tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69817713170718174832024-03-14T05:12:02.110-07:00Elizabeth Bradley Fiction - Bits & BytesElizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-31480763260943480222010-05-27T13:10:00.000-07:002010-05-27T13:16:02.385-07:00Blueberries, Anyone?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGCR4R_53KJ0IYPEtCN_KEokXS89fTSC1G4orKgfk8QGBntenqThB7SgOAXx8S_vFuSP_UQoqVT-_E9XGBIQYkmOuCSjUJjDlcKI62jC-Zc8y1httFZe4TMkNJV2BuNcmg_nHzul3XDuR/s1600/blueberry-coffee-cake.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476045968428045362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGCR4R_53KJ0IYPEtCN_KEokXS89fTSC1G4orKgfk8QGBntenqThB7SgOAXx8S_vFuSP_UQoqVT-_E9XGBIQYkmOuCSjUJjDlcKI62jC-Zc8y1httFZe4TMkNJV2BuNcmg_nHzul3XDuR/s400/blueberry-coffee-cake.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidMjQ52i8_8HTkUXaddBtzKeuwq4v4MHPdGehdKX6RxzGxC1dYtlFAJPeyHGImuWItnS-7bS8DZU00o9yxZcADD6-zhM5Wa4vx29FA0NlCX6qUa0BquRIhN3VOYWN7hQpjtwIXtfBIAxRZ/s1600/downsized_0515001526.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476045963190244914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidMjQ52i8_8HTkUXaddBtzKeuwq4v4MHPdGehdKX6RxzGxC1dYtlFAJPeyHGImuWItnS-7bS8DZU00o9yxZcADD6-zhM5Wa4vx29FA0NlCX6qUa0BquRIhN3VOYWN7hQpjtwIXtfBIAxRZ/s400/downsized_0515001526.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaokx23M-m3VRxPGFFoyezU6TLUqeSP6VGzFxE7Bkxs1PJXOC5zSzaiAWgQ9X3F3CHla4WMGOwcxb6Mp8myIuruOwJBBWI20s39_4SD8T87FFWNgMhu2hyphenhyphennRyqA_d3C1daI9cjbOGgRl4e/s1600/downsized_0515001517.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476045953458716466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaokx23M-m3VRxPGFFoyezU6TLUqeSP6VGzFxE7Bkxs1PJXOC5zSzaiAWgQ9X3F3CHla4WMGOwcxb6Mp8myIuruOwJBBWI20s39_4SD8T87FFWNgMhu2hyphenhyphennRyqA_d3C1daI9cjbOGgRl4e/s400/downsized_0515001517.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIehAXEKanqnMPC8hDNbCvMAB6-8-A-AnXe6PNNbfN1I80-xpO_EsO5TXwXXKSK3Ie9n1Jdobk7tDnBtvia4MSmQg37ZH6qaxrkKaIBUAFhcPGMfU2mzy4mH1JPJfQAHDrUCMb2YEMHDeT/s1600/downsized_0515001509.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476045951439147394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIehAXEKanqnMPC8hDNbCvMAB6-8-A-AnXe6PNNbfN1I80-xpO_EsO5TXwXXKSK3Ie9n1Jdobk7tDnBtvia4MSmQg37ZH6qaxrkKaIBUAFhcPGMfU2mzy4mH1JPJfQAHDrUCMb2YEMHDeT/s400/downsized_0515001509.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHORWzv9frgcPDFrM2aQwpmlckjtvd3azZCe9-3oljizAdTNZ48BsHo2H78uKi8ukXuyn0TJd0yqKLoRN4Vk4EQD53fzD2jk-jP9BwU_nkLwJbfekqFXD165ETCpqZuszp007lQYoFiRwQ/s1600/BlueberryPicking+019.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 274px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476045947301095650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHORWzv9frgcPDFrM2aQwpmlckjtvd3azZCe9-3oljizAdTNZ48BsHo2H78uKi8ukXuyn0TJd0yqKLoRN4Vk4EQD53fzD2jk-jP9BwU_nkLwJbfekqFXD165ETCpqZuszp007lQYoFiRwQ/s400/BlueberryPicking+019.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>We have a blueberry farm out here in Temecula, not far from the house. We met my son, his wife and their two boys, my grandson’s Ben and Luke one lovely Sunday afternoon. Ben’s three, and Luke’s fourteen months. We had a great time picking blueberries, and there was a tractor which suited the boy’s fine. One of Ben’s first words was “tractor.” I made blueberry coffee cake with some of our blueberries and it was a hit. A good time was had by all.<br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley. </div></div></div></div></div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-79149400776586283662010-05-25T14:20:00.000-07:002010-05-25T14:26:24.679-07:00Cancer Schmancer!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34zfkymWHyYSmMO6zhy_khJSQd32O5dVvC7VItU9BKZkmN6NLs3bl208dJVIHJZWwD-9l_tfk-ibhOmHcKk_GvuBqxn5q-47RlqCLBfWPGHBGN5NFt7q_duT9fIFCRF3gc_OEPJCHRRH2/s1600/bones.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34zfkymWHyYSmMO6zhy_khJSQd32O5dVvC7VItU9BKZkmN6NLs3bl208dJVIHJZWwD-9l_tfk-ibhOmHcKk_GvuBqxn5q-47RlqCLBfWPGHBGN5NFt7q_duT9fIFCRF3gc_OEPJCHRRH2/s400/bones.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475321905351808082" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8dHm4hAdF1E6le9LM9dUaP-LofG1e3VE06a-MkMfA43kHw5rJI1LcNTa5Ck0CGUYbrXYTp-Ti-Of1deAb2VoTZJdhN8QQqJUze_rgcDrIHu8EyzFgFjCKCAOKJWY2hsEUWcpyGp736Gl/s1600/dogs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8dHm4hAdF1E6le9LM9dUaP-LofG1e3VE06a-MkMfA43kHw5rJI1LcNTa5Ck0CGUYbrXYTp-Ti-Of1deAb2VoTZJdhN8QQqJUze_rgcDrIHu8EyzFgFjCKCAOKJWY2hsEUWcpyGp736Gl/s400/dogs.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475321894938091186" /></a><br />Bonnie says, Cancer Schmancer! So what if I don't have my fluffy hair anymore, so what if I have a melanoma on my eyelid, so what! I still feel good, I still play with my toys, I still LOVE FOOD!