<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907</id><updated>2012-01-29T16:32:49.442-06:00</updated><category term='hurricane camille'/><category term='cat tales'/><category term='old abandoned houses'/><category term='kathy whirity'/><category term='funny'/><category term='Hope'/><category term='books'/><category term='fishing from the pier'/><category term='G. Harvey'/><category term='garden'/><category term='old movies'/><category term='christian'/><category term='old clock'/><category term='John Steinbeck'/><category term='forties'/><category term='vintage embroidery'/><category term='scams'/><category term='chocolate'/><category term='cats are trouble makers'/><category term='diet blog'/><category term='anemones'/><category term='steven wright'/><category term='mark lowry'/><category term='life is a banquet'/><category term='be still and listen'/><category term='mercy'/><category term='washing'/><category term='open door'/><category term='christina&apos;s world'/><category term='senior scams'/><category term='ambition'/><category term='small town america'/><category term='dealing with stress'/><category term='the future'/><category term='leader'/><category term='humor'/><category term='summertime'/><category term='exercise'/><category term='gone tomorrow'/><category term='reading'/><category term='simple life'/><category term='john 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story'/><category term='chicken soup for the soul'/><category term='drivers'/><category term='mayberry'/><category term='feeling needed'/><category term='grandmother'/><category term='childhood books'/><category term='lazy cats'/><category term='living long'/><category term='rich Mullins'/><category term='china'/><category term='flowers'/><category term='sunday memories'/><category term='special touches'/><category term='painting'/><category term='911'/><category term='ID pic'/><category term='happy birthday nola'/><category term='childhood memories'/><category term='reflection'/><category term='blog posting'/><category term='poem'/><category term='a pari of silk stockings'/><category term='gospel'/><category term='an invincible summer'/><category term='t.s. eliot'/><category term='live in the moment'/><category term='independance day'/><category term='Alan Jackson'/><category term='Canidate'/><category term='family valules'/><category term='country drive'/><category term='vintage'/><category term='mulberry days'/><category term='declutter'/><category term='losing weight'/><category term='boxcar children'/><category term='aging'/><category term='living on borrowed time'/><category term='old spice'/><category term='America'/><category term='keats'/><category term='farm life'/><category term='comedian'/><category term='memories'/><category term='swimming in the river'/><category term='clutter'/><category term='America&apos;s future'/><category term='wash day'/><category term='plastic surgery'/><category term='twilight'/><category term='children&apos;s books'/><category term='the best of one&apos;s life'/><category term='learning to operate new electronic thingies'/><category term='gaining weight'/><category term='things to do before you die'/><category term='President'/><category term='dressing too young'/><category term='kate chopin'/><category term='prayer'/><category term='old houses'/><category term='elvis'/><category term='letters of john keats'/><category term='looking back'/><category term='the bucket list'/><category term='dmv'/><category term='grecian windflower'/><category term='domestic violence'/><category term='sleeping cats'/><category term='election'/><category term='seize the day'/><category term='garden bench'/><category term='lavender'/><category term='politics'/><category term='old homesteads'/><category term='computers and the elderly'/><category term='old boyfriends'/><category term='christian comedy'/><category term='vincible summer'/><category term='company dinnerware'/><category term='eating right'/><category term='somewhere between Jesus and John Wayne'/><category term='smells'/><category term='Andrew wyeth'/><category term='gaithers'/><category term='libraries'/><category term='loving your home'/><category term='recipe'/><category term='friendship'/><category term='here today'/><category term='dmv photo'/><category term='senior citizens'/><category term='smart aleck cats'/><category term='gardening'/><category term='feeling good'/><category term='religion'/><category term='poetry'/><category term='childhood games'/><category term='idiots'/><category term='remembering unclaimed victims'/><category term='anchor hocking'/><category term='jadite'/><category term='should you go first'/><category term='health'/><category term='fat'/><category term='tomorrow'/><category term='good old days'/><title type='text'>TRAVELING ON FUMES</title><subtitle type='html'>Just trying to survive growing older with as much dignity as I can muster considering dignity was never my strong suit to begin with.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>76</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7439871019446362919</id><published>2008-10-14T10:59:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T11:17:09.933-05:00</updated><title type='text'>TAKING TIME OFF</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SPTC-F7Mw3I/AAAAAAAAAtI/wVeymC5CawI/s1600-h/DSCN2152%5B1%5D_edited.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SPTC-F7Mw3I/AAAAAAAAAtI/wVeymC5CawI/s400/DSCN2152%5B1%5D_edited.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257041037046367090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am taking some time off from my blog for a while. I'll be back soon if the Good Lord is willing and the creeks don't rise. : ) I just need to get a little organzied and help Billy with his new venture into the catering business. That is a picture of his delicious gumbo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7439871019446362919?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7439871019446362919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7439871019446362919' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7439871019446362919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7439871019446362919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/10/taking-time-off.html' title='TAKING TIME OFF'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SPTC-F7Mw3I/AAAAAAAAAtI/wVeymC5CawI/s72-c/DSCN2152%5B1%5D_edited.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-8510003455675638016</id><published>2008-10-12T17:17:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T17:31:19.399-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fishing from the pier'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ambition'/><title type='text'>FISHING AND AMBITION</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SPJ6NP-2-XI/AAAAAAAAAs4/jLxWNAZCzPY/s1600-h/fishing.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SPJ6NP-2-XI/AAAAAAAAAs4/jLxWNAZCzPY/s400/fishing.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256398083141859698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day a fisherman was lying on a beautiful beach with his fishing pole propped up in the sand and his solitary line cast out into the sparkling blue surf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and the prospect of catching a fish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About that time, a businessman came walking down the beach trying to relieve some of the stress of his workday. He noticed the fisherman sitting on the beach and decided to find out why this fisherman was fishing instead of working harder to make a living for himself and his family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You aren’t going to catch many fish that way,” said the businessman to the fisherman, “you should be working rather than lying on the beach!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fisherman looked up at the businessman, smiled and replied, “And what will my reward be?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Well, you can get bigger nets and catch more fish!” was the businessman’s answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And then what will my reward be?” asked the fisherman, still smiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The businessman replied, “You will make money and you’ll be able to buy a boat which will then result in larger catches of fish!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And then what will my reward be?” asked the fisherman again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The businessman was beginning to get a little irritated with the fisherman’s questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You can buy a bigger boat and hire some people to work for you!” he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And then what will my reward be?” repeated the fisherman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The businessman was getting angry. “Don’t you understand? You can build up a fleet of fishing boats, sail all over the world, and let all your employees catch fish for you!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again the fisherman asked, “And then what will my reward be?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The businessman was red with rage and shouted at the fisherman, “Don’t you understand that you can become so rich that you will never have to work for your living again! You can spend all the rest of your days sitting on this beach looking at the sunset. You won’t have a care in the world!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fisherman, still smiling, simply looked up, nodded and said: “And what do you think I am doing now?” He then looked at the sunset, with his pole in the water, without a care in the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-8510003455675638016?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/8510003455675638016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=8510003455675638016' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8510003455675638016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8510003455675638016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/10/fishing-and-ambition.html' title='FISHING AND AMBITION'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SPJ6NP-2-XI/AAAAAAAAAs4/jLxWNAZCzPY/s72-c/fishing.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-8105915077955553133</id><published>2008-10-08T22:20:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T22:35:15.162-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old farmhouse'/><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday...I WISH- I WISH -IWISH</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SO17OsZnbwI/AAAAAAAAAsw/WpIrduHLtA0/s1600-h/autumn_in_the_holler_2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SO17OsZnbwI/AAAAAAAAAsw/WpIrduHLtA0/s320/autumn_in_the_holler_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254991832578223874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.farmettereport.com/about.html"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-8105915077955553133?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/8105915077955553133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=8105915077955553133' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8105915077955553133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8105915077955553133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/10/wordless-wednesdayi-wish-i-wish-iwish.html' title='Wordless Wednesday...I WISH- I WISH -IWISH'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SO17OsZnbwI/AAAAAAAAAsw/WpIrduHLtA0/s72-c/autumn_in_the_holler_2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-421926237705136520</id><published>2008-10-02T14:20:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T14:54:16.098-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='learning to operate new electronic thingies'/><title type='text'>DID IT COME WITH INSTRUCTIONS?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SOUleWNFQ4I/AAAAAAAAAq4/7rUXRhfUJq0/s1600-h/phone_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SOUleWNFQ4I/AAAAAAAAAq4/7rUXRhfUJq0/s320/phone_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252645743684305794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate new electronic anything, but once I learn how to use it, I'm always happy about it. It took me three days to figure out my bread machine and don't get me started on the new microwave that didn't' come with a booklet. The new sewing machine is not being used. It is in the shed. I am back and happy to be using my old J.C. Penny one. Why do men always think that more and newer is better. I remember his Mama wanting a hand mixer. His Daddy went out and bought her this huge mixer with all kinds of attachments, like dough hooks. She never used it that I know of but bought her own small hand mixer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now Billy announces this morning that he is getting me a new phone. I don't want a new phone. I am perfectly happy with the phone I have right now. Sure, it use to be gray and now is metal colored and it is pretty scuffed up but it still works and even more important, I can do what I need to do with it. I don't want to learn how to work a new phone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some things should not be pretty, Cell phones, umbrellas, sunglasses, purses, suitcases etc. they should just do their job. IMHO So let me keep my old, and ugly phone. I'm happy with it but I got a feeling there is more to this new phone business than meets the eye. That man's mind is always working on some new deal. I don't think the goodness of his heart comes into this offer. LOL&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-421926237705136520?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/421926237705136520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=421926237705136520' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/421926237705136520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/421926237705136520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/10/did-it-come-with-instructions.html' title='DID IT COME WITH INSTRUCTIONS?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SOUleWNFQ4I/AAAAAAAAAq4/7rUXRhfUJq0/s72-c/phone_1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-5330081584559921297</id><published>2008-09-29T17:58:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T18:08:38.700-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='health'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='exercise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='eating right'/><title type='text'>THE LATEST HEALTH ADVISE?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SOFfFrBGvcI/AAAAAAAAAqM/pH7rPDOrDQE/s1600-h/age+humor.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SOFfFrBGvcI/AAAAAAAAAqM/pH7rPDOrDQE/s400/age+humor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251583191542054338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is an update on all that health stuff we keep hearing about!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q.  I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this true?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it... don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine, that means they take the water out of the fruity bit so you get even more of the goodness that way. Beer is also made out of grain. Bottoms up! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: Well, if you have a body and you have fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio i s two to one, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: Can't think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain... Good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!!! .... Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Is chocolate bad for me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: Are you crazy? HELLO Cocoa beans! Another vegetable!!! It's the best feel-good food around!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Is swimming good for your figure?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A:   If swimming is good for your figure, explain whales to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Is getting in-shape important for my lifestyle?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: Hey! 'Round' is a shape!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This should certainly clear up  your misconceptions about food and diets.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-5330081584559921297?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/5330081584559921297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=5330081584559921297' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5330081584559921297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5330081584559921297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/latest-health-advise.html' title='THE LATEST HEALTH ADVISE?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SOFfFrBGvcI/AAAAAAAAAqM/pH7rPDOrDQE/s72-c/age+humor.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2359836680497791975</id><published>2008-09-27T03:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-27T21:52:09.349-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old clock'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='happy birthday nola'/><title type='text'>HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOLA</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SN1C4d-8EwI/AAAAAAAAApU/OG1ha9cSlqU/s1600-h/bronze-marble-clock2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SN1C4d-8EwI/AAAAAAAAApU/OG1ha9cSlqU/s400/bronze-marble-clock2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250426278472585986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOLA. I hope you have a wonderful &lt;em&gt;time &lt;/em&gt;on your birhtday. I know you love old clocks and I would dearly love to give you this one. If I just had a Donald Trump bank accout. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you &lt;a href="http://thebrendablog.typepad.com/thebrendablog/"&gt;BRENDA of Brenda's blog&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for letting me know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go wish &lt;a href="http://alamo-north.blogspot.com/"&gt;NOLA&lt;/a&gt; at alamo-north a Happy Birthday. She has a wonderful blog that I read every day. : )&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2359836680497791975?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2359836680497791975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2359836680497791975' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2359836680497791975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2359836680497791975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/happy-birthday-nola.html' title='HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOLA'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SN1C4d-8EwI/AAAAAAAAApU/OG1ha9cSlqU/s72-c/bronze-marble-clock2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3684966982666819935</id><published>2008-09-25T01:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T21:04:25.893-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='simple life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='small town america'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mayberry'/><title type='text'>MAYBERRY RFD, WHERE ARE YOU?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNlJcp23QHI/AAAAAAAAAoE/TWYgb6laJVg/s1600-h/small_town_graphic_header_w.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNlJcp23QHI/AAAAAAAAAoE/TWYgb6laJVg/s400/small_town_graphic_header_w.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249307597298155634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I think a lot of us yearn for a place, full of family life, gentle ways, raising vegetables in our own garden, visiting with friends over the fence, movies on a Saturday night and a trip at noon to the local cafe where you meet friends for lunch. A town where the best clubs in school are the Future Farmers of America or Future Homemakers of America? We imagine going to music concerts on the town green and attending county fairs. We picture ourselves entering the quilt contest or putting up our own pies and jams, hoping to win a blue ribbon. Maybe a mincemeat pie with just a hint of rum in it (shameless)....A simple life like Mayberry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have a place like that in your mind?  A place that feels like home, even though you may have been raised in a big City. Maybe you think of Mayberry with Opie and Aunt Bee, a simple place and a simple time. I have the Mayberry cookbook and when I browse through it, I am reminded that life once was simple like that. It still is in a few small towns across America. If you live in one of those towns, you are blessed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I live in a small gulf coast town. People still earn their living by fishing, shrimping, and farming. But more and more these jobs are being pushed out to make way for "progress". I wonder if we are not losing more than we are gaining though. There is more to a good life than making money and having the latest electronic gadgets. Is the simple life, really over for good?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3684966982666819935?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3684966982666819935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3684966982666819935' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3684966982666819935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3684966982666819935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/mayberry-rfd-where-are-you.html' title='MAYBERRY RFD, WHERE ARE YOU?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNlJcp23QHI/AAAAAAAAAoE/TWYgb6laJVg/s72-c/small_town_graphic_header_w.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-8440641940688120891</id><published>2008-09-22T01:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T17:54:26.469-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kathy whirity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chicken soup for the soul'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='never growing old'/><title type='text'>CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNCDPwrBoQI/AAAAAAAAAnE/6AuBPIK8HkM/s1600-h/soup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNCDPwrBoQI/AAAAAAAAAnE/6AuBPIK8HkM/s400/soup.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246837872673267970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This article is by Kathy Whirity. Kathy is a newspaper columnist who shares a Summer memory with her readers. She is also a contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul book series. I liked it so much, I wanted to share it with you.&lt;br /&gt;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;NEVER GROWING OLD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a question that had me asking a question of my own. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A recent article I read posed the question: If you could relive a summer memory what would it be? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On this lazy summer's afternoon the musings of my middle age mentality have me asking a question of my own. How can you choose just one? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A trip down memory lane brought me back to a tree lined street in the Roseland community -- a quaint and quiet neighborhood where we lived until I was about 12 years old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Across the railroad tracks from our home was an indoor pool. My brothers, sister and I would often go swimming there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One afternoon, as I ran across the tracks from the "Pump" as we called it, I saw my dad in the backyard, the contents of a kiddie pool strewn about the lawn. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Patience was not a virtue that my dad possessed, which is why our pool was the only pool in the neighborhood whose liner was clamped down with clothes pins. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When filled to the rim the shallow water reached right below my knees. But it didn't stop us from splish-splashing away many hot summer days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad also loved having barbecues, though he was far from a genius at the grill. He'd make a grand production but the result would always yield the same result -- hamburgers the size and consistency of charcoal and hot dogs that ended up resembling beef jerky. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do remember his milk shakes being the best. He'd dump a half gallon of ice cream in the big green mixing bowl and add milk and chocolate syrup. Then he'd mix it all with the hand mixer and ladle it into the tall fancy glasses usually reserved for company. Dad tried his best despite his dysfunction in cooking. And, besides, it wasn't about the food as much as it was about the togetherness of family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday mornings were always special when grandma spent the weekend. She'd stand at the stove, in her flowered duster, and make us German pancakes. They were crepes we'd spread with butter, sprinkle with sugar, roll up and eat. They were so good! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been more than 40 years since I've tasted one of her breakfast specialties, but all I have to do is close my eyes and I can see her standing there at the stove. With that memory, the word "comfort" food takes on a whole new meaning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long car rides were also an adventure we'd do as a family on summer evenings. Our dad would do the driving while we kids would sit in the back seat, with all the windows rolled down as our hair would blow carefree in the soft, warm wind of the season. We'd cap the evening off with a trip to the penny candy store where everything really was a penny. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many a mid summer's morning you could find mom standing at the ironing board. She'd fill a Pepsi bottle with water and attach a big plastic flower petal, with tiny holes, to the top of the bottle. She'd sprinkle the clothes with water, wipe her brow with a hankie as she'd continue pressing out the wrinkles on clothes, long before the concept of permanent press apparel became popular &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our bed time treat rarely varied. After baths were taken, mom would place a pint of ice cream on the table. She always sliced it into 4 perfect slices, one for each of us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question the author posed about choosing one memory to relive has opened a flood gate of memories too many to choose from. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I had a choice, I think I'd rather opt for one more day to spend with my family in that house on 104th place in Roseland. To smell the Lillies of the Valley that grew wild and untouched in the front yard. To catch lightning bugs in the backyard and bike ride around the block, with my little brother teasing me and my friends because we couldn't leave the block. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I wouldn't give, as an adult, to sit on the old back porch and sip a milk shake my dad had made especially for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To laugh with my grandma and to have a chat with my mom -- if she could be as she was and I could be who I am now. (I'd have a lot of thanking to do.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a gift to reclaim a sense of our summer's youth. While we can't relive the past, it's a blessing to know, that through memories, we never really grow old. &lt;br /&gt;~ Kathy Whirity ~&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-8440641940688120891?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/8440641940688120891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=8440641940688120891' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8440641940688120891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8440641940688120891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/chicken-soup-for-soul.html' title='CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNCDPwrBoQI/AAAAAAAAAnE/6AuBPIK8HkM/s72-c/soup.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2419204618698092092</id><published>2008-09-18T08:21:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T14:35:37.475-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='special touches'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loving your home'/><title type='text'>MOMENTS OF JOY</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNKgcUmXEYI/AAAAAAAAAnc/4wJb7FEHvX0/s1600-h/seal_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNKgcUmXEYI/AAAAAAAAAnc/4wJb7FEHvX0/s400/seal_edited.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247432924266434946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately I have been thinking about ways to appreciate the material things in my life. I want to surround myself with things I really love or enjoy. Life is too short at this stage in my life, to be surrounded by things that I can't look at and say, "Oh, I love that". I have many spots in my home that need a change. They say we are never happy or joyful all the time. That life is composed of joyful or happy moments. I am missing some of those moments of joy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I have some pretty things, but sometimes I feel they are more for show than for me. I want to love every piece of art, every painting and get rid of those that don't move me in some way. I am happy with my sculptures. I have a New England fisherman at the helm of his boat. This is a vintage piece and I love it. I love my seal sculpture too. I also like my prints in the living room and absolutly love my two Van Gogh and Renoir prints. They are framed beautifully and I smile everytime I look at them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; But, I have a beautiful painting in my bedroom, hanging over my long chest. I know it is a great painting. It is a beach scene with an old abandoned boat, but I just have never liked it. I bought it because it fit my color scheme and it had a theme I like. I need to find one I really love because I look at that painting every night before I go to bed. Sad, isn't it?  I can fall asleep with a last look at a painting I love or one that I don't particularly like. I am missing that moment of joy. I do like this one hanging in my hallway. It was painted by a local artist and has a lot of thick texture. I love the cheerful colors too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNKgq5txZeI/AAAAAAAAAnk/7FaVgPjvltw/s1600-h/hall+pic_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNKgq5txZeI/AAAAAAAAAnk/7FaVgPjvltw/s400/hall+pic_edited.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247433174747801058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a friend once who had a red and purple bedroom. She loved that bedroom and I can't figure out how she was able to sleep with all that color but she loved it. That whole bedroom was a place of joy for her.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frette linens which I love, are a little expensive for me but I really could do better in this department than the linens I have now. They are a little shabby. It makes me smile just to think about buying a joyful new color. Nice lightning is important and I only have one lamp in my bedroom that I dearly love. The other one is just filling space. I need to replace it with one that I love. I just forget about it most of the time. That is one spot I am missing that could make me smile.   &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Green plants are always a wonderful touch for any room but are especially nice in a bathroom. Do I have one in either bathroom? No, I don't. There is another place that could bring me joy but I have neglected it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I don't put out those cutey guest things in the bathroom. They just collect dust and take up space. No guest ever uses them anyway. They wipe their hands on a corner of whatever towel is handy, the same way you do. LOL---For years I had those and then one day it dawned on me that they were just taking up valuable space. I now have something there that I love and use all the time. A little fish basket that I made from clay we dug up ourselves. &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNKq1Lzjg1I/AAAAAAAAAns/ZUq9YIU5zBU/s1600-h/fish_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNKq1Lzjg1I/AAAAAAAAAns/ZUq9YIU5zBU/s400/fish_edited.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247444346518864722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It holds all those little tubes of cream and moisturizer. So I did something right in that case. I smile when I see it because it reminds me of the day Billy dug that clay and how much he liked it when I showed it to him.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From now on, whatever I buy is really going to make me happy. None of these changes would be expensive and I dont know why I have not thought about it, until now. I will not settle for things as Blanche of "Streetcar Named Desire" would say, in the future.  It is a waste of money to buy things, I don't love. Yes, it might mean I will have less but that is a good thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2419204618698092092?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2419204618698092092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2419204618698092092' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2419204618698092092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2419204618698092092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/moments-of-joy.html' title='MOMENTS OF JOY'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SNKgcUmXEYI/AAAAAAAAAnc/4wJb7FEHvX0/s72-c/seal_edited.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6136042983928776911</id><published>2008-09-15T16:35:00.011-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T17:35:12.336-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old homesteads'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old houses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old abandoned houses'/><title type='text'>OLD ABANDONED HOUSES</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SM7YBN12k8I/AAAAAAAAAmE/4-dZn32zkuk/s1600-h/house.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SM7YBN12k8I/AAAAAAAAAmE/4-dZn32zkuk/s400/house.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246368131340211138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SM7V7KVL9ZI/AAAAAAAAAl8/ijth99uFa78/s1600-h/house.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SM7V7KVL9ZI/AAAAAAAAAl8/ijth99uFa78/s400/house.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246365828295423378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A house is never silent in darkness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to those who listen intently;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;there is a whispering in distant chambers,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;an unearthly hand presses the sash of the window,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the latch rises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ghosts were created when the first man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;woke in the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--  James Matthew Barrie, "The Little Minister"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love old houses, and especially old abandoned houses. I know a lot of people think of them as haunted houses. I never have, I love them. I can just stand there and feel the life that once went on between these walls.  I can hear the footsteps in the hallway, hear the front, screen door slam. I can see two people sitting on that porch, seeking a little breeze and passing the time away in wonderful conversation. I can hear the kids playing in the yard, their happy voices reaching the top floors, where the Mama, busy at her work, can hear them and she smiles. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I look through these houses, I often try to picture, what kind of people lived in this house. Were they rowdy and loud or quite and well mannered? Was there happiness here? Did someone who was dearly loved, die here after a long illness? Did children play in the rooms and have birthday parties? What was Christmas like in this house? Did they laugh around the dining room table? Did their Wild and rambling Uncle, come to see them and tell of his travels while they listened with wide eyes? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe a house is alive with memories. It is the memories that keep them standing. When no one is alive to remember any longer, then they fall down. Not so much abandoned as forgotten.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6136042983928776911?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6136042983928776911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6136042983928776911' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6136042983928776911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6136042983928776911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/old-abandoned-houses.html' title='OLD ABANDONED HOUSES'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SM7YBN12k8I/AAAAAAAAAmE/4-dZn32zkuk/s72-c/house.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2018974600410693041</id><published>2008-09-12T14:05:00.011-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T15:33:52.019-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ID pic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dmv photo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dmv'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drivers'/><title type='text'>MY DMV PHOTO haunts my dreams at night!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMrN_l7vL4I/AAAAAAAAAlc/G9VLhMo1q7E/s1600-h/dmv.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMrN_l7vL4I/AAAAAAAAAlc/G9VLhMo1q7E/s400/dmv.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245231208424484738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had my picture taken a few weeks ago, at the DMV. Now, it has been a while since I let a camera point it's ugly little head in my direction. I never take a good pic but I was determined this one would be different. This was going to be my shining hour. I had my hair done, it looked good! I had on my favorite white top with little black  stick figures on it.(Chicos).  I would smile for the camera. All  people's DMV photos I have ever seen, always look grouchy or mad. This was going to be the prettiest one, you ever saw, say like Paris Hilton's photo. She took the best mug shot, didn't she? Well, my turn came, and I smiled this Mona Lisa smile, the camera flashed and I waited for my picture, pleased as punch with my bad self. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OMG, when I saw that photo, it looked like a chipmunk on prosac. It was awful. I was grinning, not smiling,,grinning from ear to ear, which naturally closed my eyes tight shut and that person was sooo incredibly old. I am hiding this thing away never to see the light of day and pray God, no one ever ask to see it. I am tearing  it up on my death bed as the last thing I do, so no one in the family will ever see it. It makes Nick Nolte's mug shot look like Brad Pitt! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wife: "There's trouble with the car. It has water in the carburetor."&lt;br /&gt;Husband: "Water in the carburetor? That's ridiculous."&lt;br /&gt;Wife: "I tell you the car has water in the carburetor."&lt;br /&gt;Husband: "You don't even know what a carburetor is. Where's the car?"&lt;br /&gt;Wife: "In the swimming pool."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Magistrate: 'But if you saw the lady driving towards you, why didn't you give her half the road?'&lt;br /&gt;Motorist: 'I was going to, Your Honour, as soon as I could find out which half she wanted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Motorist: 'But, officer, I was speeding because I'm late for an appointment with my lawyer.'&lt;br /&gt;Policeman: 'Well, now you've got something else to tell him.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2018974600410693041?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2018974600410693041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2018974600410693041' title='52 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2018974600410693041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2018974600410693041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-dmv-photo-haunts-my-dreams-at-night.html' title='MY DMV PHOTO haunts my dreams at night!'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMrN_l7vL4I/AAAAAAAAAlc/G9VLhMo1q7E/s72-c/dmv.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>52</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-1357761275949021105</id><published>2008-09-11T15:09:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T15:14:29.171-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='911'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='where were you when the world stopped turning'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Alan Jackson'/><title type='text'>WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE WORLD STOPPED TURNING?</title><content type='html'>On Friday, November 16, 2001 Alan Jackson had the lyrics of his song "Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning" read into the Congressional Record by His Honor, Congressman Mac Collins. &lt;br /&gt;HONORABLE MAC COLLINS of Georgia &lt;br /&gt;House of Representatives&lt;br /&gt;Friday, November 16, 2001&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On September 11th, 2001 our nation suffered a cataclysmic attack of unprecedented proportion. More than 6,000 Americans lost their lives in less than 1 hour's time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the two months following that tragic day, our citizens have struggled for ways to accept and deal with such a horrific loss. We have held candlelight vigils, all night prayer groups, talked of memorials and rebuilding. We have launched a major military campaign to seek justice for those victims. But one young man, whose name is known to many of this body and many of the American people, has found a way to genuinely memorialize those victims and that day in song. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alan Jackson was born in Newnan, Georgia in 1958. Since that time he has grown into one of the nation's most loved Country Music stars. Some have called him the conscience of Nashville for his actions and the type of music he makes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On November 7th. at the Country Music Awards, Alan sang a song he wrote, which more than any other that I have heard, expressed the wide range of emotions experienced on September 11th, 2001. I would like to read those lyrics to you now. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where Were You [When The World Stopped Turning]&lt;br /&gt;By Alan Jackson &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where were you when the world stop turning on that September day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Were you in the yard with your wife and children&lt;br /&gt;Or working on some stage in L.A.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke&lt;br /&gt;Rising against that blue sky&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you shout out in anger, in fear for your neighbor&lt;br /&gt;Or did you just sit down and cry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you weep for the children who lost their dear loved ones&lt;br /&gt;And pray for the ones who don't know&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble&lt;br /&gt;And sob for the ones left below&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you burst out in pride for the red, white and blue&lt;br /&gt;And the heroes who died just doin' what they do&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you look up to heaven for some kind of answer&lt;br /&gt;And look at yourself and what really matters&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just a singer of simple songs&lt;br /&gt;I'm not a real political man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watch CNN but I'm not sure I could&lt;br /&gt;Tell you the difference in Iraq and Iran&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I know Jesus and I talk to God&lt;br /&gt;And I remember this from when I was young&lt;br /&gt;Faith, hope and love are some good things He gave us&lt;br /&gt;And the greatest is love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where were you when the world stop turning on that September day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teaching a class full of innocent children&lt;br /&gt;Or driving down some cold interstate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you feel guilty 'cause you're a survivor&lt;br /&gt;In a crowded room did you feel alone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you call up your mother and tell her you loved her&lt;br /&gt;Did you dust off that bible at home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you open your eyes, hope it never happened&lt;br /&gt;And you close your eyes and not go to sleep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages&lt;br /&gt;Or speak to some stranger on the street&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you lay down at night and think of tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;Go out and buy you a gun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watchin'&lt;br /&gt;And turn on "I Love Lucy" reruns&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you go to a church and hold hands with some strangers&lt;br /&gt;Stand in line and give your own blood&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you just stay home and cling tight to your family&lt;br /&gt;Thank God you had somebody to love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I would like to take this opportunity to commend and congratulate my former constituent, a great American who has used his gifts as a songwriter and performer to lift the American spirit in this great pursuit for justice. Alan Jackson has crafted a thoughtful memorial to the victims of September 11th and serves as an example of how all Americans can help heal our nation from the wounds we suffered on that tragic day. Thank you Alan, for helping us to remember those we lost and for helping to keep their memory alive."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fvj6zdWLUuk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fvj6zdWLUuk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-1357761275949021105?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/1357761275949021105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=1357761275949021105' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1357761275949021105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1357761275949021105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/where-were-you-when-world-stopped.html' title='WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE WORLD STOPPED TURNING?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3557098542034906316</id><published>2008-09-08T15:05:00.016-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T18:15:41.406-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing older'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='living long'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='living on borrowed time'/><title type='text'>LIVING ON TREPASS-GROUND</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMWR2oWbnpI/AAAAAAAAAk4/0BvdzpL-VUM/s1600-h/Claude%2520Monet%2520Water%2520Lily%2520Pond2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMWR2oWbnpI/AAAAAAAAAk4/0BvdzpL-VUM/s400/Claude%2520Monet%2520Water%2520Lily%2520Pond2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243757708873277074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Painting by Monet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Younger people explore new experiences with the belief that they've got plenty of time to spare and long, Sunshine filled, futures to prepare for. They are often willing to tackle any task just for the challenge. But for an older person, the timeline shrinks with the awareness of our mortality. Even when I buy plants, I keep in mind that a tree that takes years to look good or to produce nuts, fruit, or whatever,,, might not be something I want to invest in. Knowing that I am a short timer, means I do look on the world in a way so different than I did just a few years ago. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I certainly plan on living as long as I can but I do recognize that long term plans laid today may not come to fulfillment. I thought about the elections and how it is possible I may not be around to see who becomes the first woman President.  Will Hillary be the first woman president? Will Sarah Palin? I feel I am living on trespass ground as it is after all my body endured during my long illness.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"A man who lives on borrowed time lives on trespass-ground." I don't know who said that but it has stuck with me all these years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter how you look at it or say it, it all means the same. Our future is not what it used to be. : ) when we pass that sixty marker. But heck, we could defy the odds and live a long, long time. Only God knows. I am preparing for the worst but expecting the best. : ) You may wish me a Happy 90th birthday in 2034!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3557098542034906316?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3557098542034906316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3557098542034906316' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3557098542034906316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3557098542034906316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/living-on-trepass-ground.html' title='LIVING ON TREPASS-GROUND'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMWR2oWbnpI/AAAAAAAAAk4/0BvdzpL-VUM/s72-c/Claude%2520Monet%2520Water%2520Lily%2520Pond2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-8591683243880479151</id><published>2008-09-05T12:51:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T13:17:04.219-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='somewhere between Jesus and John Wayne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gospel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gaithers'/><title type='text'>SOMEWHERE BETWEEN,  JESUS AND JOHN WAYNE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMF3fDEd2OI/AAAAAAAAAj4/LyqaLXfXQj4/s1600-h/john_wayne.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMF3fDEd2OI/AAAAAAAAAj4/LyqaLXfXQj4/s200/john_wayne.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242602816519657698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love this song off the Gaithers new CD "I'm Loving LIfe". This is the best video I could find but I am sure a better version will be uploaded soon. This is probably where I stand. I try, Lord knows I try, but somehow, I end up here.....Somewhere between--- Jesus and John Wayne. The first line is skipped on the video but I put the lyrics so you could read them.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy was a cowboy hard as a rock&lt;br /&gt;Mama she was quiet as a prayer&lt;br /&gt;Daddy’d always tell me, “Son, you gotta be tough&lt;br /&gt;Mama would kiss my cheek and say, “play fair”&lt;br /&gt;I did my best to make ‘em proud of me&lt;br /&gt;But it’s never been an easy place to be&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere between Jesus and John Wayne&lt;br /&gt;A cowboy and a saint, the cross and the open range&lt;br /&gt;I try to be more like you Lord,&lt;br /&gt;But most days I know I ain’t&lt;br /&gt;I’m somewhere between Jesus and John Wayne.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama’s love was tender, Daddy’s love was strong&lt;br /&gt;Both of them were there to help the weak&lt;br /&gt;They taught me to stand up and fight for what is right&lt;br /&gt;And showed me how to turn the other cheek&lt;br /&gt;Now I see there’s both of them in me&lt;br /&gt;And maybe that’s the best that I can ever hope to be&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NHwPxTPIoQ4&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NHwPxTPIoQ4&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-8591683243880479151?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/8591683243880479151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=8591683243880479151' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8591683243880479151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8591683243880479151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/somewhere-between-jesus-and-john-wayne.html' title='SOMEWHERE BETWEEN,  JESUS AND JOHN WAYNE'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SMF3fDEd2OI/AAAAAAAAAj4/LyqaLXfXQj4/s72-c/john_wayne.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2987780709300940198</id><published>2008-09-02T02:56:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T12:04:01.129-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feeling needed'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='asking for help'/><title type='text'>I GET BY WITH A LITTLE HELP</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLcfzlXYN4I/AAAAAAAAAh4/L4rbsAn3FRc/s1600-h/Chinese-painting.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLcfzlXYN4I/AAAAAAAAAh4/L4rbsAn3FRc/s400/Chinese-painting.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239691662532818818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Beautiful painting called "Friendship" by Lucy Liu&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I remember when Billy's Dad had to give up his driver's license after it became a fact, he was really sick and unable to drive. It was like part of him had been taken away. Our independence is so important to us. I felt that way too when my independence was threatened. I had a long sickness, and needed help with things and it was hard to accept help. But gracious acceptance is as important as helping others. We give others a chance to feel needed and when you get down to it, that is one of the most important feeling for all of us. We want to feel needed, to feel our place in this world is deserved. That we are not just taking up space. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being dependant on others is not how we see our lives going, but it is something we all worry about. The thing we have to keep in mind, is God meant us to share the good and the bad with each other. To help one another in times of need. There is no greater gift you can give a friend than to be there for them without them having to ask. And to accept their gift of love to you if you should ever need to lean on them&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember always to make the people around you feel needed. They want to help out and be a part of what you are doing. When you satisfy this desire in people, you are not a burden, you are fulfilling a need they have as well as your own.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2987780709300940198?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2987780709300940198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2987780709300940198' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2987780709300940198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2987780709300940198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-get-along-with-little-help.html' title='I GET BY WITH A LITTLE HELP'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLcfzlXYN4I/AAAAAAAAAh4/L4rbsAn3FRc/s72-c/Chinese-painting.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-1833519548433373137</id><published>2008-08-30T00:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-30T14:23:02.247-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='G. Harvey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sweet Memories'/><title type='text'>A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 6</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLDA43qCECI/AAAAAAAAAgw/RCeEy-DiMcA/s1600-h/SweetMemories++G+Harvey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLDA43qCECI/AAAAAAAAAgw/RCeEy-DiMcA/s320/SweetMemories++G+Harvey.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237898449877340194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The play was over, the music ceased, the crowd filed out. It was like a dream ended. People scattered in all directions. Mrs. Sommers went to the corner and waited for the cable car. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man with keen eyes, who sat opposite to her, seemed to like the study of her small, pale face. It puzzled him to decipher what he saw there. In truth, he saw nothing-unless he were wizard enough to detect a poignant wish, a powerful longing that the cable car would never stop anywhere, but go on and on with her forever&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now wasn't that a lovely story? Thanks for sharing it with me. : ) That lovely painting is "Sweet Memories" by G. Harvey.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-1833519548433373137?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/1833519548433373137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=1833519548433373137' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1833519548433373137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1833519548433373137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/pair-of-silk-stockings-part-6.html' title='A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 6'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLDA43qCECI/AAAAAAAAAgw/RCeEy-DiMcA/s72-c/SweetMemories++G+Harvey.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6713344945719765180</id><published>2008-08-29T00:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-29T12:20:25.674-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 5</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCvIrtldZI/AAAAAAAAAgo/iXCVw-_tUdc/s1600-h/dining_fireplace.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCvIrtldZI/AAAAAAAAAgo/iXCVw-_tUdc/s320/dining_fireplace.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237878930339624338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a restaurant at the corner. She had never entered its doors; from the outside she had sometimes caught glimpses of spotless damask and shining crystal, and soft-stepping waiters serving people of fashion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she entered her appearance created no surprise, no consternation, as she had half feared it might. She seated herself at a small table alone, and an attentive waiter at once approached to take her order. She did not want a profusion; she craved a nice and tasty bite - a half dozen blue-points, a plump chop with cress, a something sweet - a creme-frappee, for instance; a glass of Rhine wine, and after all a small cup of black coffee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While waiting to be served she removed her gloves very leisurely and laid them beside her. Then she picked up a magazine and glanced through it, cutting the pages with a blunt edge of her knife. It was all very agreeable. The damask was even more spotless than it had seemed through the window, and the crystal more sparkling. There were quiet ladies and gentlemen, who did not notice her, lunching at the small tables like her own. A soft, pleasing strain of music could be heard, and a gentle breeze, was blowing through the window. She tasted a bite, and she read a word or two, and she sipped the amber wine and wiggled her toes in the silk stockings. The price of it made no difference. She counted the money out to the waiter and left an extra coin on his tray, whereupon he bowed before her as before a princess of royal blood. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was still money in her purse, and her next temptation presented itself in the shape of a matinee poster. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a little later when she entered the theatre, the play had begun and the house seemed to her to be packed. But there were vacant seats here and there, and into one of them she was ushered, between brilliantly dressed women who had gone there to kill time and eat candy and display their gaudy attire. There were many others who were there solely for the play and acting. It is safe to say there was no one present who bore quite the attitude which Mrs. Sommers did to her surroundings. She gathered in the whole - stage and players and people in one wide impression, and absorbed it and enjoyed it. She laughed at the comedy and wept - she and the gaudy woman next to her wept over the tragedy. And they talked a little together over it. And the gaudy woman wiped her eyes and sniffled on a tiny square of filmy, perfumed lace and passed little Mrs. Sommers her box of candy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6713344945719765180?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6713344945719765180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6713344945719765180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6713344945719765180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6713344945719765180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/pair-of-silk-stockings-part-5.html' title='A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 5'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCvIrtldZI/AAAAAAAAAgo/iXCVw-_tUdc/s72-c/dining_fireplace.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-9114682783821701277</id><published>2008-08-28T00:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T12:36:50.958-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLDBsglo-LI/AAAAAAAAAg4/du04AVCNDxo/s1600-h/kid+gloves.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLDBsglo-LI/AAAAAAAAAg4/du04AVCNDxo/s320/kid+gloves.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237899337038100658" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a long time since Mrs. Sommers had been fitted with gloves. On rare occasions when she had bought a pair they were always "bargains," so cheap that it would have been preposterous and unreasonable to have expected them to be fitted to the hand. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now she rested her elbow on the cushion of the glove counter, and a pretty, pleasant young creature, delicate and deft of touch, drew a long-wristed "kid" over Mrs. Sommers's hand. She smoothed it down over the wrist and buttoned it neatly, and both lost themselves for a second or two in admiring contemplation of the little symmetrical gloved hand. But there were other places where money might be spent. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were books and magazines piled up in the window of a stall a few paces down the street. Mrs. Sommers bought two high-priced magazines such as she had been accustomed to read in the days when she had been accustomed to other pleasant things. She carried them without wrapping. As well as she could she lifted her skirts at the crossings. Her stockings and boots and well fitting gloves had worked marvels in her bearing - had given her a feeling of assurance, a sense of belonging to the well-dressed multitude. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was very hungry. Another time she would have stilled the cravings for food until reaching her own home, where she would have brewed herself a cup of tea and taken a snack of anything that was available. But the impulse that was guiding her would not suffer her to entertain any such thought.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-9114682783821701277?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/9114682783821701277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=9114682783821701277' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/9114682783821701277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/9114682783821701277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/pair-of-silk-stockings-part-4.html' title='A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 4'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLDBsglo-LI/AAAAAAAAAg4/du04AVCNDxo/s72-c/kid+gloves.