Thank you for your comments about all the places you’d like to live. Half of you want to live right where you already are — how blessed it is to feel that way.

Random.org decided that the winner of Beryl Singleton Bissell’s newest book A View of the Lake is Pat!  Yay! I know Pat is an avid reader and loves the outdoors, so she is going to love this book about Beryl and her husband Bill’s move to the North Shore of Lake Superior.

Pat, send me your address and I’ll put your autographed copy of the book in the mail right away.

I am off to pick up my beautiful granddaughter Mrs. Nisky to take her out for a birthday lunch. She was seven years old yesterday. Then we’ll go shopping for the gift of her choice…she already gave me a hint and told me that what she wants is at their neighborhood hardware store..  🙂

Thank you all for reading and commenting on the blog, and have a wonderful weekend,

We were blessed to be able to have Mr. McBoy, Mrs. Nisky and Lil’ Gleegirl come and spend the weekend with us. I just thought I’d share a few random photos I took.

Mr. McBoy and Grandpa played Monopoly

The snow in our back woods is finally beginning to melt

A lovely gift from my friend Ginny – it makes me think of her and say a prayer of thanks each time I see this

We finally got the new fireplace surround painted

Even the simplest flowers can add so much, don’t you think?

We bought this wooden applique from an online company and glued it on the surround– in the catalog this applique was called, oddly, “Los Angeles”

Kitchen window reminder

A little bit of sunshine drawn by Vivie and attached to a kitchen cabinet – as much of a masterpiece as any painting

Tulips from a family friend who came for dinner on Saturday, with Monopoly going on in the background 🙂

Edith and Mildred watching for suspicious activity in the front yard

Edith’s body language clearly says she’s wary about sharing the couch with Curious George

Have a blessed and peaceful week,

It was snowing heavily when I put my book (The Wee Mad Road) down and turned off the light last night. I knew when I woke up at 5:15 this morning that we’d gotten a lot of snow overnight, because of the quiet. Even the sound of the wind against the house and landscape has a muffled sound to it because of the thick layer of new fallen snow.

I put on my white terry cloth robe, my Sorel slippers, stuffed a Kleenex in my pocket (winter allergies) and went quietly downstairs to click up the heat, make my Cappuccino Cooler, and check online to see if schools had closed. They had.

This will be the first Christmas since Chris and Sharon moved back to Minnesota. They have visited at Christmas before, and we have traveled to see them in Maryland for Christmas, but now they live a mile and a half from us, which is such a blessing. I don’t thank Chris and Sharon enough for making the sacrifices they have for being closer to family.

The other night Chris and Sharon went to see our local community playhouse’s holiday musical White Christmas and their three little ones came here. We played Farkle and read books and ate sliced pears and almonds for a snack. The older two, Mr. McBoy and Mrs. Nisky, spent the night on a pallet on the floor of our bedroom. Since Lil’ Gleegirl, whose new nickname is Moo, was getting over a virus, she fell asleep in bed beside me, but Mama came to get her after the play. Moo slept through being carried out of bed, down the stairs, into her winter coat, out to the car, strapped into the car seat, the drive home, being taken out of her car seat, carried into the house, up the stairs, coat removed, and tucked into bed. We have a guest room and at first Mr. McBoy and Mrs. Nisky said they wanted to sleep there, but when bedtime arrived they both asked if they could be on the pallets of pillows and blankets in our room again. Sharon told Chris that their three little ones are going to have good memories of going to Grandpa and Grandma’s big house with many beds to choose from, and sleeping on the floor. 🙂

My three daughters have put their heads together and planned our Christmas Eve and Christmas Day menu. Sara wanted it to be really nice and really casual at the same time, with a proper menu. Everyone will bring something for Christmas brunch, and I am to make a calligraphied menu to announce what will be served, even though what will be served will be right there on the table. So far, this is what is planned:

Carolyn’s Egg and Bacon Casserole
Sharon’s Baked French Toast
Michael’s Smoked Salmon and Trout
Sara’s Wild Rice Maple and Nut Porridge
Carolyn’s Vinaigrette-tossed Field Greens
Julie’s Fruit Salad with Pomegranate and Rosemary Dressing
Sharon’s 1930s Coffee Cake
Fresh Squeezed Orange Juice

We will watch the little ones open their presents and we’ll sing carols together, which is one of my favorite things to do. Listening to the smallest children sing loud with no self-consciousness is a joy. Last year, Vivienne had just turned four, and she sang her own spontaneous song as she sat on her mama’s lap after we opened presents. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes and sang out her own version of a Christmas carol: “Oh, you’ve got to price de Low-ud, because you’ve just got to price de Low-ud, and we should all price de Low-ud…” and she sang it out for a long time, her own joyful noise. That was one of the highlights of my life. I sensed the Lord whisper to my heart as Vivie sang, “And you also need to praise me….every day, no matter what.”