<div><br /></div><div>I don't know how long we'll have Bonnie but we're enjoying every minute we have left. I am on the mend. I will soon be visiting your blogs, (I know I threatened this before) but this time I really will be visiting you guys.<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div></div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-66113599913683004452010-04-12T12:00:00.002-07:002010-04-12T12:22:33.632-07:00When A Girl's Sick...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFsWaWC6GmPiOYMedGP4sdExvfVqFPqa1c9ek3FJPlI7Sa50xkGRzclnfyRjRDEaMe_e-qXaeMTz2G89rzKs-GOoFBm0A7CSu2VElaBLMBe2Kq1WAp6l4YTvlvd4_VrDwVBPT8AjhPZMf/s1600/doctor_narrowweb__300x356,2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 356px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFsWaWC6GmPiOYMedGP4sdExvfVqFPqa1c9ek3FJPlI7Sa50xkGRzclnfyRjRDEaMe_e-qXaeMTz2G89rzKs-GOoFBm0A7CSu2VElaBLMBe2Kq1WAp6l4YTvlvd4_VrDwVBPT8AjhPZMf/s400/doctor_narrowweb__300x356,2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459333495063642962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNIUgLoP6ss55xpy6VLfc_7QTbU8_E4IDUE7w7Td7aH9YrjnW0k50l7QQcJydpJfJovjf3KEo0j0vwhJftBkMOlBiEx_G08hhPUFcNjC_wjWCqylBXLpQhBv66NvbV8JFNejYq_ACup6K/s1600/c+difficile.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNIUgLoP6ss55xpy6VLfc_7QTbU8_E4IDUE7w7Td7aH9YrjnW0k50l7QQcJydpJfJovjf3KEo0j0vwhJftBkMOlBiEx_G08hhPUFcNjC_wjWCqylBXLpQhBv66NvbV8JFNejYq_ACup6K/s400/c+difficile.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459333489781639170" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEOWGcwgd6d3GQFCxUt1NNUP7KNsQgw8kXuQ34kJjYBW8NLAl5SOXlcy2W1fs-G3qPVMP2QDpBRccO5C9EVN-DsvRxsHixFQEEpqQB-QoSiqWydXXM4UzxSCwBZ4O2zmylun067bT0CDO/s1600/cairn.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEOWGcwgd6d3GQFCxUt1NNUP7KNsQgw8kXuQ34kJjYBW8NLAl5SOXlcy2W1fs-G3qPVMP2QDpBRccO5C9EVN-DsvRxsHixFQEEpqQB-QoSiqWydXXM4UzxSCwBZ4O2zmylun067bT0CDO/s400/cairn.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459333479849570866" /></a><br /><div>...she just don't feel good. (An old saying of my dad's, <i>but of course he said "feller</i>".) We all know that a picture's worth a thousand words, so I put up a picture of what got me, C. Difficile, nasty, nasty business.</div><div><br /></div><div>Did you know that doctors can make you sicker than you were when you first went in to see them? Well, they can. It happened to me. At first everybody thought I was screaming in pain because of a tooth. Dentist visits ensued. Nope, not the problem. It was a massive sinus infection. Weeks later, the painful sinus infection was finally knocked back, but the third antibiotic turned out to be trouble. It killed all my good bacteria, so a nasty super bug could take hold. Lucky me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I won't go into details. Suffice it to say, I'm intimately involved with all three toilets in my house. We might buy stock in Charmin, Tucks, and Clorox, (going thru toilet paper and bleach wipes like crazy).</div><div><br /></div><div>Bonnie, on the other hand, thinks she's a puppy again. She's running around with a missing toe and paw pad, as if she doesn't miss them at all. Today is her oncologist appointment, they need to determine if she has to go on chemo or not. The surgery was a huge success, they got all the tumor out! Yay! </div><div><br /></div><div>So, here I am, trying to act like a dog. Dog's have terrific attitudes. They don't let nasty melanoma's get the best of them, no way Jose. It's hard to keep a good dog down. Bonnie is a very, very good dog, everyone that meets her falls madly in love (a true story). I want to be like her when I grow up, (after all she is in her 70's and she's now running around much like the day I picked her up from the breeder when she was only 8 weeks old.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't worry, dear friends, I'll be back on my feet, (and off the throne), in no time, blogging and visiting you all. Thanks for your concern and kind thoughts, it means alot. Hopefully I will not be one of the casualties that end up losing their colon from this ugly bug that resembles Good N'Plenty Candies, (at least in the illustrations.) I bet they have a face. Shudder. Ick. Yuck. </div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-90369150573772605302010-03-26T16:46:00.001-07:002010-03-26T17:05:12.800-07:00What the Heck's Going On With This Here Blog?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK8g-BwtjTCHtWhIaQAu4A80bGBz5xvT8zp4JxW8hbV-kWZKuxZGfs14ULdjHAZ9vZ3PDOGJ83DgbDJYlglwkmSibcmSlMQculh2aluhfft2zuziIeEzJY_56v4mLmGT_FUP14roKsV51/s1600/cairn+terrier+close+up.