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-8938105411935983124</id><published>2008-08-27T00:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T12:41:03.097-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCDhCVNgTI/AAAAAAAAAgY/1VsAk60OUFc/s1600-h/Victorian_Boot_Hat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCDhCVNgTI/AAAAAAAAAgY/1VsAk60OUFc/s320/Victorian_Boot_Hat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237830970216644914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were any number of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there were more of that size than any other. Here was a light-blue pair; there were some lavender, some all black and various shades of tan and gray. Mrs. Sommers selected a black pair and looked at them very long and closely. She pretended to be examining their texture, which the clerk assured her was excellent. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A dollar and ninety-eight cents," she mused aloud. "Well, I'll take this pair." She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and waited for her change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel it was! It seemed lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Sommers after that did not move in the direction of the bargain counter. She took the elevator, which carried her to an upper floor into the region of the ladies' waiting-rooms. Here, in a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings for the new silk ones which she had just bought. She was not going through any acute mental process or reasoning with herself, nor was she striving to explain to her satisfaction the motive of her action. She was not thinking at all. She seemed for the time to be taking a rest from that laborious and fatiguing function and to have abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse that directed her actions and freed her of responsibility. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt like lying back in the cushioned chair and reveling for a while in the luxury of it. She did for a little while. Then she replaced her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together and thrust them into her bag. After doing this she crossed straight over to the shoe department and took her seat to be fitted. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was fastidious. The clerk could not make her out; he could not reconcile her shoes with her stockings, and she was not too easily pleased. She held back her skirts and turned her feet one way and her head another way as she glanced down at the polished, pointed-tipped boots. Her foot and ankle looked very pretty. She could not realize that they belonged to her and were a part of herself. She wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she told the young fellow who served her, and she did not mind the difference of a dollar or two more in the price so long as she got what she desired.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-8938105411935983124?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/8938105411935983124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=8938105411935983124' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8938105411935983124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8938105411935983124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/pair-of-silk-stockings-part-3.html' title='A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS PART 3'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCDhCVNgTI/AAAAAAAAAgY/1VsAk60OUFc/s72-c/Victorian_Boot_Hat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6971475461500659032</id><published>2008-08-26T00:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T12:30:01.253-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='a pari of silk stockings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='short story'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kate chopin'/><title type='text'>A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS--- PART 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCBmfKpNqI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/43TYbQuynr0/s1600-h/story+part+2.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCBmfKpNqI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/43TYbQuynr0/s320/story+part+2.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237828864833042082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Sommers was one who knew the value of bargains; who could stand for hours making her way inch by inch toward the desired object that was selling below cost. She could elbow her way if need be; she had learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it and stick to it with persistence and determination till her turn came to be served, no matter when it came. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that day she was a little faint and tired. She had swallowed a light luncheon - no! when she came to think of it, between getting the children fed and the place righted, and preparing herself for the shopping bout, she had actually forgotten to eat any luncheon at all! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sat herself upon a revolving stool before a counter that was comparatively deserted, trying to gather strength and courage to charge through an eager multitude that was besieging breastworks of shirting and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling had come over her and she rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter. She wore no gloves. By degrees she grew aware that her hand had encountered something very soothing, very pleasant to touch. She looked down to see that her hand lay upon a pile of silk stockings. A placard near by announced that they had been reduced in price from two dollars and fifty cents to one dollar and ninety-eight cents; and a young girl who stood behind the counter asked her if she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery. She smiled, just as if she had been asked to inspect a tiara of diamonds with the ultimate view of purchasing it. But she went on feeling the soft, sheeny luxurious things - with both hands now, holding them up to see them glisten, and to feel them glide serpent-like through her fingers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two hectic blotches came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She looked up at the girl. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you think there are any eights-and-a-half among these?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PART 3 TOMORROW&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6971475461500659032?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6971475461500659032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6971475461500659032' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6971475461500659032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6971475461500659032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/pair-of-silk-stockings-part-2.html' title='A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS--- PART 2'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SLCBmfKpNqI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/43TYbQuynr0/s72-c/story+part+2.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7313007186433929666</id><published>2008-08-25T00:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T12:30:51.107-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='a pari of silk stockings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kate chopin'/><title type='text'>A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS IN 6 PARTS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SK2kY0Bbn1I/AAAAAAAAAfk/t7TF0YCQWHE/s1600-h/silk+stockings.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SK2kY0Bbn1I/AAAAAAAAAfk/t7TF0YCQWHE/s400/silk+stockings.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237022687890218834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PART ONE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;by Kate Chopin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Pair of Silk Stockings &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Mrs. Sommers one day found herself the unexpected possessor of fifteen dollars. It seemed to her a very large amount of money, and the way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old porte-monnaie gave her a feeling of importance such as she had not enjoyed for years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly. For a day or two she walked about apparently in a dreamy state, but really absorbed in speculation and calculation. She did not wish to act hastily, to do anything she might afterward regret. But it was during the still hours of the night when she lay awake revolving plans in her mind that she seemed to see her way clearly toward a proper and judicious use of the money. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A dollar or two should be added to the price usually paid for Janie's shoes, which would insure their lasting an appreciable time longer than they usually did. She would buy so and so many yards of percale for new shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag. She had intended to make the old ones do by skilful patching. Mag should have another gown. She had seen some beautiful patterns, veritable bargains in the shop windows. And still there would be left enough for new stockings - two pairs apiece - and what darning that would save for a while! She would get caps for the boys and sailor-hats for the girls. The vision of her little brood looking fresh and dainty and new for once in their lives excited her and made her restless and wakeful with anticipation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The neighbors sometimes talked of certain "better days" that little Mrs. Sommers had known before she had ever thought of being Mrs. Sommers. She herself indulged in no such morbid retrospection. She had no time - no second of time to devote to the past. The needs of the present absorbed her every faculty. A vision of the future like some dim, gaunt monster sometimes appalled her, but luckily to-morrow never comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of pretty porte-monnaies------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SK3KhyignOI/AAAAAAAAAf4/ALjg8m2E9AQ/s1600-h/broche.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SK3KhyignOI/AAAAAAAAAf4/ALjg8m2E9AQ/s320/broche.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237064623552765154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PART 2 TOMORROW&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7313007186433929666?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7313007186433929666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7313007186433929666' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7313007186433929666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7313007186433929666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/pair-of-silk-stockings-in-five-parts.html' title='A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS IN 6 PARTS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SK2kY0Bbn1I/AAAAAAAAAfk/t7TF0YCQWHE/s72-c/silk+stockings.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2119143338347140324</id><published>2008-08-21T03:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T12:37:26.068-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='senior citizens'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='computers and the elderly'/><title type='text'>GONNA FLY NOW</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKSoc_tsNlI/AAAAAAAAAeA/6PR8KCBO894/s1600-h/computer%2520love.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKSoc_tsNlI/AAAAAAAAAeA/6PR8KCBO894/s400/computer%2520love.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234493883004237394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard the story today of an eighty year old woman who was determined to learn how to work a computer. She joined a class being given for free at the local senior center. She would drive herself there alone, twice a week but was having a very hard time understanding it all. The boy giving the classes told her not to worry, she could start over as many times as she needed. The rest of the class advanced on but still she was struggling to learn. She was going through the basic class for the third time when her first disaster struck her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They took away her driver's license and she had no way to get to the center. The boy teaching the class, offered to come and get her but she said no. He could tell she was embarrassed by the offer. She was fighting to stay independent. Finally she started paying the young man next door, to take her. He charged her way too much and she was under a strain to come up with the money but she managed.  He was not very dependable and half the time he was late getting her there. But still she somehow, hung on. He finally just quit taking her and she was stuck without a way to go, even to get her groceries. She fought to get her licence back and won. Now, she was independent again and was really starting to catch on to the computer. She was now into the second stage of the course and really enjoying it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one week she didn't show up at all. The boy got a call after ten at night and he knew something was wrong because his family and friends knew to not call after ten at night. It was his pupil and she just wanted to tell him, she wouldn't be in anymore. Her heart was giving her problems and although the Doctor gave her medicine, it wasn't working. She quit coming to the classes. He missed her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a couple of weeks he was sitting in the library and studying when he noticed a woman struggling to type a letter. He asked if he could help and she said, "Yes, please". His heart sank when he saw what she wanted him to type. It was an Eulogy to his pupil and old friend. She had died a few days ago. As he read the Eulogy which as it turned out, was written by her sister, the woman he was helping,,,he began to realize something. It wasn't mastering the computer that was so important to her, it was staying involved. She didn't want to be left behind. Learning the computer was her way of saying, I am still here and I still care about living. She was a fighter. I hope, like her, I never throw in the towel. I think I'm a fighter or at least I have been so far. There have been times when I have gone into survival mode to get through but I'm still here. (&lt;em&gt;cue the Rocky theme song)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do not go gentle into that good night, &lt;br /&gt;Old age should burn and rave at close of day; &lt;br /&gt;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dylan Thomas&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2119143338347140324?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2119143338347140324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2119143338347140324' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2119143338347140324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2119143338347140324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/gonna-fly-now.html' title='GONNA FLY NOW'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKSoc_tsNlI/AAAAAAAAAeA/6PR8KCBO894/s72-c/computer%2520love.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2329537645336705346</id><published>2008-08-18T03:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T13:58:44.500-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the best of one&apos;s life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='peace'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mulberry days'/><title type='text'>THESE ARE MULBERRY DAYS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ4PAi58OXI/AAAAAAAAAcw/RaGZXardkb4/s1600-h/mary_cassatt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ4PAi58OXI/AAAAAAAAAcw/RaGZXardkb4/s400/mary_cassatt.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232636319095339378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MULBERRY DAYS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some say they touch the sky&lt;br /&gt;Some say they see the wind&lt;br /&gt;A whisper of spring is near&lt;br /&gt;Can you hear it say&lt;br /&gt;These are Mulberry days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some say they'll understand&lt;br /&gt;Some hold an open hand&lt;br /&gt;A shimmer of moonlit haze&lt;br /&gt;Can you hear it say&lt;br /&gt;These are Mulberry days&lt;br /&gt;These are Mulberry days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Mulberry Days----the best of one's life. I am celebrating my Mulberry Days right now. I have sense of peace now that I didn't have when I was younger. I know what the future holds and I know who holds my future. Peace, is a good thing as Martha would say. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I make a glass of ice tea and sit beside the window, looking out at the back woods. The tea glass feels so cold against my hands. There is something about this scene that feels a little surreal. I know it is hot outside today, although not as hot as last week,  and yet inside, it could be Spring. I silently bless the man who invented AC. I love to throw the windows open in the Spring and Fall but for right now I am happy with just being cool. Fresh air and Sunshine may be better left to later when the temperature falls a little more. It can be sticky hot here in August. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I didn't realize that growing older could be just as much fun and just as interesting as being young. From the viewpoint of twenty or thirty, it looked like a lonely and painful place to be. Not so, as I am finding out more each day. This is good times and I wouldn't want to miss them. These are my Mulberry Days!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2329537645336705346?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2329537645336705346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2329537645336705346' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2329537645336705346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2329537645336705346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/these-are-mulberry-days.html' title='THESE ARE MULBERRY DAYS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ4PAi58OXI/AAAAAAAAAcw/RaGZXardkb4/s72-c/mary_cassatt.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-4858298878608395643</id><published>2008-08-16T14:58:00.015-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T13:01:47.584-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurricane camille'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='remembering unclaimed victims'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gulfport ms'/><title type='text'>WHO WERE FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKd2ZyS8TfI/AAAAAAAAAek/rxvXFDs6EC8/s1600-h/gulf+coast.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKd2ZyS8TfI/AAAAAAAAAek/rxvXFDs6EC8/s320/gulf+coast.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235283277211520498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are remembering Hurricane Camille of 1969, here on the Coast today. &lt;br /&gt;The early-morning event will be at the Gulfport grave site of Faith, Hope and Charity, three unidentified storm victims buried in Pine Ridge Gardens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Faith, Hope and Charity are the center of the Gulfport service. Since their 1969 burial, the staff of Civil Defense has overseen a memorial service for the three women found in Pass Christian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"These are three lost souls with no identifying marks, and in 39 years nobody has claimed them,"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We lost 172 people during that 1969 Hurricane and soon we will be taking note of the three year mark for Hurricane Katrina on August 29. I know these are important milestones and we need to remember them. But somehow, I just keep thinking about those three women who no one claimed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is such a sad though to me. No one to mark your passing but strangers. Why did no one realize these women were missing? Where were their Mothers, their Fathers, their sons, their daughters? Did they not have sisters or brothers looking for them. Have we become so scattered in this country, that family doesn't even know when one goes missing? If I could, I would tell them, I cried for your passing and I am still sad and think about you each year. So, here's to Faith, Hope and Charity, who no one claimed. May you rest in peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-4858298878608395643?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/4858298878608395643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=4858298878608395643' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4858298878608395643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4858298878608395643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/who-were-faith-hope-and-charity.html' title='WHO WERE FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKd2ZyS8TfI/AAAAAAAAAek/rxvXFDs6EC8/s72-c/gulf+coast.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-1543363633155633939</id><published>2008-08-14T19:01:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T22:42:27.223-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='enjoying life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='live in the moment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life is a banquet'/><title type='text'>LIFE IS A BANQUET</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKT6TG0GRQI/AAAAAAAAAeY/gQ2xj4QH9X8/s1600-h/michael+phelps.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKT6TG0GRQI/AAAAAAAAAeY/gQ2xj4QH9X8/s320/michael+phelps.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234583873064944898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won't quote this exactly right because the speaker was a bit more bold than I am...rather like  one of my readers, Hi, Brenda. Haha...but I have believed this ever since I heard it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Life is a banquet and most people are starving to death". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The author of this quote, Patrick Dennis's Mother, lived to be 100 years old. She believed we should live life to the fullest. Apparently she practiced what she preached. They made a movie about her, played to the hilt by Roslind Russell, It was called "Auntie Mame" as most of you probably know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What we have is this moment. The past is over and done with, we can't change it. The future may never come, at least here on this Earth. Now, this moment is yours. Enjoy it. Hold it up to the light and examine it. "The unexamined life is not worth living". Socrates said. He was a smart man and I see no reason to disagree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Continually take stock and see what you need to live life to it's fullest. Are you too busy? Or maybe you are not busy enough! As we get older, we tend to hibernate more. We enjoy our little, comfortable cave. Get out there and enjoy yourself. Life is to be savored. Another thing we have heard all our lives is "Life is short"...it is.  Don't miss a thing! Ask yourself this question before you go to bed tonight?            "Why did I take a day like today, for granted?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-1543363633155633939?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/1543363633155633939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=1543363633155633939' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1543363633155633939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1543363633155633939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/life-is-banquet.html' title='LIFE IS A BANQUET'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKT6TG0GRQI/AAAAAAAAAeY/gQ2xj4QH9X8/s72-c/michael+phelps.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7145114157697233423</id><published>2008-08-13T15:01:00.016-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T16:36:30.841-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gone tomorrow'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='here today'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='seize the day'/><title type='text'>WE CAN'T KNOW THE LAST TIME</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKNLmWuM_kI/AAAAAAAAAdw/0yEQaHNIeKo/s1600-h/463px-Jan_Vermeer_-_Girl_Reading_a_Letter_at_an_Open_Window.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKNLmWuM_kI/AAAAAAAAAdw/0yEQaHNIeKo/s400/463px-Jan_Vermeer_-_Girl_Reading_a_Letter_at_an_Open_Window.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234110314241130050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PAINTING BY JAN VERMEER&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately for some reason, I am thinking about places, people, and times in my life that I’ll never see again. There is no way to know when something will occur for the last time in most cases. I guess that is why being young is so great. There is no last time for anything when you are young. Or at least it seems that way when you feel the world is at your feet.&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;br /&gt; Would we appreciate places we think of as permanent, a lot more,  if we thought we might lose them. A lot of us on the Coast found that out, after the Hurricane. I had no idea when I visited my favorite places on the beach, my library, Ryan's steak house, the place where we hold the fishing rodeo every fourth of July, Moses Pier where we fished all the time, when we first met, the beautiful paintings under the bridge, covering the walls, that a local artist painted, no idea at at all, that I would never see them again. I was trying to remember them today and already the memory is fading about a lot of things along the beach but the favorite places, I can still walk around them in my mind. They will always be a reminder of how quickly we can lose something we love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Would we act differently toward others if we knew it was the last time we would see them? There are people in my life, that were there one day and the next day they were gone. We need to show our appreciation to our family and friends while we still can. They may not be here tomorrow but then again, we may not either. We really need to let them know today, while it is still today. Our lives can be changed in the twinkling of an eye. Go call someone you love and tell them you love them. Go visit an old friend you haven't seen in a while. Treat them like it could be the last time you will see them. One day it will be.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe I am feeling both old and very young today, if that makes sense. I am going to try and remember this feeling, every time Billy walks out the door. Or friends or family come over to visit. I strongly believe in a wonderful future so I am not in a sad mood, just one of reflection. "If tomorrow never comes, will they know how much I love them?" is a good qustion for us to ask ourselves.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7145114157697233423?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7145114157697233423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7145114157697233423' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7145114157697233423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7145114157697233423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/feeling-old-and-very-young-today.html' title='WE CAN&apos;T KNOW THE LAST TIME'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SKNLmWuM_kI/AAAAAAAAAdw/0yEQaHNIeKo/s72-c/463px-Jan_Vermeer_-_Girl_Reading_a_Letter_at_an_Open_Window.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6900765415780945947</id><published>2008-08-11T11:18:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T12:51:41.462-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='john keats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='keats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='letters of john keats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poetry'/><title type='text'>THAT SILVER TONGUED DEVIL</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ-_lxvqKWI/AAAAAAAAAdA/ZhiWyyjli_A/s1600-h/Gabriel_Metsu_-_Man_Writing_a_Letter.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ-_lxvqKWI/AAAAAAAAAdA/ZhiWyyjli_A/s400/Gabriel_Metsu_-_Man_Writing_a_Letter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233111947757103458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PAINTING BY GABRIEL METSU&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love reading letters from back in the day when people really knew how to write a letter. I think some of the best writing of John Keats may have been in his letters to Fanny Brawne. No wonder, he could write such poetry. The man just had a romantic soul. Can you imagine a man writing a letter like this today? I hate to see letter writing being replaced by email. People will never feel as free on the internet as they do hand writing a letter. Beautiful letter writing using lovely stationary is fast becoming a lost art. Besides, you can't put a drop of perfume on an email! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pick this letter up about half way through but the rest is just as romantic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;You absorb me in spite of myself - you alone: for I look not forward with any pleasure to what is called being settled in the world; I tremble at domestic cares - yet for you I would meet them, though if it would leave you the happier I would rather die than do so. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and would I could take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it. From no others would I take it. I am indeed astonished to find myself so careless of all charms but yours - remembering as I do the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of interest with me. What softer words can I find for you after this - what it is I will not read. Nor will I say more here, but in a postscript answer anything else you may have mentioned in your letter in so many words - for I am distracted with a thousand thoughts. I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen. &lt;br /&gt;Yours ever, fair Star,&lt;br /&gt;John Keats&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sigh&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6900765415780945947?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6900765415780945947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6900765415780945947' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6900765415780945947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6900765415780945947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/that-silver-tongued-devil.html' title='THAT SILVER TONGUED DEVIL'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ-_lxvqKWI/AAAAAAAAAdA/ZhiWyyjli_A/s72-c/Gabriel_Metsu_-_Man_Writing_a_Letter.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6597274282971975151</id><published>2008-08-09T13:32:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T15:02:49.723-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='senior scams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='scams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old movies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bowery boys'/><title type='text'>THE BOWERY BOYS AND SCAMS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ3rgWsyEuI/AAAAAAAAAcY/UHuwdzxdXTs/s1600-h/bowery+boys.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ3rgWsyEuI/AAAAAAAAAcY/UHuwdzxdXTs/s400/bowery+boys.