Well, the Schnauzer Stampede just came down the stairs. I fed Edith and Mildred and let them outside, but they were shocked at the depth of the snow, which is higher than their backs. Millie hopped around like a rabbit, throwing up puffs of snow in the dark, finally settling on a place to go. But persnickety Edith wouldn’t venture out into the drifts and stood trembling pathetically by the door. So I went outside and shoveled a path for them in the back yard, and Edith finally went.

As I stood there in the dark I could feel the snow hitting my face and neck, and I saw movement in the woods across the creek. I could barely make out the dark forms of two deer bedded down in the snow, one lifting her head to watch us and make sure they were still safe enough to stay put. I went outside later when it was light to take a picture — you might be able to see them if you click the photo to enlarge it.

Beryl Singleton Bissell, author of a book I love called The Scent of God, lives up the north shore of Lake Superior, about an hour north of us, where beauty and wildlife abound. She wrote recently about living in that beautiful solitude, “It’s a perfect place for a monastery, here where God’s bounty is so clearly visible. Contemplative living should flow naturally in such a place, one would think, yet perfect places do not guarantee perfect lives. Always we lug ourselves around, not seeing clearly, not listening closely, always dependent on God’s love to rekindle the fires of yearning within us. Advent approaches, reminding us that the Incarnation was willed through eternity as an expression of God’s love for us.”

Oh, how I identify with that. It seems like I am lugging myself around these days, blurry spiritual vision and stopped up ears. I am truly dependent on God’s love to rekindle the flames that have died down, barely embers now.

Christmas reminds me that He loves me, came down to earth for me, and does for me those things that I cannot do for myself. Which these days, is almost everything. But I can still, of my own free will and privilege, price de Low-ud.

And that I do today.

Know that the LORD is God. It is He who made us, and we are His people, the sheep of His pasture. Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name. For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations. Psalm 100:3-5

Last week I took my Maryland grandchildren, whom I will no longer be referring to as Maryland grandchildren because they’re now Minnesota grandchildren, just as all our other grandchildren are Minnesota grandchildren, on an outing.

First, I took them to the park. We live in a city that has an unbelievable 129 parks and/or playgrounds, and the one we visited isn’t the prettiest, woodsiest one, but it has been recently redone, so we went to check it out. All the playground equipment was shiny and new, and because this park’s new grand opening had been well-publicized, and also perhaps because this park is near the shore of Lake Superior, there were lots of people that day.

The thing I noticed right away was that there was no sand or dirt at this park. I’m a firm believer in living life as much as possible without letting sand or dirt interfere with your business, so I was impressed with the tiny bits of rubber tire pieces that were used all around the playground equipment.

It was spongy to walk on and would certainly provide much more cushion to a child who accidentally fell from a swing. The rain could wash the tire bits clean, local cats wouldn’t be as apt to make it their own…it got my vote for a good playground choice.

I thought I would be able to take Mr. McBoy, Mrs. Nisky and Little Gleegirl to the park, sit down with my Kindle and enjoy a few pages of Lisa See’s On Gold Mountain, while keeping my eye on how they were doing, but no. It was crowded enough that I felt like I’d suddenly turned into a grandmother owl as I tried to watch where each child was at all times.

I looked quickly to the left for the tall blond boy with the navy and red striped shirt – okay he’s on the monkey bars – where’s Little Gleegirl? – oh my gosh I don’t see her how did she get away so quickly? – oh thank God she’s over there coming out of that slide in the purple knit dress, now where’s Mrs. Nisky? – oh dear oh dear she’s climbing too high on that contraption with the steps and the rings and she seems a little scared – remember to look for the brown sundress with the pink flowers – “Watch your step Mrs. Nisky and hang on!” – and where is that purple dress now – oh maybe I shouldn’t have let her go over to that area by herself there are so many big kids over there – where is she I can’t see her oh dear Lord oh thank God there she is by the swings…

And so on. An owl, with my head revolving every which way at all times, keeping my eyes on those three grands in the midst of the noisy crowd of kids.

