LXydj41u9q-J3F0j9BUd0RyfJbMEhp_A6HPuxwRvhsXKBcB6WX_0KvYb9HkDTotVjP9eIZJB0DmRi91tpsuUrAoZH4_y9tKMP3sAiJIc3tFhhAUMbCY/s400/IMG_0002.jpg" /></a> I<strong> couldn't believe this article when I read it! Who knows who is going to church for the money or for the word of God? </strong><strong></strong><strong>I really think it was wrong for the church to make this offer. What good is it doing to have people come to church just to win money. It is like gambling in a way. However, maybe even if someone does come </strong><strong>just to win money they might hear something which could make them think. So who am I to judge? </strong><strong></strong><strong>This also might fill up the offering plate a little more than a normal crowd would.</strong> <strong>I hope the church gets some good from the whole thing.</strong>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-90575626926689813032011-03-17T12:30:00.001-04:002011-03-17T12:30:02.045-04:00Saint Patrick's Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-IoBWl3_jSwvwPLUtR_kZ2PHQG-fBywvFn_S5iYDR-Ajw64fy6kZo8OPzq-qRaRMg8f1UShXpCdiMag7p3IoFEEtKjWxO70Ycl4CJtalou2gz3fmCPMq5OnXP0r0PRAQa7xOP6H4lnM/s1600/imagesCA1JVNT6.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 194px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584907625857186418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-IoBWl3_jSwvwPLUtR_kZ2PHQG-fBywvFn_S5iYDR-Ajw64fy6kZo8OPzq-qRaRMg8f1UShXpCdiMag7p3IoFEEtKjWxO70Ycl4CJtalou2gz3fmCPMq5OnXP0r0PRAQa7xOP6H4lnM/s400/imagesCA1JVNT6.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkMe_Qq0ITQ4Vhi7McWdoDj79K_8rJfl93EvtJ9WPdcqyDv15OUZmRzs2YYQMPblMmHeHYzl-aNwv2eBNwSVs4Po56yPDT1l4LIyIu6jhp-XgHKQt1qWErIHCa587RhFgxaKK5fZfbGQ/s1600/375.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 181px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 275px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584907152598900818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkMe_Qq0ITQ4Vhi7McWdoDj79K_8rJfl93EvtJ9WPdcqyDv15OUZmRzs2YYQMPblMmHeHYzl-aNwv2eBNwSVs4Po56yPDT1l4LIyIu6jhp-XgHKQt1qWErIHCa587RhFgxaKK5fZfbGQ/s400/375.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><strong>Steve</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7VoYdxQmPMSvRDrl9empyOH39sa00kjyrpyS7X_GpeO5jtmZuOdse0zdijt8S0aQ6mvawUGlR0yKOvswZHw0IcA_Bci_opNX9J9w6uR3AzXl0NhhrWyoJMvsw5XvepwPfgyN9Qiua54U/s1600/097.jpg"><strong><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 303px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 338px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584906530878773122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7VoYdxQmPMSvRDrl9empyOH39sa00kjyrpyS7X_GpeO5jtmZuOdse0zdijt8S0aQ6mvawUGlR0yKOvswZHw0IcA_Bci_opNX9J9w6uR3AzXl0NhhrWyoJMvsw5XvepwPfgyN9Qiua54U/s400/097.jpg" /></strong></a><strong> --------------------------------------------- Ollie<br /></strong><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xt-PUHE8KTrzoyjB53gJCS_Vrtc8zPaXQ5nmkF5aKENU0vkshSw6w-XexmtSgvjI0jFSHO2T0PLgii2-Hq0d8yMalwx10W4R-3mZfFD8V4Fzsrs7FMkL1EX5BISq8VpXX6rUeb3bGmk/s1600/happystpats.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 324px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584903325193080402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xt-PUHE8KTrzoyjB53gJCS_Vrtc8zPaXQ5nmkF5aKENU0vkshSw6w-XexmtSgvjI0jFSHO2T0PLgii2-Hq0d8yMalwx10W4R-3mZfFD8V4Fzsrs7FMkL1EX5BISq8VpXX6rUeb3bGmk/s400/happystpats.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>'</div><div> </div><div><strong>Happy Saint Patrick's Day to all of you. It is not only Saint Patrick's Day but it is the birthday of two of my favorite people; Steve, my nephew and my dear Mother who has been gone for 10 years.</strong></div><div> </div><div><strong>I know my Mother will have a happy day and I hope that you do too, Steve. I also wish the rest of you a very happy day. As for me, I will have the same day as I always do-- my days seem to always be the same at this time in my life--good some days and so so other days!</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>I will not be drinking any green beer!</strong></div><div> </div><div><strong> </strong></div></div></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-14563280445237514872011-03-15T12:30:00.000-04:002011-03-15T12:30:02.373-04:00Crackers and Butter<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf75ZsQr2K042l1yeVFV9var0VJGtCuodJItqcmgI5z4SARrrJ3jcGssurcatOCvZ6F2NYvqluuNbncZf9SFtMMRaJBPhj0mR6mIImMjlFP9DFa4VHWJyLrNuFBib2QCi_289fQJnYVgk/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 244px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 304px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583268083210826578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf75ZsQr2K042l1yeVFV9var0VJGtCuodJItqcmgI5z4SARrrJ3jcGssurcatOCvZ6F2NYvqluuNbncZf9SFtMMRaJBPhj0mR6mIImMjlFP9DFa4VHWJyLrNuFBib2QCi_289fQJnYVgk/s400/IMG_0001.jpg" /></a><strong> Jane Council </strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong> Once when I was a kid, just in the first or second grade, I went to Jane Council's home to play for a while after school. She lived very near the school.</strong><br /><p><strong>Her mother made us a snack to eat. It was such a common thing that I can't believe I never had it before. She just spread butter on plain old saltine crackers! I went nuts over that. We always had butter and crackers at my home but for some reason I had never been introduced to that delicious snack. I had crackers with peanut butter a lot but never with butter.</strong></p><p><strong>Jane's dad was the owner of council's meat market. You would think her mother would have made us some kind of a meat sandwich. But anyway, she was a hero in my mind for that snack. I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">still</span> once in a while make myself some crackers with butter--actually, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">margarine</span>. Sometimes the simplest things are the best!</p><br /><br /></strong>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-51731751650788218732011-03-14T12:30:00.001-04:002011-03-14T12:30:00.906-04:00Brown Eggs with a Kick!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibc3yckJc9okw29EweOIle5EOnUvXQpa_sjdzzOLvpkMV6J2QoQH5pbmESzcSoJjgBHecOhT0m8d3JSmLA7V9jKugpYhOorybGfl_qSxdHEHK6-ccVhUhsOh-VJIvIzyxG_cPwoeyPSmY/s1600/IMG.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 209px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583263715561743458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibc3yckJc9okw29EweOIle5EOnUvXQpa_sjdzzOLvpkMV6J2QoQH5pbmESzcSoJjgBHecOhT0m8d3JSmLA7V9jKugpYhOorybGfl_qSxdHEHK6-ccVhUhsOh-VJIvIzyxG_cPwoeyPSmY/s400/IMG.jpg" /></a><strong> Olive Thomas was a classmate of mine in grade school. We ate lunch together a lot of the time. </strong><br /><p><strong>Once we were eating lunch and she had a boiled egg in her lunch. It was so brown it almost didn't look like an egg. I asked her why it was brown. She replied that her mother had boiled it in the coffee pot in the coffee. I suppose she did it to save heating an extra pot of water.</strong></p><p><strong>I don't think I could have eaten that egg because of the looks of it. I can't remember if the egg was brown after it was peeled or not but I am sure it may have been brown if there were any cracks in the shell.</strong></p><p><strong> She probably got a dose of caffeine from the egg!