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK8g-BwtjTCHtWhIaQAu4A80bGBz5xvT8zp4JxW8hbV-kWZKuxZGfs14ULdjHAZ9vZ3PDOGJ83DgbDJYlglwkmSibcmSlMQculh2aluhfft2zuziIeEzJY_56v4mLmGT_FUP14roKsV51/s400/cairn+terrier+close+up.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453096018888533762" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgplk2rhpFFGOg3Ps1NB8NewM7VpLv6-Ez7q1eSLZlDl1R3x3g21rhj9XhrjOO_QMA_fgcTkgPLySPd8gbBK4QEJA7eyFhwQ3yaTFL26bGwZjrI4T2n21tdd9MywvkjbrffxKu4Zh8gnDj/s1600/pills1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgplk2rhpFFGOg3Ps1NB8NewM7VpLv6-Ez7q1eSLZlDl1R3x3g21rhj9XhrjOO_QMA_fgcTkgPLySPd8gbBK4QEJA7eyFhwQ3yaTFL26bGwZjrI4T2n21tdd9MywvkjbrffxKu4Zh8gnDj/s400/pills1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453096011928502514" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZCQ7vvBPLYyUEfzpomZvWPLoCqHz5xb6ine54Pri6DrZ3wZiLVSRzO8FE-tMgdEgPyp4i3OAGss1h_CvbLUwfjBsLMxcuBk9HvryIMj-pzeUiwJ8qcfGiyzo9vBzWKBmReGH-9PLCdyE/s1600/bones+sick.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZCQ7vvBPLYyUEfzpomZvWPLoCqHz5xb6ine54Pri6DrZ3wZiLVSRzO8FE-tMgdEgPyp4i3OAGss1h_CvbLUwfjBsLMxcuBk9HvryIMj-pzeUiwJ8qcfGiyzo9vBzWKBmReGH-9PLCdyE/s400/bones+sick.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453096007862458418" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">Okay, without getting into the gory details, I was sick. And when a girl's sick she just doesn't feel good. (It wasn't my teeth but a nasty bacterial infection.) But, through magic of pharmaceuticals I'm back! Bright eyed and bushy tailed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">My little dog Bonnie, on the other hand, isn't fairing so well. Her tail ain't wagging :-(</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">To make a long story (and ordeal) very short, my little cairn terrier has an aggressive form of melanoma, and after having her toes amputated is not doing all that well. So I am busy nursing her. I pray that she won't have to have chemotherapy, but it's looking as if we'll have to go that route.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">Give me a week or so to get my act together and I will be back up and running. Thanks for all the lovely letters and your kind thoughts, I am not all that bad off. Nothing life threatening I promise. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;">Check out pic of Bonnie in better days, and Bonnie, like her mama a little older, grayer, and less spry.</span></span></div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-68882500871320682762010-02-19T12:29:00.001-08:002010-02-19T12:31:05.167-08:00OUCH<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVLcJBuhCcm63xbdf7MaDeGMln0JSgItQPhzV-KkIq34HS5QW5VoSKhxnXL4DwQxmc7RXjrW-mJQpcw2JCSA36TlntkvTxYOt478J5pwYtdlWqq8soMvMQH0wtRqyJojtPAiUgFhBSClu/s1600-h/funny-dentist-hollywood-jokes-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVLcJBuhCcm63xbdf7MaDeGMln0JSgItQPhzV-KkIq34HS5QW5VoSKhxnXL4DwQxmc7RXjrW-mJQpcw2JCSA36TlntkvTxYOt478J5pwYtdlWqq8soMvMQH0wtRqyJojtPAiUgFhBSClu/s400/funny-dentist-hollywood-jokes-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440054481881620034" /></a><br /><div>Why I am MIA. Hope to see ya soon.</div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-41282117020643327822010-02-14T12:31:00.000-08:002010-02-14T12:39:06.906-08:00Happy Valentine's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WIwwYplCELXkug_FRsEmJyrWRo7wqxQKaVLvvZco1k1IRytTWk51KB1-7WKdZojpg7Bz7svKLcEJsGexkxb_LzgV6qPN1Yue3vdy2KvmLZ8ZSPlbJltnhbwbaSSzakP31XIQjlE537JE/s1600-h/choc+cov+strawber.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 341px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WIwwYplCELXkug_FRsEmJyrWRo7wqxQKaVLvvZco1k1IRytTWk51KB1-7WKdZojpg7Bz7svKLcEJsGexkxb_LzgV6qPN1Yue3vdy2KvmLZ8ZSPlbJltnhbwbaSSzakP31XIQjlE537JE/s400/choc+cov+strawber.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438201391433248770" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJKMUk379ZrhmuP6JYkzNshDz_1sjaHSvU7QEsS79gvmPFS2STJ9AdfZMRdLKGQHPyyr_HTgZWAUDt4CsaGuD9HzAaHcAw0ov08fXUO3bIFWNmu3pwSWLS0-z4qNdSy6hr1mj2SD63RfJ/s1600-h/valentines_paris.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJKMUk379ZrhmuP6JYkzNshDz_1sjaHSvU7QEsS79gvmPFS2STJ9AdfZMRdLKGQHPyyr_HTgZWAUDt4CsaGuD9HzAaHcAw0ov08fXUO3bIFWNmu3pwSWLS0-z4qNdSy6hr1mj2SD63RfJ/s400/valentines_paris.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438201387418922578" /></a><br /><div>Have a great day!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-49028139440698838382010-02-13T01:28:00.000-08:002010-02-13T01:38:45.238-08:00They Say Zed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCFziL4jc7TKaDeQB09fnKPemHsXfCQIJdQuGSWOjR6vzqcTsfC6WrXBTW8lVPgIEZiq1LKDJvepEhOH237f_bfJD6vz17U738XxBp3R5g-nNGY7OI13YC3QC5mt4DBagNt8z6ugR0Em8/s1600-h/Joni_Mitchell-Both_Sides_Now.