tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128949632024-03-07T04:07:54.921-05:00Cappy & Pegody's Worldcappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.comBlogger789125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-5080912172013347732024-01-08T16:44:00.004-05:002024-01-09T00:53:59.966-05:00Well, You're Not Gonna Believe This. (But You Can)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkLKa9dIkkhHtnT-E8QzQ1Sih9AoeFvKxHF1rbiJtohtNxlxKqZ0JIxZ1cN3I_DtwQSpiX1QOCrK4L5MlTlFXdQCsE0APADPJnXZfKjBYB-FedVx3rPkjn-ijYfhovGYuK__ui28AEPBbxeWAFGNAcG7fJmJJ62HqJ3hqaqQIPiom0vgMKKGGWg/s1056/sugar%20clipart%20thingy%20for%20blog%20post.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1056" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkLKa9dIkkhHtnT-E8QzQ1Sih9AoeFvKxHF1rbiJtohtNxlxKqZ0JIxZ1cN3I_DtwQSpiX1QOCrK4L5MlTlFXdQCsE0APADPJnXZfKjBYB-FedVx3rPkjn-ijYfhovGYuK__ui28AEPBbxeWAFGNAcG7fJmJJ62HqJ3hqaqQIPiom0vgMKKGGWg/s320/sugar%20clipart%20thingy%20for%20blog%20post.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Well, all of my life I've been accused of being "so <i>nicey-nice"...</i>and it was said in a not-so-nicey-nice way, either.</b></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I guess that title went out the window one day when my Mom and I were rushing around the kitchen like mad women, trying to get a special dinner ready for company that was expected momentarily (from church, no less). As usual, my five kids, two of them mouthy teenagers, ("NOOOObody tells </b><i style="font-weight: bold;">ME </i><b>what to do; I'm an </b><i style="font-weight: bold;">individual!!! </i><span style="font-weight: bold;">I</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">f </span><b>I don't want to help set the table, I'm not going to...so THERE!") were making things even more crazy, like shoving the squalling dog down the laundry shoot, not ducking when their brother threw a boot at them and it went through the kitchen window, having to comfort little Joe, who came screaming into the kitchen, "Thom stepped on my <i>ear</i>!!! BAW!!!"</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> The next thing I knew, Mom, standing beside me said, "Peggy Ellen Ganoung! I never thought I'd hear you say <i>that </i>word, even if you had a mouth full of it!" </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> She wasn't more shocked than I was. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I think as I get older my patience has worn thin and seems to have gotten thinner with age, but I'm not praying for more! I have learned <i>that </i>one. The Bible says, "Tribulation worketh patience", meaning a ton of trouble can so overwhelm you, I guess, that after a while, you just don't have the wherewithal to fight anymore, so I guess all's you are left with is 'patience'. So, if you ask for patience, you will get what causes patience...tribulation aka TROUBLE. We already all have enough of that.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> All that being said, lately, I find myself being impatient over the least little thing, not so 'nicey-nice'. Cappy, poor guy, has borne the brunt of it...despite being the cause of it (in some cases). In our tiny house it's hard to move around without bumping into the other person. Racing up the hallway with a tall load of laundry and turn the corner, I'll run smack into him, while he's standing there quietly praying. He's done nothing wrong, but I get all irritated. Then, being a burn survivor, I want no-one in the kitchen while I'm cooking, but all of a sudden a hand will reach around in front of me to get a glass of water and I involuntarily "spazz out" flinching and shrieking. I'm not proud of this at all. I don't like being jumpy and/or then taking it out on Cappy. No wonder he's been praying for me so much lately. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Last week, I was busily rushing around with Christmas. Cappy had been ill the week before, so going to the doctor, he learned that he had a slight case of pneumonia (again). Even when he's not ill, I dote on him hand and foot, because it's what I like and need to do. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> He insisted that I go to church the next day, while he stayed home, trying to get better. That was the plan, but this particular night, the night before church, I wanted no interruptions to hinder the huge list of holiday things that I wanted to somehow joyfully accomplish. I didn't even want to stop for one of the many hugs that Cappy insists on during the day right in the middle of everything. (He is so sweet, tho'!) While I was hurrying, I found a pair of sandals on top of the dryer that I needed to take to the bedroom and put away, before I scrambled onto my next needed task. I grabbed them and was on my way when I spotted Cappy patiently standing there in the kitchen smiling at me and wanting another hug..."Noooo!" I hollered and angrily stomped into the bedroom and plastered my bare foot onto the big thick, solid wooden foot of the bed leg.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I heard the bone break, I felt the bone break and seperate, the sandals went flying. I fell onto the bed. This was not like the other times I had bashed my foot into this bed leg. This was sickening. This was bad. My howling brought Cappy right in, of course. He had to help me get anywhere that night. Saturday night...Christmas Eve, Eve. I did not want to go to the ER that night..."the road is already dangerous and tonight there are probably a lot of drunk drivers out celebrating, I'll wait until morning (Christmas Eve morning) and go then."</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I had a terrible time sleeping with my foot hurting so badly. Morning was worse with my foot swollen and black and blue. Cappy helped me into my chair in the den while we figured out our next course of action to get me to the ER, with him sick with pneumonia. We knew that our neighbors were mostly all out of town. Hmm. What to do. We called our pastor to ask for prayer and to explain that we wouldn't be there that morning and that we were on our way to the Emergency Room. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I had to ask Cappy to bring me this, bring me that, do this and do that. I hated asking him to do all that and him not well. I'd hate asking him to do all that even if he were well. How were we going to manage all this for the next who knows when? I have never done well with crutches, either. Lord please Help us!</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Cappy brought me a walking stick so that with it, he could help me get to the bathroom to clean up, etc. before we left. The pain was so bad that it made me sick to my stomach. He left me sitting on the potty and brought some clothes, then went out into the den to wait for me.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> While I was sitting there I dreaded the thought of the doctors manipulating my foot and the excruciating pain that would probably cause. I wished that I could just sit there on the toilet and go to sleep and wake up and everything would be fine again.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Lord," I prayed, "I know that you are not a liar; what You say is True. Your WORD says that 'signs and wonders follow those who believe', well, we are Your kids and we believe!" I told my foot, "Be healed in the Name of Jesus, by The Power of the Holy Spirit!"</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I could hear Cappy out in the den, "Google, muh sugar..."</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I wondered what in the heck was he googling sugar for? </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Alright now, how was I ever going to get into the bathtub with my foot in such pain? Sighhh...was I going to have to ask Cappy to help me in there? Then I was sure he'd <i>look </i>at me. (Women of a 'certain age' do <i>not </i>want anyone looking at their unclothed body; not even their husbands.) </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Google...what is 'muh sugar...' something or other," I kept hearing from out in the other room.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> It was going to be bad enough to have to get up and stand there by the sink to brush my teeth.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Google, muh-sugarrrr..." </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> What in the world was he doing out there when I needed him in here to help me?</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I felt it was time. I 'felt' "it'll get easier with each step". </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Really...?</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I struggled to get up with the stick and made it to the sink.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Huh? What? No pain? None? Nothing!?? I stood there and felt like 'somebody' said, "Go ahead and stomp with it." </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Seriously? I lifted my foot and (still no pain at ALL) lightly "stomped" it...shocked...it felt normal. Wait...how was that possible?</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Welllll....I marched right out into the den like a majorette, sans a baton, and paraded back and forth from the den to the kitchen several times while Cappy sat there speechless staring. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> He said, "I need to tell you something...I was in here intensely praying so hard for you, then I knew you were in such pain that I asked, 'Lord, is it that you don't <i>want </i>to heal Peg's foot? And right away I heard the word, 'muh-shoo-gah-lah'. Plainly...very plainly. I never heard that word before, so I googled it several times and it means, 'ridiculous, foolishness'...the answer to my question. Like The Lord was saying 'That's ridiculous that I wouldn't want to heal her foot.'"</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I looked it up, but spelled it wrong. Mahshuga is Hebrew/Yiddish for things like, "Are you crazy?" That's a good one, Father!! </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> So, that's the truth. He still does perform miracles. He is our Loving Father. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> As far as me, his daughter, and His teaching me (we are never too old to learn) that night, there was a slight twinge in the area of my foot (that I <i>know </i>was broken, but was now completely healed) as a "reminder to hold your temper". </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> With Your Help Holy Spirit, I will try to stay your "nicey-nice" daughter. Amen</b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </b></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-4369654275837790422023-12-31T23:01:00.000-05:002023-12-31T23:01:14.583-05:00MERRY CHRISTMAS 2023 AND A BLEST AND HAPPIER NEW YEAR. OUR CARD FOR YOU!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS2vHUu2yY7kds1uNdYiLeo8UAOKk-LUTJ7PSd0i5bwTLP2QCJfCd8PjtqRKccPj_Uf9cD8lY6EyQYTqZTD-3_nH1ByFxDayjSVAbiJ9YEYqCJOo7_HfyNJMotOaBFH12tU52GMwJBx_S6K7H4TPRgk9jm8-NNQW1SAtKVDXnUAkcAQ257w5ws7g/s1056/2023%20Christms%20card%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1056" height="473" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS2vHUu2yY7kds1uNdYiLeo8UAOKk-LUTJ7PSd0i5bwTLP2QCJfCd8PjtqRKccPj_Uf9cD8lY6EyQYTqZTD-3_nH1ByFxDayjSVAbiJ9YEYqCJOo7_HfyNJMotOaBFH12tU52GMwJBx_S6K7H4TPRgk9jm8-NNQW1SAtKVDXnUAkcAQ257w5ws7g/w615-h473/2023%20Christms%20card%20Cover.jpg" width="615" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixQ9blhmkKmDEOGQQ_0j5Hv1li1Dy007f7yVu5Q4It6X4durn3leH9T5D9weIOfcIYNMjYmKvo6SOOZG7K9dfeWW1P-8vcyEOPWToTPYasHeqg_-Ej8q1MP2Hz9O8Qmhpd3sKpq3FEN6nf6TJeBMp1pPbMQWLHznq7GGomPdXDrpdem_vD6hlYQ/s2200/2023%20Christmas%20Card%20inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2200" data-original-width="1700" height="678" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixQ9blhmkKmDEOGQQ_0j5Hv1li1Dy007f7yVu5Q4It6X4durn3leH9T5D9weIOfcIYNMjYmKvo6SOOZG7K9dfeWW1P-8vcyEOPWToTPYasHeqg_-Ej8q1MP2Hz9O8Qmhpd3sKpq3FEN6nf6TJeBMp1pPbMQWLHznq7GGomPdXDrpdem_vD6hlYQ/w616-h678/2023%20Christmas%20Card%20inside.jpg" width="616" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFiJU57rf1DpPN2JxZFvIMIBsqHHLe2n_lba42ZnbT7kOrwHUZQRMbc3yrHL2TD0NHoNNtS8TEIJlBM-NhKwHLEK7MJgWURFgcynfTaS9a7P3aPqv3qyJ-WFmJp3I_wza4iG0M6qwweGWTAs25qgMuEdQQ1hNn2kKh8v_canQVsIqxqUagD8YwQ/s1056/2023%20Christmas%20Card%20back%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1056" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFiJU57rf1DpPN2JxZFvIMIBsqHHLe2n_lba42ZnbT7kOrwHUZQRMbc3yrHL2TD0NHoNNtS8TEIJlBM-NhKwHLEK7MJgWURFgcynfTaS9a7P3aPqv3qyJ-WFmJp3I_wza4iG0M6qwweGWTAs25qgMuEdQQ1hNn2kKh8v_canQVsIqxqUagD8YwQ/w656-h483/2023%20Christmas%20Card%20back%20cover.jpg" width="656" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-35471808720082369552023-11-10T10:57:00.005-05:002023-11-10T22:05:39.008-05:00Getting Claw'd<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXiIfNsvkjtopzdEwyQOiTcOpTOwDt3f6HvWJ0BcQCLMJ8yYnO1FWssNzjlUS48obBnG4dkBIkZUVgBhTxSnluP2mdwh-ZcAs7XbNp9F2w9URNbtI7NcYX1kicQOMR-r80VeNhVECzIrozm2Z4JwB8Nvl1gB0fhptOsj8stD0wNKxzvYgXcgV4Aw/s1028/Claw'd%20pic%20for%20FB.JPG" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; font-weight: 700; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="1028" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXiIfNsvkjtopzdEwyQOiTcOpTOwDt3f6HvWJ0BcQCLMJ8yYnO1FWssNzjlUS48obBnG4dkBIkZUVgBhTxSnluP2mdwh-ZcAs7XbNp9F2w9URNbtI7NcYX1kicQOMR-r80VeNhVECzIrozm2Z4JwB8Nvl1gB0fhptOsj8stD0wNKxzvYgXcgV4Aw/s320/Claw'd%20pic%20for%20FB.JPG" width="320" /></a> <span style="color: #38761d;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Cappy's cat, Claw'd escaped and found himself on an adventure. Usually when he gets out, he meanders back into the house within a few minutes. He'd been gone about four hours and we had begun to worry. Our neighbor let us know that a black cat was treed in his fenced-in yard with his two excited German shepherds who were running back and forth, urging him to come on back down. Was it our cat? </b></span></span></span></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The lady who lives next door owns two house cats who never get loose said that there was another black cat identical to Claw'd who she'd been feeding, thinking that it was Claw'd having gotten out, because it let her pet him. But wasn't Claw'd. We had to check the times he'd gotten out to make sure it wasn't our boy. Plus, a few weeks before this the neighbor with the dogs had come to see if Claw'd had been out the night a pure black cat had been taunting his dogs. Nope, Claw'd had been inside for days and not that particular night, so we know there is a duplicate of Claw'd prowling around the neighborhood.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> When our neighbor with the dogs said there was a black cat trapped in the tree in his yard, Cappy and I followed him back over to his house, where we heard the most pitiful, </b><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>terrified</b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> mewing going on way up in the branches of one tall tree. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The man brought out two different types of ladders in an effort for Cappy to climb and try to coax the cat down.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Claw'd always wears a reflective breakaway color with a bell on it.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I called up to Cappy, "Is that cat wearing a collar?" Cappy couldn't tell because of all the branches. "Do you think he recognizes you? ...think that's him?" He couldn't tell that either. So, for now it was "Schrodinger's cat"...we just didn't know.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> When finally, after almost an hour, the cat gingerly lowered itself for Cappy to get within reach of the poor thing...whether it was our cat or not, it wanted down! Would Cappy be able to hold onto it, or would it frantically struggle to get free and fall into the waiting jaws of the two happily anticipating German shepherds?</b></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Scary</b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> moments!</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I hollared up, </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">"Is it Claw'd?" </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The dogs' owner yelled, "Yeah, don't let it claw you! Don't let it claw you!"</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I yelled up again, "You think it's Claw'd?"</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> "Yeah, don't let it claw you, don't let it claw you," loudly warned the guy again. "You don't wanna get clawed!"</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> "Oh, yes I <i>do</i> wanna get Claw'd" Cappy squawked, standing on his toes on one of the upper steps of the ladder, the feet of which were not firmly planted. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> P</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">rofusely sweating and h</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">olding onto the ladder with one hand and finally able to grab the snarling yowling cat with the other, he rasped, "I still don't know if it's Claw'd or not, but it's not wearing a collar.</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">" </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The cat wrapped his back legs and his front legs tightly around Cappy's forearm, while the neighbor and I kept yelling about not getting Claw'd or clawed. The cat had no collar and until Cappy put him into my arms, we still weren't sure, but it was obviously relieved to be there. As frantic as the cat had been, wrapped around Cappy's arm, Cappy did not get even one scratch. So, he did get Claw'd, but he didn't get clawed. (sorry, I hadda do it)</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Well, we got him home, where BeauxBear confirmed, yep, that was his cat, whom he dearly loves and had missed him.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Now we need to be extra diligent on door patrol. None of us enjoyed that adventure!</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Driving home from Baton Rouge yesterday, I spied a few horses grazing in a field and mentioned to Cappy that poor Claw'd will be hard pressed for any kind of excitement from now on, cloistered in the house. I remembered our other Bichon Frises, SparkyBear and MarkyBear used to love seeing cows and horses because we'd slow down, or park next to the fences and let them all peacefully and quietly, nose-to-nose get acquainted, which both the dogs and the horses seemed to enjoy. I said off-handed to Cappy, "I wish Claw'd could see a horse, too; I think he'd enjoy that."</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> A half an hour later, after getting home to our quiet little neighborhood, with the paved lanes, Claw'd sat in his hammock in the window wistfully gazing out onto his lost kingdom, when Cappy suddenly said, "There's a horse and buggy slowly going down our street! Claw'd sure seems all </b><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>interested</b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> and is enjoying it!"</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> "What? A <i>horse</i>? What's a horse doing on our street??"</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Well, to me, it seemed like the Lord was saying, "And, you're welcome!"</b></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-75758722124588011892023-05-13T00:31:00.001-05:002023-05-13T00:31:09.825-05:00Momma Went Home With a Rock Star<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTxl3RsKsiKKTw6PRIIDrWy83Pa8f1YQipNNPhM7S_NZrtKS41XN2eES2h28lkDnVueV0RZ20ypqC3n25wEhx_esagQIGmZhkN8ZIG4xmabPZUd4BbPFSr3LsYZUs1DKKZChOxI-37Ry0VjkGQAyrw5OC-WgD8NYAHpxTRq_M3460kjq9y0U/s181/Momma%20-%20Copy%20-%20Copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="114" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTxl3RsKsiKKTw6PRIIDrWy83Pa8f1YQipNNPhM7S_NZrtKS41XN2eES2h28lkDnVueV0RZ20ypqC3n25wEhx_esagQIGmZhkN8ZIG4xmabPZUd4BbPFSr3LsYZUs1DKKZChOxI-37Ry0VjkGQAyrw5OC-WgD8NYAHpxTRq_M3460kjq9y0U/s1600/Momma%20-%20Copy%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="114" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>There's no two ways about it; my Mom was beautiful. Her smile lit up any room, she was highly intelligent, witty, silly, sweet, fun, and above all, hard working. She was a chef and dietician, considered "the best cook in the family". </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> True, she had her bad days, but don't we all. Putting up with "us kids", my brother, sister and me was a regular riot, not knowing what to expect next with us guys. I'm thinking maybe it was me who unexpectedly threw her for a loop the most. One nice evening, when I was about three years old, she had tucked my brother and me into bed...he was still a baby; a year younger than I. She and my dad, having gotten a babysitter, were going out for a nice quiet evening of dinner and dancing. My brother's and my shared bedroom was on the second floor, where they had left the window open with a light breeze coming in the screen window. Before they left the house, I started pitching a fit, screaming that I didn't want them to go. Mom kept putting me back into bed and finally, maybe even popped my bottom to shut me up. With the babysitter downstairs, I heard our old car start up through the screened window and started screaming out the window. They kept a-going, leaving me to the babysitter, who must have been deaf. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I guess I'd never screamed before, so I guess I kind of liked it. I kept it up and kept it up for quite a while. Just standing there screaming at the top of my lungs out the window into the dark night. Suddenly there was a light shining in my face from down in the yard. A police officer was shining a flashlight all over the house. There ended up being two police officers who had been called by the neighbors. My Momma and Daddy's nice evening out ruined. Like the time the little boy who lived right across the street from us held my hand and walked me around the block when I was two years old without telling either of our mothers where we were going. They were both in tears, panicked, about ready to phone the police when we turned the corner, still hand-in-hand. Or the time I was three years old and helped my two year old brother up the coal gravel hill to play with the pretty stones on the railroad tracks. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>More seriously, when I was four years old, having a fun visit at my mother's parents' house while my mom was at work, my dress caught fire and I was so badly burned that the doctors left me to die in peace in a back hall of the old town hospital in Port Allegany, Pennsylvania. I actually did die and went to be with Jesus for a little while. When He sent me back, with me bawling that I didn't want to go back, I saw my body below in the hospital bed with a pale yellow blanket over me. Sitting down there on the bed next to me, near dawn was my poor exhausted Mom bent over almost asleep, praying. Suddenly I found myself back in the bed with a jolt that gave her a start...she hadn't even known I'd been 'gone'. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> It's a wonder my mother's hair hadn't turned snow white in her twenties. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Then, there were the teen years. My oh my, didn't I give her a run for her money then. Even though I had been raised with my bottom sitting in a church pew, I went through the mouthy, yelly, know-it-all stage. Still, I couldn't get away with anything...somehow she always found out and gave me the dickens for it...well deserved. One day I went riding in a car with a boy...I guess he was 19 and I was about 15. It was a beautiful day; perfect for a long drive way out in the sunny, hilly farm country. I think he just wanted an excuse for me to sit closer to him, so he offered to let me steer the car. I scooched over and grabbed the steering wheel, thinking I was doing a pretty good job, easily avoiding the one car that we passed coming toward us. No problem. The rest of the afternoon was pleasant and uneventful when he dropped me off at my door. Inside Mom was waiting for me, hands on hips, tapping one foot and glowering. That one car that had whizzed by had been driven by her best friend, Emma. Now how in the world had she seen me? Who looks at other people in oncoming cars? Well, Emma, obviously...20 miles out of town, yet.</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Poor Mom...trying to find some peace and solace, one Sunday evening at church with her mom where they were having an enjoyable mother/daughter time with each other, so rare what with Mom having to work so hard and having very little down time. In the middle of a beautiful song, Mom's smile was interrupted with the shocking news that I had been in a bad car accident and was being transported to the hospital. I had been riding with some boys...friends of my brothers. We were at their house way out in the country for a picnic, when the older "kid", 21, decided to show off in a jalopy with no top that he had made. Racing up and down the dirt road with me </b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">sandwiched </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">in the middle with my feet propped up on the dashboard, we crunched over a sluice pipe, severing the brake line, headed down toward the "devil's elbow" curve at 70 mph! Trying to avoid that scenario, he tried to steer into a field, but hit a 20 foot tall tree head on. Because my feet were on the dash, I was catapulted up and over the tree. Strange thing happened. With time slowed down, I remembered reading about drunks surviving crashes because they were all relaxed. Looking down into the branches of the tree, I let all my muscles go, and the next thing I knew, I was somersaulting end over end over end in the middle of the dirt road. I was in the hospital for a month with a crushed vertebrae and a few broken ribs. My brother said that him, sitting in their yard, watching me sail over the top of that tree was the worst thing he had ever seen in his life. (The other two in the jalopy, the driver and his brother both dove out into the grass just before we hit the tree. They were uninjured.) Sitting with me all night in the hospital once again, crying and praying, was Mom. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>When I was eighteen I married into a very bad situation and began having children right away. My mom was the best grandmother ever. I don't remember my kids giving me as many fits and worries as I had given her over all those many years. Just when I thought I was making progress as a responsible adult and not creating stress for her, she and I were at a baby shower together at church listening to the usual stories about how much trouble toddlers could be. Some mothers were saying, "Hah, you think two years old is bad, wait 'til they are four." Trying to be a wise guy, as usual, I piped, "Hah, you think four is bad; wait 'til they are in their teens." Mom put in, "Hah, you think teens are bad," smirking at me, she added, "Wait 'til they're in their forties." Well, true. She had come to take care of the house and kids and me, because of the many health issues that seemed to inundate my life in my adulthood, which we surmise had to do with the residual deep burn scars, etc. In '95 I almost died from celiac disease. After getting out of the hospital, she stayed with us and nursed me back to, which took ~18 months before I felt as though I might actually live. Her care, knowledge, wisdom, humor, prayers and tears pulled me through, once again.</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>When I was finally strong enough, Mom decided that we should attend a women's retreat at Elim Bible Institute and College. A good way to thank the Lord for my recovery and maybe keep me out of trouble, if only for one week of fun and relaxation in the company of godly women. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>We were loaded into a large van with a bunch of our friends from church for the hour long drive. The whole way there, Mom was making everybody laugh with all her wisecracks. A sign along the road advertised, "LOTS for sale." Mom said, "Boy, I don't know what they're selling, but they've got plenty of 'em!" That night in our small shared dorm room, she kept us (one of our friends and me) awake until midnight giggling out of control. One of the students, whose room we were assigned had left a political poster on the wall, "Free Jews Worldwide". Mom chortled, "I'll take anything as long as it's free!"</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>The next morning, our pastor's wife "tsk'd" to Mom, "Did those girls keep you awake?" (HAH! She was the ringleader.)</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>We slept well that night and quietly so. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>The next morning I was so sick! I was vomiting and feeling terrible, so I spent the day in bed while the other girls AND my Mom went and had a ball! So many activities and fun. I insisted Mom go with them, so she did, and I was so happy for her. She deserved to have fun for a change, of course, tho', in the back of her mind she had to be thinking, "Oh NO...not again!" </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>By the next morning I was feeling fine. After breakfast, we filed into the massive auditorium for songs, worship and some kind of message. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>I don't know how many seats that auditorium holds, but it seemed like thousands. The place was packed, and I cannot describe the music that filled the room. Heavenly is the only word that I can think of. After each song, the women each and all began singing lilting praises of their own, which </b></span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>intertwined with one another, almost visually colorful. Gorgeous...no one melody, but a glorious, living embodiment of beautiful music offered up to God! And, as the Scripture promises, "The Lord dwells in the praises of His people", He showed up. His Presence was so Sweet and REAL! Just Heavenly. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> The next part of the program dealt with testimonies of what The Lord had done in people's lives. Ladies were welcomed to come up on stage and speak about what the Lord had done for them, or if they had a word from the Lord for the audience. "Oh, that's nice," I thought.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Then my heart started racing.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Why is my heart racing?"</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I was suddenly strongly impressed with the Scripture, "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water". </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Oh, that's nice," I thought again.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> One lady went up one of the long aisles, climbed the stairs, went right to the microphone and began speaking great and wonderful things.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> My heart was racing hard and I kept 'hearing', "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water." </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Uh oh" I thought,...I remember this happening at church when I was called on to say something to the congregation, like something that the Lord had done that week...or give a small announcement or do a reading.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> One after another ladies went to the microphone and gave wonderful testimonies, but I couldn't much hear what they were saying with my heart racing and now my body shaking and the phrase, "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water."</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I thought, "Lord, I CAN'T....I can't go up there...I've got nothing!"</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water!" I kept 'hearing' loudly. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I twisted in my seat..."Nope...not gonna happen."</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> The pressure was so strong now. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Someone from the podium was asking, "Is there anyone else? Anyone?" </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Nope!" I told myself and hoped the Lord heard my thought, too.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Alright," I thought, looking to the right at the row of ladies sitting there, my Mom beside me. I thought I'd get up, get along in front of the women seated there, get to the aisle...make the Holy Spirit THINK I was going to go up there, but make a bee-line to the back of the church to the ladies room. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Shaking, I did that...I got up, apparently startling Mom, "Where you going?!" she whispered harshly, "Where you going?"</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I delicately pointed my pinky finger toward the back of the church and inched my way along toward the aisle, where I think I made it!</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Standing now, staring up at a big round silver microphone, I saw my hand reach up and pull it down to where my mouth could speak into it. There was a huge dark audience out there, my Mom probably thinking, "Oh no...NOW what's she up to?"</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I think my heart was calm, but I was thinking, "I've got NOTHING to say...how did I get up here??" Then remembering, I recited, "The Bible says,' Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water...." My voice became clear and decisive, "But first, let your praise come up out of your being, flowing up to the Living God and He will Flow down and through you, enlivening you, teaching and growing you, then...THEN, shall your have rivers of living water flow out of you to nourish and feed others who desperately need the living water to live and grow, too. Do not stop praising Him, lest it be that the living water will be like a block of ice in your throat, stopping the flow. Praise Him, Thank Him, the Lord Most High...." perhaps more...maybe.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I remember hearing my Mom's voice go, "Hmm!" in approval. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> And then I was finished and trying to find my way back off the stage and safely back to Mom. Where was she anyway...okay, five rows back on the right...seven women across. Carefully stepping down the stairs that I had absolutely NO memory of climbing up, walking up the carpeted aisle that I don't know how I got to the stairs on, sidling in, in front of the seven ladies who were smiling into my face, I thought, "Don't smile at me, I had nothing to do with it...God pulled fast one...it wasn't me."</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I sat down next to Mom, drained. She squeezed my hand. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> They moved on to the next agenda while I sat there dumbfounded...how did I get up there? I tried to pull a fast one on the Lord, but He ended up grabbing me and plunking me up there without me knowing it, 'til, there I wuz. But, ya know, what came out of my mouth, I really needed to hear that.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> And to think it was "Mom approved"...well, icing on the cake.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Over the next few years I tried not to shock her with my crazy goings ons. She was my best friend. We took long drives and as usual, she sang me the old standards, which I still love and comfort me, remembering how she'd harmonize with them. She was so smart, that one. She'd give the Jeopardy answers before the contestants. I kept trying to talk her into going on that tv show, but she kept telling me "No". And the Lord never plunked her up and PUT her there, either. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Then it was time for me to take care of her and nurse her back to health. It was as though I was in a tug-of-war game with the Lord. She had moved three hours away, so when she became ill, I'd go pray with her and she'd revive. I'd drive home, she'd become ill, so back, I'd go. Sometimes I'd spend nights in the hospital twisted like a pretzel in the half couches. I was making myself ill with no sleep. She'd get better, then I'd drive home, some nights in blinding snow for the three hours. Back at the hospital in a day or two, she began calling, "Mama!" and was terrified to fall asleep. I told her I'd sit and watch her sleep, so she could sleep. I sat in a hard straight back chair 'watching' her. She angrily growled, waking me up! I was exhausted, eating potatoes that I microwaved in the hospital cafeteria because of celiac and fear of getting even more ill, if I'd gotten ahold of wheat or gluten. I was getting weaker, losing ground in the tug-of-war with the Lord. He was kind to me, in my tears, crying, "Please don't take her, please don't take her." He let me gracefully, gradually begin to lose, "I love her, too, please let me take her" was His gentle plea.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> He is our Strength...He is our Rock....He is the Bright and Morning Star. He made Mom...she was sweet, she loved Him back.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> May 27th 1998, I had just barely made it home from the long 3 hour drive, managing not falling asleep, when my daughter called, who was sitting with Mom...her Grandma. She said that Grandma had taken a bad turn for the worse that afternoon and didn't think she'd make it through the night, that I'd better start back immediately. I said weakly, "I can't...I just can't...I'll need a couple of hours of sleep first." </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I started back that night around one o'clock in the dead of night. The sky was crisp and clear. I sang, I talked to the Lord...I had no cell phone. I just wanted to get there and pray for my Momma to revive some more and maybe be healed for good this time. Totally alone on dark and winding roads way out in the country of Pennsylvania.</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Suddenly from the direction I was headed came a shot of light that flung itself toward the northeast, like a rubber band that had snapped and "I LOVE YOU, MOMMA" bellowed out of my throat before the light was out of my sight...gone. I knew it was her going. I looked at the clock...3 a.m. sharp. </b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The lonely drive to the hospital, knowing she'd already gone was fraught with anguish and tears...I should have been there.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Arriving at the hospital, I learned that, yes, they had 'called it' at 3 a.m. sharp. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The tug-of-war was over. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I hope she is THERE, dancing and singing. She taught me how to dance in the kitchen when I was 9. How she loved music. I'm sure she still does. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> So, yep, Momma went Home with The Rock Star, and I got to see her go!</b></div><p></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-29164574177044971882023-05-05T12:51:00.000-05:002023-05-05T12:51:17.883-05:00Christmas Card 2022<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlCkQIiQ1-v2pxFmC3pHAQCE8nO5eUj7koyWz7P7NjDawlsVAuHu35CLvqB5peEv7cLdvN3l8Cb0cWLmem7NUmoiMTl6MfIUEAl1-_UtOTGkTnYzxZueJYG-XcK0YdIwSb_hOPYKqLbRde9HPdY9J_rlL1Bij1YDp0VgyA9inMVYOsRDXWm6E/s3418/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2275" data-original-width="3418" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlCkQIiQ1-v2pxFmC3pHAQCE8nO5eUj7koyWz7P7NjDawlsVAuHu35CLvqB5peEv7cLdvN3l8Cb0cWLmem7NUmoiMTl6MfIUEAl1-_UtOTGkTnYzxZueJYG-XcK0YdIwSb_hOPYKqLbRde9HPdY9J_rlL1Bij1YDp0VgyA9inMVYOsRDXWm6E/w657-h400/1.jpg" width="657" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8n8sf_Lc-Spqgts0eLheWPWStesWUutDVgsEIemLmtGWGUURag5qb0WWSP1GXc8J62wS3asVCZuAFV6EuAdZSJ4F8wb1jSvRES8wFEy9VuAxE8vzcbIzkp6biZJ02YHP8cfjoTzYeLY0SDghXP7Sa3Xf4VX0LyLXJEPHdpa-K-Gnc_F_qt0/s4665/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4665" data-original-width="3311" height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8n8sf_Lc-Spqgts0eLheWPWStesWUutDVgsEIemLmtGWGUURag5qb0WWSP1GXc8J62wS3asVCZuAFV6EuAdZSJ4F8wb1jSvRES8wFEy9VuAxE8vzcbIzkp6biZJ02YHP8cfjoTzYeLY0SDghXP7Sa3Xf4VX0LyLXJEPHdpa-K-Gnc_F_qt0/w519-h594/2.jpg" width="519" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpbavRh5G_NRVY01Ty2-QHi9LXOT3OMKvt9PBFvQKBFZ-OJnzXORajWYLu4X3MCl5kUc8KXU3kg4aR0sAIhFPvxe2ZITh_SNPro3NpeqorR5HbimfUP4Q4wOcp5TIQ5FhmgZ70FzWuQMTT8oMdpxn66KG8lkjItM-O_ufcoAZed2uheI_Wag/s3327/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2191" data-original-width="3327" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpbavRh5G_NRVY01Ty2-QHi9LXOT3OMKvt9PBFvQKBFZ-OJnzXORajWYLu4X3MCl5kUc8KXU3kg4aR0sAIhFPvxe2ZITh_SNPro3NpeqorR5HbimfUP4Q4wOcp5TIQ5FhmgZ70FzWuQMTT8oMdpxn66KG8lkjItM-O_ufcoAZed2uheI_Wag/w642-h370/3.jpg" width="642" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-30879248268258892182022-11-26T01:31:00.004-05:002022-11-27T01:45:26.271-05:00Having Words<p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxd3eCUsw-J4vtmEnnSf8yRbWetC_jrqWTDRjP87RrqK4lc4lysgrPIK9Ya6yedeLvRNbZvn7F2jlhNQRzVa7lSCGORA_5PO0FegIDQxj2LEGGOl0YUT9V4dRMCs5XTHeCMteUvjW8qwvqSDe67MOCadrlElwsR4bepEl7N84JscSorlgzpug/s2987/SPAGHETTI%20DEBACLE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2135" data-original-width="2987" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxd3eCUsw-J4vtmEnnSf8yRbWetC_jrqWTDRjP87RrqK4lc4lysgrPIK9Ya6yedeLvRNbZvn7F2jlhNQRzVa7lSCGORA_5PO0FegIDQxj2LEGGOl0YUT9V4dRMCs5XTHeCMteUvjW8qwvqSDe67MOCadrlElwsR4bepEl7N84JscSorlgzpug/w490-h375/SPAGHETTI%20DEBACLE.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><p></p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I've learned that words really do mean something. They really do. Look at the world around us; the earth, the sky, water...all created by WORDS, like "Let there be"...and there they are. </b></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b><span> When Jesus was sleeping in the boat and a storm came up, his buddies got scared and woke Him up. He was like, ("Oh come ON!") "Where is <i>your</i> faith??" Then He essentially told the storm to "shut up!," using the words, "Peace be still!" From that I took it that, since He asked them why they hadn't done it, </span>He apparently had expected the disciples to have done the same thing and not woke Him up. So...</b></span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>if those guys could have done it, why couldn't we? Where is <i>our</i> faith? So, for </b></span><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">years and years (and years, now), I have been doing the same thing. I go outside and yell at loud storms, "Peace be still, in the Name of Jesus!" (hoping the neighbors can't hear their scare't, ditzy neighbor.)</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I'm convinced that, as a result, the things we see on the weather radar when we do that is downright amazing. I've had to print out some of them to show family and friends. The storms either stop, or actually part and go around on either side of our neighborhood, then go back together when they get past us...every time! I have an image on my computer of a perfect heart shape in the middle of one really bad storm, which gave me much peace.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> So, I've been taking "speaking Words of God" seriously, and they <i>work!</i> Storms of all sorts, as well. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> A</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> long time ago </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">I remember </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">hearing</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> about an old lady, who had been informed by her husband that he had spontaneously invited a group of people to their home for supper. S</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">he was shocked and let him know that she didn't have enough food to feed such a large, unexpected crowd. Waving off her protests as he left the room, he stated that it wasn't his problem; cooking were her worries.</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Now, this little old lady was a devout Christian woman, but according to her non-believing husband, she was a little too vociferous in her joyful living for the Lord. </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Soon, from out in the kitchen, he heard her </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">loudly </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">singing praises and giving thanks to God, "Fishes and loaves...fishes and loaves," and </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">singing in a Heavenly language, </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">as she stirred in her pots and pans. </b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENNG0TBV30GEFArI8_gp2ZIqM7uS26RD_LFSl4wuENiWuxynBm-_hvHNjc_a8A-h6iyS1eyHtbbNLTYh_8f60mpw4FfkYFFolx3QTl0fjvnlLTqOuCUclvTekC5hR3mc-SI79NVXCiKHMQJM4tZHpwvQuKde2wZqlRGKMZ17DiMndIEwgNHM/s3601/not%20crazy%20lady%20singing%20to%20the%20Lord.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2944" data-original-width="3601" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENNG0TBV30GEFArI8_gp2ZIqM7uS26RD_LFSl4wuENiWuxynBm-_hvHNjc_a8A-h6iyS1eyHtbbNLTYh_8f60mpw4FfkYFFolx3QTl0fjvnlLTqOuCUclvTekC5hR3mc-SI79NVXCiKHMQJM4tZHpwvQuKde2wZqlRGKMZ17DiMndIEwgNHM/w502-h357/not%20crazy%20lady%20singing%20to%20the%20Lord.jpg" width="502" /></a></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> "Crazy woman!" the husband yelled, "She's a <i>crazy</i> woman!" </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Their guests arrived, were seated and fed all they wanted and there were even several leftovers! She knew that if Jesus could feed the multitude with so very little, just a few small fish and a couple of loaves of bread...He's still with us, so He still can; and He did!</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> This also happened with me! One day when I hadn't had time to get groceries that week, I learned that </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">our friends, </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Mr. Ed and Mrs. Jean, were on their way over for supper! I had completely forgotten they were coming. As it was, I was scrounging around trying to figure our what to cook for supper to feed five big hungry teenagers. I only found that I had a handful of spaghetti, but then (!) remembering the "crazy woman," knowing there was absolutely no way it was going to feed Mr. Ed, Mrs. Jean, and our family, nonetheless, I stirred the pitiful spaghetti around in the big pot of too much water, and began singing my own made up song, "Fishes and Loaves, Lord, fishes and loaves, please!" and words that only The Lord and I could understand.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Well, my faith kinda shaky, (of <i>course</i>) I managed to put some bread and butter on the table, a small bowl of salad, and the bowl of spaghetti strings with sauce. For some reason, nobody seemed to notice because they were all talking over one another having a wonderful conversation. They all passed the dishes around, filling their plates with the usual mounds of spaghetti, while enjoying each other's company. Hard to believe, but I, myself, caught up in the conversation, didn't notice until later as I cleared the table, (I hope you believe me)...there was the same amount of spaghetti in that bowl that was in it as when I had first placed it on the table before anyone had taken any out! This is the truth! "Fishes and Loaves." I put all the leftovers in the fridge. </b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5jqzKbcD2rjlQ_ITZjAiu0dnNTOl2sOLd3qlPKdWixK5FJVPpT6RARnZvmwH7RbgguAbMkic6yIaBGvMw1Rx4uDW5_gTtQKkJzL7E8BKBxdRUGqLZiYh-PxQqugleGvF3kYeTJIrQjBInzwbJ65r_jRZWnl-R5WLoCNwmx5HSvd6vzVDCLQ8/s3294/Pegody%20blog%20about%20same%20amount%20of%20food%20after%20everyone%20ate.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2573" data-original-width="3294" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5jqzKbcD2rjlQ_ITZjAiu0dnNTOl2sOLd3qlPKdWixK5FJVPpT6RARnZvmwH7RbgguAbMkic6yIaBGvMw1Rx4uDW5_gTtQKkJzL7E8BKBxdRUGqLZiYh-PxQqugleGvF3kYeTJIrQjBInzwbJ65r_jRZWnl-R5WLoCNwmx5HSvd6vzVDCLQ8/s320/Pegody%20blog%20about%20same%20amount%20of%20food%20after%20everyone%20ate.jpg" width="320" /></a><b style="text-align: left;"> Mulling this over, I came to the conclusion that speaking those words might be applied to other situations where there was a need for things to go farther than they should. A lady from our church was about to undergo surgery and was naturally concerned. Meanwhile, she had a dress that I was altering for her. As I was whizzing along on my sewing machine, I noticed that the white thread was about to run out on the bobbin. Not wanting to stop and mess around finding another bobbin or winding up more thread on this one, I started asking, "Fishes and Loaves, Lord? Fishes and loaves, Please?" I kept sewing, waiting for it to run out, but was shocked to see that it had indeed run out, but was still stitching along in gold thread. </b><i style="text-align: left;">Gold</i><b style="text-align: left;"> thread? What?! For those of you, who do not know, bobbins do not...can</b><i style="text-align: left;">not</i><b style="text-align: left;"> re-thread on their own! What in the world was going on here? </b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuVUHr8v5gO89hZLXUY4YwqSlABeoEm20gtwsyEBkxo4Bj24a9I6XhykIr5xH2EIg5erqPQ5DRqrX5glJjdb4bvpj74eHIILtbZmuf7k52sU7rQ-wQFbKAGNWRe4MsQe4p4Fc0Bo68AV_unpGQ9OJkHUtQLccKJEtXRYgBEq8594bkxSIU7mw/s2141/Pegodys%20dark%20thread%20changed%20to%20gold.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2141" data-original-width="1308" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuVUHr8v5gO89hZLXUY4YwqSlABeoEm20gtwsyEBkxo4Bj24a9I6XhykIr5xH2EIg5erqPQ5DRqrX5glJjdb4bvpj74eHIILtbZmuf7k52sU7rQ-wQFbKAGNWRe4MsQe4p4Fc0Bo68AV_unpGQ9OJkHUtQLccKJEtXRYgBEq8594bkxSIU7mw/w279-h416/Pegodys%20dark%20thread%20changed%20to%20gold.jpg" width="279" /></a></b></div><p></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> A thought sparked in my heart and I knew what to tell my friend. When she next called and began stressing about the fears she was having about the impending surgery, I told her, "If God loves you so very much that He would perform some kind of miracle</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> to have your dress sewn with golden thread, how much more does He care about you, than your dress? Any time you doubt and fear, look at the seams in your dress." (She breezed through the surgery and successfully healed quickly, Praise God.) At times I still pray fishes and loaves over even little things, like bobbin thread.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> So now, whenever I get in a pinch of too little having too far </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">to go</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">, (and not taking God for granted, being lackadaisical) but, sincerely having accidentally gotten myself backed into a corner, I'm convinced that He's got my back. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Knowing this has given me faith to tithe. One Scripture says...and it's true, even of me: "I've been young and now I am old, and I have never seen the righteous (His people...those who love Him) forsaken, or their kids having to beg for bread (food)." So, He makes $ go farther than it should. (We often pray this as we leave our driveway, to ask God to, "Please make Your money go farther than it should." And He does.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I pray for Fishes and Loaves for my faith to be increased when mine sometimes seems lacking. And...since last Christmas, we've had plenty of things happen to test our faith; Cappy nearly dying in the hospital, identity theft and mail fraud, thus we never got our new tax bill for our home, so someone bought it out from under us without our knowledge. (Thank God for our neighbor, Judge Jude, who saved it for us.) Our bills had been diverted to another address in NYC, by fraudsters, which caused a lot of problems with the telephone, electric co., and all the other businesses with which we deal. So MANY problems popped up from that episode. We pray we've seen the end to that. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Then, one by one all the appliances began breaking down, washing machine, dryer, kitchen stove, dishwasher.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Cappy and I both got some kind of flu whereby, taking turns in the bathroom got rather tenuous, to say it best. Good thing we had a little white curly-haired nurse to curl up with us in bed while we suffered between bouts.</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Mice and rats took over our walls and attic. This happens every year in our neighborhood when the cutting of the sugar cane fields surrounding our little community begins. </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">And the cat, </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Claw'd, was no help whatsoever. This year </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">they got into the kitchen drawers. Lord, help us. We could hear them in the walls, and attic. Cappy was still too ill to climb up there and take care of the situation, other than to toss poison up there and behind furniture. Oh, the lovely scent of dead rodents emanating from the walls. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">We began to wonder if we had somehow gotten ourselves cursed. We kept praying as things kept getting worse. </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">During one week when we felt things <i>might</i> be calming down, the hot water heater up there in that yucky rodent-overrun attic exploded, sending down smelly "rain" in the computer room and bathroom. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> That night Cappy had wearily dragged himself off to bed while I stayed up seeking peace and quiet. As I walked through the hall to go check on the laundry in the bathroom, </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">passing </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">the dark computer room</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I heard something "tapping" in there. I turned on the light to discover it was raining in there! The cat was sitting on one of the 'shelves' in his cat tower, glowering at me, as 'rain' fell down in front of him from one of the padded seats above.</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYoqfpZXXsDlg6q1kNkgNT1DBbFe1cXrcrCJka2Vc0HahodGHXs_Ej-B41TBSKBU1axHUiuyaW5JEGk2qnYooMaXaiLFi1jHU8yP5bbsjXWO27-3onJpG0CsGUHB_lf88K92wmSaJvPUprdlV5hdB7Z38wUdiAc0i57cjsNT2Nqnx16b2L-g/s2080/Angry%20Claw'd%20with%20raindrops.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2080" data-original-width="1642" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYoqfpZXXsDlg6q1kNkgNT1DBbFe1cXrcrCJka2Vc0HahodGHXs_Ej-B41TBSKBU1axHUiuyaW5JEGk2qnYooMaXaiLFi1jHU8yP5bbsjXWO27-3onJpG0CsGUHB_lf88K92wmSaJvPUprdlV5hdB7Z38wUdiAc0i57cjsNT2Nqnx16b2L-g/w319-h373/Angry%20Claw'd%20with%20raindrops.jpg" width="319" /></a></b></div><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br />(Like it was somehow <i>my</i> fault.) There was an inch and a half of water deep on the floor! I checked the bathroom and sure enough, the whole ceiling was also 'raining' and water was deep on the floor in there, as well. </b><p></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Waking Cappy, he immediately knew that the hot water heater in the attic had burst, so, sick as he was, he weakly trundled up the ladder and turned off the water. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Getting someone out here to access the situation and begin the remediation took some time. Meanwhile, on top of everything else going bad, the house began to take on the smell of mold. Not sure if everyone is aware of this, but I am a burn survivor, so this was not healthy for my lungs, so I stayed in our camper for a month or so in the extreme heat of summer</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">, while Cappy and the pets "roughed it" in the house</b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">. I did have A/C and despite the hot sticky, humid air outside, some days I ventured onto the patio or visited my shade garden in our rustic "courtyard" area. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Life at our place was like living in a storm of chaos. One thing </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">after another </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">breaking down , as if the appliances and circumstances in general were tag teaming us. The day we finally got the new dishwasher put in, the sewer pump in the back yard burned up, creating a stinking watery swamp between the house and shed, and Cappy's beloved cat went missing. My iron stopped working, so we bought a new one and the day the new sewer sump pump was installed, the brand new iron broke. The next day the brand new dishwasher began acting up by not draining and spewing nasty water all over the kitchen floor. The cat came back a week later in fine shape, despite the heartache and worry he had caused, but that night my #1 appliance, the blender fell over and shot shattered glass all over the counter-top, ironing board and floor. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Alright, enough already, you get the picture and you have probably been going through a lot yourself. I just say all this to let you know that during all this, despite my Faith, I was not in the best of moods. I knew God was, despite all of our prayers, letting all this happen for a reason, but waiting on finding out what that reason or direction might be, some days was overwhelming. While most days I basked in inexplicable peace, knowing that God has a plan for a good outcome for all this, still, I admit at times I lost it, crying or acting crabby. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I felt so badly for Cappy, who, also going through all the turmoil himself and despite not feeling well most of the time, tried his best to deal with people over the phone and put things to right. He arranged for me to be able to cook our meals outside on the patio. Everyday, two or three times a day, he carried everything outside, pots, pans, silverware, utensils, ingredients, so I could cook, and then after the meal, he dragged everything back into the house and cleaned up and washed the dishes by hand. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> He deserves a medal, and not what he got next.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Being the tugboat captain that he was, living on the boat for weeks or months at a time with engines roaring the whole time, and things shifting or sliding around on surfaces, he put things down with solid purpose. Although he's retired now, he still unconsciously places things very soundly. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The patio table is made of tempered glass with a metal edging. With everything else breaking around us, I was nervous about this table top shattering, too. Well, poor guy, his nerves were also bad, so perhaps he placed items onto the table a little harder than usual. So, of course, I "had" to tell him to stop "clunking" things down onto the table so hard. Several times, this one particular day. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> His plan was to finish his favorite leftovers in the house, while I'd cook some "expensive" gluten free spaghetti for myself on the patio. (...alas, Cappy is married to a mess. Burn survivor and "celiac", who cannot have wheat or gluten. TMI=too much information, I guess...sorry.)</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I can imagine that in all the aggravating shuffle going on with the house and all, and my constantly chiding him about the glass table top, he might have been a little annoyed, and who could blame him. He brought my pasta out and (my perception) slammed the box onto the table.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I thought, "Oh no...it's fragile uncooked pasta, so now it's probably shattered." I absolutely promise you that I did not react negatively...no eye rolling or complaining, because I am tired of hearing myself nagging or grumbling during this whole house crisis. Besides, it's not a nice quality. I weakly smiled and said, "Thank you," but I guess by then he's had it with me and deliberately "pocked" the big tablespoon hard on the table. </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Well, prissy me, "<i>Not a nice quality</i>?!" I lost it! I sprang out of my chair, thinking,"I'll show <i>him</i> how to slam something on this table! My favorite spaghetti is ruined anyhow." I growled and grabbed the box of spaghetti with both hands, raised it up over my head, intending to hit the table on it's metal edge and scare some sense into him. It never made it to the table; as I angrily swung the box forward, the whole thing shot out of my hands, the clear cellophane wrapper inside burst open as did the box, and dried spaghetti flew everywhere all over the patio bricks!</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I stood there frozen. </b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonzo8c-MNJd1ALM2JBAQuRokoZAvBZ82vzqSRnc4fadntovNY-pud1ki_tI2iOuaYs4aV3RGEeHsT9JWmSym0cnlk0TOieqQY2eXbGo_M5m0iVoP6ryw5S5Oczkk08RxzsYz58h91_QOVu8HFFhID12Ve1gn4-e_Wb9bXihsiox_AMjgYyRo/s490/SPAGHETTI%20DEBACLE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="490" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonzo8c-MNJd1ALM2JBAQuRokoZAvBZ82vzqSRnc4fadntovNY-pud1ki_tI2iOuaYs4aV3RGEeHsT9JWmSym0cnlk0TOieqQY2eXbGo_M5m0iVoP6ryw5S5Oczkk08RxzsYz58h91_QOVu8HFFhID12Ve1gn4-e_Wb9bXihsiox_AMjgYyRo/w384-h288/SPAGHETTI%20DEBACLE.jpg" width="384" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><b style="text-align: left;"> Cappy asked </b><b style="text-align: left;">loudly enough for the neighbors on the next block to hear, </b><b style="text-align: left;">"Why did you do that? Why did you throw that expensive spaghetti all over the patio...look at it, it's everywhere, now why did you do that? What I want to know is why did you throw that spaghetti everywhere?" </b></b></div><p></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Well, that made me laugh. It was all so absurd. Seems I just can't get away with anything. I can't even throw a successful tantrum. He didn't appreciate my laughing and stated, "Now, see there! You threw a hissy fit for <i>nothing</i> and that's what it got you. So then, what are you going to have for supper? Why did you throw that spaghetti all over the patio, is <i>still</i> what I want to know." (still giggling here)</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Then, he spied the cellophane wrapper with a few strands of spaghetti still in it. I picked it up and said I'd have that with some pasta sauce. I wish I had taken a picture. There were maybe 7 strands left. The pasta water was boiling on the outdoor propane stove, so I put them in and...well, First, I had to apologize to Cappy and told him that I didn't know the spaghetti was going to fly everywhere like that. (Then I apologized to God for acting like an angry brat.) </b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> While Cappy was inside eating his supper, I looked at my </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">few </b><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">pitiful strands of spaghetti and remembered the "crazy lady." And, knowing that regardless of everything, I'm confident that I'm still God's child, so I began stirring the pan of water, with the few spaghetti strings around in it and sang "Fishes and Loaves, Lord, please" and in my Heavenly language. Silly me, I also love dancing around in the kitchen, so I did that too, dancing and dancing and easily managing not to grab my crotch, not even once, like everybody seems to be doing these days, leastwise on television, anyhow. Then I drained the dismal little pile of limp noodles, put some sauce and grated cheese on it, dumped it into my bowl and began eating it with gratitude that I had anything at all for supper. As I ate, I watched the breezes rustle through the tree branches and listened to the birds singing and flitting about. It was really pleasant. BeauxBear came and joined me, wanting some of whatever I was having, so I fed him strand after strand after strand, thinking what a lovely day it was outside since the weather had cooled a little.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Presently, I noticed that I was full. I only had a little more in the bowl, so I kept eating to finish it off, but after a bit, I realized that I was positively <i>stuffed</i> and that I couldn't eat another bite! I had to give the rest of it to BeauxBear and after a while he even left a few noodles of it in his bowl!</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I'm still amazed, thinking about this. God's Words are sure powerful!</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> So, now, a month and a half or so later, what with the Christmas Season upon us, as Cappy said the other day over the phone, "As gorgeous as the lovely black garbage bags are that y'all put us up for ceilings, we are wondering when your guys are gonna come back and finish the repairs." The man does have a way with words.