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232597283156136674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember as a child,l watching one of those scary, funny movies on TV. In this one, with the Bowery Boys, they were in a haunted house and heard this terrible screeching sound. One turned to the other and said, "Feet don't fail me now". LOL&lt;br /&gt;I have come upon that situation a lot in my life. Sometimes the best thing to do is run. If you see yourself  becoming involved in something that your inner voice is telling you, is just not right....run.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Have you ever been around people who seemed so nice on the surface but there was just something about them, that didn't add up. I think God gave us an inner warning signal but so many times we just ignore it. I was reading today about this couple in Florida, fleeced out of their savings by a con man. The woman said she felt something wasn't right but she thought they could make a lot of money, so she ignored this inner warning signal. Someone drove up to my house the other day and said, "I was just finishing up a sales trip and I have some steaks and chops left over, and I though since I was in your neighborhood"...yeah right! If you want to lose a tooth, you can buy it. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we get older we tend to be more patriotic and more religious, and that translates to increased vulnerability to charity and other scams that play on these emotions. But the good news, a study said older people are not as likely to fall for Internet schemes. There are many not so nice people out there, ready to take advantage of older people who let their guard down. Be careful and remember, if it walks like a duck, and looks like a duck....don't be surprised if it quacks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6597274282971975151?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6597274282971975151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6597274282971975151' title='90 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6597274282971975151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6597274282971975151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/bowery-boys-and-scams.html' title='THE BOWERY BOYS AND SCAMS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJ3rgWsyEuI/AAAAAAAAAcY/UHuwdzxdXTs/s72-c/bowery+boys.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>90</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2609385521489520055</id><published>2008-08-07T15:06:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T15:57:59.910-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='steven wright'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='comedian'/><title type='text'>WHAT'S THE SPEED OF DARK?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJtgarr2gNI/AAAAAAAAAbg/6IQJz25ujHE/s1600-h/dogs024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJtgarr2gNI/AAAAAAAAAbg/6IQJz25ujHE/s400/dogs024.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231881403640479954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, all together now,,,ahhhhhh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A FEW WORDS FROM THE VISIONARY STEVEN WRIGHT and one of my favorite comedians:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All those who believe in psychokinesis raise my hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost had a psychic girlfriend but she left me before we met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, so what's the speed of dark?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you tell when you're out of invisible ink?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Support bacteria - they're the only culture some people have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense to be lazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shin: a device for finding furniture in the dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many people quit looking for work when they find a job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I intend to live forever - so far, so good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?&lt;br /&gt;Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I'm not in my right mind, my left mind gets pretty crowded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boycott shampoo! Demand the REAL poo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is General Failure and why is he reading my hard disk?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happens if you get scared half to death twice?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to have an open mind but my brains kept falling out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2609385521489520055?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2609385521489520055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2609385521489520055' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2609385521489520055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2609385521489520055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/whats-speed-of-dark.html' title='WHAT&apos;S THE SPEED OF DARK?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJtgarr2gNI/AAAAAAAAAbg/6IQJz25ujHE/s72-c/dogs024.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-5444351568985678760</id><published>2008-08-06T05:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:05:23.077-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paper dolls'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childhood games'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childhood memories'/><title type='text'>WHAT WE DID AFTER SCHOOL, BACK THEN</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJkJok96aLI/AAAAAAAAAa4/IGfZDEUopgg/s1600-h/skipping-rope.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJkJok96aLI/AAAAAAAAAa4/IGfZDEUopgg/s400/skipping-rope.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231223034890315954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After school was let out, around three o'clock when I was a kid, most of us would hurry home and get that ice cold glass of Kool Aid and maybe a cookie. The cookies were homemade and usually sugar or molasses. If we were lucky, there would be peanut butter or oatmeal with raisin. Or maybe gingerbread. These were Huge and would hold us until Mama called us in to Supper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We played games outside in the fresh air and sunshine, back then. All the kids in the neighborhood played together. The girls would play hopscotch or jacks. But our favorite game was skipping rope. The little kids used their small rope but the older kids used a long rope, with a girl on each end. We were really good at this. We would run in and out of the rope while the girls were throwing it. Then we got two ropes and skipped double rope. That was a little more difficult and of course the big kids usually did this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boys would play marbles or some rough and tumble wrestling or baseball. There was always an empty lot somewhere to play ball and it was an activity that went on all Summer long. Some were just games, on the spur of the moment and some were more professional with a coach and suits, furnished by some one's Dad who owned the local barber shop or hardware store. They played baseball and softball. I don't recall a lot of basketball being played and no soccer at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girls didn't play together with the boys that much. The parents would sit on the porch and watch us play. I think they really got a kick out of it. One thing they found out, just whose kid was a bully and who had the whiner. There would be an occasional fight, but for the most part, we played together really well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJkKZz4E87I/AAAAAAAAAbA/uMKJALgLGaU/s1600-h/1965783565_4113310b13.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJkKZz4E87I/AAAAAAAAAbA/uMKJALgLGaU/s320/1965783565_4113310b13.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231223880705962930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around six o'clock,  we were called in for Supper, which was a family affair, with everyone home and sitting down around the table. we would do our homework after helping Mama with the dishes. After homework, we were allowed to play quite games while the adults visited with neighbors or maybe had a card game. The women would talk about their latest sewing or cooking ventures or share their  Hollywood or True Confession magazines. We would play with our paper dolls, the original Barbie dolls, and dress them in all the paper clothes. We read books as we got a little older. Or put on make up behind Mama's back. I don't know what boys did after homework. We didn't have any boys in our family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Daddy loved music, so someone usually came over with a guitar or harmonica. More people played instruments then. Mama always wanted a piano but we couldn't afford one. We would listen to the radio too, and it wasn't just music either. These were wonderful, scary, romantic, or comedy shows. The smaller kids had to get ready for bed at eight but the older ones could stay up until nine. When I was still in grammar school, TV was born. I still remember the times before TV though and they were great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-5444351568985678760?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/5444351568985678760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=5444351568985678760' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5444351568985678760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5444351568985678760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-we-did-after-school-back-then.html' title='WHAT WE DID AFTER SCHOOL, BACK THEN'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJkJok96aLI/AAAAAAAAAa4/IGfZDEUopgg/s72-c/skipping-rope.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6008132532345437586</id><published>2008-08-04T10:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:14.914-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='twilight'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='looking back'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rearview mirror'/><title type='text'>LIFE IN MY REAR VIEW MIRROR</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJZ6gq5XrUI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/C6W0QV3SIlY/s1600-h/lemons+and+daylillies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJZ6gq5XrUI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/C6W0QV3SIlY/s400/lemons+and+daylillies.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230502718926728514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am old enough to side step all the pitfalls that can trip up someone younger. I have no delusions anymore about what I will be when I grow up. It is an established fact. I did some of the things I wanted to do. I didn't accomplish a lot more that I had my sights set on. But that's okay because as it turns out, it was probably the best for me, the way my life has gone. I have had as many daylilles as lemons and I like to think I did make lemonade when I got lemons most of the time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't imagine being with anyone else but Billy as I am entering my twilight years. Okay, maybe not twilight just yet, but most of my life is in my rear view mirror. I find myself quite satisfied about life in general. It's a good life all in all and even though I've never had fame or a large fortune and didn't grow up to be a great humanitarian, I am a pretty contented person. Being average is okay. God must have loved average people, he made a whole lot of us. : )&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6008132532345437586?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6008132532345437586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6008132532345437586' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6008132532345437586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6008132532345437586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/life-in-my-rear-view-mirror.html' title='LIFE IN MY REAR VIEW MIRROR'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJZ6gq5XrUI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/C6W0QV3SIlY/s72-c/lemons+and+daylillies.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-4795266843454838091</id><published>2008-08-02T04:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:15.424-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats are trouble makers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cat tales'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='smart aleck cats'/><title type='text'>CATS ARE CATS,  AND THAT'S THAT</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJPTdpA9PZI/AAAAAAAAAZc/TcqCWXj-ZRU/s1600-h/funny-cute-cats-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJPTdpA9PZI/AAAAAAAAAZc/TcqCWXj-ZRU/s400/funny-cute-cats-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229756098486812050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh how well I identify with people who have cat antics going on all the time. I have three and believe you me, they are always in some sort of trouble. Those pretty, well behaved cats in the picture up there, ^^ are not mine. Those are ideal cats. Look how quiet they are! How do thier parents get them to do that?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Pepper is the worst one. He looks like an ordinary, not too snappy looking, black cat but don't let his looks fool you. He is the spirit of mischief, incarnated! He got his head hung in a teeny tiny hole behind the stove one time. He got it in there but couldn't get it out. Any sane cat would have known better. We had to pull out the stove and get wire cutters to cut him out. I still don't know how he got back there. It's not possible, but there he was howling his head off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did he learn anything?,,,,no...., he jumped off a building and broke his foot not too much later. Luckily his sister was on the ground and broke his fall,,stove up her little front legs as Mama used to say. He just missed landing on Shad. All are fine now except for my little girl Meshe, who walks a little crooked. Pepper of course is fine and out to see how much lower he can push our finances. Vets cost an absolute fortune today. We have a lot of visits. Not for sickness mind you, they are a healthy bunch,,but for acting like fools, for fighting with other cats that dare to wander into the yard, and for just in general, showing off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Pepper got in a fight last year and ended up with a tube in his side. I had to lock the others out of the house while he healed. They have a cat door to the laundry room with their food and water there, so they weren't hurting by being locked out. Who was hurting, was Pepper. The door is glass and he would sit there and watch them through the glass when they came to get food or water. I felt so sorry for him which didn't last long. It never does! He immediately started howling and being an all around pain about it. He did take his medicine like a sweetheart though. I can only suppose he liked the taste, because I know, it was not out of the goodness of his little evil, black heart. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJOCGxLrIcI/AAAAAAAAAZU/rRt7NP5G04k/s1600-h/elizabehen+collar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJOCGxLrIcI/AAAAAAAAAZU/rRt7NP5G04k/s400/elizabehen+collar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229666645100405186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wouldn't wear the big Elizabethan looking, collar they gave us to keep him from pulling off his bandage when he broke his foot. That cat in the pic is not pepper. Pepper sat with his head on the floor, with the open part against the floor the whole time. I was afraid he was going to smother.&lt;br /&gt; He did have trouble using a litter box with it on, and since they are outside cats, he really wasn't sure about what to do anyway. The only time he had used one, was when he was about four months old. I finally took the collar off and naturally he pulled the bandage off. We took him to the Vet, had another one put on,,he tore it off. I put it back on, he tore it off. I tied it on there, he tore it off. He Won! It did get well on it's own though and as soon as the collar was removed, he used the litter box. Soon he was back outside, after seven or eight years locked up in the house...walking on the porch railing and looking pretty dapper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I fuss about my little Pepper a lot but even the naughty things he does makes me laugh. I opened up my blanket chest this morning to take out a Quilt top and in he jumped..I let him stay a minute, but finally Billy pulled him out. He protested to high Heaven I'm sure. I left because I didn't want him to think I had anything to do with it. Retaliation you know! The next time I saw him, he was lying on the foot of the bed looking just too innocent. No wonder, he was hiding my glasses under his foot, that he had taken from my laptop by the bed. He doesn't tear things up but you do have to be careful where you leave things. If he can  &lt;em&gt;see&lt;/em&gt; it, it's fair game as far as he is concerned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The last time I looked outside he was curled up in the grill extension that is way too small for him to curl up in but there he is somehow curled up in it. Oh Lord, I hope he is not stuck in there! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJDjtsEWJlI/AAAAAAAAAYM/mXZU3rFK5dA/s1600-h/DSCN1663_edited.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJDjtsEWJlI/AAAAAAAAAYM/mXZU3rFK5dA/s320/DSCN1663_edited.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228929541440153170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-4795266843454838091?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/4795266843454838091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=4795266843454838091' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4795266843454838091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4795266843454838091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/08/cats-are-cats-and-thats-that.html' title='CATS ARE CATS,  AND THAT&apos;S THAT'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SJPTdpA9PZI/AAAAAAAAAZc/TcqCWXj-ZRU/s72-c/funny-cute-cats-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3377148224899078475</id><published>2008-08-01T04:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:15.454-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spiritual being'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reflection'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='be still and listen'/><title type='text'>PHYSICAL, MENTAL, SPIRITUAL BEINGS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI-WEtmRkKI/AAAAAAAAAX8/F54wnAkTMQQ/s1600-h/G.+Harvey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI-WEtmRkKI/AAAAAAAAAX8/F54wnAkTMQQ/s400/G.+Harvey.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228562700104208546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Painting by G.Harvey&lt;br /&gt; We were born to be three-fold beings. We are more than physical, we are spiritual and intellectual beings as well. So much time and money is spent on making sure we look good, eat good and have material things. We neglect that part of us who wants to be ever learning. We need intellectual stimulation to keep our minds sharp, especially as we get older.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; But most important of all, we need to grow spiritually. For if that part is neglected, it doesn't matter how smart or creative we are or how physically fit we are, we are just an empty vessel inside. We need to fill that part of us that craves beauty and being in touch with nature and with God. We need to make that connection. I am not saying to meditate, unless you really like that sort of thing. Just take some time each day to think on the good things in your life. Don't let one single thought of anything that is stressful or hurtful, enter in. Take some me time to be still and listen. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When is the last time, you sat in a park and did nothing but listen to the sounds around you. If you have a porch, do you sit on it and just do nothing but watch the world go by? Our Grandparents knew how to do that. When is the last time, you went outside at night and just looked up at those beautiful stars. When is the last time, you took a walk by yourself, on a rainy day? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When is the last time, you really opened up all your senses? Today, find something that smells wonderful to you. A beautiful soap, fresh linen, bread baking, an orange.  Take time to enjoy that lovely smell. Find some beautiful music and really, listen to it. Touch something that feels incredible to you, the soft velvet fur of your cat, a treasured silk blouse, warm sand or cool grass, under your bare feet, the cool sheets as you slide in tonight.  Find a painting  or a photograph you already own and really look at it. Observe the faces of the children you meet today, that sweet innocence so soon lost in this day and age. Really look at the face of a loved one, a beloved animal, really look at them. Someday you may wish you had that memory. Open up your senses to things around you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we make it a habit to ignore what our feelings are telling us about slowing down, we make choices that aren’t in line with our true selves, and aren’t good for us. You can get mentally and physically exhausted but have you ever though about being spiritually exhausted? Take some time to renew your spirit, that secret place, you keep hidden away. Go there and rest awhile.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3377148224899078475?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3377148224899078475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3377148224899078475' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3377148224899078475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3377148224899078475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/physical-mental-spiritual-beings.html' title='PHYSICAL, MENTAL, SPIRITUAL BEINGS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI-WEtmRkKI/AAAAAAAAAX8/F54wnAkTMQQ/s72-c/G.+Harvey.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3176576869825460001</id><published>2008-07-30T02:02:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:19.433-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swimming hole'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='summertime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swimming in the river'/><title type='text'>GOING SWIMMING IN THE CREEK</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI4dD5QolnI/AAAAAAAAAXs/oJ7yrlfBTpQ/s1600-h/steve+atkins.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI4dD5QolnI/AAAAAAAAAXs/oJ7yrlfBTpQ/s400/steve+atkins.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228148170171127410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PAINTING BY STEVE ATKINS&lt;br /&gt;When I was about eight or nine years old, my sister and I would sneak off into the woods and go swimming in the creek behind our house. Well, I didn't actually swim, I was afraid of the water but I carried my inner tube and floated on that. The boys ruled this place. They had rope hanging from a tree and would swing out over the water and drop off, splashing all of us. We thought they were so brave, we never complained. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were told over and over again not to go but the minute the grown ups had their attention on something else, away we went. It was probably about a mile from our home and this was in the days before parents panicked when their child was missing. They just waited on us, mad as a hornet. Mama would switch our legs with a small limb from a tree. She even let us get it ourselves, so of course we got the thinnest one we could find. I know now, that one hurt more than a large one would have. We didn't have our little lives destroyed by a spanking. We thought we deserved it for disobeying our parents. They whipped us, we got over it and all was well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I remember going, we stopped off to pick some blackberries on the way home. That is when the big disaster happened. My sister reached in and grabbed a yellow jacket nest. She was covered with those stinging things. She ran screaming to the house. Mama saw her coming and got a washtub, filled it with all the kerosene she had and stuck my sister in it. She finally stopped screaming quite so loud but she was in pain for quite a while after that. I don't recommend this treatment because I don't have any idea what it was supposed to do. It must have worked though because she was back to normal pretty soon. We didn't sneak away for the rest of that summer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3176576869825460001?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3176576869825460001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3176576869825460001' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3176576869825460001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3176576869825460001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/going-swimming-in-creek.html' title='GOING SWIMMING IN THE CREEK'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI4dD5QolnI/AAAAAAAAAXs/oJ7yrlfBTpQ/s72-c/steve+atkins.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7122101507982581193</id><published>2008-07-28T15:54:00.022-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:19.688-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blog etiquette'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='how to blog'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blog posting'/><title type='text'>AN OPINION BE IT EVER SO HUMBLE, ON BLOGGING</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI5CLkpC4vI/AAAAAAAAAX0/cPJS2Iqc1bg/s1600-h/friends.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228188984005550834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI5CLkpC4vI/AAAAAAAAAX0/cPJS2Iqc1bg/s400/friends.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We all have humble opinions on blogging. I've seen quite a few posts lately about it. So here is mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't care what people put on their blogs or how they compose their post. I do like pictures though. If I like it, I will read it, if I don't, there are many more to read. If it is longer than a cat's tail in a room full of rocking chairs, with no paragraphs, I might ramble with them for a while but it's not my favorite type of post. I exercise the right to change the channel if I am unhappy with a TV show. I do the same with blogs. I mute the music for the most part, but that's not hard to do. Sometimes I like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If someone wants to talk about religion, I don't care. I am who I am and they are who they are. I don't think we can truly separate our opinions from our faith entirely because it is a lifestyle and not just a Sunday kind of thing. I know my faith flavors all my life. I just figure for the most part, I am not going to draw atheists to me. But some will come if they like most of what I write and aren't offended by my occasional reference to God. I have friends and family, who think they are atheists. I was one myself before I saw the light....Oops there goes that reference!&lt;br /&gt;I have a blog built around my faith which cuts down on my need to preach on my gardening blog, for instance. But the occasional word might slip in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I leave if I can't identify with your subject matter in some way. I have many interests, if you live long enough, you will. So most blogs have something that interest me. I stop reading if I get bored. I always comment. So far, I haven't met anyone I didn't like. I like comments, so feel free to talk to each other on my blog. To me that is half the fun. Just don't get in a fight. Don't make me come and smack you. ~[~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am an old, dirt poor white, Southern, Pentecostal, woman with highly opinionated, conservative, right leaning, thoughts who also likes country music and Southern Gospel. There is enough there for everyone to dislike something about me. LOL--- But just so you know, one of my nieces thinks I am cool because I know who Daughtry and Sugarland are. : )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try to stay true to who I am and I am drawn to those people who seem real to me. I don't go along to get along. I try to be kind and considerate of other people's feeling when I write but that is not always possible. Some people are just naturally offended at certain things. I try to find people who blog with honesty even if it is not politically correct.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An honest blog with no apology is what I like to read and what I try to write. I just want to make a few friends who enjoy the things I do. Those who share my views on the world and who will look on me as Queen...Haha....no, I'm kidding about the Queen part. : )&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7122101507982581193?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7122101507982581193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7122101507982581193' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7122101507982581193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7122101507982581193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/opinion-be-it-ever-so-humble-on.html' title='AN OPINION BE IT EVER SO HUMBLE, ON BLOGGING'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SI5CLkpC4vI/AAAAAAAAAX0/cPJS2Iqc1bg/s72-c/friends.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-1782883788360931510</id><published>2008-07-27T00:24:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:19.901-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='should you go first'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poem'/><title type='text'>SHOULD YOU GO FIRST AND I REMAIN</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIwEECG6ojI/AAAAAAAAAW8/sgxlgOraKiA/s1600-h/Lynn+pittard.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIwEECG6ojI/AAAAAAAAAW8/sgxlgOraKiA/s400/Lynn+pittard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227557734802170418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PAINTING BY LYNN PITTARD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should You Go First&lt;br /&gt;By A.K. Rowswell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should you go first and I remain&lt;br /&gt;To walk the road alone,&lt;br /&gt;I'll live in memory's garden, dear,&lt;br /&gt;With happy days we've known.&lt;br /&gt;In spring I'll wait for roses red,&lt;br /&gt;When fades the lilac blue,&lt;br /&gt;In early fall, when brown leaves call&lt;br /&gt;I'll catch a glimpse of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should you go first and I remain&lt;br /&gt;For battles to be fought,&lt;br /&gt;Each thing you've touched along the way&lt;br /&gt;Will be a hallowed spot.&lt;br /&gt;I'll hear your voice, I'll see you smile,&lt;br /&gt;Though blindly I may grope,&lt;br /&gt;The memory of your helping hand&lt;br /&gt;Will buoy me on with hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should you go first and I remain&lt;br /&gt;To finish with the scroll,&lt;br /&gt;No length'ning shadows shall creep in&lt;br /&gt;To make this life seem droll.&lt;br /&gt;We've known so much of happiness,&lt;br /&gt;We've had our cup of joy,&lt;br /&gt;And memory is one gift of God&lt;br /&gt;That death can not destroy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should you go first and I remain,&lt;br /&gt;One thing I'd have you to do:&lt;br /&gt;Walk slowly down that long, lone path,&lt;br /&gt;For soon I'll follow you.&lt;br /&gt;I'll want to know each step you take,&lt;br /&gt;That I may walk the same,&lt;br /&gt;For someday down that lonely road&lt;br /&gt;You'll hear me call your name.