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCFziL4jc7TKaDeQB09fnKPemHsXfCQIJdQuGSWOjR6vzqcTsfC6WrXBTW8lVPgIEZiq1LKDJvepEhOH237f_bfJD6vz17U738XxBp3R5g-nNGY7OI13YC3QC5mt4DBagNt8z6ugR0Em8/s400/Joni_Mitchell-Both_Sides_Now.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437659502824788450" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT6oBcG-8CLi_2Nc5ik1SBhDXNnrPeqfYT20tS4idEa7V0D220NTcAy6UWMwLDyaDLu_NGX2_ZSWu216B7C3_7VxqfGF1pKKoNuyis4ypMe5dm8jURpC9sCsNlmdm75JNOGqX9j4eCpQ8/s1600-h/leonardo_cohen.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT6oBcG-8CLi_2Nc5ik1SBhDXNnrPeqfYT20tS4idEa7V0D220NTcAy6UWMwLDyaDLu_NGX2_ZSWu216B7C3_7VxqfGF1pKKoNuyis4ypMe5dm8jURpC9sCsNlmdm75JNOGqX9j4eCpQ8/s400/leonardo_cohen.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437659501971744002" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxayaL2NK_OICDg_0FvpoV523Q4VCnIJlwXNHDVzL6EluSyqJvWaPJ2XdS1oGfR2TtSv-ke9w2faX5sss3sJ9v5UGQxtf3dXtg3-K96lvTSb-9651W4g786jscwJPPA8oyfKsB0Ll0est6/s1600-h/kd+lang.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 328px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxayaL2NK_OICDg_0FvpoV523Q4VCnIJlwXNHDVzL6EluSyqJvWaPJ2XdS1oGfR2TtSv-ke9w2faX5sss3sJ9v5UGQxtf3dXtg3-K96lvTSb-9651W4g786jscwJPPA8oyfKsB0Ll0est6/s400/kd+lang.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437659497425440658" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Both sets of my grandparents were born in Canada. We’ve got Irish and French, French and Irish, and Huron (Americans say Indian, Canadians say First Nations), and God only knows what blood flowing though our veins, my big brother and me and my little sister. Mom was born in Saskatchewan, and my dad’s parents, (residents of historic Amherstberg, Ontario), just happened to be visiting Detroit, Michigan the day he was born. So, for all intents and purposes, I’m infused with Canadianess, although I’m American born and bred.<br /><br />Man, they really did a terrific job with the opening night of those Olympics up in beautiful Vancouver British Columbia! I’m not about to launch into some blow-by-blow description. But, right out of the chute, when I heard a deep timbered voice from way on high begin to speak I looked at The Husband and I said, “Hey that’s Donald Sutherland. Cool, he’s a perfect choice.”<br /><br />I’ll cut right to the chase, that little dude flying around over the surreal prairie like Peter Pan on crack was amazing! And with Joni Mitchell’s later version of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Both Sides Now</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> playing to boot. I swooned. Thank God I was in a recliner!<br /><br />As if that wasn’t enough, I thought I had died on the spot and had been instantly transported straight up to heaven while listening to KD Lang’s version of Leonard Cohen’s </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Hallelujah</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">. Who sings like that? Holy crap. She is beyond fantastic. I am in awe, I don’t care if she forgot to wear shoes again, or not.<br /><br />I won’t start in on how many talented individuals hail from Canada. HELLO! Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, Alice Munro, Neil Young, Margaret Atwood, Mike Myers! Anyway, I’ll save all that for another time. This is meant to be a short post and I could go on all night long because so many truly talented people are Canadians.<br /><br />I have all these memories and impressions and feelings about Canada all bottled up inside me. One of these days I’ll do something with all that. I really will. Until then, all I can say is: sit back and enjoy the show (The Olympics). And if you get the chance, do yourself a favor and get your butt to Canada.<br /></span><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-40104172096499842162010-02-11T12:58:00.000-08:002010-02-11T17:02:11.932-08:00Make My Day, Please<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9idg24IGLPrrp-kALLZ5boxnAyugKndjETFJMN2hDVK3xDxyuqf5d_iqQcwrULD6w_9iHIAsW5-i9Y0m-Gw-Q9R0UAvYdALLjxDvZRRiaKWjJ_K31k4HOomf2aNLq2O2nGRqYBQYKZIR/s1600-h/als+fancy+shoe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9idg24IGLPrrp-kALLZ5boxnAyugKndjETFJMN2hDVK3xDxyuqf5d_iqQcwrULD6w_9iHIAsW5-i9Y0m-Gw-Q9R0UAvYdALLjxDvZRRiaKWjJ_K31k4HOomf2aNLq2O2nGRqYBQYKZIR/s400/als+fancy+shoe.