</p><br /><br /></strong>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-84843766121872731852011-03-13T12:30:00.000-04:002011-03-13T12:30:00.393-04:00Bed Bugs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWYdUR-3_FH8prJEJE6o3sSY6xeMKiH0Cpv-KU2eaIswp9h-7sae7n3gGtz7-koF4m55QMRQSlTlFlBFxnPq2hiceFq_5Koh9AuZTw6xJEtgOxV56E8hdx1s7LK7lONVr-0oD-lSsFhg/s1600/imagesCAF7AVVL.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 176px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 208px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583252753527913922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWYdUR-3_FH8prJEJE6o3sSY6xeMKiH0Cpv-KU2eaIswp9h-7sae7n3gGtz7-koF4m55QMRQSlTlFlBFxnPq2hiceFq_5Koh9AuZTw6xJEtgOxV56E8hdx1s7LK7lONVr-0oD-lSsFhg/s400/imagesCAF7AVVL.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6u_p6DclOD3B3pMwEOjSxwJDF1w95Y0vt8DrsfWNR7Bl5LxFczJcDPYWrgkNGnMtnNbC85DshxbhCNE5t3eh_pqvyB2DwZpQZzA3_XVK1LXnTzum4Z_yfxuBi_Uw1JZFgr0Vx2jAs80/s1600/medium_E-249-W_amg3.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 356px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583252549238083250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6u_p6DclOD3B3pMwEOjSxwJDF1w95Y0vt8DrsfWNR7Bl5LxFczJcDPYWrgkNGnMtnNbC85DshxbhCNE5t3eh_pqvyB2DwZpQZzA3_XVK1LXnTzum4Z_yfxuBi_Uw1JZFgr0Vx2jAs80/s400/medium_E-249-W_amg3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAoesQQotbcRtG75SCpoUGfNxciiCU_IOBkE-yPQfSJLHjdfxT4JhmLVZQM7ELuO-qG_mDE3XJPkuS-zqnBR53bhx4to-PqdrG6akPIvjkCzSjhNFE7z2BKgMHsFEfK9JTrC4wZAflNfQ/s1600/Frye_Bed_Bug.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 292px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583252336989045618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAoesQQotbcRtG75SCpoUGfNxciiCU_IOBkE-yPQfSJLHjdfxT4JhmLVZQM7ELuO-qG_mDE3XJPkuS-zqnBR53bhx4to-PqdrG6akPIvjkCzSjhNFE7z2BKgMHsFEfK9JTrC4wZAflNfQ/s400/Frye_Bed_Bug.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong>I am sure you have seen and heard about the comeback of bed bugs. It may be mostly in hotels, apartment houses and other public places. But there are probably many private homes infested also.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>It all reminds me of a classmate of mine when I was in grade school.</strong></div><div><strong>I used to walk to school and I passed her house as I did so. I would stop and wait for her to get ready and then we walked to school together. I didn't do this every day but I often did.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>One morning as I waited for her to dress she dragged a box out from under her bed and picked her clothes out for the day. They didn't have a closet so she kept her clothes under the bed in a box. Before she put on her clothing she was going over all the areas of the clothes and picking off something. I was puzzled at first but then I realized she was picking off bed bugs from her clothes. She seemed a little embarrassed but she continued to pick the bugs off. </strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>Long ago in the south it was common to have bed bugs but most people used something to control them. I remember my mother using yellow, oval boxes of some kind of a powder. You squeezed the box and the powder came out in a puff. If you used that regularly you could control the bed bugs.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>Then in the 1940's DDT came along and it pretty much abolished bed bugs and roaches. My Dad worked for the city and the city would spray your house for free to get rid of roaches and bed bugs. For many years you didn't hear much about bed bugs. But lately they seem to have come up out of the ashes. </strong></div><div> </div><div><strong>I think that now, anyone who has bed bugs is just not trying to control them because there are many ways to fight them. Exterminators can easily get rid of your pests if you call them.</strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-7494507409916987232011-03-12T12:30:00.001-05:002011-03-12T12:30:00.631-05:00Gasoline Cook Stoves<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEv9zhf98yuezw9xVeQBjFGhoWLbizQ3Rcl70W_FMgtgFf3ynyvMIK2M17MBmNt2M04LyN_6gnENkrDr186MdNmtGd6msigF8kSD8Y8vzmXGH4xZ8YdNyIyTDALu83UJzzzAC5AyRFRY/s1600/imagesCAF81N77.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 194px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582557758375665186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEv9zhf98yuezw9xVeQBjFGhoWLbizQ3Rcl70W_FMgtgFf3ynyvMIK2M17MBmNt2M04LyN_6gnENkrDr186MdNmtGd6msigF8kSD8Y8vzmXGH4xZ8YdNyIyTDALu83UJzzzAC5AyRFRY/s400/imagesCAF81N77.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8m2Gz7cWLWuz3HaZnKkcXk8vugWHyejN579LcAUOLaskU61jxwC6o7QArfLjPHkMqNPN6trfuyKUzNkZmUujfj9KERTPbYbdSxmY3PFBkm8bCdMelZnue7xYJRrQpvIQP8Om9Iq8AcaU/s1600/Family_Reunion+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 316px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 344px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582557616427618706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8m2Gz7cWLWuz3HaZnKkcXk8vugWHyejN579LcAUOLaskU61jxwC6o7QArfLjPHkMqNPN6trfuyKUzNkZmUujfj9KERTPbYbdSxmY3PFBkm8bCdMelZnue7xYJRrQpvIQP8Om9Iq8AcaU/s400/Family_Reunion+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5CpppWO2-cBSOm1-in8epd60XAximEy2orNwc-_7PwqMAbBhysKoRw17oLPYtUZkaNgHQpLr1kUJPWzeo4gzfYgLfZW7L6O_hqGLCrX9kTeBkUixC4VrYaIkl6L-ki9iqcNQipxHQ7s/s1600/is.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 293px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582557485166305858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5CpppWO2-cBSOm1-in8epd60XAximEy2orNwc-_7PwqMAbBhysKoRw17oLPYtUZkaNgHQpLr1kUJPWzeo4gzfYgLfZW7L6O_hqGLCrX9kTeBkUixC4VrYaIkl6L-ki9iqcNQipxHQ7s/s400/is.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong>When we used to go camping we had a gasoline cook stove like the one in the top picture above. I was always a little leery of it because of the gasoline. We never had a problem but I was still not really comfortable using it. We always used it outside and that made me feel a little better.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>However, my cousin, Lois Fox, or Sister as she was always referred to by her family, had a gasoline cook stove in her home. It was sort of like the one in the picture above. It had to be pumped up before you lit it and of course it was filled with gasoline. I was really nervous about that monstrosity! </strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>Sister seemed very comfortable with it and never seemed afraid of it at all. I often was at her home and ate there and I steered clear of that stove as much as I could.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>I know natural gas stoves can explode sometimes but at least they are never pumped up with air before you use them. That is the part that worried me, that pressure of the pumped air!</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>After all, nothing ever happened with her stove and she had it several years. So maybe my worries were all for naught! Just the same, I am never going to have a gasoline stove in my kitchen!