Here’s a photo of Little Gleegirl swinging (all photos can be enlarged by clicking on them):

And again on a different kind of swing:

And here’s soon-to-be-six Mrs. Nisky on a steel ring contraption you stand on and gasp and giggle while your grandma spins you around until you can hardly hang on anymore:

And this – an unusual, fairly high slide with no sides, so that going down requires that a tall adult reach up to hold your hand and run beside you while you’re whooshing down the curves:

After assisting in slide usage I realized I hadn’t seen Mr. McBoy in at least forty-six seconds and started to panic. I utilized my owl neck-and-head turning powers and thankfully saw him on a swing on the other side of the park:

I went over and pushed him for a while and by this time everyone was getting a little hot and thirsty. Our average summer temperature in this city is 74 degrees, but it was just over 80 on this day and a bit humid. So we trekked back to the parking lot where we had paid FIVE DOLLARS to park, and headed to Dunn Brothers, where they make wonderful smoothies.

We drove through and gave our order: four small strawberry smoothies, three with whipped cream on top, one without. Little Gleegirl wanted hers plain. They were so refreshing. We sipped on those while driving to a beautiful wooded cemetery in our city, the one where Michael and I will be buried, as a matter of fact. It has a couple of big ponds with many different kinds of ducks and geese, and one Great Blue Heron that I know of.

We had a package of hot dog buns, a package of hamburger buns, and one large loaf of bread with us. As soon as we drove to the back of the largest pond and parked under some trees, every feathered creature within a quarter mile radius stopped its leisurely swimming or waddling and looked up, peering at us intently. Then, as if on cue, they all ran as one to the car and surrounded us, quietly quacking and honking, and waiting for us to feed them. I decided not to get out since Little Gleegirl is three and probably wouldn’t want to learn yet how to fend off aggressive hissing geese. So instead we opened all our windows and from each of our four seats in the car we leisurely tore our stale and crumbly offerings into small pieces and gave the birds some lunch.

Sitting there in the shade with the breeze blowing through, we had the best time. All the kids immediately saw that there were greedy seagulls lurking and darting in front of the other birds (sky rats, Michael calls them), and they didn’t really want to feed them so much. They tried to aim their chunks of bread toward the many baby ducks and geese instead.

Here is Mr. McBoy watching as some Canada geese and their babies hang around, hoping for something to eat:

And the two girls watching the birds approach the car:

On my side, there were some very intense looking blue-eyed geese actually pecking the door, wanting me to feed them:

It would be hard to have a good, relaxed conversation with someone who looked at you like that when you were talking.

I preferred the little babies, who were actually close to moving out of their baby stage but who received the bulk of my bread, because they hadn’t learned to dash in for it themselves yet:

And here are some Canada goose goslings, clearly growing out of their little baby stage and closer to adulthood:

When I mentioned to the kids that these were goslings that were close to adulthood, eight year-old Mr. McBoy nodded and remarked knowledgeably: “Yes. They’re teenager geese.” And that’s exactly what they look like, don’t they?

We doled out the breadstuffs slowly so the enjoyment of the day would last longer, but after we were out of bread we headed home. The three children all leaned out of the car to say their goodbyes, and I got this shot of Mr. McBoy’s smile in the sideview mirror:

He looks like his daddy here, painted with his mama’s palette.

As we wound slowly around the roads in the cemetery, Mrs. Nisky asked from the back seat about the ancient looking headstones, “What do all of those say?” I told her they had the names of the people buried there, and the dates they were born and the dates they had died. I told her that someday Grandpa and Grandma would be buried here, and that our names would be put on stones above our graves too. After a few seconds in which she was obviously deep in thought, Mrs. Nisky asked, “And what date are you and Grandpa going to die on?”

I lightheartedly told her that only God knows when we will die, that He numbers our days and knows when the right time is for our lives here to end, and our lives in heaven to begin. And that hopefully it wouldn’t be for a long time. I thought to myself, I want to see teenager grandchildren, not just teenager geese.

That seemed to satisfy her and as we were driving out of the cemetery, three year-old Little Gleegirl piped up from her place in the backseat, “This has been a good day!”

I wholeheartedly agreed.

Take three wonderful grandchildren. Add swings, smoothies and geese. It’s really a delightful combination.