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437100867440463842" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6pAPc5wC1NH6vr8O7DC2zTdhBdYC9YXfD2ZCcI_EJsi-VFXLihfFVf-aSYdAOOXwMlhpeja50uLZl2mQGk3Yeo8USpioKk1S411dS3aEZRe03SsdcAUXE_Sn6QnGZf84O5e-BN4B_8_tv/s1600-h/zooey_deschanel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6pAPc5wC1NH6vr8O7DC2zTdhBdYC9YXfD2ZCcI_EJsi-VFXLihfFVf-aSYdAOOXwMlhpeja50uLZl2mQGk3Yeo8USpioKk1S411dS3aEZRe03SsdcAUXE_Sn6QnGZf84O5e-BN4B_8_tv/s400/zooey_deschanel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437100863162721730" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKCQpHW2ARN5359ClQ_a6i36sHD3fZ5D80ARa_YixpWpax7cBMSuAcxaEprUq0vijk3AZDQkjwElCgM18tnGgOiHhagrBGrxIW6vO__9sVp_OgOJZ6xo4L9Wmmg02ETmnM0_X-aHBJey_/s1600-h/heidi-klum-project-runway-4-116-5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKCQpHW2ARN5359ClQ_a6i36sHD3fZ5D80ARa_YixpWpax7cBMSuAcxaEprUq0vijk3AZDQkjwElCgM18tnGgOiHhagrBGrxIW6vO__9sVp_OgOJZ6xo4L9Wmmg02ETmnM0_X-aHBJey_/s400/heidi-klum-project-runway-4-116-5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437100852807718018" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBnpzx_1tLwoQl9lx5UPVxolTAJlF346Z27rnp8HHr53Sn0obQzZ_5j3TlaMJ8wJ_3B0-CMFTHw0AXidLI2mfp3m0WhrZEM-YAdN6dC_xuYM2oxk7X0d_vhiIek6BtVqVwSN65kiA5Xfj/s1600-h/Ali+on+commercial_sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 284px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBnpzx_1tLwoQl9lx5UPVxolTAJlF346Z27rnp8HHr53Sn0obQzZ_5j3TlaMJ8wJ_3B0-CMFTHw0AXidLI2mfp3m0WhrZEM-YAdN6dC_xuYM2oxk7X0d_vhiIek6BtVqVwSN65kiA5Xfj/s400/Ali+on+commercial_sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437100844654714866" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">My daughter is a fashion designer. She graduated from FIDM and now works for a stylist in L.A., learning the ropes and working on TV commercials (Nike, Pizza, Crackers, Laundry Detergent, you get the picture) and rock videos (most recently Zooey Deschanel's band!) Please follow this link and vote for her entry in the Lifetime Project Runway red dress contest. The dress she designed is gorgeous, and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">Click Here ~~ </span></span><a href="http://www.roiworld.com/project-runway/challenge/view.rwp?uniq=2262702"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">Alexis</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"> </span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"> Please!!! When you get here up in the left hand corner is a box with X1, click until it is X 64, the pen will draw the dress quickly. Thanks all!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">See Alexis in photo above, with a rap star Christmas Tree, Zooey Deschanel, a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes I set on the pool table and snapped a pic of, (she was dressing the winner of Britain's version of American Idol and brought them home the night before the photo shoot, sorry, I downloaded the pic and it was sideways and I'm too daft to fix it.) And Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn, (I adore Tim!)</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">By the way, thank you Kathryn in Ohio, my Internet pal, for bringing the contest to my attention! Love you, Kathryn!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-15622258016027559912010-02-09T20:27:00.000-08:002010-02-09T20:35:13.387-08:00Stuff I Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXdHalVuDSeCY9e5GQSqIFPToPOzqKU59OGqtVZcyipAOv8OhtsUlEb8rieG8w8aDT8U8eHo9MnBt2dPSAKnRSUDjhHhFVEBXSPrkSom7h9ZeTHqbsK06bfXc9goURpY3v9yN_CA-i6-uP/s1600-h/oli+litt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXdHalVuDSeCY9e5GQSqIFPToPOzqKU59OGqtVZcyipAOv8OhtsUlEb8rieG8w8aDT8U8eHo9MnBt2dPSAKnRSUDjhHhFVEBXSPrkSom7h9ZeTHqbsK06bfXc9goURpY3v9yN_CA-i6-uP/s400/oli+litt.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436467946210951426" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqX3pZ4tY_8jpNd8Y3bs4t-HTKhVfPGrb2MQipzwhxraaGuFD8Im127zg-JTzZ8XUYK7lYyT2lzyOoXCOnQgCV3Mv3o8kvBzUKCMc2Y4JS2wBJyVqNM-1MyTL-yvRAbQU6tawFPTpKdmD/s1600-h/wine.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqX3pZ4tY_8jpNd8Y3bs4t-HTKhVfPGrb2MQipzwhxraaGuFD8Im127zg-JTzZ8XUYK7lYyT2lzyOoXCOnQgCV3Mv3o8kvBzUKCMc2Y4JS2wBJyVqNM-1MyTL-yvRAbQU6tawFPTpKdmD/s400/wine.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436467939034916418" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzOWI_XpwcRDvoqkQwh12WJpJt5rZSIrJ6bW6mbU_IAFtz9QimsiND73aDFE_EKj1vmAhQHWh575rpoEYOPhgSCL32SnOfeDSu7PDOyIRpBav34a9hKEGoVrtdPSAgBIiTYDdWnsz1jN7/s1600-h/olie+litt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzOWI_XpwcRDvoqkQwh12WJpJt5rZSIrJ6bW6mbU_IAFtz9QimsiND73aDFE_EKj1vmAhQHWh575rpoEYOPhgSCL32SnOfeDSu7PDOyIRpBav34a9hKEGoVrtdPSAgBIiTYDdWnsz1jN7/s400/olie+litt.