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-1782883788360931510?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/1782883788360931510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=1782883788360931510' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1782883788360931510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1782883788360931510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/should-you-go-first-and-i-remain.html' title='SHOULD YOU GO FIRST AND I REMAIN'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIwEECG6ojI/AAAAAAAAAW8/sgxlgOraKiA/s72-c/Lynn+pittard.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-5068809019183668637</id><published>2008-07-25T10:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:20.551-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='libraries'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reading'/><title type='text'>I LOVE LIBRARIES</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIlfvZqsxAI/AAAAAAAAAWs/8YZijrUuDZs/s1600-h/john+singer+sargent.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIlfvZqsxAI/AAAAAAAAAWs/8YZijrUuDZs/s400/john+singer+sargent.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226814110488642562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Painting by JOHN SINGER SARGENT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A library is a collection of information, sources, resources, and services: it is organized for use and maintained by a public body, an institution, or a private individual. In the more traditional sense, a library is a collection of books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, that is the definition in general. But if you love libraries the way I do, it is so much more than that. A library is a place you go to relax. To browse and find your creative senses set in motion when you look through the art or craft books. A desire to travel set aflame when you find that book on a country you have always wanted to visit. An urge to get out the pots and pans and cook something great when you glance through the cookbook section. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then you go down the mystery row and find a couple of those, you just can't wait to read when you have time. And of course, a couple of new decorating books to look through, because our homes are always in transition or at least mine is. I remember the year it was all about Sunflowers and country. Your taste do change so you change your nest. There is the latest self improvement book and the latest fiction everyone is raving about. I probably won't read them all, but I check them out in the hope that I can find the time. I have my own book bag with a deep bottom and wide handle because I know, I will check out at least six when I go. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the sad things about Hurricane Katrina was losing my beautiful library overlooking the Gulf. It had large windows and you could sit at a table in super comfortable chairs and look out over the water. I did more dreaming than reading while sitting there. I will always miss it. We will have a new one, but it won't look out over the water and it wont be the place, I spent so many happy days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-5068809019183668637?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/5068809019183668637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=5068809019183668637' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5068809019183668637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5068809019183668637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-love-libraries.html' title='I LOVE LIBRARIES'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIlfvZqsxAI/AAAAAAAAAWs/8YZijrUuDZs/s72-c/john+singer+sargent.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7849340258215490471</id><published>2008-07-22T08:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:20.731-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='things to do before you die'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kick the bucket'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the bucket list'/><title type='text'>THE BUCKET LIST</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIVsJGwCULI/AAAAAAAAAV0/r1zhyNzJNNQ/s1600-h/michael+lee.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIVsJGwCULI/AAAAAAAAAV0/r1zhyNzJNNQ/s400/michael+lee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225701846320042162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael Lee...artist &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you knew how much time you had left to live, would you be brave enough to live life to the fullest?  I just saw the movie "The Bucket List" and like many other people, I started thinking about what would be on my list. For those who didn't see the movie, it is about two men who are dying of Cancer and only have a few months to live. The title comes from the expression, "kicking the bucket" which is a term for dying. So before you kick the bucket, what would be on your list of things to do before you die?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I don't mean the things like organize your funeral, get your affairs in order, visit the family and tell them you love them...no I mean those things you would like to do that you have never done. Maybe sky diving, or climbing to the top of a peak somewhere. You don't have to be able to do them. Lord knows most of us don't have the money the way the men in the movie did, to travel the world. But if you could do anything you wanted and money was no object, what would be on your bucket list. Here is a list I scribbled down in a hurry but I think some of these might even be doable. I'll start there!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1...Get rid of all my grass and replace it with soft, sweet moss. It would be so nice to walk barefoot on a lawn with springy, soft moss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2...Eat at a sidewalk cafe in Paris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3...Clean out a space right in the middle of my woods and put a large waterfall there. The little animals would love it and I could sit back there and watch them when they came to play or drink. It would have all kinds of pretty flowers and plants and large flat rocks to sit  on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4...Take a trip to England. I've always wanted to go to England and see all those pretty, quaint cottages and gardens. I cut my teeth on English mysteries and boarding school stories  so I have always been drawn to England. The countryside of England in all those movies I love, is always so beautiful. All that rain I guess makes for such pretty green scenery. It just looks greener than here in the States. I would love to go there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5...Send a message in a bottle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6...Write that Great American Novel or at least a good mystery book. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7...Take out my guitar and start playing again. I play finger style and it has been a long time since I played. I stopped when I got sick a few years ago and never went back to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8...Go back to Charleston SC and take that canoe ride and see if Billy can paddle better than he did in 93..lol. That was fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9...Have fresh flowers all over my house, every day. For years, I would hold back enough to buy flowers at the grocery store each week. We couldn't afford much but I tried to get a small bouquet for our dining table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10..Lead at least ten people to Jesus, before I kick the bucket!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7849340258215490471?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7849340258215490471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7849340258215490471' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7849340258215490471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7849340258215490471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/bucket-list.html' title='THE BUCKET LIST'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIVsJGwCULI/AAAAAAAAAV0/r1zhyNzJNNQ/s72-c/michael+lee.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6238969227874792060</id><published>2008-07-20T14:12:00.011-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:20.886-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sunday drive'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sunday memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='country drive'/><title type='text'>THE SUNDAY DRIVE IN THE COUNTRY</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIOXjeumBsI/AAAAAAAAAVU/CzOPRqPW33U/s1600-h/vincent-van-gogh-paintings-from-arles-15.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIOXjeumBsI/AAAAAAAAAVU/CzOPRqPW33U/s400/vincent-van-gogh-paintings-from-arles-15.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225186628479616706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vincent-Van-Gogh painting of "Cornfields". I love these colors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps it is the child in me that doesn't want to let go of a childhood too soon gone. Whatever the reason, I still remember as if it was yesterday, those long Sunday drives in the country. I long to go back to those good times when cares were far behind us. After a dinner (noon time in the South) of fried chicken and potato salad, we would all pile into the car and head out on the highway..well make that, into the country. We would ride around and see what the rural country side looked like. Most of the time we drove down the same old dirt roads and saw the same things week after week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But once in a while we would take a new road. Now that was exciting. As city kids, just seeing animals in the fields and seeing the country kids riding their horses was fun for us. I loved looking at the corn in the fields and stopping to visit with some of the farmers and their children. We would drink ice cold water from their well. They didn't have a pump, they let the bucket down on a rope that was wound around the top and had a handle on the side. Sometimes they would have to pull up the bucket and take out the jar of milk in it. They  kept their milk in the well to keep it cool for supper. Then they let it back down for their visitors who were dying of thirst. Sometimes the farmer's wife would take a stroll around her yard and garden with Mama and they would come back with fresh vegetables and some new cutting of a flower Mama wanted. This always pleased Mama so much. She would thank her with a big smile on her face. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama would always stop on the side of the road and gather wildflowers and put them in a pail of water, she brought along, just for that purpose. If it was blackberry time, we would pick a few berries in the tin syrup buckets, Mama brought with us. Or if we were lucky, we would end up with pears or plums from wild trees. Back then, no one shot at you if you were on their property looking for wild fruit or a Christmas tree for that matter. You can't do that now, you would at the very least get arrested. But back then, farmers didn't care. At least we never ran into any trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few hours of just total saturation in the country smells and sounds, we would head back to town. We always ended the trip with ice cream at the local ice cream shop. I remember the taste of that lemon ice cream to this day. It was fun, free and probably very good for us to take that Sunday drive. We learned about farm animals and crops in a way that the city kids who didn't have this wonderful trip each Sunday, would miss but the most important thing was the good memories.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6238969227874792060?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6238969227874792060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6238969227874792060' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6238969227874792060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6238969227874792060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/sunday-drive-in-country.html' title='THE SUNDAY DRIVE IN THE COUNTRY'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIOXjeumBsI/AAAAAAAAAVU/CzOPRqPW33U/s72-c/vincent-van-gogh-paintings-from-arles-15.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2987552950665461121</id><published>2008-07-18T09:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:21.235-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='aging'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dressing too young'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='plastic surgery'/><title type='text'>BOTOXED, DETOXED HOLLYWIERD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIADTXt59FI/AAAAAAAAAUE/kyzLRUSOadw/s1600-h/BotoxRGB.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIADTXt59FI/AAAAAAAAAUE/kyzLRUSOadw/s400/BotoxRGB.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224179199068730450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Today normal aging is considered a curse. Some cling so desperately to youth they become a caricature of themselves. Is this what now passes for growing old gracefully? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You wont catch me: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Swallowing 25 or more anti aging pills per day....I hate taking aspirin&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Subjecting my body to cosmetic surgery,...they still use a knife, last time I checked. Why in all that is common sense, would you let someone cut you if you didn't have too?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Engaging in obsessive exercising....you can take this one to the bank. It's not gonna happen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fanatically dieting.......see above&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dressing in clothes designed for adolescents...... I know when to conceal..it's no big deal. That's why they make jogging outfits, empire waist, jumper dresses, over-blouses and elastic waist pants. Or you could just exercise if sagging bothers you. There is a time for everything and what goes up will come down..,,you should feel like a comfortable cushion when your grandchildren hug you. Whose gonna play Grandma if you look like your granddaughter's Mother instead of her Grandmother. Give the kids a break,,,give them a real Grandma. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mimicking the verbal expressions and hand gestures of teens. This one is just sad when you hear and see it. Especially if it is coming from someone who can't move their face. Grandpa should not be flashing any one the ROCK ON sign, and yelling YO...You flashed your PEACE sign when you were young and yelled CAN YOU DIG IT? ...it's their time now....move on! Surgery can't help elbows and hands enough to hide your age anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I personally find all of Hollywood a little strange looking. Have you noticed how much they all favor? They all look like they have intermarried once too often. They don't have to worry about a flood in Hollywood. If one happens, with all that plastic they inject, they will all float. LOL&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2987552950665461121?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2987552950665461121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2987552950665461121' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2987552950665461121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2987552950665461121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/botoxed-detoxed-hollywierd.html' title='BOTOXED, DETOXED HOLLYWIERD'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SIADTXt59FI/AAAAAAAAAUE/kyzLRUSOadw/s72-c/BotoxRGB.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-986485183973414114</id><published>2008-07-17T11:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:21.536-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tomorrow'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing older'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vincible summer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the future'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='an invincible summer'/><title type='text'>AN INVINCIBLE SUMMER</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SH908JTUwbI/AAAAAAAAATs/DS5kuihL_NQ/s1600-h/Hassam+childe.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SH908JTUwbI/AAAAAAAAATs/DS5kuihL_NQ/s400/Hassam+childe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224022669411008946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHILDE HASSAM PAINTING&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is getting old such a bad thing? I wouldn't want to go back and be young again and live all that angst over again...I certainly don't want to be young in this day and age. The world is a scary place for the young today. Besides, I've already been young. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The picture we have of an older person quietly seated in a corner, knitting, reading or nodding off to sleep is gone anyway. Today, people over sixty are into everything. They usually have a second career after they retire from the first one. The second one is usually more satisfying because they are not under so much stress to make money. They can find something they enjoy doing. I am eagerly looking forward to the rest of this earthly life and an eternity after that. I feel I am just getting warmed up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  “In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” &lt;br /&gt; Albert Camus&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-986485183973414114?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/986485183973414114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=986485183973414114' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/986485183973414114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/986485183973414114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/invincible-summer.html' title='AN INVINCIBLE SUMMER'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SH908JTUwbI/AAAAAAAAATs/DS5kuihL_NQ/s72-c/Hassam+childe.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-1443006206254031903</id><published>2008-07-15T13:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:21.721-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good old days'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='farm life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garden'/><title type='text'>A CITY GIRL'S FARM MEMORIES</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHzwU6bnqFI/AAAAAAAAATE/mae4Jgw0txk/s1600-h/koemelken.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHzwU6bnqFI/AAAAAAAAATE/mae4Jgw0txk/s400/koemelken.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223313909916084306" /&gt;Painting by Ben Viegers&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love farmers and their way of life. My sister married into a farm family and got to find out first hand what it was like. I would go visit her on weekends and stay with her for a few weeks in the Summer. My memories center around their old barn for the most part. They sold milk in those large aluminum milk containers, to a dairy truck that came by every day to pick it up.  I would go watch the milk process as they milked each cow and fed them. It was nice and quiet in the barn and very early in the morning, so you could still smell the dew on the grass when you walked up to the barn. Inside it was warm and lit by kerosene lamps, with their nice pleasant glow. There was this nice smell of hay and sweet, creamy milk. I would always drink a glass as they poured into into the containers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was one little cow that got personal attention. My Sister's Mother in law would get a little black, three legged stool, and pull up to the cow, all the time telling her what a good and nice cow she was. I could tell this was more than just a cow to her. She loved this cow and really enjoyed milking her. She asked me once if I wanted to see the star in the cow's teats and I leaned over to see. She sprayed my face full of warm milk. LOL. That's not the only trick she pulled on me. I was very gullible about farm things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did try chopping cotton one time. I was told to chop, leave a hoe's width and then chop again, It ended up looking so neat. I was very proud of myself. I also developed a really painful set of blisters on my hands. But the memory is still good.&lt;br /&gt;I also picked cotton that Summer. I picked and picked,,,,cut hands and fingers, dragging that long heavy, cotton bag. By the end of the first day, I just knew I had made a fortune. My bag had a lot in it. We stepped up to the scales and weighed. I picked twenty lbs.. After all that hard work....everyone else had picked at least two hundred and some had a whole lot more, even the little kids outpicked me. I was just no good at this and retired the next day. There had to be a better way of earning movie money. They tell me a really good picker could pick three or four hundred lbs in a day. I don't know how they did it. I guess hungry children at home are a great motivator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first experience with a vegetable garden, brought the kind of embarrassing story you just don't want floating around the family and retold often. My sister had to go to town and in those days, "go to town", could take all day. They bought groceries, paid bills, got animal feed, visited the farm store for any necessary farm supplies, picked up their checks at the dairy, went to the drug store etc. They had to make sure they got all the supplies they needed because they only made the trip about every two weeks. I was told to go to the garden and pick some turnip greens and make some corn bread for supper. Now I knew how to cook fairly well at an early age but I didn't know how to harvest vegetables.  I went out to the garden and pulled a good mess of greens, and gathered a few green onions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made the best dinner. I cleaned those beautiful white turnips and chopped them up, added the well washed greens, fried a piece of salt pork and added that along with some onion and made the corn bread. I felt really proud. My Sister and her husband came home all tired and hungry. I set the table, piled bowls high with the greens and juice, brought out cold glasses of milk and  my pretty, brown and crusty cornbread...and then my brother in law took his first bite. He took another bite and looked at me. "Where did you get these greens" he asked..."On the first row in the garden", I said...he started to laugh and then my Sister joined in...I couldn't figure why they were laughing. Then he told me I had picked a nice mess of white radishes. I cooked the radishes and the tops, just the way you do turnip greens. But they ate the resulting greens, bless them and even said for radishes they weren't so bad...LOL....I guess if you are starving, anything taste good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-1443006206254031903?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/1443006206254031903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=1443006206254031903' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1443006206254031903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1443006206254031903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/city-girls-farm-memories.html' title='A CITY GIRL&apos;S FARM MEMORIES'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHzwU6bnqFI/AAAAAAAAATE/mae4Jgw0txk/s72-c/koemelken.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-9161586092525221554</id><published>2008-07-14T13:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:21.903-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tarbell'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='painting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='domestic violence'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fine art'/><title type='text'>DOMESTIC ABUSE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHuXmQbE5cI/AAAAAAAAAR4/blDAqr5FZag/s1600-h/tarbell.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHuXmQbE5cI/AAAAAAAAAR4/blDAqr5FZag/s400/tarbell.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222934876365579714" /&gt;A lovely painting by Tarbell&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like another blogger on one of my favorite blogs, I do not feel like putting on the  humorous post I planned. We both read a post that changed all that. Not all who post each day, have a good life. Some struggle on a daily basis just to do what the rest of us take for granted. If we can get out and do our gardening and are in good health and do not have memories that have scarred us, we are blessed. We need to celebrate each day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am leaving you with a beautiful picture and a poem that will shake your world. And check out the blog below. If you are a praying person, say a prayer for all those who are victims of domestic abuse. This lovely woman presses on and finds joy, and makes my problems seem so small. Thanks Brenda for your big heart in bringing this to our attention. Brenda's blog can be found on my fav role at the side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; This is not a warm and fuzzy post, but it is necessary once in awhile for us to remember that not all is pretty in blog land as Brenda says. Remember all the hurting and lonely people, keep them in your thoughts and prayers today. And say an extra prayer for Alex, who inspired this post. The doctors have found a tumor on her liver and she is feeling sick today. I know God never puts on us, more than we can bear, but sometimes it does seem unfair that someone who has been through so much already, has to suffer more. Get Well Alex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why? &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;I lay in the silence of the darkness &lt;br /&gt;and hear the echoes of the night &lt;br /&gt;Laying next to you I hear you breathe &lt;br /&gt;in the shadows of moonlight. &lt;br /&gt;I want you to embrace me &lt;br /&gt;but I can't stand your touch &lt;br /&gt;As I feel your body close to me &lt;br /&gt;the pain is just too much. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The aching of my body &lt;br /&gt;and the bruises on my skin &lt;br /&gt;How can you sleep just knowing &lt;br /&gt;the torment that I'm in? &lt;br /&gt;This pain you have inflicted &lt;br /&gt;I cannot understand &lt;br /&gt;How can you say you love me &lt;br /&gt;with the palm of your hand? &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;For better or worse our vows of love &lt;br /&gt;till death do us part &lt;br /&gt;Were broken on our honeymoon &lt;br /&gt;like a knife in my heart. &lt;br /&gt;As you're sleeping soundly &lt;br /&gt;my eyes filled with tears &lt;br /&gt;Is this what I have to look forward to &lt;br /&gt;for the next fifty years? &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;Silently I get out of our bed &lt;br /&gt;and tiptoe to the door &lt;br /&gt;I then slip into the shower &lt;br /&gt;and fall silently to the floor. &lt;br /&gt;Crying as I try to wash &lt;br /&gt;the filth from my skin &lt;br /&gt;The memories stay to haunt me &lt;br /&gt;of this terror I live in. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;Curled up on the shower's floor &lt;br /&gt;crying my silent tears &lt;br /&gt;I try to wash my bruises &lt;br /&gt;and escape my fears. &lt;br /&gt;I wonder why you hurt me &lt;br /&gt;and say that it is love &lt;br /&gt;Why take away my happiness &lt;br /&gt;and all that I dreamed of? &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;Like a child to be punished &lt;br /&gt;you say it's discipline &lt;br /&gt;"For I must obey my husband &lt;br /&gt;and show respect to him." &lt;br /&gt;You say that I'm deceitful &lt;br /&gt;and that I have affairs &lt;br /&gt;I'm sleeping with the neighbour &lt;br /&gt;I have lovers everywhere! &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The pain of your accusations &lt;br /&gt;cut me like a knife &lt;br /&gt;How could you think I'd do that &lt;br /&gt;even though I'm your wife? &lt;br /&gt;So you hit me to remind me &lt;br /&gt;not to fool around &lt;br /&gt;The sanctity of our marriage &lt;br /&gt;is just emptiness I've found. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;As I wipe away the tears &lt;br /&gt;I can still feel the pain &lt;br /&gt;What is this need to punish me &lt;br /&gt;over and over again? &lt;br /&gt;You promised to protect me &lt;br /&gt;but I can only wonder why &lt;br /&gt;The same hand that embraces me &lt;br /&gt;is the same that makes me cry. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;As I crawl out of the shower &lt;br /&gt;I had hoped to clear my head &lt;br /&gt;But all I felt was hopelessness &lt;br /&gt;as I returned to bed. &lt;br /&gt;I lay there in the shadows &lt;br /&gt;listening to you breathe &lt;br /&gt;Wondering if I'll ever have the strength &lt;br /&gt;and the courage to leave. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;©  Christina &lt;br /&gt;4th July, 1995 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://urluckyitsme.blogspot.com/"&gt;My Quill and Pen&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-9161586092525221554?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/9161586092525221554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=9161586092525221554' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/9161586092525221554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/9161586092525221554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/lovely-painting-by-tarbell-like-another.html' title='DOMESTIC ABUSE'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHuXmQbE5cI/AAAAAAAAAR4/blDAqr5FZag/s72-c/tarbell.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3144360570822055845</id><published>2008-07-13T20:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:22.099-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vintage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='company dinnerware'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vintage embroidery'/><title type='text'>THAT'S FOR COMPANY DEAR</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHqSmjAMTwI/AAAAAAAAARY/rHzFOjIV0Zk/s1600-h/wh2_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHqSmjAMTwI/AAAAAAAAARY/rHzFOjIV0Zk/s400/wh2_edited.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222647908818243330" /&gt;MAMA'S WALL HANGING&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh no, Dear, that's for company". How many times did I hear my Mama say that. She would not use the things people gave her for gifts. She would store them away. She had enough perfume gift sets to stock a drug store on Christmas! She had towels and sheets, tucked away that had the most beautiful embroidery on them. But she would not use them even when our own towels and sheets were well worn. The only perfume I remember her wearing was an Avon perfume called Topaz. Maybe she preferred it to the expensive ones people gave her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her tablecloths were so beautiful with all the crocheted edgings. She thought these were too good to use. Most of them had embroidery in the center. I remember beautiful flowers in the center of one she did use for Easter. It was green linen with center flowers of white Lilies, yellow daffodils and some type of little pink flowers. Of course, these all had matching napkins.  She didn't give dinner parties, she worked five days a week, so I don't know what or who she was saving them for. Even if we just used them on Sunday, she would have enjoyed looking at them instead of keeping them packed away.