I hope your Easter was a special day touched in some way by the love of friends, family, and God. Easter reminds me that with Jesus there’s always hope, no matter how occasionally hopeless things might seem. Not only did Jesus rise from the dead, but His resurrection power can bring other dead things to life. Dead hearts, dead relationships, dead people – nothing is too difficult for Him.

We went to church where we could hardly find a place to sit, so our family had to sit two here, three here, two here, etc. Then we came home and started the food preparation for our Easter dinner. Later on in the day the grandbabies had a good time searching the big yard for candy-filled eggs.

My son-in-law Chris was in charge of the ham. I’ve always been so ho-hum about ham (that sounds like the title of a book – Ho-hum About Ham) until I try the baked hams that Chris prepares. He rubs some stuff on the ham, puts it in the oven in a roaster for 90 minutes, and then it invariably turns out so scrumptious that I rave about how ham is my new favorite meat. Then in a few days I’m back to being ho-hum about ham, until the next time Chris makes a ham and I’ll be all wound up about it again.

My daughter Sharon made roasted fresh asparagus, which I had never eaten. I could have written an essay entitled Ambivalent About Asparagus, but after tasting this, I have changed my tune on a food once again. Sharon also made spring-like desserts: homemade lemon squares and made-from-scratch carrot cake, the latter of which I am enjoying while typing this blog post.

Sharon and her middle child Mrs. Nisky made their famous Nisky’s Biscuits as well. Nisky’s Biscuits have two ingredients, two, and they are the flakiest, tastiest biscuits ever. Have you ever made delicious biscuits with 1) Self-rising flour and 2) whipping cream? Neither have I. I will be making them soon, however, because Nisky’s Biscuits are easy and yummy.

I made my favorite salad, Panzanella, that’s the most wonderful salad I’ve ever tasted and that is no exaggeration. If you want to make something that everyone will rave about and will require you to have printed copies of the recipe nearby each time you serve it, go to the Food Network’s site and check out The Barefoot Contessa’s recipe for Panzanella.

I also made a staple that I’ve been making for at least twenty-six and a quarter years: Stuffed Baked Potatoes. Many of you probably make your own version of these, but I’ve been surprised lately to hear of enough people who’ve never made these, so I thought I’d share. Stuffed Baked Potatoes are easy and most people think they’re fancy and delectable. I make them at least twice a month – they’re a nice change from regular baked or mashed potatoes.

Sharon took the photos of my Easter journey through Stuffed Baked Potatoland, and I hope you’ll try them and let me know how they turned out for you.

You will need large baking potatoes, cheese (I used colbyjack but you could use cheddar, jack, pepper jack, whatever), blue cheese dressing, parmesan cheese, butter, green onions, and McCormick Salad Supreme.

First, bake your potatoes. I have two ovens, which comes in very handy on holidays. I baked my large baking potatoes in the smaller upper oven (you can see the pizza stone I store there) while the not-so-ho-hum ham was cooking in the larger oven below.

While your potatoes are baking, take some green onions and chop them up pretty fine. I used about 4-5 onions. One nice thing about this recipe is that you can just put in as much or as little of everything as you like. Experiment with the flavors and adjust as you go. You’ll see how I did that later. I use the green and the white of the green onions. Some people call them scallions but I never have. Maybe one of you can tell us why they’re called scallions – is it a regional thing? I don’t care as much for that name because it reminds me of the word scallywag, and the word scallywag reminds me of a certain person that I would prefer not to be reminded about when I’m making Stuffed Baked Potatoes.

This next part is important. Have all your ingredients ready in a bowl while your potatoes are baking, because it’s the heat of the baked potatoes that will cause everything to melt together nicely. Below you can see that I tossed in about two heaping cups of grated colbyjack cheese. We were feeding a lot of people on Easter.

Next, I added about 3/4 cup of blue cheese dressing and about 3/4 cup of Parmesan cheese. You could use less or more of either ingredient. I happen to love blue cheese dressing so I put in a lot. Maybe it was even closer to a cup of blue cheese dressing.

If you look closely now, you can see that the first potato is in there (I’ll get to that in a minute) and I also threw in about 3/4 of a stick of butter. This is Easter, so don’t worry about fat grams. You could worry about that the day after Easter. Oh wait – Easter is already past. Well, don’t worry about things anyway.