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436467935692337426" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdG504Upk2TcP5QReYuHfJu6gYhJ9JUymjtIQ5iUkRx0dFYPk8IsTyYDhQATSe_sLRoBV5P3miOYxLwlFxq2ZV2wkb-ZCrqiMzyucynO34-Pe141vtpML6WOsxVjDOTc_n5lusJa5qg4Br/s1600-h/brynn+w:football.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdG504Upk2TcP5QReYuHfJu6gYhJ9JUymjtIQ5iUkRx0dFYPk8IsTyYDhQATSe_sLRoBV5P3miOYxLwlFxq2ZV2wkb-ZCrqiMzyucynO34-Pe141vtpML6WOsxVjDOTc_n5lusJa5qg4Br/s400/brynn+w:football.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436467929193639522" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1lmlb_Mly621FAwptzCM-6A3-0AE7SUr7CmAyJ8qVhaQIojxLKU2Ea3JATxB8BNAudkejWHSNvU4eHNzuw6BRyMKFUl-M6O4hIyMXUBLoPQA7r-TMd8ZxlSyCqdSvkycQf_ytfvfOyXX/s1600-h/chocolate+cupcakes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1lmlb_Mly621FAwptzCM-6A3-0AE7SUr7CmAyJ8qVhaQIojxLKU2Ea3JATxB8BNAudkejWHSNvU4eHNzuw6BRyMKFUl-M6O4hIyMXUBLoPQA7r-TMd8ZxlSyCqdSvkycQf_ytfvfOyXX/s400/chocolate+cupcakes.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436467924363018642" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">In honor of upcoming <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">Valentine's Day</span> I am posting pictures of random stuff I love.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">My granddaughter at a Super Bowl Party, way out in Colorado where she lives now :-(</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Oliver, one of our four dogs, as a puppy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Gluten-free double-chocolate cupcakes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Wine, this pinot is affordable and delicious.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-57211742202759879922010-02-08T12:23:00.000-08:002010-02-08T16:56:36.763-08:00Suicide<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUM5ugWwpMb9s7YYVPGWIcT8kIFPOjg2xvbJyKR0pFgM2rlDttz0QKg2FumUDD3yA8LhcFuw7e3uH_wgW8fFMHMQRJe7N2I6UTPBDIR_pGR91Dgg2WkosvQzdm4VCnR3rxq4c7r28EC2ya/s1600-h/suicide+sign.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUM5ugWwpMb9s7YYVPGWIcT8kIFPOjg2xvbJyKR0pFgM2rlDttz0QKg2FumUDD3yA8LhcFuw7e3uH_wgW8fFMHMQRJe7N2I6UTPBDIR_pGR91Dgg2WkosvQzdm4VCnR3rxq4c7r28EC2ya/s400/suicide+sign.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435974158865061058" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnWOo5VqTPeosnAV22i3IEXmFmGbGkOfK4DhRdwdRD14epZma5T1bSvPJVaJYnu8I-mVf689IA7B_xSSm6lJNbxGPVdoQuML5huIG2RrlICjvDgGISjxsse1hxoG9cX9I6IVuk_Z_aExz/s1600-h/woman-in-corner.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnWOo5VqTPeosnAV22i3IEXmFmGbGkOfK4DhRdwdRD14epZma5T1bSvPJVaJYnu8I-mVf689IA7B_xSSm6lJNbxGPVdoQuML5huIG2RrlICjvDgGISjxsse1hxoG9cX9I6IVuk_Z_aExz/s400/woman-in-corner.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435974153779324562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jo5ZU4cVcPOBJ1mVMdJF1Ls7kInlDKjFLGl_amzxui6Gl5tP3CSQw-qon2HrBDcd46eUH58pHGX-ZbHKjo0gjFq_ama4jForzv89ce4H27B7YXL9jcwnoEiwbr8toRFyq8-kFu91-WFH/s1600-h/japan+forest+spooky.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jo5ZU4cVcPOBJ1mVMdJF1Ls7kInlDKjFLGl_amzxui6Gl5tP3CSQw-qon2HrBDcd46eUH58pHGX-ZbHKjo0gjFq_ama4jForzv89ce4H27B7YXL9jcwnoEiwbr8toRFyq8-kFu91-WFH/s400/japan+forest+spooky.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435974148179323762" /></a><br /><div>Someone close to me just lost a friend. This friend hung himself during a party. Can you imagine? His dad found him. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have a character that's somewhat obsessed with suicide and I have to decide if I am going to try to stop her when and if the time comes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Did you know that the number one place people choose to end their own lives is The Golden Gate Bridge? The number two place is The Aokigahara Forest in Japan, a very spooky place that has something to do with demons, or so I've heard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Below are the lyrics to the theme song from M*A*S*H. Robert Altman's son Mike Altman wrote the lyrics. His dad only made $70,000 for directing the movie, but Mike earned upwards of a million bucks from this song. Check out Lady and Bird's rendition, it's very good.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>"Suicide is Painless" by Johnny Mandel) - M*A*S*H Lyrics<br /><br /><br />Through early morning fog I see<br />visions of the things to be<br />the pains that are withheld for me<br />I realize and I can see...<br /><br />[chorus]:<br /><br />That suicide is painless<br />It brings on many changes<br />and I can take or leave it if I please.<br /><br />I try to find a way to make<br />all our little joys relate<br />without that ever-present hate<br />but now I know that it's too late, and...