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had company dinnerware and everyday dinnerware. Oh, how much fun it would have been to eat from those pretty blue willow plates. I have some vintage pieces from that time period now, and I enjoy sitting down with a cup of hot tea and toast in the morning. I wish Mama had enjoyed her pretty things. I fully intend to use mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Take a look at that beautiful wall hanging in the photo.  Billy's Mama made that for us. When she gave it to me, I had left my glasses at home so I just thought it was quilted. When I got home and look closely at it, I realized that every blue, green and yellow bit of that beautiful hanging, was actually cross stitches. It must have taken her forever to do that. It is a fairly large and beautifully quilted, wall hanging. I got on the phone so fast and told her how much we loved it and how sorry I was that I didn't pay attention to what a treasure it really is. So, if you are going to a Christmas party and might receive a present from someone, you might want to wear your glasses..I'm just saying...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell Billy, I am using my things because I do not have any intention of letting the second wife have anything of mine. If they are going to be broken or stained or anything else, I plan on doing it myself. LOL..and I fully intend to be buried with my clothes and books. Same reason.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3144360570822055845?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3144360570822055845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3144360570822055845' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3144360570822055845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3144360570822055845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/thats-for-company-dear.html' title='THAT&apos;S FOR COMPANY DEAR'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHqSmjAMTwI/AAAAAAAAARY/rHzFOjIV0Zk/s72-c/wh2_edited.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2662205566972731813</id><published>2008-07-12T12:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:22.284-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='President'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='election'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Canidate'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='leader'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='politics'/><title type='text'>WILL THE REAL LEADER, PLEASE STAND UP</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGb7flYBykI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/ZBJa2UkNg9U/s1600-h/john-william-waterhouse-gather-ye-rosebuds.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGb7flYBykI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/ZBJa2UkNg9U/s400/john-william-waterhouse-gather-ye-rosebuds.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217133738382707266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gather Ye Rosebuds While You May is the name of this lovely painting by Waterhouse. I hope we are gathering ours now because it looks like tomorrow is going to be a scary place to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, &lt;br /&gt;Old Time is still a-flying, &lt;br /&gt;And this same flower that smiles to-day&lt;br /&gt;To-morrow will be dying.&lt;br /&gt;~ Robert Herrick&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country. &lt;br /&gt;- - - - Kurt Vonnegut &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon we are going to find out which inmate is in charge of the asylum...and I got to tell you,,,neither Candidate warms the cockles of my heart. I've never been involved in politics as a rule, but I am a Christian and tend to lean toward the one who has a respect for others and knows that life is precious and shouldn't be fooled around with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are certain standards in this world that are proven to work for the human race. When we fall below them, our nation suffers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are on the brink of so many breakthroughs in Science and Medicine right now and what we allow or don't allow is certainly going to come back to bite us in the behind if we are not careful. Who we choose to put in charge right now, is tremendously important. So, I don't believe this is the time to vote with your emotions. Vote for the one who you honestly think, can do the best for our country. We need a leader right now, not a dreamer. We are way past Camelot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2662205566972731813?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2662205566972731813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2662205566972731813' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2662205566972731813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2662205566972731813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/will-real-leader-please-stand-up.html' title='WILL THE REAL LEADER, PLEASE STAND UP'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGb7flYBykI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/ZBJa2UkNg9U/s72-c/john-william-waterhouse-gather-ye-rosebuds.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-4299772701722226889</id><published>2008-07-11T13:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:22.519-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='declutter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dealing with stress'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='clutter'/><title type='text'>DECLUTTER YOUR LIFE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHVvFCyf76I/AAAAAAAAAN4/TlqGoBe_Jqc/s1600-h/5782_funny_chicken_on_a_chopping_block.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHVvFCyf76I/AAAAAAAAAN4/TlqGoBe_Jqc/s400/5782_funny_chicken_on_a_chopping_block.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221201475444666274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait, don't put your head on the chopping block,,,don't give up,,,I can help you.  De-clutter, that's the answer! You can find more time and live a less stressed filled life, if you are not overrun with things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have decided to declutter my life...again. I gave it a good try, a few years ago when I got rid of all the clutter in my kitchen.  Who really needs two of anything in the kitchen? I mean, if one goes out or breaks, don't I believe we will be able to acquire another? Where's my faith? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many books can I really hope to read in my lifetime? I'm not talking special books here. I mean those on stained glass and upholstery. I won't ever get around to either of those things. Others that should go are those I think I should read, but never will. And clothes I never wear but keep because they were expensive or someone gave them to me, but I am just not the cowgirl or classic type. Some I even bought for myself, which can be filed under, "What was I thinking?". I am going to get rid of them. And those Nick knacks that I dust and dust and don't like anymore. Out with them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have clutter in other places in my life too. I find myself worrying about the same old thing, day after day? Either I should do something about it or have the wisdom to accept things the way they are. I should not clutter my mind with hopeless causes. Billy is never going to become less of a pack rat, just because I nag him. He loves free things. What can I say? I guess it means he is frugal but sometimes it borders on insanity. See my other blog on garden globes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now how about that body? When am I going to get on the ball and do those exercises I know I need to do to stay healthy? Or lose that weight? I do exercise but so far I am in no shape to exercise. LOL....Does vacuuming count as aerobic exercise? I really need to push more. And those same pounds I gained in the Winter are still hanging around. I usually start dieting at the first sign of Summer. What we have been hiding under jackets, becomes really out there, come Spring and Summer! I am going to work on losing that extra blubber clutter, starting now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; TOUCH YOUR TOES&lt;br /&gt;AND TOUCH YOUR TOES &lt;br /&gt;AND WISH YOU SKIPPED THOSE OREO'S.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-4299772701722226889?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/4299772701722226889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=4299772701722226889' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4299772701722226889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4299772701722226889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/declutter-your-life.html' title='DECLUTTER YOUR LIFE'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHVvFCyf76I/AAAAAAAAAN4/TlqGoBe_Jqc/s72-c/5782_funny_chicken_on_a_chopping_block.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2967874163857503475</id><published>2008-07-09T17:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:22.793-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='painting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='christina&apos;s world'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Andrew wyeth'/><title type='text'>CHRISTINA'S WORLD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHVIvWSjLiI/AAAAAAAAANw/CAEBvGNLYeY/s1600-h/Andrew+Wyeth,+Christina"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221159321280392738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHVIvWSjLiI/AAAAAAAAANw/CAEBvGNLYeY/s400/Andrew+Wyeth,+Christina%27s+World_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always loved this painting by Andrew Wyeth. It intrigues me. Why does she look so alone? She looks so thin, too thin. Since we cannot see her face, it is mysterious. Is she just looking back after she took a walk and just resting.... is she frightened of something? Is she crying or unhappy or is she happy and just enjoying lying in the fields? How old or young is she? She looks on the young side in the picture. Is she a real person or was she born in the mind of the artist? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I decided to do some research and found that Christina Olson was a real person. She was born May 3, 1893 and died January 27, 1968. Except for the last two months of her life, she lived her entire life in the house on the hill in the painting. She lived there with her parents until they died and then lived there with her younger brother Al until they both had to finally leave the family home in November 1967 because of health reasons. Christina was somewhat of a cripple but her problem was never diagnosed. In spite of that, she lived a happy life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The house is located on a hill at Hawthorn Point on the coast of Maine at Cushing. Today, the house is preserved as a tourist attraction. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2967874163857503475?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2967874163857503475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2967874163857503475' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2967874163857503475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2967874163857503475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/christinas-world.html' title='CHRISTINA&apos;S WORLD'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHVIvWSjLiI/AAAAAAAAANw/CAEBvGNLYeY/s72-c/Andrew+Wyeth,+Christina%27s+World_edited.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-204015796552235922</id><published>2008-07-07T20:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:23.244-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing older'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feeling good'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dealing with stress'/><title type='text'>GROWING OLDER AND BETTER</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHLR8-tUbII/AAAAAAAAANU/6pbjNk11fX0/s1600-h/ms++++gulf+coast.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220465763631262850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHLR8-tUbII/AAAAAAAAANU/6pbjNk11fX0/s320/ms++++gulf+coast.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; That is a picture of the Beautiful MS Gulf Coast. Where I have lived since 1970 and it is this sight that people come from miles around to see. I am blessed to be living here and very grateful. It is hard to be unhappy for long, in a place like this.  There is something about the splashing waves and the crying of the Seagulls, that just restores your soul and brings peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started this  blog on growing older and how I deal with it, in an effort to put growing older in perspective. I wanted to share my memories and maybe touch a common chord with others about growing older. Growing old is not for sissies that's for sure. Sharing your feelings with others who may be trying to come to grips with the same things you are, does help. I try not to live in the past, but I find my mind wonders back there from time to time, back to good memories. That is not to say, that I don't have bad ones, I do, but they are not the ones that define me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find that after all is said and done, I have had a good life. I have regrets of course, things I could have handled better but you can't change things by beating yourself up.  We need to stop throwing up camp around our mistakes and move on.  Looking back on the "could have, should haves" is no way to spend the precious time we are given. We never know what lies beyond the mountain, till we reach the other side, so I'll just keep on practicing  until I&lt;br /&gt;get it right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Along the way I have learned not to sweat the small stuff, and it truly is mostly small stuff we stress over. I try to find something I can feel good about each day and if the day is not perfect, that's okay. God never promised us an easy journey, just a soft landing. I have a deep emotional bond to my dysfunctional life. LOL...so I sure don't plan on checking out any time soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-204015796552235922?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/204015796552235922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=204015796552235922' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/204015796552235922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/204015796552235922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/growing-older-and-better.html' title='GROWING OLDER AND BETTER'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SHLR8-tUbII/AAAAAAAAANU/6pbjNk11fX0/s72-c/ms++++gulf+coast.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-4454271548237840333</id><published>2008-07-07T13:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:23.419-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='washing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good old days'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old spice'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='certain smells'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='clothes line'/><title type='text'>SMELLS THAT BRING BACK A MEMORY</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGftyDKhMAI/AAAAAAAAAHo/yP9jOmIzfDc/s1600-h/wash_day_b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGftyDKhMAI/AAAAAAAAAHo/yP9jOmIzfDc/s400/wash_day_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217400137430675458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Painting by Michael Bingham&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once in a while, there is a sweet smell that wafts in so softly, I'm not sure if it is real or a memory. The smell of lavender comes out of nowhere. I will be reading in my chair by the window or lying in bed, after the lights are out, and there it is. I am sure there is an explanation for this, but I don't know what it is. It triggers a very distant memory of bright white, clean sheets hanging in the Sun on a clothesline. I think it is my Aunt's clean linens I am remembering. Although I can no longer see the face clearly, I still remember scraps of things, from that time spent with an Aunt. I stayed with her during the Summer,  because she lived in the country and I loved it. I think of her, when I smell lavender.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The smell of brown sugar reminds me of Saturday mornings and my Mama's homemade caramel rolls.  Since Mama worked hard all week as a spinner in a cotton mill, this was the only time we got to spend with her. We were allowed to have coffee to go with our rolls, if we put more milk than coffee in the cup. The smell of that brown sugar and hot, buttery smell, was more than I could bear. I loved her homemade rolls. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Billy says there was a large, red clay, pit down from where our home is now, when he was a child. After it rains, you can sometimes smell the clay...That triggers a memory for me. We used to play on a large red clay, hill, when I was growing up....That hill is huge in my memory but it probably wasn't all that big. We took large cardboard boxes and flattened them out and slid down that hill on our stomachs, rather like those lucky enough to have snow will do with their sleds. Our cardboard sleds were great to us. We didn't know about snow,,,being born in Mississippi...but we knew that a red clay hill was shiny and slick from all the years of kids sliding down it. After a rain, we had to wait for the Sun to bake it again, but in the South, that happens quickly. We would play on that hill all Summer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The smell of Old Spice shaving lotion, always reminds me of an Uncle. We called him Uncle Dude. I think he got that name because he raised horses and trained them. He would put me up on a horses back once the horse got used to the blanket and lead me around in the fenced in area where he trained his horses. Mama would have killed him if she had known about it. He said I was so light, the horse hardly knew I was there and it got them use to having a rider. I don't know about that, I just thought it was fun. I can smell that Old Spice today, every time I am around horses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Certain smells brings back pictures as clear as photographs of scenes. Like the smell of cedar brings back my Grandmother's cedar chest to my mind. They have left the conscious mind but they are not forgotten. As long as we have our memories, people and places live on. Maybe we never forget anything. There is no proof that we forget. Maybe it is all still there just waiting for a smell, a taste or sound, to bring it all back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-4454271548237840333?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/4454271548237840333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=4454271548237840333' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4454271548237840333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4454271548237840333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/smells-that-bring-back-memory.html' title='SMELLS THAT BRING BACK A MEMORY'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGftyDKhMAI/AAAAAAAAAHo/yP9jOmIzfDc/s72-c/wash_day_b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3772393747207181287</id><published>2008-07-06T12:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:23.591-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='open door'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='t.s. eliot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='painting'/><title type='text'>OPEN DOORS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SG2azOwTCBI/AAAAAAAAAME/uD9gcuNRi6Q/s1600-h/The_Open_Door.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SG2azOwTCBI/AAAAAAAAAME/uD9gcuNRi6Q/s400/The_Open_Door.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218997748116949010" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Open Door" A lovely painting by Shirley Reade&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Footfalls echo in the memory&lt;br /&gt;Down the passage which we did not take&lt;br /&gt;Towards the door we never opened&lt;br /&gt;~T.S. Eliot&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3772393747207181287?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3772393747207181287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3772393747207181287' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3772393747207181287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3772393747207181287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/open-doors.html' title='OPEN DOORS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SG2azOwTCBI/AAAAAAAAAME/uD9gcuNRi6Q/s72-c/The_Open_Door.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-8188481251882688448</id><published>2008-07-05T12:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:23.751-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats with attitude'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lazy cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleeping cats'/><title type='text'>CATS AND ATTITUDE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGvjOjKbOWI/AAAAAAAAAKM/dPQkJD67u3Q/s1600-h/Shad.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGvjOjKbOWI/AAAAAAAAAKM/dPQkJD67u3Q/s400/Shad.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218514432335493474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see that cat glaring at you? That is my little boy cat, Shad. He does not like his picture taken. Billy tried to sneak up on him and shoot him through the sliding glass door, but he still didn't like it. His usually perky ears are laid back and his expression leaves no doubt what he thinks about this. He is probably mad about being woke up from one of those 20 hour naps he takes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing about cats, we don't adopt them, they adopt us. They may not be best buddies with the "ones who owns them", preferring the company of their neighbors. I had to keep telling my little Pepper, "Okay, now look here, you are "my" cat. You do not belong to the boy next door, who gives you way too many treats in an effort to alienate your affections". LOL... Every time I looked next door, there was my cat on his back porch. And he always smelled of tuna. That boy finally found a wife and transferred his love to her I guess, because Pepper started staying home after a while. If you don't have a steady supply of tuna, you don't get his love. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I love cat pics on other people's blogs. They always look gorgeous and so neat and such pretty manners. Mine are not like that. I have two more other than Shad. A little girl named Mesha (see avtar) and another little boy named Pepper. None of them will hold still for a camera shot,,well not one I can use. They always seem to be washing their bottoms when I try to shoot them. I can get a picture, if I want one of a glaring cat (see above pic), which I don't. I don't expect them to smile, for Heaven's sake, but would it hurt them to look pleasant for a second? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the two boys, never "do" anything, just lay around and sleep. I mean, how much of your life can you sleep away? Don't they have any ambition in life? The little girl, Mesha, their sister, is quite active. She will climb trees, hunt for things in the grass, look up at birds, you know, cat things, but those boys, just eat, sleep, and scratch the backs of chairs, and throw up on the floor. OH, and wash their bottoms. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have three small porches. It is an unquestioned fact that the back belongs to Billy and his smoker and grill, the front is mine for my flowers and the side porch is claimed by the cats. They all have their favorite spot. Pepper, who will be four soon,... if I let him,,walks around on the top rail and terrifies me. Billy keeps telling me, he is a cat and if he falls, he will be fine. I don't know about that. I know they are &lt;em&gt;supposed&lt;/em&gt; to land on their feet, but what if Pepper was out to lunch the day they got the memo? It would be just like him. He did jump off the top of the back porch railing onto Mesha and broke his foot and hurt her front legs a couple of years ago. That is the day, he found out, he cannot fly.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mesha, being the little lady, will lay on the steps, while keeping an eye on the boys. They just love to come by and pop her on the head. Shad likes to lay under or around anything that is available. His favorite place at the present time, is under a little table that is not big enough for him to get under, but he somehow does and anything on it goes flying. Of course when That happens,,Pepper jumps down on Mesha, who screams and runs off, while Shad picks his self up from the broken pot or whatever and walks off without a how-de-do, as if he didn't cause all the commotion in the first place. This takes place over and over and will, until I remember to get rid of the table. But of course if you have cats, you full well know, they will find some other way to get in trouble.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-8188481251882688448?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/8188481251882688448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=8188481251882688448' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8188481251882688448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8188481251882688448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/cats-and-attitude.html' title='CATS AND ATTITUDE'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGvjOjKbOWI/AAAAAAAAAKM/dPQkJD67u3Q/s72-c/Shad.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-4357952868668641082</id><published>2008-07-04T12:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:24.101-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='independance day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='American flag'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='America'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fourth of july'/><title type='text'>HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGzFQzZD9kI/AAAAAAAAALs/jE7QpF2-z6s/s1600-h/Fourth-Of-July-Print-C10094245.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGzFQzZD9kI/AAAAAAAAALs/jE7QpF2-z6s/s400/Fourth-Of-July-Print-C10094245.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218762960679466562" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a wonderful and safe Fourth, everyone&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ragged Old Flag"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked through a county courthouse square&lt;br /&gt;On a park bench, an old man was sittin' there.&lt;br /&gt;I said, "Your old court house is kinda run down, &lt;br /&gt;He said, "Naw, it'll do for our little town". &lt;br /&gt;I said, "Your old flag pole is leaned a little bit, &lt;br /&gt;And that's a ragged old flag you got hangin' on it".&lt;br /&gt;He said, "Have a seat", and I sat down, &lt;br /&gt;"Is this the first time you've been to our little town"&lt;br /&gt;I said, "I think it is"&lt;br /&gt;He said "I don't like to brag, but we're kinda proud of&lt;br /&gt;That Ragged Old Flag&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You see, we got a little hole in that flag there,&lt;br /&gt;When Washington took it across the Delaware.&lt;br /&gt;and It got powder burned the night Francis Scott Key sat watching it, &lt;br /&gt;writing "Say Can You See"&lt;br /&gt;It got a rip in New Orleans, with Packingham &amp; Jackson&lt;br /&gt;tugging at its seams.&lt;br /&gt;and It almost fell at the Alamo &lt;br /&gt;beside the Texas flag,&lt;br /&gt;But she waved on though.&lt;br /&gt;She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville,&lt;br /&gt;And she got cut again at Shiloh Hill.&lt;br /&gt;There was Robert E. Lee and Beauregard and Bragg,&lt;br /&gt;And the south wind blew hard on&lt;br /&gt;That Ragged Old Flag&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On Flanders Field in World War I,&lt;br /&gt;She got a big hole from a Bertha Gun,&lt;br /&gt;She turned blood red in World War II&lt;br /&gt;She hung limp, and low, a time or two,&lt;br /&gt;She was in Korea, Vietnam, She went where she was sent&lt;br /&gt;by her Uncle Sam.&lt;br /&gt;She waved from our ships upon the briny foam&lt;br /&gt;and now they've about quit wavin' back here at home&lt;br /&gt;in her own good land here She's been abused,&lt;br /&gt;She's been burned, dishonored, denied an' refused,&lt;br /&gt;And the government for which she stands&lt;br /&gt;Has been scandalized throughout out the land.&lt;br /&gt;And she's getting thread bare, and she's wearin' thin,&lt;br /&gt;But she's in good shape, for the shape she's in.&lt;br /&gt;Cause she's been through the fire before&lt;br /&gt;and i believe she can take a whole lot more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So we raise her up every morning&lt;br /&gt;And we bring her down slow every night,&lt;br /&gt;We don't let her touch the ground,&lt;br /&gt;And we fold her up right.&lt;br /&gt;On second thought&lt;br /&gt;I *do* like to brag&lt;br /&gt;Cause I'm mighty proud of&lt;br /&gt;That Ragged Old Flag"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-4357952868668641082?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/4357952868668641082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=4357952868668641082' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4357952868668641082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4357952868668641082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/happy-birthday-america.html' title='HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGzFQzZD9kI/AAAAAAAAALs/jE7QpF2-z6s/s72-c/Fourth-Of-July-Print-C10094245.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-974633362559716609</id><published>2008-07-03T09:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:24.346-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garden bench'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garden seat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gardening'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garden'/><title type='text'>GARDEN BENCHES</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGzdp1qjmxI/AAAAAAAAAL8/52F8n53I7OA/s1600-h/8876~The-Garden-Bench-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGzdp1qjmxI/AAAAAAAAAL8/52F8n53I7OA/s400/8876~The-Garden-Bench-Posters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218789779065510674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE GARDEN BENCH BY James Tissot  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fully intend, one of these days, to learn how to use all those woodworking tools, I begged Billy to buy me. I want to make window boxes and trellises and a bench...a bench that future generations will marvel over and copy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I have been planning this bench for a long time. I know just how I want it to look. I have a very old one now, that is going to need new wood soon, but for now, I love the fact that it still has it's first wood and as long as I don't fall through, I am keeping it that way. The iron frame is holding up well too. I also have a large plastic one that holds all my organic fertilizer and tools. It is not pretty or old,,just practical. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the one I am going to build is going to be a bench that would look good in "The Secret Garden". It will look very old, of course.  I just have one little problem. I am terrified of anything that can cut my arm off. Screwdrivers, drills,,,,I'm your woman, but a saw,,a skill saw?,,,that is a whole other thing. I am making it my firm intention to learn how to use that thing...hmm..I almost said, "even if it kills me"......already I am chickening out. Maybe I'll just get Billy to cut the pieces and then I will put it together. That sounds like a good plan.