</b></p><p><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> We are hunkered in this tiny house with the insides looking much like a hoarder's den, but we know...we TRUST, like Cappy's beloved, cantankerous, wonderful "Aint (aunt) Gussy" (God rest her sweet ol' soul) used to quote, "This, too, shall pass." And so, our Faith and Joy intact, we are believing that these are Words to live by. And Lord Willing, so we shall.</b> </p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-66333955616580307402022-10-31T22:09:00.000-05:002022-10-31T22:09:47.183-05:00Christmas Cards Past Two Years; Where Have They Been?<p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>We profusely apologize that we neglected to post our Christmas cards for the last two years. While starting this year's card, I, Peggy, was shocked to realize that fact. In fact, if you would like us to mail you one of this year's cards, please let us know. Since we have also been lax in checking our listed email here, please send your request to Cappy at: captainrayr@yahoo.com (He checks his email daily)</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Here are the Christmas cards from 2 years past: </b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-fNXmQBCd3-qnD_nhNYPyNNLVncfz2Q6HhwdySwMTBibvUeSCZwMQQ0vFcauUeFGf1prYnLKS7kFSTYYIeZreu6CvjSbnGwVkLjawULwhAwcWuovUnPYrGk8PjdmlnmPTSi8Qv9FJeDzJBNz0WefDEbIKiq9K3AY75bSCcKdcfVd-EWRn6k/s5100/Christmas%20Card%202021%20-%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; font-weight: 700; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3291" data-original-width="5100" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-fNXmQBCd3-qnD_nhNYPyNNLVncfz2Q6HhwdySwMTBibvUeSCZwMQQ0vFcauUeFGf1prYnLKS7kFSTYYIeZreu6CvjSbnGwVkLjawULwhAwcWuovUnPYrGk8PjdmlnmPTSi8Qv9FJeDzJBNz0WefDEbIKiq9K3AY75bSCcKdcfVd-EWRn6k/w635-h425/Christmas%20Card%202021%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="635" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vWTJ3BTp1DeduDKm4NLmQWFLMhQTx8vv6_5Ib8TsVjnjIqC2wCvy21VjH0yBPBlSZoTA-VooFsvAGM9fViKN0xTbwWP_Fy3YeYuONiVK44AKO2iN2A91fiYKm6MCc9N7dWzkb1uVbJzLXuEkqloh_CjezGSW8kul8AcbhoNrl8pbtQu9jDc/s6547/Chriistmas%20Card%202021%20inside%20of%20card%20-%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6547" data-original-width="5016" height="573" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vWTJ3BTp1DeduDKm4NLmQWFLMhQTx8vv6_5Ib8TsVjnjIqC2wCvy21VjH0yBPBlSZoTA-VooFsvAGM9fViKN0xTbwWP_Fy3YeYuONiVK44AKO2iN2A91fiYKm6MCc9N7dWzkb1uVbJzLXuEkqloh_CjezGSW8kul8AcbhoNrl8pbtQu9jDc/w415-h573/Chriistmas%20Card%202021%20inside%20of%20card%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="415" /></a></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxzGVqoJhUfpFWAzH3p70Fdj_jS_SldS31y7HoPt4owmyEzxHaxavChBa1TRMr5G01NiCe7hkuGw2xaea6dVriTPFJiA2uBhgi_R8FWDKjut7FwNgLQDNYt7nJ859kHpKJoWxeJRPitz90L_ed-AnLOKcrGOeKyN-rbaczA6ADJQAHU6L8Gs/s5039/Christmas%20Card%202021%20-%20Copy%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3124" data-original-width="5039" height="503" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxzGVqoJhUfpFWAzH3p70Fdj_jS_SldS31y7HoPt4owmyEzxHaxavChBa1TRMr5G01NiCe7hkuGw2xaea6dVriTPFJiA2uBhgi_R8FWDKjut7FwNgLQDNYt7nJ859kHpKJoWxeJRPitz90L_ed-AnLOKcrGOeKyN-rbaczA6ADJQAHU6L8Gs/w649-h503/Christmas%20Card%202021%20-%20Copy%20(2).jpg" width="649" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVIGExBpkyjNuhLv1cbVN9lU8uHPw2ZQf3kh0UDb-gVhjgFG29h1EUHbr1ldDnzvnAd260aLmvUbRQR7MBRgQ6nNz_d2mcEgBzJ6zN8ZoFqrzd442GjK14jD-2akEFHns7W6-WiXMAilRd9B6C2CCo9pCSrsK_U2DOAy4WAp0koB1n3n6oVQ/s4904/Christmas%20Card%202020%20-%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4904" data-original-width="3248" height="693" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVIGExBpkyjNuhLv1cbVN9lU8uHPw2ZQf3kh0UDb-gVhjgFG29h1EUHbr1ldDnzvnAd260aLmvUbRQR7MBRgQ6nNz_d2mcEgBzJ6zN8ZoFqrzd442GjK14jD-2akEFHns7W6-WiXMAilRd9B6C2CCo9pCSrsK_U2DOAy4WAp0koB1n3n6oVQ/w385-h693/Christmas%20Card%202020%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="385" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVwvyQcnr7FPCUMOB4rPwyt22yL1In26C14S1rb_9hTv1R0a0F66u4nuvNfjXAeKRkSKetrMC0VL8CIZJ2Nu-wyNwnPDKZ1R3rmkOSlR_74nbVr0Z2_RBhLGSD2fmDodkgTsveUtIXMMONs2bdG_YS3Orm2yTi8uzTTCWXWSAbovu5SiLbio/s7055/Christmas%20Card%202020%20inside%20-%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; font-weight: 700; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5026" data-original-width="7055" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVwvyQcnr7FPCUMOB4rPwyt22yL1In26C14S1rb_9hTv1R0a0F66u4nuvNfjXAeKRkSKetrMC0VL8CIZJ2Nu-wyNwnPDKZ1R3rmkOSlR_74nbVr0Z2_RBhLGSD2fmDodkgTsveUtIXMMONs2bdG_YS3Orm2yTi8uzTTCWXWSAbovu5SiLbio/w635-h483/Christmas%20Card%202020%20inside%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="635" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeZrEhvJ1_PDVbyUHwJ3BlswYBocISRfN_4smG5H835Us7t9s3GqhovaQRS2enGYuMHrynFKorpyqdpKy7pDxrm28iC9N9nrPUH7QQNcnXw1goJW_RPSvZaFF7dKAgH7IUPgtA4eJa2KCHSa5dabNFW8gUi7_PdfyZuMZ3ixzhwqCJWBkJM8/s4822/Christmas%20Card%202020%20-the%20back%20Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; font-weight: 700; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4822" data-original-width="3193" height="643" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeZrEhvJ1_PDVbyUHwJ3BlswYBocISRfN_4smG5H835Us7t9s3GqhovaQRS2enGYuMHrynFKorpyqdpKy7pDxrm28iC9N9nrPUH7QQNcnXw1goJW_RPSvZaFF7dKAgH7IUPgtA4eJa2KCHSa5dabNFW8gUi7_PdfyZuMZ3ixzhwqCJWBkJM8/w449-h643/Christmas%20Card%202020%20-the%20back%20Copy.jpg" width="449" /></a></div></div></b></span>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-55247143564125325612022-08-22T15:18:00.000-05:002022-08-22T16:00:32.172-05:00Cappy Lowers the Doom<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9n9oO53KcK98PNYCzc24IVA-eveS31x1_5wyPDocYqJGAv9apEuXRsYBwoGlj_tlb2Zfv_CZ4PvEr-D234hswDceVud42Te6EquWPmZkYgpNqs_r1xhCKjadO4b8Pcq1e9Ws/s1600/Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9n9oO53KcK98PNYCzc24IVA-eveS31x1_5wyPDocYqJGAv9apEuXRsYBwoGlj_tlb2Zfv_CZ4PvEr-D234hswDceVud42Te6EquWPmZkYgpNqs_r1xhCKjadO4b8Pcq1e9Ws/s320/Image.jpg" width="320" /></a> I'll tell you, it wasn't easy when Cappy was out on the boat and I had to learn to be the "man" of the house until he got back home to resume that role. I had to deal with mechanics who didn't care one whit that I had gone online and thoroughly researched the problem I was having with our SUV, and what part I thought they should repair. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"> "Uh yeah, (little lady) we'll take a look at it for ya," with exchanged looks and eye rolls at one another, they hoisted their britches and clipboard in hand, headed back into the dark recesses of the mechanic's garage where a sign boldly forbade any customers from entering. A couple of times, I happened to be right, much to their chagrin. They had one of the "gals" who worked in the office come and tell me so, and that they were going to replace that particular part...and when they did "voila!" it worked great. Still, it was always a daunting process, dealing with those guys.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"> Plumbers coming to the house, same thing. I might investigate the problem, but it didn't always work; they always seemed to talk over my head, "Well, yeah, I'll have to get a double-whirrled purple slath-branger ratchet to finish the job...might cost you a li'l extra, but if yer wantin' the thing to work, an' all...we can fix it." </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lK58oK0rWluNVyEHdO2LmDWx27T84YVRFp1VeVkhrII12DSo7NnOFJ3LxCP02XxGRqe-uIUZfEfU6SfUz63VnwGdy7ytsaSp5e-6xoQrtHZZXvbMpUsTXwzif3v4DFYK6Qev/s1600/bear+in+the+woods+toilet.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lK58oK0rWluNVyEHdO2LmDWx27T84YVRFp1VeVkhrII12DSo7NnOFJ3LxCP02XxGRqe-uIUZfEfU6SfUz63VnwGdy7ytsaSp5e-6xoQrtHZZXvbMpUsTXwzif3v4DFYK6Qev/s320/bear+in+the+woods+toilet.gif" width="256" /></a></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"> Yeah, well, so "I" managed to get the job done, dealing with them.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"> I don't even want to talk about electricians or A/C installers or yard workers, etc., etc., etcetera...sigh...it was rough. It got to the point that I'd rather let things hang,'til Cappy got off the boat, which was not always a pleasant "surprise" for him to come home to, when all he wanted to do was relax. So I'd muster up my courage to muddle through the doom and gloom and try it again, sometimes with success and sometimes, not.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"> Well, now he's home for good and I'll tell ya, he has really lowered my stress level when it comes to home repairs, etc. Presently, we (he) is handling the bathroom plumbing situation, talking with people who know he means business...and we are planning a trip to Lowe's. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"> AHA! Going to Lowe's now is a fun experience...not the dreaded groveling forages into the cavernous aisles I had to endure. With Cappy it's always a fun adventure. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"> That reminds me of a couple of stories we had posted here on our blog about just this very thing. Enjoy! </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-large;"></span></strong><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong> But I Don't Wannnna Be a Cowboy<br /> (originally posted 8/26/2006)</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"><strong> <br /> Well, now that I've been feeling better, I've tried to get back on track with everything again. Since finishing the den, I've been camping out in the computer-"slash"-guest room, having torn the bedroom apart in preparation for 'de-constructing' and remodeling in a style totally different from Cappy's den, which I love, but want something more light in color and open in feeling, if not in fact. (We live in what Cappy refers to as a 'shoebox'.)<br />
One of the first things I had to do was purchase storage racks and baskets for the clothes in the closet, because the closet is the first thing on the list to be torn apart.<br />
Cappy and I usually go together when we shop at the big home improvement stores, but him being out on the boat, I put on my big girl overalls with a tape measure hung on my pocket, list in hand, and swaggered across the parking lot like John Wayne. Too bad there weren't swinging doors; I coulda barged into the place like I owned it, doors flapping behind me. I was gonna look those guys dead in the eye and let 'em know I mean business, not let them double-talk me about pneumatic explosive nail drivers or double hung stud finders....none of that stuff. I pretty much knew what I was looking for, all I hadda do was find it.<br />
I mosied to the back of the store and found what I needed, but dang if I didn't come up short and needed to ask for help. <br />
A tough-lookin' gal in a red 'get-up' said she could help, but then called a guy to come answer my questions. <br />
I steeled myself. I pushed back my shoulders, stuck out my chin and waited. Waited some more. Waited some <i>more. </i>Relaxing a little, I looked around wondering where everybody went...did all the mens dive behind the bar when I strode through those front door with a chip on my shoulder? <br />
Just when I was about to give up, some 'dandy' pranced down the aisle toward me, all smiles. (I think they hone their timing 'til they see the customer begin to wilt and are more vulnerable...then they pounce.) I've gotta say he was pretty witty and entertaining, but he couldn't answer my questions, so he called another dude on the phone to come help me. As he was flitting away, he turned back and said in a mock provocotive tone, "...Ya know...I could hang around here with you and wait til the other guy shows up?"<br />
I musta taken off my tough guy exterior when I wasn't looking. I clinked my spurs together, stiffened my spine again and said, "No, but thanks for offering." <br />
Just then a deep voice behind me said, "Well, I can hang around with you and wait 'til the other guy gets here, too."</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>
I turned and saw an older man sitting on one of those motorized scooters, leaning back on one arm, his other arm extended over the steering wheel as though it were a hot red convertible, complete with a 'hubba-hubba' backseat. <br />
I smiled and was about to joke that his shirt had lost a few buttons, but then decided it might embarrass him. I told him the same thing I had told the 'dandy', "No, but thanks for offering."<br />
He drove on. <br />
While I was muttering to myself that I'd probably be waiting forever on this <i>next</i> store helper, a man looking to be in his 50's strode around the corner and jokingly asked me what it was I was looking for anyhow. (anyhow??) And this man had his pale green shirt unbuttoned almost halfway down his front, exposing his hairy grey chest like the guy on the scooter.....oh WAIT...it<i> was </i>the 'scooter guy'... walking around.<br />
He said, "I reallly will wait around with you 'til the guy shows up."<br />
Suddenly I got the feeling that this was his 'supermarket'...his 'bar'...and he was a 'lounge lizard', cruising the back aisles of the hardware section looking for gullible females. <br />
Well, by that time I was totally disarmed and disoriented. I humored him a few minutes with chit-chat about remodeling, etc., then high-tailed it outa there with the shelves and baskets I had already found, unanswered questions flying in the breeze behind me, quickly paid for my purchases and slinked back across the parking lot without what I'd really come for. <br />
Next time I'll up the ante; I'll go back as Arnold Schwarzenegger.</strong><br />
<strong> <span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">And another post of how things are when Cappy lowers the doom (my stress level) at Lowes: click the link here and enjoy the fun... <a href="http://cappyandpegody.blogspot.com/search?q=hummingbird+gumbo">http://cappyandpegody.blogspot.com/search?q=hummingbird+gumbo</a></span></strong></span>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-10473981182346732452022-08-19T19:15:00.004-05:002022-08-20T07:39:59.719-05:00Well, This is a New LOWE's, I Must Say!<p> <span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESfNR7t6QQEeGn2qhYG8QCbZhFdPT3UrCH5fh_1_F9Gnf_l1qnfAr_p1MamLZ9GxhBqi7k-THkEYKMu2t7JAjqayURrQ631B7NLyZAWdzQycVKaxOM0JUVDSvOQDWYfNZGU6XtEIHwAZjBCzyv92FNfTDoOzgwqC18tYSFg-XX_pWjZIFJTM/s127/fuming.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="127" data-original-width="113" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESfNR7t6QQEeGn2qhYG8QCbZhFdPT3UrCH5fh_1_F9Gnf_l1qnfAr_p1MamLZ9GxhBqi7k-THkEYKMu2t7JAjqayURrQ631B7NLyZAWdzQycVKaxOM0JUVDSvOQDWYfNZGU6XtEIHwAZjBCzyv92FNfTDoOzgwqC18tYSFg-XX_pWjZIFJTM/s1600/fuming.JPG" width="113" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b> </b>Well, this should be interesting: the new stove was supposed to be delivered the next morning between 8 A.M. and noon, so we set the cuss-ed broken down, cantankerous, not working, or worse BURNING while my back was turned old one out in the yard to have it out of the way, and for a friend, who gathers scrap metal and wanted it.</span><p></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">The next morning (Tuesday) no stove delivery. An empty cavern in the kitchen waiting for it.</span></p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> "They" messaged that it would, instead, be delivered, not from the local store where we ordered it, but from one of their stores 20 miles further away, and to expect it next Friday, again, between 8 A.M. and noon. WHAT?! four days with no kitchen stove/oven? <br /> Well, we made it.<br /> So today, Friday, we stayed put waiting, but no stove, again. We called several times, only to have to listen to horrible muzak, busy signals, then discovered we'd been dropped. <br /> FINALLY, at long last, Cappy listened to a very chirpy, happy lady recording, letting us know that our stove is expected (EXPECTED??) to be delivered, now, NEXT Friday. Another week from now. <br /> I've been cooking, using my Ninja pot and toaster oven, and I'm JUST THIS STUBBORN (ask my kids) I'm going to WAIT this whole next week, just to see what's going to happen, <br /> Oh we WILL get a new stove whenever. I know, I know, I should probably cancel the order, but I'm not! We'll just see what we get and see what "they" get for customer reviews. <br /> I'm thinking major discount, as well, for me/us, but darn it, I'm thinking that we should be "grate-FULL" by now, but I'm not!</span>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-20756437866611828882022-06-07T19:36:00.001-05:002022-06-07T19:40:30.869-05:00We All Do It, Just Not in a Truck<p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #38761d;"> </span><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia;">I was in standstill traffic all day, all day, all day out in the country and no gas stations or any place in sight...just sitting in the car for hours in a line of cars going nowhere on my way to Texas to escape Hurricane Ida.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I hadn't seen a bathroom in about four hours, so by now I was desperate! (Have you ever found yourself in a similar situation?)</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Finally we inched up to a wide area in the road, so I lost my place in line when I pulled over, got out, went around and opened the front and back passenger doors, (good thing I was wearing one of my long black baggy tunics to maintain some kind of modesty.) I leaned over, "dropped trou" half way down and used my brand new plastic purple discreet ladies emergency urinal.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Ohh! It was the best "potty break" I can remember in a long time;....not since I peed about a gallon all over the insides of my daughter, Jennifer's husband, David's brand new so PROUD of big huge pickup truck; down the back of the driver's seat, poured down the back of my legs, filled my shoes, about an inch thick on his fancy carpet "protector" pads. Sighhh...but it was SUCH an amazing relief. But then I was cold, waist down the rest of the ride back to their house. But I digress, that was about three years ago.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Last year when I lost my place in line "running" from the hurricane, I inched back up to the road and somebody let me back in. I think they must have understood, 'cuz, about five minutes later, they pulled over and I think they did the same thing, but, maybe they didn't have a fancy purple plastic discreet ladies emergency urinal, so I don't know what they did.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> How is it, you ask that I flooded David's truck?</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> About three years before this, Jennifer and David were living in Galveston, Texas on the island. They were going on a Christmas cruise, so Cappy and BeauxBear and I were staying at their place to babysit their two doggies.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> On the morning they were leaving to get to the cruise ship, David drove us all to the ferry, where we waited in a long line of traffic for the ferry to arrive. As old as I am, this was a new and exciting experience for me! </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> We rode the wavy, swirly packed-jammed-with-trucks-and-cars ferry across the 20+ minute ride to the mainland of Galveston. </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Once we got to the cruise ship docking area, there was a wait for the people...masses of them, to pull up to a certain area in a certain order, before Jen and David could get out of the truck with their luggage. </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> When they were finally able to get out of the truck to board the huge cruise ship, I took over the driving of his big fancy truck with him giving me all kinds of instructions in the care and driving of it.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> "You will LOVE driving it and the way it handles, you'll see." And patting the hood and smiling and waving, they were off. Five minutes or so, I was peeing in the front seat, eyes rolling back in my head, sighing with delirious relief.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I had gone before we left the house, but the wait for the ferry, while David was driving was extra long and we ended up taking the second or third ferry.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Then when they got out, I knew I could make it "home"...just hold it. BUT...the ferry we had to take back...the same problem...extra long wait in long lines with no place to hide in broad daylight with cars lined up on either side of us, all waiting to get onto the ferry. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGgzJLibzym1kjepWQNts38TAF8iwv4FiL7U1cevaQwSSdWwpO6wM-H73w3pPmIufeXnteDoaRN6C2iWQyeuqAHrvGgCoVj1g5rmXeM7BpGJ8HftlNj_DtsLNeVVKnXvwDREKQDYlu3GPFSZEMeSkm7UBavm7HwkCsl7S4hOWBM4dW5HIRUY/s1930/Pegody%20at%20the%20wheel%20skeered.jpg" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: xx-large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1930" data-original-width="1448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGgzJLibzym1kjepWQNts38TAF8iwv4FiL7U1cevaQwSSdWwpO6wM-H73w3pPmIufeXnteDoaRN6C2iWQyeuqAHrvGgCoVj1g5rmXeM7BpGJ8HftlNj_DtsLNeVVKnXvwDREKQDYlu3GPFSZEMeSkm7UBavm7HwkCsl7S4hOWBM4dW5HIRUY/w237-h320/Pegody%20at%20the%20wheel%20skeered.jpg" width="237" /></a></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I was moaning by the time I drove up onto the bouncing ferry.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Up and down, up and down on the waves...will this ferry ever get moving?? Besides up and down, rubbing against the dock? Finally...FINALLY we started to move but the current was slower going back than coming across.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I bawled to Cappy, "I'm hurting myself....I can't take this."