Now I just started to mash things together a little bit. My potatoes were done baking. I smooshed things around with the fork while my daughter took photos with her very nice camera that she uses on her very nice website for her very nice yarn business.

When the potatoes are done, I take them out one by one, hold them in an oven mitted hand, and gently cut them in half, taking care not to ruin my beautiful oven mitts.

I take a large spoon, and while cradling the hot potato in my mitt (please try not to notice the holes in my mitt) I gently scoop out the very hot potato innards.  I try not to ruin the skin, but sometimes it happens. See how there’s very little left of the innards? Then you can just set these forlorn looking skins on a baking sheet.

And they will look like this. Sort of like sad spudwaifs.

Because I have made this recipe hundreds of times, I can tell by looking if it’s what we’ll like. I could see after smooshing and mashing that for the number of people we were going to feed, we needed to add another handful of cheese. Just stir and mash with a fork until the hot potato innards have melted most of everything, and until you don’t have any clumps of unmashed potato left. If you do, that’s okay though. Potato clods never hurt anyone.

Now you can take your holey mitts off and start to fill the empty potato skins. The mixture will be cooled off enough to use your hands. Grab a few globs of cheesy goodness and press them into the potato skins.

Make sure you delicately lift your little finger as you do it, as a polite Englishwoman would do when sipping her afternoon tea. I’m not sure why this important, but just take my word for it.

When you have enough in a skin, it will look like this:

Not too much – just a little mound of the potato/cheese mixture will do.

You can find this product in the spices aisle at your grocery store. I’ve used it for years for just this one dish, and it adds color, great flavor and interest. It’s supposed to be for salads and pasta and I’ve never used it on either. Just on my Stuffed Baked Potatoes. (When McCormick comes out with a new product called McCormick Stuffed Baked Potato Topping, maybe then I’ll try it on my salads and pasta.)

Here are all the potato halves, stuffed with that delicious cheesy mixture, sprinkled conservatively with the Salad Supreme, and lined up ready to go back into the oven. If you lean to the left politically, then you could be a liberal sprinkler. For the most part I’m a conservative sprinkler.

I then bake them at about 375 or 400 degrees (I can’t remember which) until they get hot all the way through, maybe about fifteen minutes or so. Then about five minutes before I’m ready to serve my Stuffed Baked Potatoes, I turn on the broiler and begin to watch them carefully. I want them to get just a little bit darker and start to bubble. You could let them get browner than this if you like – just keep an eye on them.

Above, I took them out and thought they needed another two minutes under the broiler. Here’s the final result below:

And they are all gone.

These also freeze really well, reheat really well, taste good the next day for leftovers, and some people even like them packed in their lunches.

How do you fix your Stuffed Baked Potatoes?

Sharon and I were talking about all the variations that would be good with these – bacon bits, broccoli, rosemary, and a few other things I can’t remember now. What else would you add to your Stuffed Baked Potatoes?

Let me know if you try them.  Have a wonderful week…

My children know probably better than anyone that I’m a list maker and a list lover. I enjoy useless trivia, and whenever I see one of these lists on someone’s blog, I’m fascinated. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be fascinated, however, when you learn some things about me you probably never wanted to know. 🙂

Here are some questions going around in blogland, and I’m jumping in.

1.  What is your favorite thing to snack on while you’re blogging? In the mornings when I do most of my blog writing, I always have a homemade concoction I call my Cappuccino Cooler, made of cold milk, instant coffee granules, Hershey’s chocolate syrup and hazelnut creamer. Other than that, not too much eating goes on at the computer. That isn’t to say a lot of eating doesn’t go on elsewhere. Just not at the computer.

2. What is one thing you wouldn’t want to live without? Well the obvious would be all my family members. My husband Michael, my daughters Sharon, Carolyn and Sara. Their husbands Chris and Jeremy. And their children (and my grans) Clara, Elijah, Vivienne, Audrey, Mr. McBoy, Mrs. Nisky and Little Gleegirl.

But now that I look at it, the question did ask “what is one thing,” so I think the one inanimate thing I wouldn’t want to live without would be books. The Book. And many other little b books.

3. Beach, Mountains, or Farm? Where would you live if you had a choice? I’ve roasted myself too many times at the beach, and when I visit it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Farm? That sounds like a lot of work, with an awful lot of poop involved. I would have to say the mountains. The Alps, preferably. Wouldn’t you love to live in the shadow of the Alps? That sounds like heaven to me.