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-974633362559716609?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/974633362559716609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=974633362559716609' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/974633362559716609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/974633362559716609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/garden-benches_611.html' title='GARDEN BENCHES'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGzdp1qjmxI/AAAAAAAAAL8/52F8n53I7OA/s72-c/8876~The-Garden-Bench-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6301326197258728628</id><published>2008-07-02T13:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:24.673-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childhood books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boxcar children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children&apos;s books'/><title type='text'>CHILDHOOD BOOKS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGrT0jWkOBI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/GU-st4sPeZQ/s1600-h/Young+girl+reading.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGrT0jWkOBI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/GU-st4sPeZQ/s400/Young+girl+reading.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218216018058688530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Jean-Honoré Fragonard painting. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I was thinking about the books I read as a child.  I remember my favorite book was The Boxcar Children. This novel tells the story of four orphaned children who run away from their grandfather and start a new life of independence in an abandoned boxcar. For some reason, that totally fascinated me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon the death of their mother and father, their grandfather assumes custody of the children, but they run away because they believe him to be cruel. Finding an abandoned boxcar, they start a new life of independence. A man named Dr. Moore, who lives in a nearby city, hires Henry to do jobs around his home, such as mowing the lawn and organizing his garage. With the help of Henry's income and living off the land, the children are able to take care of themselves until Violet becomes ill and they must go to Dr. Moore for assistance. This is when they meet their Grandfather and all ends well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were a lot of mysteries in this series and probably the reason I loved them. I graduated to Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys. Then I discovered Agatha Christie. I still reread these whenever I find them. Of course I don't tell anyone, they would think I was nuts. A grown woman reading a children's book! I had a good excuse for a while though. I sold books on eBay for a few years and grabbed up every one of these I could find. I would read them first and then sell them. : )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most requested books from my buyers, were the beautifully illustrated ones,  Beatrix Potter, Kate Greenaway and anything with Tasha Tudor illustrations... Tasha touched my heart not only for her lovely art work but her lifestyle. She chose to live a simple life without the baggage of material things that can tie you down..she chose to dress mostly in 1800's style attire and to carry on her life in a simple manner without a whole lot of what we call "modern convenience". She loved plants and animals. They inspired and nurtured her. She died in June of this year at the age of 92. Her beautiful pictures will live after her, thrilling children and grown ups alike for years to come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6301326197258728628?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6301326197258728628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6301326197258728628' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6301326197258728628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6301326197258728628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/childhood-books.html' title='CHILDHOOD BOOKS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGrT0jWkOBI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/GU-st4sPeZQ/s72-c/Young+girl+reading.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2271382959166201564</id><published>2008-07-01T13:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:24.869-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good old days'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grandmother'/><title type='text'>MEMORIES OF MY GRANDMOTHER</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGb2IlcsPWI/AAAAAAAAAHI/niq8Si5u4VA/s1600-h/Grandmother-Print-C10079704.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGb2IlcsPWI/AAAAAAAAAHI/niq8Si5u4VA/s400/Grandmother-Print-C10079704.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217127845707136354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember very little about my Daddy's Mother. She died when I was young. I do remember her giving me and my sister, those little Hershey kisses in the shape of a teardrop, wrapped in silver tinfoil. She always had these for us. She kept them in a cedar chest with all her treasures. They were in a beautiful tin box that had these embossed birds, in jewel tones, on the top. I didn't know they were embossed at the time, but looking back as an adult, I can remember that box. It was beautiful. The candy always had the taste and smell of cedar. We loved to visit her, not because of the candy but because she was so sweet and caring. Even as kids, we knew this was a special lady. I wish I knew more about her. It is a big loss to me to have so few Grandmother memories. My Mother's Mama died before I was born and I don't recall ever meeting her Daddy. He might have been dead too. We never talked about him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They tell me, my Grandfather was never the same after Grandmother's death. He lived with us for a while but one day, he just wasn't there. Daddy said he had to put him in a place where they could help him because he couldn't be left alone and both Daddy and Mama worked. I missed him and I understood why he missed my Grandmother so much. She had a lovely, serene way about her. A delicate way of talking and walking, and she dressed always in these soft, pastel colors. A real Southern lady.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2271382959166201564?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2271382959166201564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2271382959166201564' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2271382959166201564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2271382959166201564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/07/memories-of-my-grandmother.html' title='MEMORIES OF MY GRANDMOTHER'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGb2IlcsPWI/AAAAAAAAAHI/niq8Si5u4VA/s72-c/Grandmother-Print-C10079704.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-2813892536287150751</id><published>2008-06-30T15:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:24.978-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good old days'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old boyfriends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chocolate'/><title type='text'>OLD BOYFRIENDS AND CHOCOLATE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGcmxbvLnZI/AAAAAAAAAHg/zpg1G4o2ddY/s1600-h/fresa+y+chocolate.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGcmxbvLnZI/AAAAAAAAAHg/zpg1G4o2ddY/s400/fresa+y+chocolate.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217181324033105298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh sure. &lt;strong&gt;Now &lt;/strong&gt;I have your attention. What is it about chocolate that just makes all women a little crazy. I will totally desert a diet, for a piece of chocolate. I once went out with this boy  who came to my door bearing a box of chocolates and a bunch of wildflowers, even though I wasn't really "in to him" as they say nowadays. But he turned my head with my favorite two things. Pure manipulation on his part and my best friend, who was cupid to everyone. He turned out to be really nice though and I dated him for a while. He did have a big drawback for me and I know it is a shallow thing but he was working for his Dad who owned the local funeral parlor. As cute as he was and as nice, I just could not get past that part. I hope he married someone who appreciated him and wasn't quite as shallow and squeamish as me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I can't reflect on old boyfriends too much on this blog,,you never know who might be reading and some things are just best left to the past. Besides, I found the one who God probably intended for me, but when I get to Heaven, I am going to ask God a few questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Like, why this man can not ever find anything in his closet when it is right their in front of him? Why does he constantly keep tyring to have the last word, when he knows it just ain't gonna happen? Why does he stand and stare at meat in the grocery store? What fascinates him so much? I swear the last time we were in there, he stood for five minutes looking at meat while I shopped. Then, I looked over and there were two other men,,in total rapture over the meat case...So if women are attracted to chocolate and just like looking at it, even when we can't have it,,(that perpetual diet thing),,,,then I guess men feel the same addiction about meat. No wonder we have trouble understanding one another.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-2813892536287150751?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/2813892536287150751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=2813892536287150751' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2813892536287150751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/2813892536287150751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/old-boyfriends-and-chocolate.html' title='OLD BOYFRIENDS AND CHOCOLATE'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGcmxbvLnZI/AAAAAAAAAHg/zpg1G4o2ddY/s72-c/fresa+y+chocolate.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6448924131855907577</id><published>2008-06-29T15:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:25.001-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old spice'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lavender'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='red clay'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wash day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='smells'/><title type='text'>SMELLS THAT BRING BACK A MEMEORY</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGftyDKhMAI/AAAAAAAAAHo/yP9jOmIzfDc/s1600-h/wash_day_b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGftyDKhMAI/AAAAAAAAAHo/yP9jOmIzfDc/s400/wash_day_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217400137430675458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once in a while, there is a sweet smell that wafts in so softly, I'm not sure if it is real or a memory. The smell of lavender comes out of nowhere. I will be reading in my chair by the window or lying in bed, after the lights are out, and there it is. I am sure there is an explanation for this, but I don't know what it is. It triggers a very distant memory of bright white, clean sheets hanging in the Sun on a clothesline. I think it is my Aunt's clean linens I am remembering. Although I can no longer see the face clearly, I still remember scraps of things, from that time spent with an Aunt. I stayed with her during the Summer,  because she lived in the country and I loved it. I think of her, when I smell lavender.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The smell of brown sugar reminds me of Saturday mornings and my Mama's homemade caramel rolls.  Since Mama worked hard all week as a spinner in a cotton mill, this was the only time we got to spend with her. We were allowed to have coffee to go with our rolls, if we put more milk than coffee in the cup. The smell of that brown sugar and hot, buttery smell, was more than I could bear. I loved her homemade rolls. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Billy says there was a large, red clay, pit down from where our home is now, when he was a child. After it rains, you can sometimes smell the clay...That triggers a memory for me. We used to play on a large red clay, hill, when I was growing up....That hill is huge in my memory but it probably wasn't all that big. We took large cardboard boxes and flattened them out and slid down that hill on our stomachs, rather like those lucky enough to have snow will do with their sleds. Our cardboard sleds were great to us. We didn't know about snow,,,being born in Mississippi...but we knew that a red clay hill was shiny and slick from all the years of kids sliding down it. After a rain, we had to wait for the Sun to bake it again, but in the South, that happens quickly. We would play on that hill all Summer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The smell of Old Spice shaving lotion, always reminds me of an Uncle. We called him Uncle Dude. I think he got that name because he raised horses and trained them. He would put me up on a horses back once the horse got used to the blanket and lead me around in the fenced in area where he trained his horses. Mama would have killed him if she had known about it. He said I was so light, the horse hardly knew I was there and it got them use to having a rider. I don't know about that, I just thought it was fun. I can smell that Old Spice today, every time I am around horses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Certain smells brings back pictures as clear as photographs of scenes. Like the smell of cedar brings back my Grandmother's cedar chest to my mind. They have left the conscious mind but they are not forgotten. As long as we have our memories, people and places live on. Maybe we never forget anything. There is no proof that we forget. Maybe it is all still there just waiting for a smell, a taste or sound, to bring it all back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6448924131855907577?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6448924131855907577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6448924131855907577' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6448924131855907577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6448924131855907577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/smells-that-bring-back-memeory.html' title='SMELLS THAT BRING BACK A MEMEORY'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGftyDKhMAI/AAAAAAAAAHo/yP9jOmIzfDc/s72-c/wash_day_b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6148654675633344643</id><published>2008-06-28T15:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:26.238-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rich Mullins'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mercy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prayer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gospel'/><title type='text'>THAT PLACE WHERE MERCY LEADS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGaZT9ayF1I/AAAAAAAAAGg/MoxNJ-G4u3A/s1600-h/TCH20012~Shades-of-Summer-I-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGaZT9ayF1I/AAAAAAAAAGg/MoxNJ-G4u3A/s320/TCH20012~Shades-of-Summer-I-Posters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217025786538760018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we can reach&lt;br /&gt;Beyond the wisdom of this age, into the foolishness of God&lt;br /&gt;That foolishness will save those who believe&lt;br /&gt;And though their foolish hearts may break, they will find peace&lt;br /&gt;And I'll meet you in that place where mercy leads&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Rich Mullins, Brother's Keeper, "Let Mercy Lead"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have taken up residence in that place where mercy leads, many years ago. It is a lovely place to be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6148654675633344643?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6148654675633344643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6148654675633344643' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6148654675633344643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6148654675633344643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/if-we-can-reach-beyond-wisdom-of-this.html' title='THAT PLACE WHERE MERCY LEADS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGaZT9ayF1I/AAAAAAAAAGg/MoxNJ-G4u3A/s72-c/TCH20012~Shades-of-Summer-I-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6643570777277664313</id><published>2008-06-27T14:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:26.846-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='forties'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jadite'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='china'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='anchor hocking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='recipe'/><title type='text'>MACARONI AND CHEESE SALAD AND JADITE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGVHLQjZwcI/AAAAAAAAAGI/U-ArL6n3J4E/s1600-h/DSCN1884_edited.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGVHLQjZwcI/AAAAAAAAAGI/U-ArL6n3J4E/s320/DSCN1884_edited.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216654002126176706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This recipe came about because of all the tomatoes I have coming out of the garden. I am trying to find ways of using them. It is a change from my regular macaroni salad and Billy really liked it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 cups cooked macaroni&lt;br /&gt;2 large tomatoes, chopped&lt;br /&gt;Cheddar cheese, cut in small cubes( any amount that you like, I used 4 ounces)&lt;br /&gt;2 or 3 chopped green onions &lt;br /&gt;1 &amp;1/2 cups mayonnaise or more,,depends on how wet you like it&lt;br /&gt;2 boiled eggs,,chopped&lt;br /&gt;Bacon bits,,,as many you would like,,,I use 1/4 of one of the small jars&lt;br /&gt;1 level TBS of Italian salad dressing, the dry kind in the envelope&lt;br /&gt;1 level TBS of Ranch, Buttermilk dressing,,the dry kind in the envelope &lt;br /&gt;Salt and pepper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preparation:&lt;br /&gt;Cook macaroni as directed on package, drain and cool. Mix with the rest of the ingredients. Add Mayo to macaroni mixture; toss lightly. Chill and serve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This makes enough for around 8 servings as a side dish,,,,, it keeps well and makes a great lunch or snack. I think it actually taste better the next day. You can of course, leave out the salad dressing mixes, if you like a less spicy dish, it will still be good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGVEuZnAVMI/AAAAAAAAAGA/1-_dw_a9ztM/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGVEuZnAVMI/AAAAAAAAAGA/1-_dw_a9ztM/s320/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216651307317744834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Another bonus to this dish, is it gives me a reason for showing off my pretty Jadite bowl. Now the bowl is mine, unlike that beautiuful pitcher there. I wish I owned it. It is really hard to capture the pretty color of the bowl with my cheapie camera but I gave it a try.  My Sister in law collects Jadite but I only have a few pieces. I remember Mama putting her potato salad in a big Jadite bowl. I have one exactly like hers but I wish I had hers. It was broken a long time ago by two little kids who should have known better than to walk on their Tom walkers in the house. : ) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back when it was produced, Jadite was by no means considered fine china. On the contrary, Jadite “Restaurant Ware” (as it was called) was produced very cheaply and in mass quantities, and it outfitted military bases, school cafeterias, and diners at the time because its durability was unmatched by clay or porcelain dishware.&lt;br /&gt;Anchor Hocking also manufactured less heavy patterns of Jadite for use in the home, and this was often given away in sets as part of promotions in drug stores and department stores. You know, something like, “Buy your linens here at Ricardo's department Store and get a fifty-piece set of Jadite for free!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was also given out at service stations as a bonus for buying your gas there. It's a toss up which is worth more today,,,that set of Jadite or the gas!!! Mama wasn't upset at all. She was more upset about the potato salad on the floor. Times do change!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6643570777277664313?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6643570777277664313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6643570777277664313' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6643570777277664313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6643570777277664313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/macaroni-and-cheese-salad-and-jadite.html' title='MACARONI AND CHEESE SALAD AND JADITE'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGVHLQjZwcI/AAAAAAAAAGI/U-ArL6n3J4E/s72-c/DSCN1884_edited.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7654927320906934713</id><published>2008-06-26T12:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:26.999-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good old days'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flowers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elvis'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garden'/><title type='text'>MEMORIES OF ELVIS AND FLOWERS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGKkk-tI93I/AAAAAAAAAFo/lF7BoRyHHXA/s1600-h/canterbury%2520bells%2520wildflower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGKkk-tI93I/AAAAAAAAAFo/lF7BoRyHHXA/s320/canterbury%2520bells%2520wildflower.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215912273663031154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always loved the song "Memories" and Elvis sings it better than anyone. This is a picture of Canterbury bells, a lovely wildflower. I remember playing around these flowers growing up in Mississippi and I'll bet Elvis would remember them too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind&lt;br /&gt;Memories, sweetened thru the ages just like wine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quiet thought come floating down&lt;br /&gt;And settle softly to the ground&lt;br /&gt;Like golden autumn leaves around my feet&lt;br /&gt;I touched them and they burst apart with sweet memories,&lt;br /&gt;Sweet memories&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of holding hands and red bouquets&lt;br /&gt;And twilight trimmed in purple haze&lt;br /&gt;And laughing eyes and simple ways&lt;br /&gt;And quiet nights and gentle days with you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind&lt;br /&gt;Memories, sweetened thru the ages just like wine,&lt;br /&gt;Memories, memories, sweet memories&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AqecIazxkxA&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AqecIazxkxA&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7654927320906934713?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7654927320906934713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7654927320906934713' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7654927320906934713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7654927320906934713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/memories-of-elvis-and-flowers.html' title='MEMORIES OF ELVIS AND FLOWERS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGKkk-tI93I/AAAAAAAAAFo/lF7BoRyHHXA/s72-c/canterbury%2520bells%2520wildflower.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-8510745548161532032</id><published>2008-06-25T14:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:27.257-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grecian windflower'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='anemones'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flowers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gardening'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='garden'/><title type='text'>GRECIAN WINDFLOWERS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGGzQP8RIpI/AAAAAAAAAFM/iUovvAiJQ-4/s1600-h/John_William_Waterhouse_Windflower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGGzQP8RIpI/AAAAAAAAAFM/iUovvAiJQ-4/s200/John_William_Waterhouse_Windflower.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215646935210336914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grecian Windflowers are the pretty flowers in this picture. I have always loved Waterhouse, he is a fantastic artist and I love these flowers, so this picture is one of my favorites by him. You may know this better as an anemone and the most commonly available one is Grecian Windflower. Just click on the picture to enlarge.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-8510745548161532032?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/8510745548161532032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=8510745548161532032' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8510745548161532032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/8510745548161532032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/grecian-windflowers.html' title='GRECIAN WINDFLOWERS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SGGzQP8RIpI/AAAAAAAAAFM/iUovvAiJQ-4/s72-c/John_William_Waterhouse_Windflower.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7254953916146339067</id><published>2008-06-24T12:07:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:27.489-06:00</updated><title type='text'>ON  TIRE  AND PORCH SWINGS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SF3HSRkzdqI/AAAAAAAAAD8/hM4HaQlOhlw/s1600-h/TireSwing+this+one.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SF3HSRkzdqI/AAAAAAAAAD8/hM4HaQlOhlw/s320/TireSwing+this+one.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214543060334245538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you like to go up in a swing, &lt;br /&gt;Up in the air so blue? &lt;br /&gt;Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing &lt;br /&gt;Ever a child can do! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Up in the air and over the wall, &lt;br /&gt;Till I can see so wide, &lt;br /&gt;Rivers and trees and cattle and all &lt;br /&gt;Over the countryside - &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till I look down on the garden green, &lt;br /&gt;Down on the roof so brown - &lt;br /&gt;Up in the air I go flying again, &lt;br /&gt;Up in the air and down! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Robert Louis Stevenson &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran across this poem today and it reminded me of the tire swings we had when I was a child. Funny you don't see swings anymore but when I was little, every yard had either a tire swing or a rope swing with a wooden seat. Even the grown-ups had swings on the front porch and used them. They were not there just for decoration, like they are today. I think people in the South still use them quite a bit,,,especially if you live in the country. But you never see anyone in the cities, sitting on their porches. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Swings were once, the place to be, after Supper in the evening. You fought over the swing, otherwise you had to sit on the steps or in a rocking chair. Many a cat had his tail shortened because of rocking chairs,,but that's another story altogether. I think Air conditioners are great but they did stop people from getting to know their neighbors better. When we walked down the street back then in the evening, we could visit with all the neighbors sitting on their front porch to keep cool. Many a romance bloomed in a porch swing afer the grown-ups went inside.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But back to the tire swing....We would swing for hours. I would push a while and then my Sister would push high enough to make me scream...yes she did...she loved me but torturing me was her favorite past time. I am sure I am not the only little sister that was tortured in that way. LOL They boys sat on the top or stood if they were brave and had someone push them. Skinned knees and elbows happened a lot when they fell..but I don't remember any serious damage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't get first dibs on the tire though. Grandma did. She would cut them in half and use them as watering troughs for her chickens. Someone on my garden blog, mentioned using them as planters. I believe I have seem them somewhere, but they paint them white, I think....If she didn't need it then we got it to roll up and down hills. We would get inside that tire somehow by winding ourselves around inside and then let a buddy roll us down the hill. Then when it was really worn out, we would take it to Daddy and he would make us a swing. He took hemp rope and ran it through the tire and hung it over a strong limb. There it was and not a dime spent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I saw what passes for a tire swing on the Internet the other day. It was in the shape of a pony and one was in the shape of a duck..they were black and looked like rubber and very expensive. They were trying to duplicate that great swing but the spirit was just not there  I am sure the kids who have one of those, love them but not in the same way we did. We were there at the birth of that tire,,we knew it's history.......New ones in the shape of animals are just not the same. Out plan Was to "Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without"....Paying money for one just seems wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7254953916146339067?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7254953916146339067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7254953916146339067' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7254953916146339067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7254953916146339067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/old-tire-swing_24.html' title='ON  TIRE  AND PORCH SWINGS'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SF3HSRkzdqI/AAAAAAAAAD8/hM4HaQlOhlw/s72-c/TireSwing+this+one.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-5399295432841617744</id><published>2008-06-23T11:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:27.612-06:00</updated><title type='text'>HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SF7t3qcHnII/AAAAAAAAAEU/ugdADVF_xpo/s1600-h/Card_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SF7t3qcHnII/AAAAAAAAAEU/ugdADVF_xpo/s320/Card_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214866959082429570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Birthday Blessings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of counting candles,&lt;br /&gt;Or tallying the years,&lt;br /&gt;Contemplate your blessings,&lt;br /&gt;As your birthday nears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Consider special people&lt;br /&gt;Who love you, and who care,&lt;br /&gt;And others who’ve enriched your life&lt;br /&gt;Just by being there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think about the memories&lt;br /&gt;Passing years can never mar,&lt;br /&gt;Experiences great and small&lt;br /&gt;That have made you who you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another year is a happy gift,&lt;br /&gt;So cut your cake, and say,&lt;br /&gt;"Instead of counting birthdays,&lt;br /&gt;I count blessings every day!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By Joanna Fuchs&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-5399295432841617744?