</strong></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-58394303811364086832011-03-11T12:30:00.002-05:002011-03-11T12:45:41.876-05:00Potato Sandwiches<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUxEeu907SKxuv9TXr88qZ4_2uLiwhSxgL0I0DuMcdz_MVJLDdfPXoPNTIE8duZuWHkCo7mMozlOGlfqNYNv4MvFxR7zFQ7K46eCNdkE-3JyKdlOnkLo47gu27q-0uHDG4d76lN7_WgQ/s1600/stock-photo-a-students-sack-lunch-with-a-peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich-potato-chips-and-an-apple-38125783.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 284px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582544086008856594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUxEeu907SKxuv9TXr88qZ4_2uLiwhSxgL0I0DuMcdz_MVJLDdfPXoPNTIE8duZuWHkCo7mMozlOGlfqNYNv4MvFxR7zFQ7K46eCNdkE-3JyKdlOnkLo47gu27q-0uHDG4d76lN7_WgQ/s400/stock-photo-a-students-sack-lunch-with-a-peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich-potato-chips-and-an-apple-38125783.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthRz2sLyGuYxBIaVQ1nvX5NwE_Y3WQ6oi2oUWHbKoyvzbhg-o4ml_YYRrmCnFJ3NtjfYKwokz7RuLyqjtu3aubh404lpKh5NWI5480A3255Xr_qRZIDC2c4OAd2V1N0PZNa6X6JDadLg/s1600/PotatoChipsSandwich.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582543935002060866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthRz2sLyGuYxBIaVQ1nvX5NwE_Y3WQ6oi2oUWHbKoyvzbhg-o4ml_YYRrmCnFJ3NtjfYKwokz7RuLyqjtu3aubh404lpKh5NWI5480A3255Xr_qRZIDC2c4OAd2V1N0PZNa6X6JDadLg/s400/PotatoChipsSandwich.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong>I was shocked to see all of the talk about potato burgers and potato sandwiches on Face book a day or two ago. I thought I was the only person to remember about them from when my mother used to make them for my lunches. </strong><strong>Would you believe that I still, to this day, make myself a potato sandwich about once a week or so? When I don't </strong><strong>know what I want or can't come up with another idea, I turn to my old faithful, the potato sandwich. </strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>I googled the potato sandwich and I was amazed at how many kinds of them were on there. However. the potato sandwich I make was not like any of them. There were so many listed that had all kinds of other stuff on them. The ones I make are just plain potato sandwiches. I sometimes fry round potato slices and put them on bread and spread mustard on them--that is a potato sandwich! Other times I might bake the potato in the microwave and then slice it for the sandwich. Either way, it is scrumptious.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>When I was a kid and my mother made them for my lunch she did it because we didn't have a lot of money and could not always afford to have meat sandwiches. Also, she usually made my sandwiches with biscuits because we didn't always have bought bread on hand. I remember being embarrassed for other kids to see my biscuit sandwiches. Now there would be no need to be embarrassed about having potato sandwiches on biscuits because about a week ago I paid $3.49 for ten pounds of potatoes. That is not cheap!</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div></div><div><strong>If you have not tried a potato sandwich lately, do so, because they are GOOD! You can put whatever else on your sandwich you would like but I like my true potato sandwich with just potato slices and mustard.</strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-5254658777969472012011-02-25T12:30:00.001-05:002011-02-25T12:30:02.031-05:00Wash Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvIk1yurxSGW0726Hq1DX1iF-jrK0_gd3WsemN0ZviOynKlqVSpySHba0UO6e6wLUeX1Zd68cQTuaGxzmjPrfiqbAFU48ErkSG-XjX8IDLK6qsu0w-fEa-ARxpTtESa3MnexHhuV1C9Y/s1600/washpot.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 344px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577487749134405442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvIk1yurxSGW0726Hq1DX1iF-jrK0_gd3WsemN0ZviOynKlqVSpySHba0UO6e6wLUeX1Zd68cQTuaGxzmjPrfiqbAFU48ErkSG-XjX8IDLK6qsu0w-fEa-ARxpTtESa3MnexHhuV1C9Y/s400/washpot.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9oG6D8A8tdxCGEJtEl-IQ_AxgBIL58_e97xvieBwFLjdrNpatSaBLXfmVnXmZpX1pLQ7tHGzVakh1-Z3Sp-34HNF3ayFQW6_ASulj0uolfw9l-BKIMEKFGdpxTl2qEAuy9cC0ZAyIOg/s1600/washboard.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 393px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577487609481394658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9oG6D8A8tdxCGEJtEl-IQ_AxgBIL58_e97xvieBwFLjdrNpatSaBLXfmVnXmZpX1pLQ7tHGzVakh1-Z3Sp-34HNF3ayFQW6_ASulj0uolfw9l-BKIMEKFGdpxTl2qEAuy9cC0ZAyIOg/s400/washboard.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong>I remember wash day well when I was a kid. I don't remember it being on a certain day, just whenever my mother decided to tackle the job.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>And it was a job. She would get out the old iron wash pot and fill it with water and build a fire under it to heat the water. Then she would get out her wash tub and wash board and bring out hot water she had heated on the wood stove in the kitchen and fill the tubs with it. Then she would </strong><strong>pile all of the clothes along beside the wash tub. She would get her big blocks of lye soap, home made, and would scrub the white and light colored clothing first then the dark and dirtiest clothes later. They all got a turn on the wash board and then into rinse water and finally into the cast iron wash pot with the hot boiling water. They were boiled for a few minutes and then dipped out into cold rinse water and finally hung on the clothes line to dry. I think the idea was that the boiling water would kill germs and make the white things whiter. I never boil my clothes when I wash them! Maybe they are loaded with germs!</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>It was an almost all day job back in those days. We would have to take down some things as soon as they dried in order to hang up more clothes. By the time everything got washed and dried it was late in the day. We hung some things on a fence (equal to our dryer) to have more room. </strong><strong>My job was mostly hanging wash rags and other small pieces on the fence. It all seemed like fun then. I'm sure it wasn't fun for the adults!</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Of course this was the routine on summer days. Winter was a different story. The job was all done inside when it was cold instead of outside in warm weather.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Now when I load my washer with my dirty clothes I thank God it isn't like it used to be back then! </strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-52261843801240164832011-02-24T12:30:00.006-05:002011-02-24T12:30:02.304-05:00I'm Losing them all!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg28U7hNI_uCwTkmRRQb_c4Bus9Ii_vsodRD4FAlLT04sL5_2LgxwmGIkWYiP5jrMrDNO8U6J0nObQxokK1434iML-MzVVzUoIbk8hpicBLepCgq8pDq2NU1RU8CgAYDeADyWrxPg7kk/s1600/Family_Reunion+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 291px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577122540023643042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg28U7hNI_uCwTkmRRQb_c4Bus9Ii_vsodRD4FAlLT04sL5_2LgxwmGIkWYiP5jrMrDNO8U6J0nObQxokK1434iML-MzVVzUoIbk8hpicBLepCgq8pDq2NU1RU8CgAYDeADyWrxPg7kk/s400/Family_Reunion+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a><strong> </strong><div><strong>This is a picture of our family reunion that was held back in about 1932 or 33. Out of the approximately 45 people in the picture there are only six that are still living. I am the one sitting on the banister in the front row. I look at that picture and I can't believe that almost all of them are gone!