</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> He carries an empty plastic Purex laundry detergent jug on road trips, so he was good to go, hunkered down below the door frame and high up in that truck so nobody could see him. </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I blathered and blatted, "There's no place to GOooooo! I've never had to go this badly in my whole life...<i>ever</i>!"</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> He said, "Well, ya caint just sit there and hurt yerself like that....PEE!"</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Me---> "Huh?"</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> "GO! We'll clean it up when we get back...GO!"</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> So, I already filled you in on how it went...or how I went. (Just now I let out another deep breath of relief, remembering how holy/sinful/wonderful and warm it felt at the time.)</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> But, then I sat there sopping wet and it started to get cold with the engine off in the December Texas winter bobbing up and down in David's brand new so PROUD of his really nice truck on this ferry, and we were only halfway across to the other landing. (At that point, I didn't dare turn on the engine for fear I'd somehow nudge it out of gear and slam into the vehicle ahead of us...or behind us.)</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I was afraid the attendants who were walking back and forth would see the pee flowing out beneath the truck, bang on the window to tell us we had sprung a leak of some kind, but I knew if I opened the window, a warm stream of hot urine vapors would rush up and out into their face as they stood leaning in looking all concerned for the truck.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I sat there with my hands gripped frozen to the steering wheel mentally trying to move the bouncy-bouncy ferry across the darned water and GET US THERE! </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> We FINALLY did get back to David and Jen's in time for David to call as we were pulling into the driveway to see how much I had loved the driving of his baby.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> They were still sitting there waiting to get on the ship.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> "Fine-fine, it drives like a dream, David," I tried sounding upbeat.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I ran in and grabbed a roll of paper towels and went out to try to sop up my mess, but....whatna? I couldn't find anything wet...I dabbed at the carpet, but nothing came up.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">"Did I dream I peed in here???" I tried sopping some more. I was thinking I'd have to invest in Arm & Hammer to get enough baking soda to sprinkle all over to get the stink out...when it started to smell, because we all knew it would.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> It didn't that afternoon. It was Christmas-day-before-eve. </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> The next day, it still didn't smell. It was like nothing had happened. We went to the store...shrug...no smell, no wet, no nothing.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Hmmm.....Welllllll.....Hmmmmm</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">The whole week...nothing. Cappy and I just looked at each other. Maybe we were nose blind.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Some close friends of ours came to spend a day with us, Doxie and Mavis. We had Doxie fetch something out of the truck...we told him how much David was proud of his new truck. Doxie said, "Nice...it still has that new leather car smell."</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> (You kidding?!)</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> So, we never did get the baking soda, I cringed when it was time to go pick Jen and David up from the cruise ship because I knew he would know for sure, the minute he sat in his driver's seat again.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Nope...like nothing different at all. So, Cappy, BeauxBear and I came back home here, like nothing had happened at all, but I felt so GUILTY...I knew I should have told him...I <i>knew</i> I should have.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Well....forward again to this last year and the hurricane I was telling you about and the long ride to Texas to get away. I ended up staying with Jen and David for a month because the damage from the hurricane was so bad back here at home.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> So, now Jen has David's truck and David has another brand new even bigger pickup RAM truck. I thought I could finally confess...I did. I was bawling.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> He kept soothing, "Don't worry about it, it's nothing."</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> I sobbed, "It wasssss, I'm so sorry...I should have told you way back then!" (but I didn't tell him how much I had enjoyed it)</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Finally, He said in his wonderful Kentucky voice, "That aint NOTHIN"...worse than that has been done it it....I've had flyin' hot molten dah-reer in 'er...a couple a times"</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Jennifer--->"WHAT??? In MY truck??? WHY didn't you tell me? And THAT's why you gave me that truck!!!"</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Moral of the story: I'm going to hang onto that fancy plastic purple ladies emergency urinal; one just never knows. And, as I always tell other people who find themselves in unholy situations that have unmercifully befallen them, "Don't worry, you'll get your dignity back." I dunno...I hope I have.</span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> Another lesson learned: You know what? Ferries have bathrooms. </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><br /></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-42839391132617394352022-05-13T20:19:00.006-05:002022-05-13T20:54:22.362-05:00In the Pink, So Far<p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nUzFaNkcAYzj0HTomDwa1iJtgfZAp-mYUnkCHDLUjxmjYRQyueCOfhgY8KBI7hvbq_EpQWd5EOKcc8q6I9LsnOz7fxxbSrHRopZ60SgwaslHNcuKpYvGG7_T0_hjvLgqyk6DcAmEKagqi_R-J3dsk-UsVJL1TVq_7eTfBvhJVI5yA-uODfo/s557/Capture.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="557" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nUzFaNkcAYzj0HTomDwa1iJtgfZAp-mYUnkCHDLUjxmjYRQyueCOfhgY8KBI7hvbq_EpQWd5EOKcc8q6I9LsnOz7fxxbSrHRopZ60SgwaslHNcuKpYvGG7_T0_hjvLgqyk6DcAmEKagqi_R-J3dsk-UsVJL1TVq_7eTfBvhJVI5yA-uODfo/s320/Capture.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b><br /> Well, Cappy got a good report from the doctor's office today, so YAY!! That's the good news...the GREAT news. </b></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> The other news is: Looking around our "kingdom;" is not so pretty. For the last couple of years, with Cappy's health in a downward spiral, as he describes it, and my not able to handle working outside in the HEAT, Cappy and Pegody's World has become a weed jungle. The yard is in desperate need of care. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Our neighbors, whose yards are showcases, have stepped in with their riding lawn mowers and made quick work of the grass. Now, with Cappy's health improving, we are hoping to make inroads on the yard's upkeep.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Presently, and for the last while, to seek solace, we sit in what we refer to as our "courtyard" area in the back. Here we spend time dreaming about what steps, tho' minor, we can take to begin the tasks at hand. Since this is our place of reverie, we find ourselves snipping at this odd branch or picking that weed there...little things, as we recuperate. (I got socked with another bout of celiac distress...accidentally, at a very nice restaurant got served a dish with wheat in it, GAH!!) </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> While perusing FaceBook's local pages, we noticed that there is a flurry of activity surrounding a particular climbing rose named the Peggy Martin. It gained popularity in our area due to the fact that it had survived a long bout of saltwater in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Some people are saying that this beautiful little rose has no thorns, while other folks say it does have small thorns. Some say the rose is pink, others say it is white, others insist it is red. Nonetheless, wherever the truth lies, it seems everyone is rushing to snap them up. In light of the fact that we've not been able to persuade </b><i style="font-weight: bold;">anything </i><b>to climb up the two trellises on our shed, we thought that maybe this resilient Peggy Martin might do the trick, so we hopped in the SUV and drove to a local nursery to "get while the gettin' was good," if they still had any left. They did, so we got two of them.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Now, I'm thinking that while our 'courtyard' area isn't a priority, (what with the rest of the yard looking so awful...and believe me it does, especially our driveway area!) just this little bit of pretty has inspired us to get up off our thrones and go step-by-step (baby steps, even) to try to make our "realm" more presentable. We plan on making "VLOGs" along the way of our progress. Come join us; we could use your company and encouragement. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> (Presently, the newly planted Peggys <i>do </i>have small thorns and the flowers are pink. I hope they manage to survive <i>this</i> Peggy's yard, because I'd hate to add 'crinkley brown' to the list as one of Peggy Martin's descriptions.)</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Link to our VLOG about the Peggy Martin roses is in the picture below. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>(Lord Help us, it was <i>hard</i> making this video using YouTube's music, after trial and error and error and error, I still managed to cut Cappy off a li'l at the end there. Hope you like it anyhow!) </b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/bLQmfKPCSOQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="bLQmfKPCSOQ"></iframe></b></div><b style="color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /> </b><p></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-82141424591515592862022-05-03T13:37:00.002-05:002022-05-03T13:37:35.317-05:00Where Have We Been!?<p><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> As y'all know, too, the last few years have been tough on all of us. As for Pegody and me, we are hoping that today's post will mark the beginning of a new era, as we plan to return here to our blog and YouTube channel.(Search: https://www.youtube.com/user/cappyandpegody</span></span><span style="color: #660000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> where, so far, we have 94 videos) We plan to begin telling about our world again through what we <i>think </i>are called "V-logs" or somethinglikethatthere. The short ~4 minute video below will let you know how things have been going here with us.</span></p><p><span style="color: #660000; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> We did miss y'all, thought about y'all, and we hope y'all come along with us as we relearn and start on over on Cappy and Pegody's World. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5NsNJrD8kjk" width="320" youtube-src-id="5NsNJrD8kjk"></iframe></div><br /> <p></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-14796548681900909272021-12-28T21:53:00.000-05:002021-12-28T23:12:06.620-05:00Maddening<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSleGNBgiuLN1y9y2LylwX5jK1EFDAKJCTxL2qE-wGPLXoHXyh92ccJnvPLx4jpZ66_JTEHJKu6UEVS_xYOqZmzFLEuja9ZLUktwvvz0uzj4mUZCKep3oEAB4Pl0C_laWY_U-/s1600-h/John+Madden+cartoon_edited-1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237943099712618034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSleGNBgiuLN1y9y2LylwX5jK1EFDAKJCTxL2qE-wGPLXoHXyh92ccJnvPLx4jpZ66_JTEHJKu6UEVS_xYOqZmzFLEuja9ZLUktwvvz0uzj4mUZCKep3oEAB4Pl0C_laWY_U-/s320/John+Madden+cartoon_edited-1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><span style="color: #38761d;"><strong><span> I told Cappy, "I'm sorry, I just can't do it anymore; he drives me crazy". </span></strong></span><div><span style="color: #38761d;"><strong><span> I know a lot of people love John Madden, Cappy being one of them. It was rough enough suffering through years of Howard Cosell. That guy would get on my nerves as a sports broadcaster. If somebody on the field made a mistake early on in a game, he'd excoriate them saying something like,"That guy is a bum, he'll never go anywhere in this field of sports", then later on in the game when things had turned around for that particular player, Cosell, would 'swagger' something like, "I told you all along this guy was one great player, he's really going to go far in his career as a football player; remember, you heard it here first". Still, I was sad to see ol' Howard go; you know how it is. Although he aggravated me, others loved him, and he was a part of the 'watching sports experience' for years and years.</span></strong>
</span><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Then it became John Madden's turn 'at bat', so to speak. Well, as I said, the guy just drives me nuts. He's a likeable ol' fella, but when I'm in the big fat old middle of an intense game, I get so angry when he's busily showing replays and drawing all over the board, when in the background the tv viewers can hear the roar of the crowd in the stadium because another play is going on...but we can't see it...nooooo...we are watching John draw X's and O's and lines all over the screen. </span></strong></div><div><span style="color: #38761d;"><b> Well, I love watching football games with Cappy because it's just a lot of fun, being on the same side, most every time, curled up together, snacking on good stuff, shouting for our team, or gnashing our teeth when they mess up. </b></span></div><div><span style="color: #38761d;"><b> When he's out on the boat, and too far out of range for television reception, it's okay if he's still in range to pick up a good radio reception. When he can get neither, it's rough for him. At those times he's asked me to turn it up a little so maybe he can hear it over the phone, but that usually doesn't work either. So I usually used to just tell him, disdainfully, some of the stuff John was dispensing, as part of his expertise as a broadcast analyst. Stuff, like, "Hey, the offensive linemen are the biggest guys on the field, they're bigger than anybody else, and that's what makes them the biggest guys on the field". I guess that would stand to reason...and so does, "Here's a guy, when he runs, he moves faster". I know I'm blonde and all, and not familiar with all the nuances of the game, but at least this next one, I, too, have to agree with, "To get more yards, it's best to move the ball from the line of scrimmage down the field". </b></span></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> But,I got so I just couldn't take it anymore, nice guy that he is. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Now just put yourself in poor Cappy's shoes, tho. He's in a blackout area, and really, REALLY wants to hear how the New Orleans Saints are doing. They've gotten pretty darned good in the last few years, so we are having a blast watching and rooting for them. So there he is; no television...no radio...and I have both.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> At first he'd ask me, "What's going on??? I can hear yelling and cheering...tell me". So I thought I'd turn John Madden's sound off, so I couldn't hear it and tell Cappy what I saw going on, on the field. I'd really get into the game and start yelling, "OH!!!! He's got the ball!! He's GOT the ball and he's running down the field with it!!!"</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Cappy would yell back, "WHO's got the ball??"</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> I'd be saying, "I can't see his number but he's ....OH NOOOO!!!!" </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Cappy:"What?!? What happened?"</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Pegody: "I don't know, I'm trying to find out, he's laying on the ground all curled up in pain holding his leg, and now they are bringing out a stretcher". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Cappy: "WHO??? Our guy? One of ours?"</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Pegody: "Oh, they've gone to a commercial". OR. Pegody:"Oh, one of our guys is running down the field and they tackled him". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Cappy: "Where did they tackle him?" </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Pegody:"On the field". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Cappy:"$#!+!!...WHERE on the field??" </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Pegody:"Oh, I can't see his number, or the number on the ground where he fell down". Cappy:"He fell down? I thought you said they tackled him." </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Pegody: "Oh, they've gone to another commercial; no, they're back already and now they're gonna kick it".</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Cappy: "For a field goal??"</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Pegody:"No, it's for one of those long kicks".</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Cappy:"&*!!$%????!". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> Pegody:"Okay...the Bengals are running with it, and now one of the Colts tackled him...yay!" Cap</span><span style="color: #38761d;">py:"Peg....what is a COLT doing suited up and running onto the field to tackle anybody for...this is a game between the Saints and the Bengals". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> So I tried to concentrate a little more to make the game a little more accurate for him. (Okay...concentrate on who is doing what and what the numbers are on the lines. Pegody:"Okay, there's the snap...one of our guys is running....Wow! He's really running...he's ahead of the pack....he's at the 20...the 30! the 40! the 50! the 55! the 60! Oh no!!! They tackled him at the 65 yard line". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> At which point Cappy said, "Uh, Dear, I think I'm going to let my co-pilot take over, so I can go take a nap...I love you, Dear". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> He didn't even want to hear the rest of the game, to see who won! I think I'll tell Cappy in the morning he can have ol' John back, or whoever it is now. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> I'll tell him, "I just can't do it anymore; I drive you crazy".</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> I didn't even watch the rest of the game, so I don't even know who won, so therefore, I'm going to quote good old John Madden, who apparently does a better job than I do, and <em>he</em> says, "Usually the team with the most points wins the game". </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;"> That's it, and there ya go.</span></strong></div></div>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-16260241394552358492021-11-24T16:10:00.003-05:002021-11-24T18:41:35.609-05:00Yeahhh...We Gotta Fix Dat.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRxp6jjd15aSN7-sRQ6-72uhlVq4O5hUd4AAxTl51qKF9MXElTUO-fDgK9C2pAfn4nd9eCA9QwYrSgnNhu8RyIlDAr-BVeZcA8KKsPBVcJ3Y0hMzQ0I7MwWwgKJveyTovft2ucA/s1729/pegody+hears+something+odd.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1528" data-original-width="1729" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRxp6jjd15aSN7-sRQ6-72uhlVq4O5hUd4AAxTl51qKF9MXElTUO-fDgK9C2pAfn4nd9eCA9QwYrSgnNhu8RyIlDAr-BVeZcA8KKsPBVcJ3Y0hMzQ0I7MwWwgKJveyTovft2ucA/s320/pegody+hears+something+odd.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Since our back door hasn't been locking well,I always set up a complicated booby-trap at night, stringing up mostly loud,noisy,"rattley" kitchen items, plus a broom to fly at their head in the dark to terrorize anyone who would deign to try to sneak into the kitchen while we are asleep, and also to wake us and da dawg up. It's probably not even necessary because we live in the tiniest house in the neighborhood surrounded by homes that would be more profitable to sneak into, any time of day or night. It's only because our bichons have actually chased people out of our dark yard at night...thank God they were with me while I was out there! I still get nightmares about it. As Cappy likes to say, "In today's brave new world, who knows what to expect anymore", and thus,nightly,I maniacally contrive my crazy "Rube Goldberg" "petard".</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> This morning I forgot to undo the whole shebang.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> Presently,I'm in the computer room,adressing Christmas card envelopes while keeping BeauxBear with me to prevent him from making trouble with Cappy and the Spectrum cable guy, who is here because their tv service has been crazily "pixelating" since the hurricane.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> While absent-mindedly writing and shushing BeauxBear to make him be quiet, I could hear the men amicably chatting in the den, while trying to work out the problem with the TV, then they moved into the bedroom to check out "my" tv, which was having the same infuriating "pixelating" issue. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> Apparently the man, who has been working many, many hours of overtime, trying to make hurricane damage cable repairs, sometimes until as late as 11 o'clock at night, as are his fellow crew-members--and he was having a bad day already, what with his truck not working,and then the next company truck he was relegated to try out, with the wrong equipment on board, fought with him tooth and nail to get here in this miserable "piece of truck", and all the while he was trying not to be late, and not looking forward to the prospect of his whole day looming over him with truck problems now in the mix. In spite of his aggravation, he sounded as though, by talking and joking with Cappy, that his nerves were calming down a little.