It started on Friday—A trip to Home Depot for some fertilizer to plant my new rhubarb plant that we found at a farm market in Lapeer.  Every year at strawberry time I go looking for rhubarb to go into a couple of the batches of jam.  I now know that the rhubarb come in a month ahead of the strawberries and is pretty well gone by June.  But I digress!!!

At home depot we found these stepping stones in a wood slab pattern and bought one to set out for size.  Hopefully it would add some appeal to the path to the back deck.

I was tagged by the Silver Fox to name five things I remember from my childhood.
Man that was so long ago that I only remember things like:

I grew up between two farms where my brothers and I used to play hide and seek after dark in the fields with my cousins and the neighbor boy.  You could lay out flat on your tummy and the others could walk within five feet of you and never see you!

I remember walking 7/10th of a mile to and from school wading over my kneecaps in the snow and crying in front of the coal stove in the front room trying to warm up after.

With no inside bathroom ( a one seater with a path)  we took our baths in the kitchen.  Mom heated part of the water on the kitchen stove and the other part with one of those round metal donuts that you plug into the wall and put in the round wash tub.  I can remember sitting in that tub with my feet and legs hanging over the side because I was so tall.  Then standing up to wash my feet and legs before I got out.—-Lord I couldn’t even sit in a regular bath tub anymore if I ever wanted to get out again!

I remember that we didn’t have alot of money but we never went hungry.  For entertainment my Mom would fill the car with gas and load all of kids in and take us for a ride.  She would pick a road, saying I wonder where this goes.  Then we would follow it until we ended up in someone’s back yard.  What great adventures that was!

I remember hauling milk containers full of water from the next door farm when the well went dry.  Buying milk from that farmer that came fresh from the cow and Mom making me summer dresses out of the chicken feed sacks that had such pretty prints on them.

Most of all I remember how we fought as kids but the love in our house seem to spill out the door to greet everyone who ever visited us!!

Now for the Fun Part———I tag my daughter Cindy
    My son Lesley
    My husband Jay
  My friend Dar
  My friend Jeff
Yes!!!!!!
I goofed—the tag was for things I miss from childhood.  ( Obviously memory is one of them).
  I miss how my Mom cooked chicken, how good it smelled and tasted.
  My grandmother’s canned berries, ‘jumping beef’ and how she whistled ever so lightly
  when we did jig saw puzzles together or played dominos.
I miss helping my Mom tear down an engine so Dad could replace the rings and watching him put it back together and it ran!!

If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about trading it in for a newer model.

I’ve got bumps and dents and scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little dull, but that’s not the worst of it.

My fenders are too wide to be considered stylish. They were once as sleek as a little MG; now they look more like an old Buick.

My seat cushions have split open at the seams. My seats are sagging.

Seat belts? I gave up all belts when Krispy Cremes opened a shop in my neighborhood.

Air bags? Forget it. The only bags I have these days are under my eyes. Not counting the saddlebags, of course.

I have soooooo many miles on my odometer. Sure, I’ve been many places and seen many things, but when’s the last time an appraiser factored life experiences against depreciation?

My headlights are out of focus and it’s especially hard to see things up close.

My traction is not as graceful as it once was. I slip and slide and skid and bump into things even in the best of weather.

My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins.

It takes me hours to reach my maximum speed.  My fuel rate burns inefficiently.

But here’s the worst of it—almost every time I sneeze, cough or sputter….. either my radiator leaks or my exhaust backfires!

Thanks Pam!

It’s the only type of cooking a real man will do.
When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion:

Routine….
1) The woman buys the food.
2) The woman makes the salad, vegetables, and dessert.
3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill—beer in hand.>
Here comes the important part ….

4) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.

More routine….
5) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation.

Important again ….
7) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.

More routine…..
The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table.
9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.

And importantly ….
10) EVERYONE PRAISES THE MAN AND THANKS HIM FOR HIS COOKING EFFORTS.
11) THE MAN ASKS THE WOMAN HOW SHE ENJOYED “HER NIGHT OFF.” AND, UPON SEEING HER ANNOYED REACTION, CONCLUDES THAT THERE’S JUST NO PLEASING SOME WOMEN……
Go Figure.

As I read this I kept thinking—Yes! this is what I really feel.  It is probably the way many others feel also.  If you are not one of us think over the prospect, ponder the the freedom, and learn to practice loving everything everyday!  Thank you dear friend for sharing!

Theory of A Older Woman
The other day, a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I
was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my
reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was
an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let her know.

Old age, I decided, is a gift.

I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have
always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body
– the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt.  And often I am
taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror, but I don’t
agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving
family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I’ve aged, I’ve
become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I’ve become
my own friend. I don’t chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or
for not
making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn’t
need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to overeat,
to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends
leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom
that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until
4 a.m, and sleep until noon?

I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60’s, and if
I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love,  I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging
body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite
the pitying glances from the bikini set.