4. What’s your least favorite chore/household duty? I am slightly allergic to paperwork these days. And I’m not crazy about dusting, so I just don’t do it.

5. Who do people say you remind them of? I was told in my preteens that I looked like Twiggy. (I’ll pause here while you stop chortling and pick yourself up off the floor.)

In my twenties someone I didn’t know once actually tapped me on my shoulder to inform me that I looked like Stevie Nicks.

In my forties I started looking more like my mother.

Now that I’m in my fifties I’m guessing it would be Doris Roberts.

6. Prefer parties and socializing or staying home with the fam? I would rather stay home. I enjoy a nice gathering with a friend or two also, but the very word “party” makes me tired. Although I did have several women from my church over last week for a Mexican potluck and it was one of the more delightful times I’ve had recently.

7. What’s your all time favorite movie? The Sound of Music. And One True Thing. And Anne of Green Gables.

8. Do you sleep in your make-up or remove it like a good little girl every night? I hardly ever wear makeup anymore. If I wear mascara, I always take it off first, or am asking for eye trouble the next day.

9. Do you have a hidden talent or a deep desire to learn something that you’ve never had a chance to learn? What is it? I would like to learn to play an instrument well, but don’t have the time to pursue it. The piano or the guitar would be my first choices. And I would like to learn how to write something publishable.  🙂

10. What’s one strange thing you’re really good at? I am good at remembering useless trivia and details, especially from long ago. Things like what color sweater Gail wore when the SAGs ate at The Olive Garden two Christmases ago, and where the four of us sat in the booth, and what the weather was like that night, and what kind of hubcaps were on my friend Denel’s family’s Ford station wagon in the sixties, and the colors of the ballerinas on her bedroom wallpaper, etc. I’m also pretty good at anything that takes quick and detailed manual dexterity.

11. What first attracted you to your spouse? His love for Jesus. His voice. His smile.

12. What is something you love to smell? Since I have suffered from anosmia for almost a year, I have missed smelling things. I have recently begun to smell some things again, though – like lemons and chicken cooking in the oven, and some perfumes. I’m thankful for that. My favorite smells used to be newborn babies, Beautiful perfume by Estee Lauder, pine trees and Michael’s neck.

13. Tell something about you that you know irritates people. I talk too much. I am a little controlling. 🙂  I think this list could be really long, but mercifully my loved ones don’t tell me often what bugs them about me.

14. When you have extra money, what’s the first thing you think to do with it? I think of giving it away.

15. Are you a silent laugher or a loud laugher? What makes you laugh the hardest? I think medium. I’m not sure. My daughters make me laugh – they’re all funny in their own ways and I love that. I also have a memory of laughing uncontrollably at my son-in-law Jeremy’s brother Jordan doing an amazing silent impression of a Velociraptor.

16. Where is your favorite place to shop? Online. Never in a mall.

17. What’s one thing you’d do more often if you had more time? Travel. To Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Israel, and many other places in the U.S.

18. Are you a big spender or frugal? This is strange, but I’m both. I rarely want to go out and spend money, and I’m a saver at heart. I like to be out of debt, but I would think nothing of spending a lot of money on something a loved one needed.

19. Who is your favorite character of all time? (from a movie or a book, can’t be real) I have long loved Jean Valjean from Les Miserables. But today I think it would have to be Cynthia Kavanagh, from the Mitford series. There are certainly other characters in literature who have deeper, more memorable attributes, but at this point in my life, she is who I wish I were more like.

20. Would you want to be famous? No. Who would want pictures of their cellulite on tabloid covers? Who would want paparazzi stalking them day and night? Anonymity is a blessed thing.

I do realize that bloggist is not actually a real word. Blogger is a new word in this decade, but it’s still barely a word.

So accidental bloggist is a phrase I’m using (anyone read the book Accidental Tourist?) because I’m going to share once again some of the funny search terms that people have typed on Google that accidentally sent them to my site, JustJulieB.com.

Some of these are chuckleworthy. See if you don’t smile at a few – these are exact quotes:

“Do you ever listen to a song over and over again” – yes, yes I do. Yes, yes, I do. Yes, yes I do. Yes…as a matter of fact, I do this a lot. What I’m playing over and over again right now is a G.T. and the Halo Express CD.

