Monday, September 30, 2013

Monday Morning Flowers!


Hi everybody!

Sorry I have been away from Blogland.

All is well. 

I've just been busy with school and life!








Hope you enjoy these flowers.

Have a wonderful week ahead!






Each day I learn more
Than I teach;
I learn that half knowledge of
Another's life
Leads to false judgement;
I learn that there is surprising kinship
In human nature;
I learn that it's a wise father who
Knows his own son;
I learn that what we expect we get;
I learn there's more good than evil in
This world;
That age is a question of spirit;
That youth is the best of life
No matter how numerous the years;
I learn how much there is to learn. 

-- by Virginia Church





Thursday, September 5, 2013

Juicing Madness





When Betty does things, she does them Big Time.  

Want to take a little evening stroll?  OK, let’s go five miles full tilt and then take just a little run up that hill.  

Got a yen to craft?  Decoupage, you say?  Well, OK!  I’ve got a gallon of Glitter Modge-Podge here. Let’s see what we can do with five hundred sheets of multi-colored tissue paper, the front door, and this collection of cat hair I keep right here in the cookie jar beside my bed.

Some tiny-minded people call Betty a crazed maniac. 

I prefer the term passionate enthusiast.

These tendencies to go into overdrive are built into my personality and always there, smoldering, ready to burst into flame given the right conditions and nothing sets them aflame like the lighter fluid of an audio visual aid.

Thus, after I watched the documentary Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead about a man whose poor health habits and obesity were turned around by a regimen of juicing, naturally I had to go online, obsessively research juicers, buy a huge one and start juicing everything in sight.




(Did I have poor eating habits or was I obese, you ask?  Well, no….  Why did I need a big honking expensive juicer?  Why am I now spending all my spare time standing in the produce aisle grabbing up root vegetables and buying giant bags of organic carrots? Do you need to go back and read the first few paragraphs of this post?  Well, do you?)

I know, I know. Juicing takes away the valuable fiber of the vegetables, there is a lot of sugar in them there carrots and apples, the human body can’t absorb all those nutrients in a short amount of time. 

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah.  Step back, non-believers!

In fact, Betty wrote this post while being high on her juicy, juice, juice concoction and there was very little interference from the buzzing in my ears or the narrowing of my optical field.

It’s so much fun to go to the market now and select fruits and vegetables based on how much juice they will produce and what color will come dripping out of the spout of the juicer.  Beets are my absolute favorite.  Yowza!  Purple!  Pretty!  (Clap!  Clap!)




Here are some of my other favorites:


Yellow Beets!!!  (Who knew?)


Rainbow Chard! 
(I SO want to have a baby girl now, just so I can name her Rainbow Chard!)

Here are the ingredients for my current Juice Madness specialty:
Carrots
Apples
Rainbow Chard
Spinach
Ginger Root
Purple Beets
Orange Beets
Celery

I like to juice just before I go to work, so on Sunday night I form a one-person factory-worker/mass-production/Henry Ford assembly line and bag up five Ziplocs full of veggies, so I can just grab and juice in the mornings. 




Yeah, Baby!

I have been experimenting with making crackers out of the pulp.

So far, not so good, but I'll keep you up-to-date!

Hope you all have a great day!


Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Speaking for Both of Us




Zelda, our black and white cat, has been with us for fourteen years and has always had special place in our hearts.  She is a sweetheart, sensing when anything is wrong and coming to comfort the human involved.  When I was going through rough times and woke up at night, crying, I felt her coming up, sliding between my arms, staying there until I fell back to sleep.  She is an incredible cat.

Evan, who is 20 now, loves Zelda and proclaims her as “the best cat in the world.”  We all learned a valuable lesson when we got her from the shelter fourteen years ago.  We had already picked out an orange tabby kitten and went to the pound on the first day we could get her, only to find that another family wanted the same kitten.  

They won the coin toss and we watched as they carried "our" cat away.  We sulked for a bit and then looked around.  Within a half an hour, we found Zelda, a little, tiny black and white ball of fur.  We took her instead.  Now, we know that things happen for a reason.  Zelda was destined to be a part of our family.

Through the years, Zelda and Evan have spent a lot of time together.  He barely remembers a time in his life when she was not around. Zelda has never had children, but mothering instincts are strong within her, especially concerning Evan.  When he is home, she is by his side, in his chair, or seeking him out.  When he gets out of the shower, she likes to try and groom his already-wet hair. 

Evan, like so many other college-age students, has headed back to his university to start another academic year.  His absence is palpable here.  As all parents know, when there is offspring in the house, even when they are quiet, there is a certain warm feeling that permeates the house.  That feeling is gone now.

I loved having my boy home for the summer.  With him came his friends, and activity and, for me, still getting used to living alone, a sense of normality again. 

Now, I pass by his room and miss the pile of clothing on the floor, the humming computer on his desk, the pizza delivery uniform he wore for his summer job slung over the chair.  It is so very, very quiet in this house.

Needless to say, I am proud of Evan and what he is doing in his life.  I am so happy he is at college, pursuing his education.  

It feels selfish of me to miss him, yet I do.

Zelda misses him as well and she shows it by seeking out his socks from under his bed or where he left them on the floor near his dresser.  She takes one sock at a time from his room, and walks through the house, meowing a deep, guttural, mournful meow even as her mouth is full of sock.  It is a haunting sound, especially late at night.  

She deposits the socks all over, leaving it to me to go and pick them up in the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the living room and occasionally, the yard. 

I pick them up, wash them, and take them back to his room.  I stand near his dresser and consider putting all the socks inside the drawers to save myself the trouble of picking them up again.  

But I don’t.  

The mother in me understands that she needs to do this.  

I leave some for her beside his dresser, and beside his pillow she likes to curl up next to.

Late at night, I see her walking down the hall, carrying one of his socks and meowing.  

“I know you miss your boy,” I say to her.  “I miss him too.”  

Then I hear her plaintive meow even louder, echoing against the walls, touching something deep within me and I know she is, in her own Zelda way, helping me once again by speaking for both of us.