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> Happily visiting, they moved along to the back side of the house and out the open window I could hear them begin talking more business-like; the Spectrum guy was explaining to Cappy, thus, "Now, ya see here, this line goes...". I kept mindlessly writing, enjoying the cool breeze.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> Suddenly, there came such a loud racket and horrible ruckus!...things crashing in several tones, like metal and clunking pans and Cappy's voice hollering and the Spectrum guy who had opened the door for Cappy,yelping!! </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> (...and me...I was in here nodding, "Oh no! I know what that was." I stayed put.)</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> The guy gasped and whimpered, "Did I do that?"</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> Cappy just shuffled on in, moving a path in the odds and ends with his foot, knowing just who...(in this case not a fancy "whom"), but who he is married to, said,"No..." and was about to go into detail, but the guy rushed off around the side of the house to his truck, exclaiming in a high, pinched voice that he had a full day ahead of him, slammed his "piece of truck" door and chugged it out of the neighborhood.</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> Ahh, I think we'd better get that lock fixed. I don't want to get hoist in my own 'trap'...now I've got to go gather up my "ammunition" and get ready to reset it again tonight. </b></span></p><p><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b> I "pity the fool". </b></span></p><p><b><span style="color: #6aa84f;"> ...Don't you? </span> </b></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-1136359343296647492020-12-10T00:28:00.000-05:002020-12-10T15:24:00.525-05:00 Presented Again This Year, Because it's One of My Favorites to Tell: I'm Mrs. Green Christmas, I'm Mrs. Sun...<strong><span style="color: #336666;"></span></strong><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1346/1113/1600/Peggy"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1346/1113/320/Peggy%27s%20NYS.1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> (Originally posted Monday, Dec. 11, 2006)</span></strong><div><span style="color: #336666;"><b><br /></b></span><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> This was the scene out my window every year. Although most everybody else I know/knew in western NY just love to go out and frolic in the snowy weather, I preferred to stay in cuz it was COLD out there. I still talk to people who say, "Oh, I love the cold". Good for them. It's just not for me, and never has been, even when I was younger. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> The only way I can remember liking snow was when I might go out for rides in a warm car, stuff like that.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> I know how to drive in deep snow. I remember having to drive one morning before the snow plows went through, and having to guess where the road was, hoping not to drive into a ditch. I made it okay.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"></span></strong><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> I know my Aunt Bev hates the cold, too, but it's mostly my fault. She and I are only 20 days apart. (Imagine your Mom and Grandmother both being pregnant at the same time. I 'won', so I'm older. She holds every one of those 20 days over my head..."You're OLD". So, I don't call her Aunt, either.)</span></strong> </div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Well, anywaze...Yeah, it's kinda my fault Bev got her fingers frozen when we were wild and crazy teenagers. I had this nerdy boyfriend (Paul), who ended up being Bev's boyfriend later on. At the time, she was having dental work cuz, as she put it, her teeth were all "snaggle-toothed" and it made her chin jut way out, kinda lantern-jawed.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> But, anyhow, because Paul got to drive his parents' car around, we three, Bev, Paul and I went on a lot of excursions together, summer and winter, which was fun.</span></strong> </div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> One night, a few days before Christmas, Bev and Paul got the idea to buy some 'liquor' to celebrate the holidays. Oh sure...I was "innocent"...(I thought it was a great idea, too). Paul was 18, old enough to buy it, but we were only 16.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> He came back out of the store with some "Triple Applejack"...a cheap wine, of sorts. It was pretty yucky tasting. Not sure what ol' Paul thought of it, but Bev pretty much liked the taste of it. </span></strong></div><div>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;"> We had driven, in a snow storm, along a country road, then stopped so Bev could get out and 'potty'. By that time, she was pretty 'wasted'. I had to get out and help her over a snowbank, out of sight, to get her tight girdle down, so she could 'go', then try to reverse the procedure. The poor girl was roaring drunk, happily singing at the top of her lungs up into the icy black sky with its shiny stars staring down at our debacle as we staggered around in snow up to our thighs.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> I had to sit her down on the edge of the snow bank and told her to fling her legs over the top of it, to get to the other side and back to the car. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> She kept trying to flop them up, while repeating, "I just FLING my legs <i>up</i> over the shnow banKK...", but her legs wouldn't go.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> She looked me earnestly in the eye and said, "I hope I don't throw up in my sleeve....ok, just FLING my leg UP over the shnow banKK", but it still didn't go.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> "What do you mean, 'throw up in your sleeve!??" I asked.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> "Kathy (another friend of ours) got drunk one time and didn't have anywhere to throw up, so she opened the cuff of her sleeve and threw up in it". Bleckkk.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> "Well, that's not going to happen to you...you aren't going to do that...hold on, let me get Paul, so he can help me get you back into the car."</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> </span></strong><strong><span style="color: #336666;">Once we got her back into the warm car, we took the bottle away from her, and got the car in motion. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> We were starting to worry, cuz the storm had turned into a blizzard and visibility was getting bad. The car went a little ways up the slight hill, then the wheels started spinning. Paul tried backing the car back down the hill, but it slid into Bev's "shnowbankKK" and got stuck.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Oh Oh. Now what? This was before cell phones. This was WAY back. Bev was wearing a 'girdle', remember? </span></strong></div><div>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;"> I said that I thought I remembered seeing the lights of a house not far from where we were, but it was sitting up a long driveway on a hill.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Paul, continued to try to spin us out of there with his Dad's car. He did manage to back us up into the ditch at the end of the driveway I'd seen. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> And again, Now what? </span></strong>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;">Well, we could walk up to the house and call a tow truck to come and get us out. Paul, for sure, didn't dare call his parents. The alcohol and all. (and this was even way back before they 'carded' people) Still, his father wouldn't have appreciated we three 'nice' Church Kids having liquor...and in his car, no less. </span></strong></div><div>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Since Bev had gotten the bottle back again, with what little was left in it and was patting it and singing Christmas Carols, loudly, Paul and I talked over her, trying to figure out what to do. It was a long freezing walk, but we decided that he and I would trudge to the house that looked so warm with lights shining from the windows, and leave Bev in the warm car, bundled up, ...with her bottle, and we'd be RIGHT back. For her to just stay put! We'd be RIGHT back. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> She said, "OKAYYYY".</span></strong> </div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> The icy air blew right through our coats, freezing us. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> We finally made it to the house and knocked on the door. A nice lady answered and brought us right inside. We put on our best Sunday School manners and demure politeness and explained that our car was stuck at the end of their driveway, and that my aunt was staying warm in the car waiting for us.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Well, of course she let Paul make a phone call, then insisted on making us some tea to warm us up from that walk up the hill.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Her house was all pretty; cozy and quiet, and she was so sweet. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> I daintily picked up the china cup, making sure to keep my little pinky finger up and was about to take my first sip, when suddenly there was a thundering pounding on the back door!</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> The lady looked shocked and embarrassed in front of her 'genteel' guests and asked no-one in particular, "What...who in the world is that??", as she made her way toward the door. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Just as she got to the door, it flew open, <i>loudly</i> slamming into the hall wall. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> The poor lady fell back against the same wall, shocked and horrified at the sight that just barged into her house! </span></strong></div><div><span style="color: #336666;"><b> There was Bev, hair frozen in a hundred different directions, wild-eyed, jaw jutted way out, exposing snaggled-teeth, as I'd never seen them before. She looked like an abominable snow monster! She was covered in snow and vomit was dripping out of her sleeve onto the lady's immaculately cleaned floor. </b></span></div><div><span style="color: #336666;"><b> I stammered weakly, "Oh...it's my aunt."</b></span></div><div><span style="color: #336666;"><b> The lady shrieked, "Your <i>AUNT</i>?!"</b></span></div><div><span style="color: #336666;"><b> Bev wanted none of it...she pushed past the lady and said, "I just want to lay down on your red couch and throw up" </b></span></div><div><span style="color: #336666;"><b> The lady sprang at her, wailing, "Noooo, that's my new couch, I just got that as an early Christmas present!"</b></span> </div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> Poor Bev. Poor lady. Bev's fingers were about frozen. I don't know what happened to her gloves...probably lost in a shnow bankK on the way up the hill. She'd gotten tired of waiting, she said. She nearly froze, too, on the way up the hill, then when she got there, she looked in the window and saw us sitting there all warm and cozy having tea. </span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> She was really ticked. She still is til this day, even tho' she managed to forgive us.</span></strong></div><div> <strong><span style="color: #336666;">Eventually, the tow truck came and pulled us out. I don't know if Paul ever told his Dad what happened. </span></strong></div><div>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;"> If you ask Bev, she'll tell you how much she still gags whenever she hears the words, "Triple Applejack", and how it's my fault...and Paul's that she hates the cold, cuz of us.</span></strong>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;"></span></strong>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;"></span></strong>
<strong><span style="color: #336666;"></span></strong></div></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"><br /></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #336666;"> (We never did anything like that again...just so you know, and I still hate the cold cuz it's <i>COLD!!</i>)</span></strong></div>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-90446806105676906382020-12-06T16:42:00.001-05:002020-12-06T16:42:29.530-05:00Making a Special Christmas Video for You...Ask Us About (Most) Anything :-)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyVlq-9pBhkxkc1UTUg_gFAmgFg4P7Stzw3Jg_yqlO62WtujL5zle8BbstmnFH1xkv0kMra19PDLS3fWUwW3Ekit1ivLbqKBeEvN8FuRuZa98HQ6tnw7-8rcFWPW-pcBsV2kAaA/s1056/letter+of+invitation+to+our+readers+for+the+Christmas+video.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="816" height="715" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyVlq-9pBhkxkc1UTUg_gFAmgFg4P7Stzw3Jg_yqlO62WtujL5zle8BbstmnFH1xkv0kMra19PDLS3fWUwW3Ekit1ivLbqKBeEvN8FuRuZa98HQ6tnw7-8rcFWPW-pcBsV2kAaA/w627-h715/letter+of+invitation+to+our+readers+for+the+Christmas+video.JPG" width="627" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-86873773576416176232020-12-01T13:07:00.002-05:002020-12-01T14:45:42.801-05:00Lizzy the Lizard Who Lost her Tail...Oh NO! This is Her Tale!<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -40.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in -40.5pt 10pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #00b050; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am Lizzy. I live on a Patio
with a lot of other South Louisiana Lizards. We make a good living on mosquitoes,
flies…you know, all the good stuff…Louisiana food can't be beat…you just ask
anyone! <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is wonderful…or it was. I
accidentally wandered into the house next to our patio and couldn't find my way out for quite a
while. I finally made my very clever escape. I'm glad, too, because the food they served me in that house was boring…BORING.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, as I was saying, life outside on
my big patio was wonderful once again. Until.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, I don't know where they
came from, but these big white furry dog-monsters started chasing me and my family
for dear life. We think one of them must have got Morty because we found him
laying out flat…and yes, he was dead. None of us saw what actually happened,
but word got around that one of those awful birds took off with his body.
Good-bye Morty, we hardly knew ye, we all said.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, if that trauma wasn't bad
enough, we now see this big black shiny "cat-thing" slinking and sneaking
around the patio with big green eyes that are looking at everything…it chases
our flies, "Hey! Those are our meals you are messing with, you!" It
chases us, even! It chases the birds. It runs up trees in the yard, fast! <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now here is the scariest thing that
ever happened to me: it got me! We all saw it slinking around the corner of the
lawn mower, so we all scurried under it, and I thought I'd made it, but it
grabbed me! The black shiny monster had me! It was pulling me away from my
family by my tail!<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
screamed, Lila, my sister screamed…my whole family and friends were screaming
too!<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The monster was thrashing and causing
such a wild commotion, that somehow, our beloved lawnmower moved
around, which I guess scared the killer, so he let go, but one of the wheels
rolled right onto my tail!<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before the monster could get his paws
under our machine, everybody grabbed onto me and pulled. I felt something
behind me snap, but I was free to run with the rest of them, and so we did.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never saw the rest of me again, but
from the stories I hear from the old folks in my family, it's supposed to grow
back bigger and prettier than ever. At least that is what they are telling me. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I guess the moral of my story is,
be careful out there in the big scary world. (…and don't listen to Cappy's
version of how the moral should go about how to not lose your tail.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OH. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1d4GCkIp2FmZ4TocEd4J3hLHpoGelu9kMHk-ynjAzMScmIQKULTd_o22ZNIUuC89qsV_vH2QAfXqTrwoDIxWPUQZBsonYqMZBm_povP9PqGg0R9HlJMQrSsTs8rkvynU-swk1_w/s2048/Lizzy+the+Lizard+2020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1d4GCkIp2FmZ4TocEd4J3hLHpoGelu9kMHk-ynjAzMScmIQKULTd_o22ZNIUuC89qsV_vH2QAfXqTrwoDIxWPUQZBsonYqMZBm_povP9PqGg0R9HlJMQrSsTs8rkvynU-swk1_w/s320/Lizzy+the+Lizard+2020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -40.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in -40.5pt 10pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #00b050; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -40.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in -40.5pt 10pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #00b050; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -40.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in -40.5pt 10pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #00b050; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -40.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in -40.5pt 10pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #00b050; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -40.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in -40.5pt 10pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #00b050; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I wrote this several years ago
before Cappy retired:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -40.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in -40.5pt 10pt 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #00b050; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I just put Lizzie outside today. I was finally able to catch her. She
was what I called a lizard, but I guess she was really a chameleon; isn't that
a lizard? <br />
I first spotted her in the den window with her little paws on the glass,
looking around at the big outside world. Poor little thing. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried catching her for about a week,
to no avail, because she'd dive to the floor and take off zipping away, hiding
behind some heavy piece of furniture that I couldn't move…but every morning she
was back at her post in the window, watching life going on the outside the
glass. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to worry about her, thinking
she'd need something to eat, especially if she was doomed to spend the rest of
her life trapped inside our house, pining away for the freedom she could only
see through the window. I began to put tiny little pieces of raw hamburger on
the sill, along with a spot of water. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aww, she was so cute. Every day it was
the same ritual; she'd see me getting close with the meat, so she'd run to the
top of the window pane, then slowly...very slowly she'd descend, upside-down
staring at the meat. When she'd get down to the corner and onto the window sill,
she'd do this really funny thing with her head, quickly moving it in and
out...backwards and forwards toward her meal, sometimes waving her arms around,
too. She'd get to the meat, then stand and look longingly out the window some
more, at which point I'd leave her alone and go get some work done. A little
while later, I'd come back to find that the meat was gone and she'd be 'splayed
out' all paws on the window.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But,
the other day she didn't come for the meat and I didn't see her for a couple of
days. I hoped that she'd finally been able to find her way out, the same way
she'd found her way in. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kind of missed her. When Cappy's on
the boat, as silly as it seems, it's nice to have another living 'body' in the
house; 'somebody' to take care of. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This morning I was settled down on the
sofa with my cup of coffee, when I saw a little movement on one of my indoor plant leaves just
below the window. Then I saw a skinny tale moving around. "Lizzie??? Izzat
you, girl?" <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough it was. I picked up the
whole plant, hoping she'd stay put 'til I got her outside...and she did. She
even tried changing colors, but she was either too worn out, or confused,
because she turned tan instead of green. I took her outside and let her jump
down into the flowerbed by the front door.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Bye Lizzie!! Have a nice life out