</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>It is just a flashing memory of all the good times and fun represented in that picture. It is scary to realize that soon I will be one of the missing ones in the picture. However, I have had a long and good life and everyone must die sometime so I will take my turn when it comes--which I hope is a few years away!</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>I tried to circle the heads of the ones in the picture who are still living but the circles don't show very well. Anyway, The ones still living are the youngest ones in the picture.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Enjoy all of your loved ones while they are still here because one day they will be missing also. The one good thing about it is that many of us will be meeting again in the hereafter, sadly a few may not!</strong></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-6333093715599556952011-02-23T12:30:00.001-05:002011-02-23T12:30:02.910-05:00Wasps<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxe38ZJPY1OnXEh5eehFsoCBKxctBL1vjE_BYeC6iAYzfw7ZYIIgn2sfcrdU5GBewYr6SxwInSbe9V9nx8b72H5ifhQhhSEDWbSvy-btzv2Elc3pb13Uu1K8M0UgGyRHLV1x48Io74FvA/s1600/paperwasps.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 383px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576611646103459090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxe38ZJPY1OnXEh5eehFsoCBKxctBL1vjE_BYeC6iAYzfw7ZYIIgn2sfcrdU5GBewYr6SxwInSbe9V9nx8b72H5ifhQhhSEDWbSvy-btzv2Elc3pb13Uu1K8M0UgGyRHLV1x48Io74FvA/s400/paperwasps.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIVmBOffuEk7iwfjx-PdAUTcTipg6hcwZ01maPlQXQPIHKr1Quv_36OxRuap6JlJOlRhqdhWNh6zVvRorLB6iU3nGsgYIp6cQn7qvj2OAQMKbtmG36z0NcSFQYON-9Q9Icklor55vlJk/s1600/full_wasp.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 355px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576611525724501842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIVmBOffuEk7iwfjx-PdAUTcTipg6hcwZ01maPlQXQPIHKr1Quv_36OxRuap6JlJOlRhqdhWNh6zVvRorLB6iU3nGsgYIp6cQn7qvj2OAQMKbtmG36z0NcSFQYON-9Q9Icklor55vlJk/s400/full_wasp.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>I am surprised that I was not stung many more times than I ever was. I used to get into bushes and vines all the time hunting for berries. I never checked for wasps or hornets when I dug into bushes, I just looked for those big red berries or black ones to stick into my mouth and enjoy that sweet fresh flavor. I loved any kind of berries. Sometimes I wanted to pick them and take them home for my mother to make pies or shortcakes with, other times I just ate them right on the spot--yum yum!</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Once I remember finding a big bunch of berry vines along a fence row and the berries were inviting me right in to eat them. I climbed the fence and got right in there. I had not had a berry to eat yet before a big wasp got me right on my upper lip. Wow! Did that ever hurt? I got my butt out of there in a hurry and ran home screaming. My mother put something on it to lessen the pain. I stayed out of berry bushes for some time after that.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>I have not had any kind of a sting for many years but I sure remember how much that wasp sting hurt! I still love berries but now I hunt for them in the racks at the grocery store. The prices hurt almost as much as the wasp sting did. But once in a while I get stung anyway and buy a basket of strawberries or whatever kind is in season. I am in heaven eating them--with whipped cream!</strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-50985740061277643212011-02-17T12:30:00.009-05:002011-02-17T12:30:00.193-05:00Harry Baals<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP56aeGbSWisz36AoWdzFOJAo_tkftOWCFtYOlkhmhHGcAFtM5tTBeQhooaHqbwXThSfYNFrtMoxF6fBOFioZKc6AY42vQ1Tzf6iJ6Dwlfvk8IjkEqN8pW75eqpUAYG1b1jg4QRHnI3DM/s1600/imagesCAHKEYOH.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 263px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 192px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574408642015057106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP56aeGbSWisz36AoWdzFOJAo_tkftOWCFtYOlkhmhHGcAFtM5tTBeQhooaHqbwXThSfYNFrtMoxF6fBOFioZKc6AY42vQ1Tzf6iJ6Dwlfvk8IjkEqN8pW75eqpUAYG1b1jg4QRHnI3DM/s400/imagesCAHKEYOH.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxF1vkANY76Ch_mKMR5IW38d5TtIplDKapN-OzAHnd5LTPOc6p3AhyhjeEucP1pkAxa4C79Jn7Z_S8Ms_ns67WzXM4fhDqaaokpQrlrYKMWDE2H1rXWEfGzfmLwWb2n_DWlVREWQ4aIc/s1600/imagesCA6JT504.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 397px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 127px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574408369443126706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxF1vkANY76Ch_mKMR5IW38d5TtIplDKapN-OzAHnd5LTPOc6p3AhyhjeEucP1pkAxa4C79Jn7Z_S8Ms_ns67WzXM4fhDqaaokpQrlrYKMWDE2H1rXWEfGzfmLwWb2n_DWlVREWQ4aIc/s400/imagesCA6JT504.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlR3gu_gAxBCTYX9MMuPNqm-Zwxgxc3fNNj3AaXE8gaay_pXFk8zKl7Xv247SnTY1TJsXADs3Wci994q3LBsJGSl0yz_ruUZ_N_9T3h7LoM2aFnJkW7kFV88mbS_yMNPbuMPC5rGhGnqA/s1600/imagesCARCFSHD.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 192px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 192px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574408256932988354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlR3gu_gAxBCTYX9MMuPNqm-Zwxgxc3fNNj3AaXE8gaay_pXFk8zKl7Xv247SnTY1TJsXADs3Wci994q3LBsJGSl0yz_ruUZ_N_9T3h7LoM2aFnJkW7kFV88mbS_yMNPbuMPC5rGhGnqA/s400/imagesCARCFSHD.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>There is a somewhat hilarious situation going on here in Fort Wayne at this time.</strong><br /><br /></div><div><strong>Harry Baals was the Republican-- not that his politics has <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">anything</span> to do with his name-- mayor of Fort Wayne from 1934 to 1947 and again in 1951 until his death in 1954. He was considered a very successful mayor and was liked by most everyone. Since I was not here much of that time I have no opinion about his mayoralty ability.</strong><br /><br /></div><div><strong>Recently it has been tossed around to name our City County building after him, the Harry Baals Government Center. Some people want it and others say it would make Fort Wayne the butt of jokes. </strong></div><br /><div><strong>We already have a street named after him so why, they say, can't we name our city county building after him? I think it would be hilarious to say, "I am going to the Harry Baals Government Center", </strong></div><div><strong>Don't you?</strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong>They say his grandmother changed the pronunciation of their name from Baals, with short <em>a</em> sounds to rhyme with Bails, or with long As. However that did not stop</strong> <strong>the jokes and fun</strong> <strong>with his name. The problem was back when his parents named him. Who would choose such a name? They must have realized what they were doing.</strong> I<strong>t is true, they couldn't change the last name but they could have chosen a different first name to go with it.</strong></div><div> </div><div></div><div><strong>I am eager to see what comes out of this. Will we have to go to the Harry Baals government Center--or some other named place?