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/5399295432841617744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=5399295432841617744' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5399295432841617744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5399295432841617744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/happy-birthday-to-me_23.html' title='HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SF7t3qcHnII/AAAAAAAAAEU/ugdADVF_xpo/s72-c/Card_1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3316731948438053913</id><published>2008-06-20T21:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:27.859-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I can remember, it just takes longer</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFxpiOcyzYI/AAAAAAAAADs/1d7MeGwJdns/s1600-h/10092250A~Building-Memories-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFxpiOcyzYI/AAAAAAAAADs/1d7MeGwJdns/s320/10092250A~Building-Memories-Posters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214158505303526786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Growing old is mind over matter, that's what they say.  Well, let's see....I'm getting older. My mind is going; and everything that matters is falling down or falling out. LOL&lt;br /&gt;But growing old does have advantages. A good example is my new found ability to be invisible. Yes, try it, I promise you that you too have it if you are over sixty. Just like the Super Heroes in the comics.&lt;br /&gt;Another advantage to growing old is that day you discover that you do not really give a rat's hind end what anyone thinks of you. Sweet!&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Sometimes when I walk in a room, I forget why I am there and that bothers me,,until I remember, the same thing happened to me at twenty or thirty. I have a great memory for the printed word, which helped tremendously in school but I can't and never could, remember where I put my sunglasses. I have spent half my life looking for them. I leave them in stores, in the car, at other peoples houses. So when I forget something,,I just try and remember (no pun intended) that I have had this problem all my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another up side I have discovered, is the ability to watch re-runs and since I can't remember them, they are all new to me. See, it's all good. The other advantage to aging is that people don't ask you to do stuff that they used to ask you to do. They assume a low level of competence and figure that, whatever it is that needs doing, you won't be able to do it. I won't tell if you don't!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3316731948438053913?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3316731948438053913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3316731948438053913' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3316731948438053913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3316731948438053913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-can-remember-it-just-takes-longer.html' title='I can remember, it just takes longer'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFxpiOcyzYI/AAAAAAAAADs/1d7MeGwJdns/s72-c/10092250A~Building-Memories-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-92030532029896064</id><published>2008-06-20T15:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:27.996-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Norman Rockwell Summers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFwYb0ahMCI/AAAAAAAAADI/QwfDuvl74Oc/s1600-h/4688~Boyhood-Dreams-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFwYb0ahMCI/AAAAAAAAADI/QwfDuvl74Oc/s320/4688~Boyhood-Dreams-Posters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214069334793596962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That beautiful season the Summer! &lt;br /&gt;Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; &lt;br /&gt;and the landscape &lt;br /&gt;Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood." &lt;br /&gt;-   Henry Wadsworth Longfellow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No price is set on the lavish summer;&lt;br /&gt;June may be had by the poorest comer."&lt;br /&gt;-   James Russell Lowell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise &lt;br /&gt;of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade."&lt;br /&gt;-  Gertrude Jekyll, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll admit I am a Little partial to June. It is the month I came into this world. "They" say the month you are born is always your favorite Month. In my case it is true. I love warm weather and blackberries and the honeysuckle wind that blows through your hair while standing on the porch in the evening.... and all that comes with Early Summer. Warm Sunshine and fresh veggies from the garden and birds and bees everywhere. It is a busy time of life. Everything, both man and animal and all the insects are very busy in the early Summer.  July and August will be too hot to do anything but lie around in the nearest swing or hammock in the shade and drink ice Tea. When I was a child, we were not allowed to go barefoot until June. I'm not sure why but that was the rule. Oh, how sweet was the feel of the cool earth beneath our hot little feet. By the end of Summer, the bottoms of our feet were so hard, we could have walked across a bed of nails and came out intact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We played outside a lot in the Summer. All those lovely childhood games like "Crack the Whip" and I was always on the end being the youngest of all the kids in the neighborhood, Kick the can, Tag, Hide and Seek...It took me a while to realize this game was to get rid of me so they could do whatever older kids do when they don't want the little kids along with them. All that fresh air and Sunshine must have done us a world of good. We would sleep like babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I feel sorry for the kids today who stay inside and play video games or watch TV. They will never know the joys of playing outside in the evening and watching fireflies. Some of the mean boys would catch them and put them in a jar. Then they would take them to their bedrooms and have little nightlights. I always felt sorry for the little bugs and would help them escape every chance I got. I suppose it is too dangerous today to play outside at night. Such a pity!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-92030532029896064?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/92030532029896064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=92030532029896064' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/92030532029896064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/92030532029896064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/norman-rockwell-summers.html' title='Norman Rockwell Summers'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFwYb0ahMCI/AAAAAAAAADI/QwfDuvl74Oc/s72-c/4688~Boyhood-Dreams-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3642783426920383391</id><published>2008-06-19T14:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:28.179-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Today is World Saunter Day.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFqxj0BSI_I/AAAAAAAAADA/CAib2BiWw7E/s1600-h/saunter.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFqxj0BSI_I/AAAAAAAAADA/CAib2BiWw7E/s320/saunter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213674747452335090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So don’t rush it. People rush around too much. They need to learn how to take it easy....Saunter is my regular speed, I am a saunterer. If you live near a beach,,which I am lucky enough to do,,,I live on the Gulf Coast....this is the day to go and saunter a little. None of us know when the sands of time will run out, so enjoy this moment,,this day. As I get older, it seems more and more important to stay in the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "Do not worry about tomorrow: tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matt. 6:34)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3642783426920383391?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3642783426920383391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3642783426920383391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3642783426920383391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3642783426920383391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/today-is-world-saunter-day.html' title='Today is World Saunter Day.'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFqxj0BSI_I/AAAAAAAAADA/CAib2BiWw7E/s72-c/saunter.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-7841372495338277472</id><published>2008-06-18T20:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T23:34:04.325-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='southern gospel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mark lowry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='christian comedy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gospel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='christian'/><title type='text'>Mark Lowry on living through it</title><content type='html'>I love Mark Lowry the Christian comedian. I was listening to him today and I laughed out loud..It is a good thing to laugh at life, otherwise you could go nuts!..Mark says about life, "If I had known I would live through it, I would have enjoyed it more"....LOL...here is some more of his humor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/S801KPX-PgE&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/S801KPX-PgE&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-7841372495338277472?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/7841372495338277472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=7841372495338277472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7841372495338277472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/7841372495338277472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/mark-lowry-on-living-through-it.html' title='Mark Lowry on living through it'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-4094888411337501516</id><published>2008-06-17T17:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:28.501-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFhBo2VPRbI/AAAAAAAAACw/v2AhePjsapo/s1600-h/1322756930_edbaa9c460_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFhBo2VPRbI/AAAAAAAAACw/v2AhePjsapo/s320/1322756930_edbaa9c460_m.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212988738716517810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"People who say that life is not worthwhile are really saying that they themselves have no personal goals which are worthwhile. Get yourself a goal worth working for. Better still, get yourself a project. Always have something ahead of you to "look forward to" - to work for and hope for."- Maxwell Maltz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOW that is good advise. I try to always have some project going to keep me looking forward. Last year I was into needlework. I loved doing it but when the mood passes, I need to move on to something else...This year, I decided to have a garden and set up a blog. One blog leads to another as some of you know. Now I am into posting on you tube and setting up fan sites. LOL.  It is fun and probably next year I will be tired of all of it and move on to something else. I may keep doing the garden though due to the price of veggies nowadays. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This beautiful flower is a Hibiscus and one of Billy's favorite shrubs. For the life of me, I cannot keep one alive. I had a couple that hung around for a year or two and then just committed suicide. I say that because I was giving them food and water and love but they checked out anyway. I know when to fold them. I give up! Billy will just have to love them from afar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-4094888411337501516?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/4094888411337501516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=4094888411337501516' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4094888411337501516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/4094888411337501516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/people-who-say-that-life-is-not.html' title=''/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SFhBo2VPRbI/AAAAAAAAACw/v2AhePjsapo/s72-c/1322756930_edbaa9c460_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-5247900781390606226</id><published>2008-06-13T19:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-14T11:42:07.491-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wrinkles are not adorable!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.fineartgalleryonline.com/paintings/hughes_w_fruit-piece_l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.fineartgalleryonline.com/paintings/hughes_w_fruit-piece_l.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When grace is joined with wrinkles, it&lt;br /&gt;         is adorable.  There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age."&lt;br /&gt;         - Victor Hugo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adorable???? Is this man nuts...wrinkles are in no Way adorable. I'm not so sure he is right about the dawn part either.  But that might be true..my favorite quote ever since I felt the menacing "dawn" of old age, has been: &lt;br /&gt;"To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful,&lt;br /&gt;   reverent--that is to triumph over old age." - Thomas Bailey Aldrich&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we can triumph over old age if we keep our heart unwrinkled.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Psa 92:12-15...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   "The righteous shall flourish like a palm tree,&lt;br /&gt;      He shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon.&lt;br /&gt;   Those who are planted in the house of the LORD&lt;br /&gt;      Shall flourish in the courts of our God.&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;They shall still bear fruit in old age;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So get out there today and bear some fruit. Be kindly to someone. Be cheerful even if you don't feel like it. We serve as an example whether we think so or not...Now we can be a good example or a bad example but we all serve as an example to someone even if it is just your dog. It's amazing how our cheerful attitude can make our four legged friends feel cheerful themselves.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-5247900781390606226?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/5247900781390606226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=5247900781390606226' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5247900781390606226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5247900781390606226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/wrinkles-are-not-adorable.html' title='Wrinkles are not adorable!'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-6972938081429495321</id><published>2008-06-09T18:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T19:21:05.541-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The First Color TV?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.tvhistory.tv/1953_April_3_TV_GUIDE-LUCY.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.tvhistory.tv/1953_April_3_TV_GUIDE-LUCY.JPG" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was a kid we didn't have a TV in our house. We watched the neighbors set,,,they had a color TV. Well, not exactly. What they had was a piece of plastic that was blue one third of the way for the sky,,then red for the next third and green for grass the last third...It would work great if the storyline was about a red firetruck on a sunny day, driving over someone's lawn but it made Perry Como look a little sick. LOL. But we thought it was cool. The neighborhood kids took turns coming over and we could only stay an hour. I think my sister and I had Milton Berle night and The voice of Firestone night. It was so exciting and we looked forward to it each week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember the first real color TV I saw. I looked it up and the first one came out on December 17th 1953 but it was the mid sixties before they were available to the masses. But nothing would ever be as exciting as that first TV. It was a miracle to us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first TV Guide had a picture of Lucy's baby. This was on April 3, 1953 and recently sold for $500 on eBAy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-6972938081429495321?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/6972938081429495321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=6972938081429495321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6972938081429495321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/6972938081429495321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/first-color-tv.html' title='The First Color TV?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-1365408431706799626</id><published>2008-06-08T19:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:29.137-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hope'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='America&apos;s future'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family valules'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='John Steinbeck'/><title type='text'>Travels With Charley</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SEyBO2DJYuI/AAAAAAAAABw/3hZPf3q5iwQ/s1600-h/Travelswithcharley2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SEyBO2DJYuI/AAAAAAAAABw/3hZPf3q5iwQ/s320/Travelswithcharley2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209680960987685602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Travels with Charley: In Search of America is a travelogue by American author John Steinbeck. It documents the road trip he took with his French standard poodle Charley around the United States, in 1960. He wrote that he was moved by a desire to see his country on a personal level, since he made his living writing about it. He had many questions going into his journey, the main one being, "What are Americans like today?" However, he found that the "new America" did not live up to his expectations."&lt;br /&gt;I just wonder what he would think today if he made the same trip. I think he would not recognize the America he would find today. We have not taught our children well, as the song goes by Crosby, Stills and Nash. I fear for the future of those who come after us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; But at the same time, I am also a little optimistic. If we look in the right places, we still find good family values, children being taught right from wrong,,,,and Sunday is still a day of worship. Their numbers may be dwindling but they are there. And the one thing we do know, God is still in control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I am optimistic and I am convinced this is a nation under God and as long as we recognize that, believe that, I think we'll be fine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-1365408431706799626?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/1365408431706799626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=1365408431706799626' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1365408431706799626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/1365408431706799626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/travels-with-charley.html' title='Travels With Charley'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SEyBO2DJYuI/AAAAAAAAABw/3hZPf3q5iwQ/s72-c/Travelswithcharley2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3371016894708975751</id><published>2008-06-08T19:14:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T19:15:38.863-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Traveling Through by Jason Castro</title><content type='html'>Here is Jason Castro singing "Traveling Through"..I love this song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7_lCKMFZegU&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7_lCKMFZegU&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3371016894708975751?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3371016894708975751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3371016894708975751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3371016894708975751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3371016894708975751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/traveling-through-by-jason-castro.html' title='Traveling Through by Jason Castro'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-3635021116622281208</id><published>2008-06-08T17:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:29.324-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='losing weight'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='diet blog'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gaining weight'/><title type='text'>The Older You Get</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SExjaMN5S4I/AAAAAAAAABY/VOLiBwvMCXE/s1600-h/DSCN1821_edited.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SExjaMN5S4I/AAAAAAAAABY/VOLiBwvMCXE/s200/DSCN1821_edited.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209648170568076162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then, your body and your fat are really good friends. I am trying though. I don't think it is fair, that by the time I have my head together, my body is falling apart. I am going to prop it up though for a few more years if I can.&lt;br /&gt;For me, it is all about eating things I like that taste good to me. I do not like rice cakes or just plain green salads. I like veggies with dips so I eat that instead of a salad or plain sliced tomatoes with just a little olive oil and chopped basil. You can have a nice treat today with all the snack things they have. Little Jello and pudding packs are nice and so are all the nice crackers and dried fruits you can get in small packets now. I need something to snack on that is sweet or salty, depending on what I am craving. So these work for me. Just a smear of peanut butter on a few crackers helps and so does freezing the pudding packs.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My diet for today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breakfast: Cold ceral (bite size shredded wheat) and a glass of orange juice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lunch:  A tomato sandwich with just a dab of Light mayo on the bread and a few lettuce leaves. I wanted whole wheat but we only had white so white it is. Whole wheat is so much better for you though. I cut it in half and put it on a fancy sandwich plate so I feel pampered. I might have one of those small snack packs of SF fruit,,they are only about 45 calories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner: Billy is grilling some sweet potatoes slices for me,,,I will add a deviled egg, some sliced tomatoes (from my garden) and a tiny piece of whatever meat he is grilling..He has decided to become The BBQ Champ of the Gulf Coast so the smell of the grilled food is killing me but a diet is a diet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Dinner I always have some sort of snack..I make a little more allwance on Sunday. Tonight I will have 1/4 cup of Blue Bell SF Vanilla on top of one half banana.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-3635021116622281208?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/3635021116622281208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=3635021116622281208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3635021116622281208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/3635021116622281208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/older-you-get.html' title='The Older You Get'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SExjaMN5S4I/AAAAAAAAABY/VOLiBwvMCXE/s72-c/DSCN1821_edited.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-5657621409840461147</id><published>2008-06-08T16:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T05:44:29.950-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting rid of clutter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SExX1nFjL8I/AAAAAAAAABQ/p6oCxtosY9g/s1600-h/cherry-pie-day.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SExX1nFjL8I/AAAAAAAAABQ/p6oCxtosY9g/s320/cherry-pie-day.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209635447497764802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If God put me on Earth to accomplish certain things, then I am so far behind, I should live forever.  A lot of the reason is clutter. I clean it up and in a month, there it is again. If I want to do a task, I can't find the tool I need to do it. Billy has actually bought a new one of something just because we can't find the one we need. We have a shed full of anything we could possibly need but we can't get to it. The house isn't a whole lot better...Oh you wouldn't know it, if you walked in, the clutter is well hidden, but it is there.. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Billy is running away every chance he gets lately because I am Spring Cleaning,,yeah I know,,what can I say...I am behind. I ask him to take some boxes to the shed the other day and he said, "All you are doing is moving them from one place to another"...Duh! I know that but isn't that what a shed is for? To store things you never should have bought in the first place? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is a great little site called flylady.org that will help you get organized if you have my problem..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, when you get all organized, treat yourself to a cup of tea and nice piece of Cherry pie. You deserve it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-5657621409840461147?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/5657621409840461147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=5657621409840461147' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5657621409840461147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5657621409840461147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/getting-rid-of-clutter.html' title='Getting rid of clutter'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SExX1nFjL8I/AAAAAAAAABQ/p6oCxtosY9g/s72-c/cherry-pie-day.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-684334364619068158</id><published>2008-06-08T15:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T15:37:51.610-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Do You Miss The Good Old Days?</title><content type='html'>I think this pic is interesting. On the one side you see "Ike" the president on the old TV and the old car outside the window,,the old telephone...and the other side of the pic is more modern, with Bush on the TV and all the new electronics everywhere..Were the Good Old Days really the Good Old Days? I know I would miss my gadgets but I also think it has taken away a much simpler lifestyle too. I miss the Good Old Days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/evesart/2562365834/" title="The Good Old Days by dreamdress2, on Flickr"&gt;&lt;img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3261/2562365834_4655682fbb.jpg" width="500" height="245" alt="The Good Old Days" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-684334364619068158?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/684334364619068158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=684334364619068158' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/684334364619068158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/684334364619068158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/do-you-miss-good-old-days.html' title='Do You Miss The Good Old Days?'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3261/2562365834_4655682fbb_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7636483498633999907.post-5588898013778138694</id><published>2008-06-08T14:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T15:55:59.076-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Kid you not!</title><content type='html'>I just had to type in those little "lsoty" letters they make you type in so you can create a blog,,,,four times,,before I got it right...It has something to do with,,,so they will know you are not a robot...well at this age,,,64, I'm not sure if I would be telling the truth if I implied I was not. My mind not only wonders at this age,,sometimes it leaves completely. Insanity is my personal means of relaxation.&lt;br /&gt;I get up each Morning just wondering what ache or pain, today will bring. Getting old sucks,,,you hear me...and I know all about the alternative.  Yes, it is better than dying but if I had known how long I would live, I would have taken better care of myself. I was living out the legacy of the Hank Williams song, "Live fast, love hard, die young, and leave a beautiful memory"..until I met my DH Billy..he put a stop to that. LOL... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still growing up in the late sixties was a lot of fun. It was the height of the Hippie generation..The back to the Earth movement..embroidering all over your clothes,,,we put flowers in our hair and sang songs about San Francisco.  We didn't have the worries the kids have today. I would be afraid to be a teen today. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/evesart/2562475702/" title="479683640_5703648e9c by dreamdress2, on Flickr"&gt;&lt;img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3013/2562475702_47da85e58f.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="479683640_5703648e9c" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started an exercise routine in February to see if I could become a little more healthy. I started out just riding my Elliptical Machine (a bike that has those handles that work your arms) for two minutes, three times a day. I am now up to five minutes, three times a day..I was feeling all proud of myself until a friend told me her 72 year old Mother was doing a hundred miles a week! Who is this woman, an ex triathlon runner? I never had any glory days when it comes to sports. I played Golf and Pool when I was in my forties and fifties and a little basketball and volley ball when I was younger. I did skate until my friend fell while skating backwards and broke her arm. Mama took my skates away and that was that. Guilt by association, I guess. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But still, I am trying. I am also tyring to eat better. I have a garden this year and it is doing well, so I am eating a lot of fresh veggies and the work,,,which is not much with the square foot garden,,does get me out in the Sunshine and fresh air.&lt;br /&gt;This is not going to be a blog about aging gracefully...It is going to be about fighting to survive. I remember I use to say, "I'll leave the Grace to the old Ladies"..back when I knew it all. I'll still leave the Grace to them. I'm not old, I am just a little travel weary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each day is still precious to me. I find myself, while not happy about being old, not worrying about it either. I try to live one day at a time. If I get sick, I go into survival mode until I feel better..actually at this stage,,which might by some, be considered the Fall of my life,,I find I am more an observer of life, than a participant. That's okay, I can live with that. : )&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7636483498633999907-5588898013778138694?l=travelingonfumes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/feeds/5588898013778138694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7636483498633999907&amp;postID=5588898013778138694' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5588898013778138694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7636483498633999907/posts/default/5588898013778138694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://travelingonfumes.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-kid-you-not.html' title='I Kid you not!'/><author><name>Eve</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10525022534268765494</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_E7nSV2wzseg/SBztpZMM55I/AAAAAAAAAAw/v0yrQYrETag/S220/Meshe2_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3013/2562475702_47da85e58f_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