“Big Tex pure grapefruit juice” – No Big Tex pure grapefruit juice at JustJulieB.com, Google folks.

“No one to tell me and no one to say Julie will come over” – what do you suppose this person was actually searching for? Are these lyrics to a song? If not, maybe they could be…

“Kilt” – they probably saw this photo, but scratched their head when they read the druthers post.

“Anemia muesli recipe” – I didn’t know there was an anemia muesli recipe. I think if you put red meat in my muesli recipe, it might help your anemia.

“Son-in-law Jeremy Birkenstocks” – My son-in-law is named Jeremy, but his last name isn’t Birkenstocks.

“Purple sea anemone” – People from all over the world happen upon my blog because of this post, more than any other thing I’ve ever written. That’s the truth.

“Be persnickety blog Julie” – Okay, I’ll try!

“Sheep lie down” – I’ve heard that they do – in green pastures, as a matter of fact.

“Her arm hair” – whaaaat?

“The blog that ate Cleveland” – Google sent them to my site for this quote? I don’t think my blog even knows anyone in Cleveland.

“Enemies of the pachycephalosaurus” – Yes, if you wanted accurate information about dinosaurs you could always visit my blog. I’m incessantly posting something about the uplifting Jurassic era.

“Sharon Nisky” – perhaps the name of my yet to be conceived great-granddaughter?

“Doily couch” – I think when I’m seventy-three I’ll probably own a couch made entirely of doilies. Not yet though.

“Woman yawning face smell” – Oh my. I’m not sure this woman received any help when she clicked on this site.

“Beagle boo radley” – I didn’t think Boo Radley had a dog. Maybe I need to read the book again.

“What is the meaning of a woman slaying a dragon” – I have no idea. I only know about one woman (me) trying to slay a figurative dragon (selfishness) and I wrote about it here.

“Rabbiting laws” – I couldn’t agree more – there should be rabbiting laws, and they should be aimed at shiftless crows who take fake casual strolls in yards in which there are rabbit holes housing helpless baby bunnies.

“Would” – What in the world would a person be looking for by typing “would” into Google? Whatever it was, they found my blog.

Anyway, I’m on vacation, so this is auto-posting. I will tell you about our trip when we return.

If you accidentally happened upon this blog because you typed “fever kangaroo Tupperware elbow departure,” into your Google search, I welcome you. If you actually visit here on purpose, thank you for reading.

Blessings,

Most of the women in my family are tall. My mother, Virginia, was 5′ 10″ – very tall for a woman born in the 1920s. I’ve had tall great-aunts and cousins, and my peak height was 5′ 11″, although being 50 and postmenopausal has now pounded me down to 5′ 10″.

My oldest daughter Sharon is 6′ 1″. Next comes Carolyn and she is 5′ 10″. Sara is just over 5′ 6″, so she may or may not qualify for being a member of the LFW. Not the VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars, of which my husband Michael definitely qualifies), but the LFW.  Long-Femured Women. Because the women of our family don’t have height due to our longish spines or our just generally longer bones – we are tall because of of our long femurs (thighbones). Some of us freakishly so, but I won’t divulge which ones of us fit into that category.

Look at any of the women in our family with a femur-critiquing eye, and you will see relatively short calves, extremely short torsos (about four inches from waist to armpit – yet another anomaly in our gene pool), and femurs more fitting for something either mutant or prehistoric.

When one of our granddaughters, Miss E., was being looked at in utero by an ultrasound technician, the main comments given about her were that she seemed perfectly healthy, and had very long femurs. Oh boy, I thought. Another LFW in our family.

If someone could magically give the women in our family thighbones of normal length, we would all shrink by at least four inches. Then where would we be?  Only God knows.  He alone knows the ramifications of something that mind-bending. I believe if we weren’t members of the LFW, our lives would be completely different than they are right now.

Perhaps an average-femured Sharon wouldn’t have married a 6′ 5″ Chris. (this would have been horrible). Maybe an average-femured Carolyn would have gotten different parts in plays, and gone on to Hollywood to become a household name. (this would not have been good.) Perhaps an average-femured me would have taken up gymnastics instead of scrapbooking, and I wouldn’t be sitting here blogging today. Isn’t that an amazing thought.

I need to stop right here. The thought of no LFWs in my family is too sad, too traumatic to think about. I’m so thankful our long femurs have been influential in shaping our destinies, and I would never, ever want to change that.

Are you an LFW?