</strong><br /><br /></div><div><strong>We will not know the outcome of this controversy until the end of this month--February.</strong></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-58426985534220430522011-02-16T12:30:00.001-05:002011-02-16T12:30:00.892-05:00Ghost Stories<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-KbzPMgw7OW9ApyTBn7Xze79fbby9w9EWaAL5L_T1vPsVGmN5mWPDUTgNOaSLA5BG88WkvojFDUoPDNdgxcvIsJk07YZQIWOL09OUFbwngd-0V5-uw9e2aOuibXOcOhxQ3RlDMW57-l8/s1600/9486-268x250-Kidghosts.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573998733319849394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-KbzPMgw7OW9ApyTBn7Xze79fbby9w9EWaAL5L_T1vPsVGmN5mWPDUTgNOaSLA5BG88WkvojFDUoPDNdgxcvIsJk07YZQIWOL09OUFbwngd-0V5-uw9e2aOuibXOcOhxQ3RlDMW57-l8/s400/9486-268x250-Kidghosts.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oJTT-vy-6wnKDzdNooo3yOVVLZSn7gtgWBAU-XkxJY98Q4a-NmdADBdmTK0bPXBWh96FmwZbrPr2DNXko61qw8OYVf8J64jkq1uDHGsl8RHYdupvbnF3kGyh8mk_5-x3SbzKrh7eGJM/s1600/kids-ghost-story_300.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 357px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573998567644465890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oJTT-vy-6wnKDzdNooo3yOVVLZSn7gtgWBAU-XkxJY98Q4a-NmdADBdmTK0bPXBWh96FmwZbrPr2DNXko61qw8OYVf8J64jkq1uDHGsl8RHYdupvbnF3kGyh8mk_5-x3SbzKrh7eGJM/s400/kids-ghost-story_300.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3A8TUB6w5z-fdZefDDhm2PhbdYqLPCflTT5J7mczojwYprfNrijXgLBBI4YfAyFGkTlQXPRNr0LCIxumqx5r7FWzUnloaDozQK4OgaIhfL1go_y7C21lTU3lAtQMGOXnBG31Nq0Jw_q8/s1600/483888-8520-38.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 225px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 373px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573998373825484802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3A8TUB6w5z-fdZefDDhm2PhbdYqLPCflTT5J7mczojwYprfNrijXgLBBI4YfAyFGkTlQXPRNr0LCIxumqx5r7FWzUnloaDozQK4OgaIhfL1go_y7C21lTU3lAtQMGOXnBG31Nq0Jw_q8/s400/483888-8520-38.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Many years ago when I was probably about six or seven years old we had neighbors who lived very near us. There were several kids in their family including one girl who was a teenager. </strong><br /><br /></div><div><strong>I played with the kids some but my main attraction to their family was the teenage girl who had a wild imagination. She told ghost stories that sent chills up and down your spine. I don't know where she got her ideas. Maybe she read them in books or maybe she just made them up in her mind. Some of the ideas were really spooky. I can't remember any specific story but I just remember that the stories kept all of the kids who were there spellbound. We would beg her to tell us stories anytime she was around and she usually would.</strong><br /><br /></div><div><strong>Several kids from the neighborhood would come running when they saw all of us kids congregating on the front porch of their house. I remember that the name of the family was Turner. I don't remember the girl's name except for Turner. But I do remember how fascinated I was with her story telling. I also remember going to bed shivering from the story I just heard!</strong></div><br /><div><strong>I don't know of any kids nowadays who get together for story telling, except in front of the TV. The stories she told conjured up all sorts of visions while she talked. You didn't need TV! I think actual story telling is much better for kids, it activates their minds instead of letting the TV do it all.</strong></div><br /><div><strong>I don't know whatever happened to the girl who told the stories but she should have gone into some kind of work telling stories! </strong></div><br /><div><strong>We never had a campfire as in the picture above but we still had a lot of fun even without a fire!</strong></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-72797797611896063772011-02-13T12:30:00.001-05:002011-02-13T12:30:01.574-05:00Cheesecake in Vegas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZN_ARopTOZu-Da2q3OQR1qEmIXMPZ64W4uZHNAkUAeUfCmI76skxJ0alkWirpimnJFfmpF92e2Ow9CRXo6Av89xZOrIBHsZ1x3Tsy7XPzTlCZDnIvUZ0RslnpneBnjdTxcmg1Brzq49Q/s1600/imagesCA0AR9G2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 209px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 241px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572663859840485106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZN_ARopTOZu-Da2q3OQR1qEmIXMPZ64W4uZHNAkUAeUfCmI76skxJ0alkWirpimnJFfmpF92e2Ow9CRXo6Av89xZOrIBHsZ1x3Tsy7XPzTlCZDnIvUZ0RslnpneBnjdTxcmg1Brzq49Q/s400/imagesCA0AR9G2.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yDzUcc7v3XpPXK8sWvuK9tB51_DrrZqX5Fo9IFI4tBGlOyimvY94hXVgtJJkCIdIp_yE5ebNwNG31FdtteCM2jHhZRzVHZanOTOGboOJwzyPln383WEj7FSIQHdbTuV4plLClqvvnx4/s1600/be7FAwpTyr3PY0aby-Fddz400x400.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572272648811340674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yDzUcc7v3XpPXK8sWvuK9tB51_DrrZqX5Fo9IFI4tBGlOyimvY94hXVgtJJkCIdIp_yE5ebNwNG31FdtteCM2jHhZRzVHZanOTOGboOJwzyPln383WEj7FSIQHdbTuV4plLClqvvnx4/s400/be7FAwpTyr3PY0aby-Fddz400x400.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6ELIHGQxBGL89bWDrIlDW3skynurkc89Kl-2f4UqajQ6G69f3EA6NF9h5BINYVE8hAbN1WYhTCZaCQpyNVy5VQ4zXr_bAoQtRvPG15kLx5Ky6CVjAaVZU2_c9QBMrZIFXJk-BZZ2mHE/s1600/new-york-cheesecake-1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572272454833028994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6ELIHGQxBGL89bWDrIlDW3skynurkc89Kl-2f4UqajQ6G69f3EA6NF9h5BINYVE8hAbN1WYhTCZaCQpyNVy5VQ4zXr_bAoQtRvPG15kLx5Ky6CVjAaVZU2_c9QBMrZIFXJk-BZZ2mHE/s400/new-york-cheesecake-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><br /><br /><div><strong>We have made many trips to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Las</span></span> Vegas. One of the highlights of our trips there was the nightly visits to the Mint. The Mint was not out on the strip but was downtown on Fremont Street. </strong><br /></div><br /><br /><div><strong>We would spend the afternoon and evening going to all of our favorite places and then end our tour with a visit to the Mint. They had Cheesecake to die for! Sometimes we would eat sandwiches and other times we just had a dessert. My dessert was always cheesecake. You could get it plain or with different toppings. My favorite topping was the strawberry sauce, sometimes I had pineapple. What ever it was it was heavenly!</strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong>I have not been to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Las</span></span> Vegas in about twelve years but I can still almost taste that cheesecake as if I were there right now! I have never found cheesecake anywhere that matches it. I know I will never go to Vegas again but I still have my memories of when I did. And the cheesecake tops that list!</strong></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-62669406791422422892011-02-12T12:30:00.005-05:002011-02-12T12:30:00.888-05:00Monkey Blood<strong></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpB7x6C8k0Fzsrz4lKz9kTATaSPI0PRo65lj5rc2UfK2mbdG85qi_z_rSl0VO-Db22zm-XZCfXNlk-1M9LQtsamK9pp1v-BeQ6pqC6KlB2eevQAQBpg9Agmt59p2I9d8dv8NVLLg-U-LM/s1600/neosporin.png"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 84px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572262423185071794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpB7x6C8k0Fzsrz4lKz9kTATaSPI0PRo65lj5rc2UfK2mbdG85qi_z_rSl0VO-Db22zm-XZCfXNlk-1M9LQtsamK9pp1v-BeQ6pqC6KlB2eevQAQBpg9Agmt59p2I9d8dv8NVLLg-U-LM/s400/neosporin.png" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHVi2LgDqaDN1vknN_NZymLU1gf-En-DnrnJMBhW-yPEnECaQ8zpgMm-9rcdNLJ1KKUf7edNj2_SczI63d_q6nBHJY_ka7gwvLNuTlBkMoAOFRfs8JTLmjZ6Ib3QMMCmDWWEVr8SnJzw/s1600/42354e575a534c4a34545630313549656b4167-149x149-0-0.