<br /><br />[Chorus]<br /><br />The game of life is hard to play<br />I'm gonna lose it anyway<br />The losing card I'll someday lay<br />so this is all I have to say.<br /><br />[Chorus]<br /><br />The only way to win is cheat<br />And lay it down before I'm beat<br />and to another give my seat<br />for that's the only painless feat.<br /><br />[Chorus]<br /><br />The sword of time will pierce our skins<br />It doesn't hurt when it begins<br />But as it works its way on in<br />The pain grows stronger...watch it grin, but...<br /><br />[Chorus]<br /><br />A brave man once requested me<br />to answer questions that are key<br />'is it to be or not to be'<br />and I replied 'oh why ask me?'<br /><br />'Cause suicide is painless<br />it brings on many changes<br />and I can take or leave it if I please.<br />...and you can do the same thing if you choose.<br /><br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-46395613050662370202010-02-04T11:52:00.000-08:002010-02-04T19:54:17.852-08:00On the Right Track<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTC56Lrcl3FBBWegmdqqHcph7AgJQaZiUmbcWd_GO3rz_myVk192y5EMyg3Bndpxf3vdllidjXJnCvpBdAD2bdAf_TJ53NjYf-hLM6Wd2KTkooXSUxcl5-f5aMtR2qbhoItnvhNeR4ijA/s1600-h/tres+grankids.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTC56Lrcl3FBBWegmdqqHcph7AgJQaZiUmbcWd_GO3rz_myVk192y5EMyg3Bndpxf3vdllidjXJnCvpBdAD2bdAf_TJ53NjYf-hLM6Wd2KTkooXSUxcl5-f5aMtR2qbhoItnvhNeR4ijA/s400/tres+grankids.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434479792827452690" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">There are days when I could swear I hear strings playing in the background as if some heavenly orchestra in the sky is keeping time with my life. I bask in the harmoniousness of it all.<br /></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">But then, there are those days where there is no music. Dead silence. Wait, that’s just not true, there are the voices, the nagging voices. These voices have been around for a very long time. Almost from the beginning. I remember hearing their dire warnings and harsh reprimands as a very small child. And, just when I think the harassing choir is at last dead and buried, they are somehow mysteriously resurrected. I won’t bore you with specifics, but in a nutshell, they say, “Who do you think you are?”<br /><br />It’s important to go back at them with all I’ve got, I’ve discovered. It’s hopeless to pussyfoot around with these incidious influences, negotiation always proves futile. Direct confrontation is the only way to drive them away. “I am ME!” I shout, (usually telepathically because I don’t want to scare the real people, or the dogs), “Keep your negativity to yourself. Buzz off. I am worthy. I am on the right track. I am over a half a century old now, in case you haven’t noticed. I’ve earned the right to strangle you all dead. Go away, for once and for all. Don’t you know? You’re useless to me now? I’ve decided to be wise. Wise people don’t listen to the likes of you. Goodbye cruel voices. If you ever want to interact with me again you’d better turn into music.”</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;">(Photo above: Tres Grandchildren playing the piano, for Grizzy.)</span></span><br /><br /><br />So, just after I wrote this earlier, I read my horoscope. A bit of serendipity, perhaps?<br /><br />Powered by Astrocenter.com<br />February 4, 2010<br />Daily Virgo horoscope:<br /><br />Things should be going extremely well for you in general today, dear Virgo, so don't miss this opportunity to pursue your dreams in every sense of the word. Do things with passion, and don't hold back. Remember that your own mind and will are the only things stopping you from getting to where you want to be. There is a great deal of magnetic power at your disposal today, so enlist others to help you along the way.<br /><br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-64109002723795696012010-02-02T12:21:00.000-08:002010-02-02T12:25:50.873-08:00A Very Short Post<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1uq5oAhJLg9NruiEepOnWHbj-uZnDbugXZqtPFDdfRAGmWJBjQNpMhkRIYj2ceLnnytBsjx6cIYus1uoB6OPkIaf4AzeYbv1kX0GzceH894FJ6N0JQB8OoRbIKHt2esGVPBkY8EJobRkx/s1600-h/coffeepipinghot.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1uq5oAhJLg9NruiEepOnWHbj-uZnDbugXZqtPFDdfRAGmWJBjQNpMhkRIYj2ceLnnytBsjx6cIYus1uoB6OPkIaf4AzeYbv1kX0GzceH894FJ6N0JQB8OoRbIKHt2esGVPBkY8EJobRkx/s400/coffeepipinghot.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433744348380871058" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">S</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">ometimes Tuesday feels like Monday. This is one of those Tuesdays. Today, an ordinary cup of coffee feels like a reward. I got so much work done yesterday but I didn’t tend to certain paperwork. So that neglected paperwork is waiting. A menacing stack. To be honest, two menacing stacks. So this is a short post. A very short post.