They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just
as well forgotten … and I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken.

How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child
suffers, or even when a beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken
hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A
heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy
of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turn gray,
and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on
my face. 
So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair
could
turn silver. I can say “no”, and mean it. I can say “yes”, and mean
it.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive.

You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself
anymore. I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I
like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but
while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have
been, or worrying
about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day.

Author unknown!

LIFE IN THE 1500’S
Don’t know if this a true article or not – but it sure is fun to read!

  The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the
water temperature isn’t just how you like it, think about how things
used
to be.
Here are some facts about the1500s:

  These are interesting…

  Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath
in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were
starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the
body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting
married.

  Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the
house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other
sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the
babies.
By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it.
Hence the saying, Don’t throw the baby out with the Bath water..

  Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood
underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the
cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it
rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and
fall off
the roof.
Hence the saying . It’s raining cats and dogs.

  There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This
posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings
could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a
sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That’s how canopy
beds came into existence.

  The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt.

Hence the saying, Dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors That would
get slippery in the winter when wet , so they spread thresh
(straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on,
they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all
start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entranceway.
  Hence the saying a …thresh hold..

  (Getting quite an education, aren’t you?)

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that
always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things
to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They
would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold
overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in
it that had been there for quite a while.
  Hence the rhyme, Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas
porridge in the pot nine days old..

  Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special.
When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It
was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon..
  They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit
around and chew the fat..

  Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid
content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead
poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the
next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

  Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt
bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top,
or the upper crust.

  Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would
sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking
along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial.
They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the
family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they
would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.

  England is old and small and the local folks started running out
of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take
the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these
coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the
inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they
would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the
coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would
have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to
listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell. or was
considered a …dead ringer..

  And that’s the truth…Now , whoever said History was boring ! ! !

Educate someone..Share these facts with a friend
Thanks Pam and Sally

By way of David Burgess

Last week I purchased a burger at Burger King for $1.58. The counter girl took my $2 and I was digging for my change when I pulled 8 cents from my pocket and gave it to her.  She stood there, holding the nickel and 3 pennies, while looking at the screen on her register.

I sensed her discomfort and tried to tell her to just give me two quarters, but she hailed the manager for help.  While he tried to explain the transaction to her, she stood there and cried.  Why do I tell you this?

Please read more about the, “History of teaching math”:

Teaching Math In 1950

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.  His cost of production is 4/5 of the price.  What is his profit?

Teaching Math In 1960

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.  His cost of production is 4/5 of the price, or $80.  What is his profit?

Teaching Math In 1970

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.  His cost of production is $80.  Did he make a profit?

Teaching Math In 1980

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.  His cost of production is $80 and his profit is $20.  Your assignment: Underline the number 20.

Teaching Math In 1990

By cutting down beautiful forest trees, the logger makes $20.  What do you think of this way of making a living?  Topic for class participation after answering the question: How did the forest birds and squirrels feel as the logger cut down the trees.  (There are no wrong answers.)

Teaching Math In 2005

El hachero vende un camion carga por $100.  La cuesta de production es …

Not speaking spanish I hope this doesn’t offend anyone but the tale needed to be told.
Thanks Skyline!!!

THE THIMBLE

One day, when a seamstress was sewing while sitting close to a river, her thimble fell into the river. When she cried out, the Lord appeared and asked, “My dear child, why are you crying?” The seamstress replied that her thimble had fallen into the water and that she needed it to help her husband in making a living for their family.

The Lord dipped His hand into the water and pulled up a golden thimble set with pearls. “Is this your thimble?” the Lord asked. The seamstress replied, “No.”

The Lord again dipped into the river. He held out a silver thimble ringed with sapphires. “Is this your thimble?” the Lord asked. Again, the seamstress replied, “No.”

The Lord reached down again and came up with a leather thimble. “Is this your thimble?” the Lord asked. The seamstress replied, “Yes.”

The Lord was pleased with the woman’s honesty and gave her all three thimbles to keep, and the seamstress went home happy.

Some years later, the seamstress was walking with her husband along the riverbank, and her husband fell into the river and disappeared under the water. When she cried out, the Lord again appeared and asked her, “Why are you crying?” “Oh Lord, my husband has fallen into the river!”

The Lord went down into the water and came up with Mel Gibson.
“Is this your husband?” the Lord asked. “Yes,” cried the seamstress.
The Lord was furious. “You lied! That is an untruth!”

The seamstress replied, “Oh, forgive me, my Lord. It is a misunderstanding. You see, if I had said ‘no’ to Mel Gibson, you would have come up with Tom Cruise. Then if I said ‘no’ to him, you would have come up with my husband. Had I then said ‘yes,’ you would have given me all three. Lord, I’m not in the best of health and would not be able to take care of all three husbands, so THAT’S why I said ‘yes’ to Mel Gibson.”

The moral of this story is: Whenever a woman lies, it’s for a good and honorable reason, and in the best interest of others.

That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it!

Thanks Pammie