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 149px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 149px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572261491714720002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHVi2LgDqaDN1vknN_NZymLU1gf-En-DnrnJMBhW-yPEnECaQ8zpgMm-9rcdNLJ1KKUf7edNj2_SczI63d_q6nBHJY_ka7gwvLNuTlBkMoAOFRfs8JTLmjZ6Ib3QMMCmDWWEVr8SnJzw/s400/42354e575a534c4a34545630313549656b4167-149x149-0-0.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaO4xi904WHw0KvtuvqmzXM46Xp1tF0XhP3jv01Ym1n0YW4jZRLX9XIr9586tza-kkMd5CesJBUF1rPsWtVFyWieUJiKT-r8r0H-IOH8Gjihn-z7aNqVdbzWUVd4tOGG-GOupJWkoBn4/s1600/BVI_2007A.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572261170840651250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaO4xi904WHw0KvtuvqmzXM46Xp1tF0XhP3jv01Ym1n0YW4jZRLX9XIr9586tza-kkMd5CesJBUF1rPsWtVFyWieUJiKT-r8r0H-IOH8Gjihn-z7aNqVdbzWUVd4tOGG-GOupJWkoBn4/s400/BVI_2007A.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><strong>In a blog a few days ago I mentioned</strong> <strong><em>monkey blood.</em> It just popped into my mind while I was writing that blog. Monkey blood was what we called <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">mercurochrome</span> many years ago.. That term has not entered my mind for years</strong>.<strong> It was <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">colloquially</span> called monkey blood because of the dark red stain it left on the skin. Mercurochrome is a trademark name for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Merbromin</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong>We had a choice of having that, or a couple of other things applied to our wounds and cuts. Iodine, Merthiolate or monkey blood was it. I always chose monkey blood because it was the only one that didn't sting when it was applied. Iodine really hurt when it touched the open wound. Mercurochrome didn't sting at all. After a little research on Google I found that Mercurochrome was banned in the US in 1998. It contains mercury which is bad because it builds up in the system. It stated that if you used <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">mercurochrome</span> many years ago you might still have a trace of it in your body. Boy, I must be loaded with it! I hope I am not loaded with monkey blood also!</strong></div><div> </div><div><strong>I now use, and have for a long time, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Neosporin</span> for all of my cuts and and open wounds. It works fine and doesn't sting! I hope it doesn't contain mercury!</strong></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-52936301551581644652011-02-11T12:30:00.000-05:002011-02-11T12:30:02.089-05:00Bees<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvCLkxkp7xSzCCuYNC0PlDbSJ_S3KSmq1nyav9gQBqhsoyzHxfR_0SZ7EYK9SwTWCDvltpUw52xMpiv4Z5ce8Sa0_cPnq5ec5KfAimLmxI6GJo8eXqGXZNfTF2-8ml3LgB3mVSqR04KQ/s1600/2760-clover-bee.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 292px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572248222409820514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvCLkxkp7xSzCCuYNC0PlDbSJ_S3KSmq1nyav9gQBqhsoyzHxfR_0SZ7EYK9SwTWCDvltpUw52xMpiv4Z5ce8Sa0_cPnq5ec5KfAimLmxI6GJo8eXqGXZNfTF2-8ml3LgB3mVSqR04KQ/s400/2760-clover-bee.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjge7lzjqwEl2LomKSuw-jtcSiLj19wiaopZqlyapICiQCMk6kvLwbHWNduAK69e-DeY4NQK0wGKjizXhgJ3MHI_tMTMqFoMoe42-VQLAZtakJ4XIxYsEDZ7-6zUzkSzwuD7cJPXFrT8_8/s1600/b%2526s-3.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 174px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572248053016891474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjge7lzjqwEl2LomKSuw-jtcSiLj19wiaopZqlyapICiQCMk6kvLwbHWNduAK69e-DeY4NQK0wGKjizXhgJ3MHI_tMTMqFoMoe42-VQLAZtakJ4XIxYsEDZ7-6zUzkSzwuD7cJPXFrT8_8/s400/b%2526s-3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Actually, there was another downside to going barefoot in the summer. Many times my kids stepped on bees when they were outside playing in the grass. </strong></div><br /><div><strong>I never remember stepping on bees but I know they did. Maybe it was because we used to have a lot of clover in our grass. Bees like clover.</strong><br /></div><div><strong>I would be inside when my kids were outside playing and I would hear a yell--then I knew someone had stepped on a bee. I guess you couldn't blame the bee, someone had invaded its territory!</strong></div><strong></strong></div><div></div><div><strong>I have often heard that if a bee stings someone it dies. I don't know if this is true but it does seem possible. It--their life--is what they pay for their moment of power over you!</strong> <div><br /><br /></div><div><strong>So with all of the downsides to going barefoot I still would do it in a minute if I was a kid!</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-17211688546584117922011-02-10T12:30:00.001-05:002011-02-10T12:30:01.511-05:00Barefoot Time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FlHgCf94cQv_XfB4I2gerqPSnpix_GSXsdMM71HxCcGXZBNXH24rZOTlRobrNP9sZekeU_rXwk4lriR4dQi6LmF4GlC8YjY4n6o0WXqhXzSNStF_s3jFzT5thkjsQSZ2hYtxtJP0_JQ/s1600/s-BAREFOOT-large.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 260px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 190px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571425103106488562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FlHgCf94cQv_XfB4I2gerqPSnpix_GSXsdMM71HxCcGXZBNXH24rZOTlRobrNP9sZekeU_rXwk4lriR4dQi6LmF4GlC8YjY4n6o0WXqhXzSNStF_s3jFzT5thkjsQSZ2hYtxtJP0_JQ/s400/s-BAREFOOT-large.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTACTqMbUhqG2oZI2fbaFgtKHwjUDZkMV8Ybya1RZ1oQUBZafV-eUXZGEJ99BD1c277QwPsB9k_Oi04qHCEq_g6VHV5JtKJcwOy0xCyvtToScVXoHDB6Sk4O7hfT4xETSyA17hTdO_Fw/s1600/bare_feet.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571424967451097410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTACTqMbUhqG2oZI2fbaFgtKHwjUDZkMV8Ybya1RZ1oQUBZafV-eUXZGEJ99BD1c277QwPsB9k_Oi04qHCEq_g6VHV5JtKJcwOy0xCyvtToScVXoHDB6Sk4O7hfT4xETSyA17hTdO_Fw/s400/bare_feet.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><strong>When I was a kid the most fun day of the year was the day in the spring that my mother let me go barefoot for the first time. It was usually in March or April, actually when ever the weather was warm enough. I never had shoes on again until fall when school started-- only for church or special occasions</strong></div><br /><div><strong>I can still remember how good it felt to run my feet over the green grass or dig them into the warm sand. It was the best feeling ever.</strong></div><br /><div><strong>Ford, my husband, felt differently about that. He said he never liked to go barefoot and never did. Oh, what he missed!