here in your big wide world!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-60557290797731702712020-11-20T02:17:00.000-05:002020-11-20T02:17:33.494-05:00Clean Out Your Ears! Wha??<p><span style="color: #38761d;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2k9KFlLxTIVrB8mCZkLgCPvDVTqPS7ojb68jvvTW8th9d1u4rMCIVMbk26aB1EFUS2SuXvHCXseit_xIkzT7Bf6q8BwmEn4lRc2RaUCdxb4Nmumkyxfqs4Au9BdQV6kc-sV2eA/s1531/sookie+and+mother+cartoon+on+the+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; font-weight: 700; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1513" data-original-width="1531" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2k9KFlLxTIVrB8mCZkLgCPvDVTqPS7ojb68jvvTW8th9d1u4rMCIVMbk26aB1EFUS2SuXvHCXseit_xIkzT7Bf6q8BwmEn4lRc2RaUCdxb4Nmumkyxfqs4Au9BdQV6kc-sV2eA/s320/sookie+and+mother+cartoon+on+the+phone.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #38761d;"> <span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b>Sometimes when I didn't understand what my Mom was saying, she'd say in disgust, "Clean out your ears!"</b></span> </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> My phone doesn't make things any easier these days, either.</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I was just talking with my daughter, who's concerned about her dad, who lives alone and is in the hospital.</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> She said, "Well, you know he's an island?"</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Hmm, I thought, very intuitive and thoughtful of her to say that. I said, "Yes, I guess he is, isn't he?"</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> She asked, "You know he's an island?"</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I answered, "Well, living alone like that would make him an island, wouldn't it?"</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "MOM! I said he's an island...an ISLAND."</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "I know, Jen...an island."</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "MOTHER...I SAID he's in Thailand...I didn't say island."</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> I was thoroughly confused now, "WHO? WHO's in Thailand? I thought we were talking about your dad...how did he get way over to Thailand...I thought he was in Rochester. What's he doing <i>there</i>?"</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Long pause.</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Mom?"</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Yes? Who are we talking about?"</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Dad...we're talking about dad, did you forget? He's an island, NOT and ISLAND! AND he's NOT in Thailand...what would he be doing there?? He's an ISLAND...island...Highland...HIGHLAND Hospital," muttering followed.</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> Me, "..oh."</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #38761d; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><b> "Clean out your ears!"</b></span></p>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-92111179260587288612020-04-25T14:44:00.000-05:002020-04-25T14:56:40.997-05:00A "Safe Place" to Go...Even for a Tiny Peace of Mind During All of This Trauma<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> Wouldn't you just love to get away from all this madness that's going on for a while? To someplace far away peaceful, where none of this confusion can reach us...just for a little while?</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> Let's go! Cappy and I can take you on an all expense paid mini-vacation were we can soar along on air-blades across open meadows with the wind in our face, a few feet above the grass, or even as high as 60 ft., if we want. Freedom!</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> Of course, if we all want to ride together, we can go in an avicar. (It's wings were designed by NASA back in the 20th century, eons behind us.) Either way, we'd have the option of riding along on roads with the usual conventional traffic, where the speed is dictated by unground directing lines, or, we can, by clicking our 'Up' arrow turning indicators, head up and off over the lush green fields of Neo-Eden. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> We know of a little town named Lifton where life is lived at a slower pace. We can lunch at the Sandwich Board where the jawbees are soft, warm and chewy. Melt in your mouth. Or, just down the street, we can enjoy some spicey meat pies at Mrs. Elsie Pinke's Marvelous Meat Pie stand...her daughters Wiltsie and Nancy are in the back making them. And just try staying away from Mrs. Muddlety's Sweet Shoppe...it just can't be done...you'll see. Then there's Nellie at the Lifton Inn where we'll be staying while we are "down planet"...Oh my! I'm not going to talk about her here, although I could...I really could, but I won't.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The trip, by air travel will take ---days to get there. First, we will meet our ship captain, Loos Aucoin, and even ride along with him on his way to work! En route he'll give us a history lesson, fill us in on working details of the ship, and educate us on some scientific aspects of what has made our voyage possible. It's all just to help us understand where we are, how things are, and to help prepare us to "buckle up" for the trip ahead.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> Once aboard, we'll meet the crew, who I know are going to like you, and, I think you'll pretty much like them. One word of warning, though: steer clear of crusty ol' Sarge, head of his ABS aeronaut crew. You do not want to cross him or he might put you outside the ship helping his crew paint the bow, or, he might stick you on gardening detail in one of his gal pal, Miss Fern's bio-deck levels, mucking out the filters. Not good. Sarge is a crunchy ol' guy with a growl for a voice, but still in all, you'll like 'im.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> The food aboard the ship is mostly ship made. Just so you know, the most popular snack is Narch. If you decide to try it, be careful not to get it all over yourself, or all over everything. It's luscious and comes in Jerk flavor or regular. Extremely messy, but delicious. You can wash it down with shipshakes, and it's all brought to you by the service bots. Just be glad you will not have to, on this trip, resort to eating your "Bio-Nutritional Sustenance", or as the captain refers to it, "B. S." </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> Before we actually take off, there are some things our captain has to attend to on the ship, and we get to accompany him. We will also sit in on the all-important pre-departure meeting with his department heads, making sure everyone on board is present and ready to launch. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> So, you ready? If you decide to go with us, we will climb aboard the Intrepid, an armed Intergalactic space supply vessel, and prepare to go sailing through the gloriously colorful universe, feeling as though we were in a huge comfortable needle with valuable merchandise strapped to her belly. Be assured: you will have a wild ride with lots of fun, some sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat heart- pounding adventures and a "What's up with that guy?!" intrigue in the mix. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> By the way, your trip is already paid for! Check in at Barnes and Noble, or Smashwords for the next month and a half where you can download "Space Freighter Neo-Eden", revised edition, by Cappy and Pegody. The only "payment" we ask is that upon leaving Neo-Eden, that you write a review, letting us know how you are enjoying the trip, so far. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> We are boarding now! Free-Free-Free.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> **A note to those who have already read our e-book and left a wonderful comment, when we uploaded the revised edition with illustrations, for whatever reason, we lost all of our customer reviews. Would it be okay if we asked you to please rewrite your impression? Also, feel free to "take the trip again!" If you liked the first version, we're sure you'll love this revision.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b> </b></span>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-41383025020066826002020-02-04T18:35:00.000-05:002020-02-05T13:28:40.893-05:00FINALLY Posting the "Finally Fall Gumbo" From Last Fall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>I wrote this months ago: Last week we had our first cool day of Fall, so I got us a hen and had it cut up into "gumbo pieces".</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1NAvYFxW_SVKUTHrTvoJqlGteQfHEW1qwGbvEVHPsorhYcOAIxU_0yLv_c3CpJNN62SxMYMv7Df_SABue4nfKBFxQefZAUCPLaXVjnJUyyqaD-2q_0XMc6udVqqk5FbB31YgHg/s1600/3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1357" data-original-width="1600" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1NAvYFxW_SVKUTHrTvoJqlGteQfHEW1qwGbvEVHPsorhYcOAIxU_0yLv_c3CpJNN62SxMYMv7Df_SABue4nfKBFxQefZAUCPLaXVjnJUyyqaD-2q_0XMc6udVqqk5FbB31YgHg/s640/3.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>Most any Southern small town store has these "gumbo pieces" already on display. If not, the butcher will gladly cut them up for you. What they are, is a large baking hen cut (with their meat saw) into small pieces. This opens the large bones, exposing the marrow, which makes an amazing stock. Also, it being a mature hen, it stands up well to a couple hours of simmering, whereas , a young chicken, being so tender, will usually fall apart in the broth after an hour or so of cooking.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b> I also bought a lb. of andouille sausage and, giving a nod to my St. Landry roots, a lb. of Savoie's smoked sausage.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLlKSPCm14G7SCU23VpcRsvZN9tn5HRrkihq1ufbLFOnO0xsNf6gsnDgFVIjf0mJhryGUg1sQWQkCLCKi3OSw43aN9IdxFTFT5SroFyYthlev2CtcqI5CjeGFTgCeIA0mGPc3sA/s1600/0.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="863" data-original-width="1600" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLlKSPCm14G7SCU23VpcRsvZN9tn5HRrkihq1ufbLFOnO0xsNf6gsnDgFVIjf0mJhryGUg1sQWQkCLCKi3OSw43aN9IdxFTFT5SroFyYthlev2CtcqI5CjeGFTgCeIA0mGPc3sA/s640/0.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgRM1-1hoas4OscyU4jMlQmEjEmAD9HP8hLg9D3YeatIeRwv1FbD8VvZz_LxcEOqGmIII4EKPth_ZEFW3Cs8OKM6haSeJnQOIve_PNaJJyKezH-ayjj1iWzchWZBw_yfWoiOa7A/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1276" data-original-width="1600" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgRM1-1hoas4OscyU4jMlQmEjEmAD9HP8hLg9D3YeatIeRwv1FbD8VvZz_LxcEOqGmIII4EKPth_ZEFW3Cs8OKM6haSeJnQOIve_PNaJJyKezH-ayjj1iWzchWZBw_yfWoiOa7A/s640/1.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>I sprinkled our own blend of Cajun spices over the hen, </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrphA4cz3lXfWo88ph5AOMOFUQp6rPvEKIGo2jX3y2YFMlRQBuF3apcWFVRo12Y0Ufta9QIX9-jEvvPTUQT7zX90CuWeV1Yz5No1GGNPFTsllft6ihVl49-ld5D3RIWz15QhHSA/s1600/4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="1600" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrphA4cz3lXfWo88ph5AOMOFUQp6rPvEKIGo2jX3y2YFMlRQBuF3apcWFVRo12Y0Ufta9QIX9-jEvvPTUQT7zX90CuWeV1Yz5No1GGNPFTsllft6ihVl49-ld5D3RIWz15QhHSA/s640/4.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b> sliced the andouille and put it and the chicken into a large pot, along with a gallon of water. I got it to boiling, then reduced it to simmer while I got the rest of the ingredients ready.<br /> I sliced the sausage,</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDF2DaxAUt738ejY7rlxseWVl6MHwB1CwawGK3DXtx4qeG11HEdqVGrRbi_2Y6VMPyVZ3hR73_azpIw159MN23ua44HfReQx9Yp0jhmlEd9cpg9SLS2aaI4xXR4aALBu0B0b00A/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1600" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDF2DaxAUt738ejY7rlxseWVl6MHwB1CwawGK3DXtx4qeG11HEdqVGrRbi_2Y6VMPyVZ3hR73_azpIw159MN23ua44HfReQx9Yp0jhmlEd9cpg9SLS2aaI4xXR4aALBu0B0b00A/s640/2.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>tossed it into one of my beloved cast iron skillets that has been in my family for generations, with some roughly chopped onions, a little more of our spice, then browned it all down, lightly cooking the onions.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cFaCrJ1BWyCTLklrSjnXeECvdojPTZQmueM3IEDeYmjl1R10cQ9pVlvkWJ0zYb9MVoiMAZy73aX92doSqoiuZ_g1_GvFHYNskp2uPYjgStAJbdnr6Xl022fXKlL1I6uUGwWmPQ/s1600/6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1243" data-original-width="1600" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cFaCrJ1BWyCTLklrSjnXeECvdojPTZQmueM3IEDeYmjl1R10cQ9pVlvkWJ0zYb9MVoiMAZy73aX92doSqoiuZ_g1_GvFHYNskp2uPYjgStAJbdnr6Xl022fXKlL1I6uUGwWmPQ/s640/6.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAfjrej_ZhnFR4hKncXaMj-IIjX5txa-Il56oi_O-77caBZXQz6BNL3F1wgViS0mlmbk4MoMCQwIaNs4sE1xq25O9eztXAQsOjHXO1Yo2XKcFNUovzWCVNyOaquzF8b8w-TRgaKg/s1600/7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="1600" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAfjrej_ZhnFR4hKncXaMj-IIjX5txa-Il56oi_O-77caBZXQz6BNL3F1wgViS0mlmbk4MoMCQwIaNs4sE1xq25O9eztXAQsOjHXO1Yo2XKcFNUovzWCVNyOaquzF8b8w-TRgaKg/s640/7.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>Once it cooked down good I put it in the chicken andouille pot.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRouH03ES6uzxeYpXuVEKgnmzjdl7Mb0kuKah3do1KsB6dGaXYiRkSgZ9bat0dH90fsLAuruE8b2pxDMWIuFcvwuG-8ZdrL78XhOzJvL_6OS5B28nMLpp0hpLQfXYXePR4NsKJw/s1600/9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1051" data-original-width="1600" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRouH03ES6uzxeYpXuVEKgnmzjdl7Mb0kuKah3do1KsB6dGaXYiRkSgZ9bat0dH90fsLAuruE8b2pxDMWIuFcvwuG-8ZdrL78XhOzJvL_6OS5B28nMLpp0hpLQfXYXePR4NsKJw/s640/9.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9NjYVJE9JuZS1BqmPbNTZDVuCSwwH0CeA_GstXJs2oyy5JVHfYvrTzfunsGzAu61DsuS22liFS-skVHaNSPDQDK8V9l9g6yD4M0uMqvhTus8DgfzyIUl9pNmaCyAwfaPggOPcw/s1600/11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9NjYVJE9JuZS1BqmPbNTZDVuCSwwH0CeA_GstXJs2oyy5JVHfYvrTzfunsGzAu61DsuS22liFS-skVHaNSPDQDK8V9l9g6yD4M0uMqvhTus8DgfzyIUl9pNmaCyAwfaPggOPcw/s640/11.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #660000;"><b>along with some chopped green onion, a diced bell pepper and a healthy tablespoon of minced garlic.</b></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9PJJ67mfUN1J7DjnfZ5IQ9pQ0e_a3BrQkQKV6wKzAvyio0FTUrm6DSc8oyHF94NPO3vke9XMIJdvuu8wdY0QkFVhp-XFBCqq8IRiCQgUzNECSUZepfS_ElfK6ZZ6SnVgsHeryQ/s1600/15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="990" data-original-width="1600" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9PJJ67mfUN1J7DjnfZ5IQ9pQ0e_a3BrQkQKV6wKzAvyio0FTUrm6DSc8oyHF94NPO3vke9XMIJdvuu8wdY0QkFVhp-XFBCqq8IRiCQgUzNECSUZepfS_ElfK6ZZ6SnVgsHeryQ/s640/15.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9ni-cbfE6GSPNL4fhDmh6fgt8LjVBU8ev8VniQTEl3HWVI7n4bK53RtRPKWbWXOTs6pL0q9RzHj8_kVfjZjTSOTifR6HYfew_M-QNTnphB9wvnnu5ybOS7nGNX9t5RlKuScIIQ/s1600/8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1157" data-original-width="1600" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9ni-cbfE6GSPNL4fhDmh6fgt8LjVBU8ev8VniQTEl3HWVI7n4bK53RtRPKWbWXOTs6pL0q9RzHj8_kVfjZjTSOTifR6HYfew_M-QNTnphB9wvnnu5ybOS7nGNX9t5RlKuScIIQ/s640/8.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b> At this point, after another half an hour more of simmering, many of you would call it done, "a good gumbo" but, I like a nice brown roux in most of my gumbos. Now, since Peggy is a "celiac" and can't have anything with wheat or gluten in it, we can't make a <i>traditional</i> roux so, we constantly search for good alternatives. We've found that this Savoie's powdered roux is a good choice. We sprinkled what we thought would be the right amount into our gumbo pot... </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQBQHa0x7PEch63GTfSiFUxcR01KD10BWm1qEP5Lsgm6DfbXKEyQDYahr24DxOH40DQgALHp9UZ6RU0_pfAPCajuupjqrxLqJy3CGgLzFl94-GejIEnVN3VNHo5U7d3ad83fFMw/s1600/16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1058" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQBQHa0x7PEch63GTfSiFUxcR01KD10BWm1qEP5Lsgm6DfbXKEyQDYahr24DxOH40DQgALHp9UZ6RU0_pfAPCajuupjqrxLqJy3CGgLzFl94-GejIEnVN3VNHo5U7d3ad83fFMw/s640/16.JPG" width="422" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>let it simmer for another half an hour and voila!! Our first good gumbo of the season!</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyz7phyPs3BTeP2gmvVzc2OgjTIPKhgKay6OBcARYZTSk2jgH5o2eMK9bTED-UxHkcatLJd0aeqnHpn5qvXVyO9v85lGUMf1T9jODFQ_dFY4e-ut0poF9teqfWaVd8LMP2pE_7fg/s1600/12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1029" data-original-width="1600" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyz7phyPs3BTeP2gmvVzc2OgjTIPKhgKay6OBcARYZTSk2jgH5o2eMK9bTED-UxHkcatLJd0aeqnHpn5qvXVyO9v85lGUMf1T9jODFQ_dFY4e-ut0poF9teqfWaVd8LMP2pE_7fg/s640/12.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>So, this begins our annual gumbo 'throw down'. I make a gumbo, then Peggy makes a gumbo, and repeat. I make simple old-fashioned style and Peggy, daughter of a chef, makes hers a bit more complicated, but what I like to call "award winning" good. They are <i>all</i> good, but I must admit my Yankee wife out-does 'er Cajun hubby. I think it's mostly cause you can taste more love and effort in hers. This is my first round offering. We plopped a big ol' sweet potato right into the middle of the bowl...another nod to my St. Landry Parish upbringing. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJnpILoQJ9ITFRTEqUw-zXkmW5ysymtXIjzQjNn44D8FVfNWKgLHtAQHVP1T6lSGsMAelRT7TNqE56jweUs8ONiIczda_9MypPZtkfCZS_XVDY6vCaIPjcpEmKsdzvKMEUrqC0g/s1600/17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="1600" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJnpILoQJ9ITFRTEqUw-zXkmW5ysymtXIjzQjNn44D8FVfNWKgLHtAQHVP1T6lSGsMAelRT7TNqE56jweUs8ONiIczda_9MypPZtkfCZS_XVDY6vCaIPjcpEmKsdzvKMEUrqC0g/s640/17.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>Okay, Peggy, your turn, get busy! I can hardly wait. :-P </b></span><br />
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<br />cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-40316312242021275482019-12-24T16:45:00.000-05:002019-12-24T16:45:23.052-05:00Merry Christmas 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Merry Christmas from our family to you and your loved ones. May God keep you safe and happy in the coming years, surrounded by His Goodness and Mercy. Our mission for the coming year is to try to be more kind, knowing it's nice to be nice, but nicer to be nicer. :-)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEKfxJQu7tmpWk2_ycpckNUw3UBBh9JaR6Y7lIlumKKpdYQDJZC-9Bnvkx8WHfLu6esmgxN1Da4uimen4zJ3MEv7YiDtYjb-zKpkUJxWuzlT9ujWjBKOvvj5ZeGmSNvwyIA_aoA/s1600/2019+photo+copy+of+front+page+of++Christmas+Card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1600" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEKfxJQu7tmpWk2_ycpckNUw3UBBh9JaR6Y7lIlumKKpdYQDJZC-9Bnvkx8WHfLu6esmgxN1Da4uimen4zJ3MEv7YiDtYjb-zKpkUJxWuzlT9ujWjBKOvvj5ZeGmSNvwyIA_aoA/s640/2019+photo+copy+of+front+page+of++Christmas+Card.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-29935370870623194392019-10-15T14:59:00.000-05:002019-10-15T14:59:07.976-05:00Ol' Fashioned Cajun Pork and Sweet Potato Stew<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b> With Fall season trying hard to get going, down here in Sunny South Louisiana, Cajuns start thinking about cool weather comfort food. Hearty stews like gumbos are first on that list, and when you come from 'sweet potato country', around Opelousas, Louisisana, sweet potatoes are often get involved in whatcha cookin'. So, with that in mind, I made this dish a couple of weeks ago and it was so <em>very</em> good, I decided to make it again and share it with you. Get out your spoons. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b> First, I started with a Boston butt pork that I cut into stew meat chunks...</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oAYU-pZdOXKlFQNBOuEApcF7uqxorMKFrsMMmzgq7t4uh-VpkPiYQqfsvHs4liXuudPCUqULIPVRyIAe0WeqpLuPJBhAQXj8j_AI-YSSyeszuiCKCBmfBRbJWnQQe4rInWuBYQ/s1600/1+meat+in+the+skillet.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="1600" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oAYU-pZdOXKlFQNBOuEApcF7uqxorMKFrsMMmzgq7t4uh-VpkPiYQqfsvHs4liXuudPCUqULIPVRyIAe0WeqpLuPJBhAQXj8j_AI-YSSyeszuiCKCBmfBRbJWnQQe4rInWuBYQ/s640/1+meat+in+the+skillet.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b> seasoned it up with our own Cajun spice blend and a splash of Worcestershire sauce, that I just call "woo"...easier to say and even easier to spell. (I hadda 'google' <em>again</em> how to spell it for yall this time.)</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9htK3sCbuwbbP_8HloemDOrINfeXbhd_YXDHWvE1LeRIqvYXQ2rUXhIt8_-N4QU1nFTUt0KD9v0R5KOK9m6f6HutpIrXzRezF7QEPRaTNeaHvhIR3P8OoWltfp50o8BTlUFNZJg/s1600/2+spice+added+to+pork.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="1600" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9htK3sCbuwbbP_8HloemDOrINfeXbhd_YXDHWvE1LeRIqvYXQ2rUXhIt8_-N4QU1nFTUt0KD9v0R5KOK9m6f6HutpIrXzRezF7QEPRaTNeaHvhIR3P8OoWltfp50o8BTlUFNZJg/s640/2+spice+added+to+pork.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>Here, I've got the burner on a li'l more than '<em>medium'</em> and added a small splash of water while I whacked up a few onions,</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyX1vlct549FwmypOP-pR-9tvbtJ7oGxViEAQnoz2V4SOo2cA8MX8mcTbMb9ws3SR9ho8Xosle8x05o4tK26o8TSTnPGRcZGfT6iuvw6cg5cxpYTFU5lCTX4z1RjbAF0hqd6WvA/s1600/3+3+onions.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1274" data-original-width="1600" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyX1vlct549FwmypOP-pR-9tvbtJ7oGxViEAQnoz2V4SOo2cA8MX8mcTbMb9ws3SR9ho8Xosle8x05o4tK26o8TSTnPGRcZGfT6iuvw6cg5cxpYTFU5lCTX4z1RjbAF0hqd6WvA/s640/3+3+onions.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>then scraped them into the pot.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7-sOAxMuwmUvoEZ0l1Zi3hB00t-S_KFheVCw5_f2ZR8mrdEz-X5s8TxiiOUo-CUtApiLpCAF83ZKKE6zLjvwtcyY86FUx2BkWG3X7NJjyykwz-ezVz7fKYf-AH5XCMcPDS3u_Q/s1600/5+onions+going+in.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7-sOAxMuwmUvoEZ0l1Zi3hB00t-S_KFheVCw5_f2ZR8mrdEz-X5s8TxiiOUo-CUtApiLpCAF83ZKKE6zLjvwtcyY86FUx2BkWG3X7NJjyykwz-ezVz7fKYf-AH5XCMcPDS3u_Q/s640/5+onions+going+in.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>I hit the onions with a li'l bit more seasoning to help them break down (the salt in the spice does that).</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtca2HLtzUSrX0aeONpNSjj_ZHBumGBWIe6J_psUVlI9QMpYKBccKPeKELLb0lOPd4vGj4hrCJ_aB6Us6xM17-XE0Yaog9DAkYgNmT9vbcpj1xOdTU3GbD3aPvh3ypDIBoK02tjA/s1600/7+spice+in+da+pot+too.