</strong></div><br /><div><strong>There was a downside to going barefoot. It was hard to miss all of the little shards of glass, sharp pieces of sticks and other things on the ground that could cut your feet. I had many cuts and bruises on my feet during the summer from just such things. However, I never let that interfere with my fun of going barefoot. I used <em>monkey blood--</em>what we called Mercurochrome-- band aids or what ever and still left my feet bare! There was also another downside to the practice--we had to wash our feet every night before we went to bed!</strong></div><br /><div><strong>I remember how irritating it was when I was so tired and just wanted to hit the sack and my mother would say get in that bathroom and wash your dirty feet! But really all of the positives outweighed the negatives.</strong></div><br /><div><strong>Actually, I still love going barefoot in the house. I do not go barefoot outside anymore. But you'd better believe me, I go barefoot most of the time in my house! So hold your nose when you come into my home!</strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-30141829522512783712011-02-09T12:30:00.003-05:002011-02-09T12:30:00.146-05:00Yellow Jackets<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGR_YHMIUQiQTs_EHjm45zUY5MnVxnCM4Iqiaa2Skm2IPaPj5CX59y4CG55MoZ2TSLfjNlltVUjRbJ8e3mBGobgTQgCRE-mGopATrLLUIZUwjMH-Gn6lGxqbqT0e3cVWrJdvN_wF9Dwg/s1600/IMG_2754yellow+jackets.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571415312350504562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGR_YHMIUQiQTs_EHjm45zUY5MnVxnCM4Iqiaa2Skm2IPaPj5CX59y4CG55MoZ2TSLfjNlltVUjRbJ8e3mBGobgTQgCRE-mGopATrLLUIZUwjMH-Gn6lGxqbqT0e3cVWrJdvN_wF9Dwg/s400/IMG_2754yellow+jackets.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2G09z_VkUo9_FVLvmvO2b9ySjo0MQthTEHxIKDp56nQySguEZ5Ng-YoFlvLTfx3LLmiyJY5N3grvCs1-OVP8I4LdB3BTNEBPBnh_OS_j_iJVbQ48LsHpSOjzP-wiFxOXMoxP49uFXeBs/s1600/yellowJ.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 389px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 336px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571415113462139938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2G09z_VkUo9_FVLvmvO2b9ySjo0MQthTEHxIKDp56nQySguEZ5Ng-YoFlvLTfx3LLmiyJY5N3grvCs1-OVP8I4LdB3BTNEBPBnh_OS_j_iJVbQ48LsHpSOjzP-wiFxOXMoxP49uFXeBs/s400/yellowJ.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>My Mother was a sweeper.</strong> <strong>She used to sweep her yard almost every day --and I mean sweep, not rake. She had a broom in her hand much of the time. She would sweep up little twigs, scraps of paper, what ever was there that was not supposed to be. </strong></div><br /><div><strong>Once she swept into something that was not supposed to be there but it was, a yellow jacket's nest. I say yellow jacket because I am not sure that it was a yellow jacket. But because of research I found that most yellow jackets build their nests underground. Wasps, bees and hornets </strong><strong>mostly build their nests in trees or higher off the ground. So I assume it was a yellow jacket's </strong><strong>nest that she swept into. </strong></div><br /><div><strong>Anyway, she was attacked by hundreds of the insects. She was stung many times. She screamed and yelled until a neighbor heard her and came to her defense. He also got stung but he did manage to get her up to the front door and into the house. She was wearing a medical alert button and she used it. They took her to the emergency room and she was treated for the stings. Luckily, she was not seriously injured. It was a very painful experience but she was spared any long lasting problem.</strong></div><br /><div><strong>They later found the nest of the insects and did what they could to destroy it. It was near a fence </strong><strong>and at the base of a tree. I think my Mother avoided that area after that!</strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-47353892867340492442011-02-02T13:10:00.004-05:002011-02-02T13:20:15.188-05:00Aren't You Jealous?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWs7sJ07Zw-DprTl2eyBAUsNAq_2L8b9I3yEq5sJTLQq6vo_Nxmx5VTYgaOon-v2zwnbxcfNd3i9MBS2RGkfIt_yFL-P5y8H2IabSTS7xp9Exk79MG9dL4YFb-d9LkQ0CVMmvNODJWsM/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569156991687098338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWs7sJ07Zw-DprTl2eyBAUsNAq_2L8b9I3yEq5sJTLQq6vo_Nxmx5VTYgaOon-v2zwnbxcfNd3i9MBS2RGkfIt_yFL-P5y8H2IabSTS7xp9Exk79MG9dL4YFb-d9LkQ0CVMmvNODJWsM/s400/004.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqy8TPlJLWMFne7UBIj3dsNrEiF-r2PkmLRuXW7jfbuDt5r5Lzw6TKm_Ud2CTn2bJPM0Pjbx_ldG-WRwSzaOTAlGlUtUNaLN2t3g6xkAeJ4Hd857JybJpm02nxLfjhj_H9BRPXVuo-KgI/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569156841803285794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqy8TPlJLWMFne7UBIj3dsNrEiF-r2PkmLRuXW7jfbuDt5r5Lzw6TKm_Ud2CTn2bJPM0Pjbx_ldG-WRwSzaOTAlGlUtUNaLN2t3g6xkAeJ4Hd857JybJpm02nxLfjhj_H9BRPXVuo-KgI/s400/003.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidA4K4RHaqOx5DSC4FaIXgnNc_Ciz-hvYnE7ZQVcj0uSOWXIlDOqm6N7z94Zu80u5UV3CQa_If9ejICHNHF3BdhYeafYUG5ngk6v5SkFt9DbY_RF3bv6ecx_m4KUnD4Vt5weROMJ3APSc/s1600/001.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569156649619420722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidA4K4RHaqOx5DSC4FaIXgnNc_Ciz-hvYnE7ZQVcj0uSOWXIlDOqm6N7z94Zu80u5UV3CQa_If9ejICHNHF3BdhYeafYUG5ngk6v5SkFt9DbY_RF3bv6ecx_m4KUnD4Vt5weROMJ3APSc/s400/001.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong>These are pictures I just took out my front door and my den window.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>Everything is closed down here in Fort Wayne--schools, banks, businesses. I am sure there are a lot of happy kids, not as many happy workers. </strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>I am just so so. I don't like being snowed in but then I didn't plan on going out anyway. I just hope there is no emergency because they would have trouble getting in my driveway.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>I surely hope this is winter's last fling, and that spring is just around the corner!</strong></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-46755927536867979412011-01-31T12:30:00.002-05:002011-01-31T12:30:03.700-05:00More About Rings<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWw_wNw2n_WduVSz39RQyZFXi8wm3tWhoiJ5ApcW9vM5CEmAXPcvQUa_F77kGXATQC5kaMHu7_Ccm2KffYSp3mOYvniXfNPEaS1RFU6NpxrpV02f9x8MBpuymwoqTMEcf20LxKvczN8Lw/s1600/005.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568209861297821266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWw_wNw2n_WduVSz39RQyZFXi8wm3tWhoiJ5ApcW9vM5CEmAXPcvQUa_F77kGXATQC5kaMHu7_Ccm2KffYSp3mOYvniXfNPEaS1RFU6NpxrpV02f9x8MBpuymwoqTMEcf20LxKvczN8Lw/s400/005.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUgnZbq2qeN4JjNoiPpCPRC-I4mOAXDH4P0HuNotlj6yobWYEqe664jS4nEBQ7GI5MgyFzUFVsfGgYwQaAVDfazO9EPtIWjWec6gEcPJlL8bdJ1Neqph77sSF7vrU9WmSJT84CwNjHS4/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568209701950509506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUgnZbq2qeN4JjNoiPpCPRC-I4mOAXDH4P0HuNotlj6yobWYEqe664jS4nEBQ7GI5MgyFzUFVsfGgYwQaAVDfazO9EPtIWjWec6gEcPJlL8bdJ1Neqph77sSF7vrU9WmSJT84CwNjHS4/s400/004.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong>The rings above are made from telephone wire. My neighbors, Dave and Judy's son made them many years ago when he was just a kid.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>He was selling them--I think for about a dollar apiece. I just bought them to make him feel good. I never actually wore the rings. They are kind of pretty, or were in their day. They have been juggled around in my jewelery <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">box</span> and have gotten out of shape somewhat.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Rodney, Dave and Judy's son, was making them just for fun but he also wanted to make a little money. Judy use to work at a place where she had access to the wire. It came in all different colors. So to help him out I bought two of the rings.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Rodney is now living on his own. He was married but is now divorced. Maybe he is still trying to sell rings!</strong></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-39658288122778490902011-01-30T12:13:00.004-05:002011-02-01T12:10:52.958-05:00The Big Secret<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-jG-CXfQxROHggL_MVtMBzw1mOyXsX2c6ZA1k-017xh5rGdpoTz17xXXToCEbpla4R3LNKipTr_nL31EIWvgg9B0in-C6WuoaesOCFfQHE6_MTENb66XdDWNT09qXZXnQtzqkcfYjLg/s1600/003.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568028417914553874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-jG-CXfQxROHggL_MVtMBzw1mOyXsX2c6ZA1k-017xh5rGdpoTz17xXXToCEbpla4R3LNKipTr_nL31EIWvgg9B0in-C6WuoaesOCFfQHE6_MTENb66XdDWNT09qXZXnQtzqkcfYjLg/s400/003.JPG" /></a><br /><div><strong>I am sorry this picture is a little fuzzy. But you can see the ring somewhat. Back when my kids were just little ones they were figuring out what to get me for Christmas. They were talking it over with their Dad.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>We had been on a shopping trip shortly before that and I had seen a ring that I liked--the ring above. So they decided that they would get me that ring. It was all supposed to be a big secret, even though they knew I had seen the ring and that I liked it.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>So one afternoon before Christmas we went on a trip to downtown Fort Wayne. That was when we still had stores to shop in downtown. </strong><strong>I sat in the car, because I wasn't supposed to know any of this, and Ford and the two girls went to the store to get the ring. The kids were so excited about all of this secrecy.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>So on Christmas I opened the present and I acted so surprised about the ring. They had more fun than I did about the whole thing. They thought they had really surprised me with that ring.</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>My kids are not dumb and I am sure they really knew it was all fake but they had fun anyway. I don't wear the ring anymore but I do like to get it out once in a while and look at it and reminisce.</strong></div><div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-25951535815723029062011-01-29T12:30:00.000-05:002011-01-29T12:30:00.399-05:00Mother in Vinegar<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuNMOalEVMJLGLIgghsPF-A26IrfJZXkirEUV-jf5exmoPMkkfMbtYXhSG2oIOnZhs5DLpWk01kqvfcZs8gl3jKN4eFksg0rxVfaRx-_Cz5ipr7ipVEH7WPGlKBGQn081vZQ2gCRZpA0/s1600/PICT0138.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567061878058136002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuNMOalEVMJLGLIgghsPF-A26IrfJZXkirEUV-jf5exmoPMkkfMbtYXhSG2oIOnZhs5DLpWk01kqvfcZs8gl3jKN4eFksg0rxVfaRx-_Cz5ipr7ipVEH7WPGlKBGQn081vZQ2gCRZpA0/s400/PICT0138.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOsiR_0nYK6ikVFlBhBjkP1pradX9toLpl5sFBAhOAiDGJsFvdyjB94zXpoO92Uop4WQVtsUerqo4yq9FAgIT0nuh6t1_lx6TOlCaXvzhv38jCCaZck2rQN1ApleRrddHIoGRuhw_9rk/s1600/untitled.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567061750763493858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOsiR_0nYK6ikVFlBhBjkP1pradX9toLpl5sFBAhOAiDGJsFvdyjB94zXpoO92Uop4WQVtsUerqo4yq9FAgIT0nuh6t1_lx6TOlCaXvzhv38jCCaZck2rQN1ApleRrddHIoGRuhw_9rk/s400/untitled.bmp" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kCW2cAwFwxKmxBssnHUbRUlOJC9M5z56t2cAC-vYDiOOgr7uJiTIrg-ql8roslwIfm6F_tKkaDwDU4DM69JrW7UAf6Y0rauPM1bHYbluga9GAi6RYucKBDBdApggQOMprUwGgHV2CLE/s1600/imagesCA0M46FE.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 243px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567061584606934194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kCW2cAwFwxKmxBssnHUbRUlOJC9M5z56t2cAC-vYDiOOgr7uJiTIrg-ql8roslwIfm6F_tKkaDwDU4DM69JrW7UAf6Y0rauPM1bHYbluga9GAi6RYucKBDBdApggQOMprUwGgHV2CLE/s400/imagesCA0M46FE.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong>Did you know vinegar has a mother? It is the slimy, gelatinous material that is found in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">unpasteurized</span> vinegar. In general it is the growth of acetic bacteria which is responsible for turning alcohol into vinegar.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>There are health benefits of the mother of vinegar. It may look unappetising but it is completely harmless to eat. Two spoonfuls of apple cider vinegar can be taken daily as a supplement to a healthy diet and exercise.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>We don't see mother in the vinegar at the grocery store because they have <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">pasteurized</span> it. People have demanded the clear vinegar instead of the ugly mother kind. Actually, the mother would be better for us.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>I admit I don't want the stringy, slimy stuff in my vinegar. I want apple cider vinegar without a mother! I use a lot of vinegar; in my salads, on cucumbers, and in potato salad. I would be lost without my motherless vinegar.</strong></div></div></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091413906801812532.post-6144891655181328692011-01-28T12:30:00.001-05:002011-01-28T12:30:01.201-05:00False Teeth<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jma0DfHO2W59AfDEkvTMjRFmuE4unVJNiIg3Ak1gHvRsH2q4qjuEAdEAV8le4C4Nuv50DJsxdXqN4-foVpgeEiK1WOVyfY2r8WY2EiH6uorxgTkEZBLZPin6uUkreIrDYcdWOPRNXSc/s1600/5529912-a-man-displays-his-false-teeth-dentures-which-shows-what-happens-when-you-don-t-have-good-dental-hyg.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566974655344029154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jma0DfHO2W59AfDEkvTMjRFmuE4unVJNiIg3Ak1gHvRsH2q4qjuEAdEAV8le4C4Nuv50DJsxdXqN4-foVpgeEiK1WOVyfY2r8WY2EiH6uorxgTkEZBLZPin6uUkreIrDYcdWOPRNXSc/s320/5529912-a-man-displays-his-false-teeth-dentures-which-shows-what-happens-when-you-don-t-have-good-dental-hyg.jpg" /></a><strong><br /></strong><div><strong>My grandmother wore false teeth. She delighted in making funny faces with her teeth sort of like the man in the picture above is doing. She thought it was hilarious and really got a kick out of it. I was just a little kid and it really frightened me when she did that. I know if she had realized how I felt about it she would not have wanted to do it. Even to this day I remember her doing that with her teeth and it is not a pleasant memory.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>I have always felt that false teeth are a very private thing and should be kept private, not displayed to everyone else! </strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>I loved my grandmother but I still feel to this day that she should not have put her false teeth on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">display</span> to me in that way because that is what I remember most about her.</strong></div>kyra lafainhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05282879293042126743noreply@blogger.com1