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1600" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtca2HLtzUSrX0aeONpNSjj_ZHBumGBWIe6J_psUVlI9QMpYKBccKPeKELLb0lOPd4vGj4hrCJ_aB6Us6xM17-XE0Yaog9DAkYgNmT9vbcpj1xOdTU3GbD3aPvh3ypDIBoK02tjA/s640/7+spice+in+da+pot+too.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b> I put the lid on the pot and let it cook down on a medium setting for a half an hour or so, stirring when needed.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKt3VBMRTg_3A4yTmhelHhe2SPte_0dkuBN0rJYJtsthL9TrBM9fu7sgZsqRdkKveR4IgJ3yPKdGgrrTpftmomv1vfEcYTRQ9gXcSm7y3scTWbQXsv6jQ091ecKhyphenhyphenj9Ie_uwAuqw/s1600/4+pork+in+the+pot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1204" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKt3VBMRTg_3A4yTmhelHhe2SPte_0dkuBN0rJYJtsthL9TrBM9fu7sgZsqRdkKveR4IgJ3yPKdGgrrTpftmomv1vfEcYTRQ9gXcSm7y3scTWbQXsv6jQ091ecKhyphenhyphenj9Ie_uwAuqw/s640/4+pork+in+the+pot.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>Once it cooked down a bit, we chopped up a couple sweet potatoes (washed and skin on), and added them to the party in the pot, and aint they pretty?</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>After another half an hour of occasional stirring, the sweet potatoes got tender and started 'melting down'.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DoFiiecGH6KpNdoqU84ZT6EOMOPnIpZVgLRSvgi1zbRDgXEzyW_MV66w0p1hST77XgXbV642R97OR6zJmIssFqYmR3-QrrTLLr-qedHXwnvyIEJ1g-j4k6_G5ruqZLe3QGphLw/s1600/9+Ooh+lookin+good.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1089" data-original-width="1600" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DoFiiecGH6KpNdoqU84ZT6EOMOPnIpZVgLRSvgi1zbRDgXEzyW_MV66w0p1hST77XgXbV642R97OR6zJmIssFqYmR3-QrrTLLr-qedHXwnvyIEJ1g-j4k6_G5ruqZLe3QGphLw/s640/9+Ooh+lookin+good.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>Next, I added half a bell pepper, chopped.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>After about another 20 minutes of cooking, you can see that the pork and sweet potato made a pretty good gravy.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmyRi-ITtJrb6k4BtjY4g21NNX9d0-xShXzfGCI00wxQFP8LBAubP-5q4xWH0xyfrAefW3tS2IVzYb4PCr8bdQ8V2CePm8_xZySRP8DW_7-GrtpmYfH2_UbEh2E08FKdO37la1Q/s1600/11+it+has+married+enough.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmyRi-ITtJrb6k4BtjY4g21NNX9d0-xShXzfGCI00wxQFP8LBAubP-5q4xWH0xyfrAefW3tS2IVzYb4PCr8bdQ8V2CePm8_xZySRP8DW_7-GrtpmYfH2_UbEh2E08FKdO37la1Q/s640/11+it+has+married+enough.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>But, since this is supposed to be a <em>stew,</em> I decided to thicken it with gluten-free gravy mix.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1q_GCvtYmwGmpB8bFrVoPgNdqyqPA8V_REC7dgO0chlwODFOhoZAOhQ4GS_5X4X8MxzeoZYN2Ymli4lm-YNpTUx0EgOm4LpjIrFG_dFeJmOz1dzGJvXPIGyk59dRaKYriN-XGDA/s1600/12+cajun+style+brown+gravy+mix.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1355" data-original-width="1600" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1q_GCvtYmwGmpB8bFrVoPgNdqyqPA8V_REC7dgO0chlwODFOhoZAOhQ4GS_5X4X8MxzeoZYN2Ymli4lm-YNpTUx0EgOm4LpjIrFG_dFeJmOz1dzGJvXPIGyk59dRaKYriN-XGDA/s640/12+cajun+style+brown+gravy+mix.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>This Savoie's Gluten free mix. It's very good, and all you have to do is shake in into the pot, as you would any seasoning, and stir.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBGz7TbEVGubklkiG1mUDjJwWtwVzZgRT8aqMVWyZH3db_DmSffJiwhRWRx1xUq0eLEDB1R0wAywLblLIflyW98B94C-AZor7WGgNH9GnncD6ykXa1fyZL_tZc-yvfzaTdhriFQ/s1600/13+gluten+free+gravy+mix+going+in.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1283" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBGz7TbEVGubklkiG1mUDjJwWtwVzZgRT8aqMVWyZH3db_DmSffJiwhRWRx1xUq0eLEDB1R0wAywLblLIflyW98B94C-AZor7WGgNH9GnncD6ykXa1fyZL_tZc-yvfzaTdhriFQ/s640/13+gluten+free+gravy+mix+going+in.JPG" width="512" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>Even if you don't have a person with celiac disease in your family, this really is a wonderful gravy mix and the most realistic we have found yet. It's available at Rouse's grocery stores here in the South, and I am pretty sure they sell it at other places, as well.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5jnqbqrOndcN0o98nJeIWsUGOzhMKUziY5KBi40ft2-vto8eUgeno1JlwS_BWGMxFKsXdXjbmpcqph-2nU7y4iIK4X90rLQIQW29lxKSJayGtZB87KiezjDVqHZ4pxg9nIquag/s1600/14+oh+that+looks+so+good.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5jnqbqrOndcN0o98nJeIWsUGOzhMKUziY5KBi40ft2-vto8eUgeno1JlwS_BWGMxFKsXdXjbmpcqph-2nU7y4iIK4X90rLQIQW29lxKSJayGtZB87KiezjDVqHZ4pxg9nIquag/s640/14+oh+that+looks+so+good.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>Most Southerners make pork and turnip stew, but you really need to try this St. Landry Parish version and trade your turnips in for sweet potatoes. Pork and sweet potatoes: two good things that are better together.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5T1jttYpsTMjf8pN_umjPMFEvTPQ9YSUyMWk2ctKzZBCJdahsT0ksgtHdNpOKT0crHK9Uyt8hlT_8oGaMO07pz94DQkV2jOGUUfBMwGcUlFxtny3mPov2Zam2seThOYIxXkbPuw/s1600/15+plated+viola.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1290" data-original-width="1600" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5T1jttYpsTMjf8pN_umjPMFEvTPQ9YSUyMWk2ctKzZBCJdahsT0ksgtHdNpOKT0crHK9Uyt8hlT_8oGaMO07pz94DQkV2jOGUUfBMwGcUlFxtny3mPov2Zam2seThOYIxXkbPuw/s640/15+plated+viola.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>Paired with a creamy coleslaw, it's the perfect Fall dish... 'til it gets cold enough to make gumbo. <em>Brrrrr</em>. :-D</b></span></div>
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cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-20385224578570837392019-10-06T16:40:00.000-05:002019-10-06T16:52:07.847-05:00Cajun Hot Legs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><strong>We have given up on Buffalo hot wings. They are expensive, </strong><strong>messy and </strong><strong>hard to eat and not at all meaty. We decided to experiment and see what we could do to make something better in place of our favorite ballgame snack. A few weeks ago we found Sanderson Farms big chicken legs on sale for 69 cents a lb. in family sized packs, so we bought three of the packs home to to see how close we could come to making them taste like Buffalo wings, but better: "Cajun Hot Legs!"</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><strong> We took a pack of the legs and seasoned them with a liberal dusting of our own Cajun spice mix and a few splashes of Worcestershire sauce.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6X0a9EvQZlRAbb86GMmlh5eKY17acMuI_tf9cJXBKGe7QwJyU0CZX9Jt1rMJ34UtJva8RX-ijHb3zPlfpL7Uhv31v03r3C2UX77xEDDoUj2Nju8SC9AXIFUSGl7-C1ei39DYhwQ/s1600/1+A+Buffalo+Hot+Legs+fresh+outa+da+oven.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="902" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6X0a9EvQZlRAbb86GMmlh5eKY17acMuI_tf9cJXBKGe7QwJyU0CZX9Jt1rMJ34UtJva8RX-ijHb3zPlfpL7Uhv31v03r3C2UX77xEDDoUj2Nju8SC9AXIFUSGl7-C1ei39DYhwQ/s640/1+A+Buffalo+Hot+Legs+fresh+outa+da+oven.JPG" width="360" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>We put them in a parchment paper lined pan in a 325 degree oven for 30 minutes, then turned them over and put them in the oven for another 30 minutes. After another 30 minutes or so, the meat thermometer read "165"=done!</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtDnx-gFMi8znUoico8LX_heUl5XWjogHP1I7oEKi0Fqh3yz2xwJA2EeJcxaGml0i9YcdTLUQozWzt0ezvq9kwpTn-b_LY-GiuODLfihE7Vt_UnZH-855VQTDMWUU03vVegkLVA/s1600/2+B+Buffalo+Hot+Legs+fresh+outa+the+oven+and+shiney.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="902" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtDnx-gFMi8znUoico8LX_heUl5XWjogHP1I7oEKi0Fqh3yz2xwJA2EeJcxaGml0i9YcdTLUQozWzt0ezvq9kwpTn-b_LY-GiuODLfihE7Vt_UnZH-855VQTDMWUU03vVegkLVA/s640/2+B+Buffalo+Hot+Legs+fresh+outa+the+oven+and+shiney.JPG" width="360" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b> Out of the oven they came and dumped into Peg's stainless steel "salad bowl", then drizzled with Sweet Baby Ray's Buffalo Wing sauce,</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9V1_NOL4nXT5BMqW1djVeuQrQ0xs7p5ORIeFYS9U25n3x9gut1uCxoe2IH70cPaNxgAgH7VveaMHvPh5-XA3mNOeHuMdRRE4H_NzzNBbqOP2ULOfnNAGKiDDzYNr06lKsSFE8Tw/s1600/3+C+Buffalo+Hot+Legs+puttin+on+da+Buffalo+Hot+Sauce.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="902" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9V1_NOL4nXT5BMqW1djVeuQrQ0xs7p5ORIeFYS9U25n3x9gut1uCxoe2IH70cPaNxgAgH7VveaMHvPh5-XA3mNOeHuMdRRE4H_NzzNBbqOP2ULOfnNAGKiDDzYNr06lKsSFE8Tw/s640/3+C+Buffalo+Hot+Legs+puttin+on+da+Buffalo+Hot+Sauce.JPG" width="360" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>and tossed to coat them.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG3A1eVXlHixh-UnVflpgcTSfBxsci5XG8cy-hrvOvok-VSA_474ZNyKyXS_aExq5gtgTt-T5fjgZsz5iCtmdUD0Kj9IVds3lKPptrQxlbAoIbk0P9DNg7gLdXKBVggA8Mn7-PsA/s1600/4+finished+product+Buffalo+Hot+Legs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG3A1eVXlHixh-UnVflpgcTSfBxsci5XG8cy-hrvOvok-VSA_474ZNyKyXS_aExq5gtgTt-T5fjgZsz5iCtmdUD0Kj9IVds3lKPptrQxlbAoIbk0P9DNg7gLdXKBVggA8Mn7-PsA/s640/4+finished+product+Buffalo+Hot+Legs.JPG" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>They turned out to be amazing and cost a fraction of the price of wings. They're a lot easier to eat, too...not quite as messy, and one hot leg is way meatier than a wimpy wing. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><b>Give 'em a try! Ta heck with skimpy Buffalo wings... this whole bowl of Cajun Hot Legs cost about $3.50. We enjoyed 'em while watching our beloved Saints win again--Priceless!! Who Dat!!</b></span></div>
cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-1883375697052440262019-07-16T19:47:00.000-05:002019-07-16T19:47:06.508-05:00 The Birthday of the Greatest Country...The United States of America. So we BBQ'd !!<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b> The morning of the fourth of July, I stepped outside with a cup of coffee, yawned, stretched and immediately turned around and went back in for the camera. One of my Daddy's favorite flowers was in full bloom and beautiful.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMFVoYfhq9G2C3ChhA6hTdspZ5lpP5An1nTBL0sN7wMGN8MP0rfuBw2HPGblESQFnkRC6L_k_ANtleJw2iMtA_bTFr8KeK-iOi6XqzMudHqBNLxhCxZrQ0ofZIqg8Gcs4dvglJQ/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMFVoYfhq9G2C3ChhA6hTdspZ5lpP5An1nTBL0sN7wMGN8MP0rfuBw2HPGblESQFnkRC6L_k_ANtleJw2iMtA_bTFr8KeK-iOi6XqzMudHqBNLxhCxZrQ0ofZIqg8Gcs4dvglJQ/s640/040.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YpBumgxs3s1U0TEaG7TADVZutQfjMEUZ-bi9HXaq-gsAqeCKaA43jc4lIOKyz2tRnC5iqOijSmjCCIesipKNlPGnDQTyiKZGAFsgGCYhKDYfOGFnKL-0432Nk2ocz4PzSOZwjQ/s1600/042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1600" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YpBumgxs3s1U0TEaG7TADVZutQfjMEUZ-bi9HXaq-gsAqeCKaA43jc4lIOKyz2tRnC5iqOijSmjCCIesipKNlPGnDQTyiKZGAFsgGCYhKDYfOGFnKL-0432Nk2ocz4PzSOZwjQ/s640/042.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b>These double blossom spotted tiger lilies are an amazing testament to how wonderful my wife is. Several years ago they came up in conversation and I mentioned how hard they were to find. About a month later the bulbs came in the mail. I was amazed, and they continue to bless our yard, year after year in spite of our shoddy gardening practices.<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b> But, since it was "the fourth" I figured I might as well do like the rest of the country and fire up our rusty ol' bbq pit. </b></span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b> I've been seeing lots of folks talking 'bout stuffing jalapenos and grilling them, so I thought we would give them a try. We took six peppers from our garden, split them in half and dug the seeds out, but leaving the white inner veins for added heat. We stuffed them with some Rouses fresh Cajun sausage, then rolled them in shredded cheese and wrapped them in Wright's thick bacon. They didn't come out all perfect and fancy, but I thought they looked good sitting on the pit cozied up with a couple slabs of ribs.</b></span></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2XmAqc-jaHE1Tr7RDZVZ3rSfk6_KlA9KVKxhvcth-MNwUtkaWkpkgsDAnNk61Vihk1ogBuOwF4oue8rfl0khcyjPzCo9Xv3aYrLsK6FskwJrO34UZI-HRa_tZvE1jBrJfrL4Sg/s1600/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2XmAqc-jaHE1Tr7RDZVZ3rSfk6_KlA9KVKxhvcth-MNwUtkaWkpkgsDAnNk61Vihk1ogBuOwF4oue8rfl0khcyjPzCo9Xv3aYrLsK6FskwJrO34UZI-HRa_tZvE1jBrJfrL4Sg/s640/056.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><strong>The ribs were rubbed with a li'l </strong><strong>worcestershire</strong><strong> sauce and our own special blend of Cajun seasoning mix. </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><strong> I closed 'everybody' in pit for an hour and a half...3 beers length of time.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b> Then, I checked the internal temp of the ribs saw they were over 170F, so I pulled everybody out, and let them rest for another beer or so.</b></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b> Like I said before, the peppers were not all that pretty, but they were crispy, a nice light smokiness and Peg and I thought they were very tasty. Problem was, is that they disappeared too soon...six of 'em disappeared that night, and the other six were gone by noon the next day. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b>We had an amazing holiday meal and later that night we enjoyed the neighbors' fireworks from sitting in our yard. BeauxBear "celebrated" by hiding under the bed. Well, at least he had enjoyed the meal earlier. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: x-large;"><b>We humbly thank God for this beautiful country that He has given us. We hope you all had a joyful, thankful, prayerful, and plateful Fourth of July, 2019 as well.</b></span></span>cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894963.post-74528791840790520302019-07-04T08:37:00.001-05:002019-07-04T08:39:55.005-05:00Dreaming of Getting a Good Night's Sleep<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;">Well…mebbe it’s
because, for some reason lately, that we’ve been sleep-deprived that we haven’t
posted much of late. Just plain tired and behind the eight-ball, is what I’m
sayin’.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seems like Peggy’s been sleepin’ good. It’s
obvious to me, that she is. I know she’s sleepin’, cuz she dreams, and I know
she’s dreamin’…<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>or she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">better</i>
be dreamin’ is all I can say, and I have my reasons why, too.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been awakened by finger tips lightly
dancing all over the top of my bald head. I’ve been “polka-dotted” with a
finger on the side of my face, which, of course, woke me up. One time I worried
about whether or not she had hurt her hand when I got walloped while I was
sleeping and she was supposedly sleeping and never knew a thing about it, until
I asked her in the morning if her hand hurt. Nope—THEN she was worried about me;
I don’t think she worried when I was getting walloped...good thing it was just
the one smack.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I
really worry about what’s going on in her dreams, like for instance, when I’m <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;">deeeeeeep in blessed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sleep</i> and am suddenly awakened by
somebody screeching directly into my ear, “Heyyyy!!!” or “AAAAHHHHHH!!!” My
heart starts racing because I don’t know what’s going on in our room! My
“fight-or-flight” has kicked on, I throw the covers back, ready to jump outa
bed and do battle with…I hear soft snoring. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sound</i>
asleep she is, after scaring me and da dawg awake. He must be used to it by
now, cuz he doesn’t even break a bark anymore about it. I open my nook to read
a little bit to calm my nerves and try to get back to sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"> Dat dawg would have
trouble going back to sleep if he about had his nose nearly screwed off while
he was sound asleep. Peg sez she was dreaming that she was reaching wayyy over
to turn off a light switch, and it didn’t wanna turn. So, she pinched it harder--gonna <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">make</i> it twist. She only stopped when I
grabbed her hand off my C-Pap face mask. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I knew what to expect in her nighttime
assaults, I might be like the dawg…no big deal, but she comes up with new
“ideas” every night. <span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night she accused me of being “Joe”
somebody, so she started smacking him around, yelling at him to, “Knock it off,
Joe”. Boy, I’m glad I’m not Joe.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know who the guy was who got on the
bad side of her in her sleep at a crowded skating rink one morning, in the
middle of the night. This weaselly little guy was knocking people off their
skates, and a little girl almost got hurt, so Peg reached hard and grabbed him
by his shirt. She started yelling, “I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">got</i>
him! I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">got</i> him!” The guy tried
getting away and started yelling back, “Let go, let go Peg! You’ve grabbed a
handful of my skin!” And it hurt, too…a little bit.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She meets all kinds of people in her sleep.
Some of them must be complete idiots. She had to keep informing one of them in
no uncertain terms—and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">loudly</i>, that
what they were holding in their hand, “It’s a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">towel</i>…it’s a TOWEL…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">listen</i>
to me, it. is. a. TOWEL!!!”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night
the bear got in, though, was pretty disturbing, momentarily. It happened just
after I had staggered to the bathroom around, I guess <span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;">it musta been around
3 a.m. Here I am in the middle of my business when she starts screaming, “It’s
a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bear</i>…it’s a BEAR!!!” I’m on the
other side of the house, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">on</i> the
toilet. Now why…or how, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what</i> in
the hell would a bear be doing breaking into our house at this time of night
and I’d heard no windows break or wood splintering. Sighhh…so, just this time I
decided to let the bear get ‘er. She was sleeping…she wouldn’t know I let the
bear get ‘er. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"> I don’t know what happened, but by the time I wobbled
back to bed, she musta had him subdued, cuz she was sound asleep. Probably
snatched his nose off something. Maybe scared him by barking like a dog, but I
didn’t hear her bark like BeauxBear and I did one night. She said she was in
the driveway and BeauxBear was running for the front door, followed by a pack
of coyotes. He made it into the house, so to scare off the coyotes, she started
kicking at them and barking like she was a bigger dog than they were. Well, all
her barking and kicking not only scared off the pack, but it woke her up, too. <span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;">None of us, neither
BeauxBear or I could breathe there for a second. She slowly pulled her foot
back in under the blankets and laid there all quiet. Finally, I just hadda ask,
“What was that?” A simple question.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She whispered(?) “Oh, did I talk in my sleep
again?”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nooo,” I answered, “You <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">barked</i>…like ‘ROOOF WOOOF-WOOF!!! scared the HELL outa me an’
Beaux…he jumped about a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">foot</i> off the
bed an’ scratched my leg when ‘e landed! I couldn't figure out for the life of me what YOU would be barking at. 3:30 in the morning--that's the dogs job.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, there’s
a lot more stories about Peg’s nightlife, but I’ll just leave it here, I guess.
Now, I try not to wake her up unless she’s got a really bad dream goin’ on that
I think is really scaring her, so I wake her up before she gets ta going too
bad, where one of us…meanin’ me, (or “Joe”) might get hurt. I do have to say, I
think I did “Joe” or whoever a favor the other night, tho’. It was pitch black
in the room, I was sound asleep and was awakened by a very DEEP, LOUD moaning,
“MUH-AH-HAH-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HAHHH</i>!!!” I woke up with
a start, squinting to see <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><em>anything</em>, “this can’t
be good,” I thought, “who’s in here…is somebody in here? Should I grab my
rifle?” Oh wait…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wait a second</i>…getting
my bearings, I remembered that Peg does do a very, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very</i> deep voice sometimes. Letting out a slow breath, I gave Peg’s
arm a little shake, “Wake up, Peg, you’re dreaming.” </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 107%;"> I kinda felt sorry
for whoever was her victim in there tonight. Getting a “muh-ah-hah-hah” could
be very bad for them. I figure I’m their hero tonight, saving them like
I did. I hope they got some sleep outa da deal, anyhow. As for me an' my dawg,..well, I don't know about him, but I’m sleepin’ with one eye
open.</span></span></span></div>
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<br />cappyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09945967359250836376noreply@blogger.com1