<br /><br />It’s not just the paperwork. My dogs are acting crazy lately. They tear up the grass, they bark like maniacs. A big loud dog just moved in behind us. We share about twenty feet of fence line with the top of the hill of a neighboring yard and it was bad enough when the little Jack Russell terrier used to traverse the hill and bark at my dogs, but now we have the big dog too, and it’s practically deafening when they all launch into a mass tirade. I’m thinking of buying shock collars, nothing else works!<br /><br />I bought this ultrasonic gadget that goes off when any dog within a certain distance barks, but this neighborhood has so many dogs that goes off all the time and it doesn’t end up teaching my dogs a thing. Oliver cowers pathetically when the device is on, and he won’t go outside at all, the sound hurts his sensitive ears so bad. And Duncan, my oldest cairn terrier, is deaf and he can’t hear it so he barks anyway which hurts Oliver and Bonnie and Lita’s ears. (Oliver and Lita belong to my two daughters but I am raising them for the time being.) I never thought I’d have four dogs. Lita is a three pound Chihuahua, she cannot wear a shock collar, but Lordy does she have a diabolical bark, it sounds like a demon screaming straight outa hell!<br /><br />There are safe shock collars. I looked it up. Eighty-three bucks buys you a collar that only goes off if the wearer is barking, it detects not only sound but vibration too. I don’t know. The jury’s out. I worry about putting a shock collar on Duncan, he’s so senile it just might piss him off and he’ll keep barking just to spite the collar. (I guess it turns off after so many shocks, they’ve factored in stubborn animals.)<br /><br />We’ll see, in the meantime I am chasing them away from the fence with a broom.<br /><br />I need another cup of Joe.<br /></span><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-4111944567458529772010-01-30T12:13:00.000-08:002010-01-30T12:38:39.340-08:00Happiness 101<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LNtsL4Tu6zQFLu5DfNwzxjCPX2TInyNhMj8Xt1JjQL2ie2xqepfJ3UwQKVK2D0HNNO1JmGi4O9KHiijxdSJsLWVCkMNhHccmJHIqUx9zFhDEPsQoL0ZwBEu41Hthi1Ec2kSv1MQEdD-s/s1600-h/ethan+on+floor.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LNtsL4Tu6zQFLu5DfNwzxjCPX2TInyNhMj8Xt1JjQL2ie2xqepfJ3UwQKVK2D0HNNO1JmGi4O9KHiijxdSJsLWVCkMNhHccmJHIqUx9zFhDEPsQoL0ZwBEu41Hthi1Ec2kSv1MQEdD-s/s400/ethan+on+floor.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432633922167279618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjch49zax7bTtLuCpwbyzt140bHDapHi6awKhrpiAC_s-SVIuyfOf1ZZgkkD6_UzQmqqiJJo4_X51HdCIcSM8890Kcj00cBunX6Gx7cZ4BVb2ryZ9VoeEKpnFss7eLpVnRR5-pfaRjtfJEZ/s1600-h/ethan+w:grandma.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjch49zax7bTtLuCpwbyzt140bHDapHi6awKhrpiAC_s-SVIuyfOf1ZZgkkD6_UzQmqqiJJo4_X51HdCIcSM8890Kcj00cBunX6Gx7cZ4BVb2ryZ9VoeEKpnFss7eLpVnRR5-pfaRjtfJEZ/s400/ethan+w:grandma.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432633916508736978" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Jy2eUHFqF9WTuAx_KdkAzDRZqOf-vOkKygawK8KVIUwUQBxwVh3CJNComFSQr924sLXDpFWwsGpx4EJPFK_CxGtxrYlNZ6wgew4Om9iPA3zipf9PzvnpW59gLZLzpMbrHSsVT6tHBHf6/s1600-h/Happy+101.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Jy2eUHFqF9WTuAx_KdkAzDRZqOf-vOkKygawK8KVIUwUQBxwVh3CJNComFSQr924sLXDpFWwsGpx4EJPFK_CxGtxrYlNZ6wgew4Om9iPA3zipf9PzvnpW59gLZLzpMbrHSsVT6tHBHf6/s400/Happy+101.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432633910464417522" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I won the Happy Award again! </span><a href="http://www.annepollen.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Ann Spollen</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> saw fit to choose me this time. She's an incredible writer, pop over to her blog and pre-order her upcoming novel "Light Beneath Ferns". Her wonderful novel, "The Shape of Water" is available now.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">I'm not going to list 10 things that make me happy again, but I will write about my visit yesterday with my grandson Ethan, as promised in a previous post.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;">Ethan is brain-injured. For the lengthly explanation click on my post of a couple of days ago, titled, Heartache 101.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I am HAPPY to report Ethan's congestion is improving. He is babbling, and when his "other grandma" makes certain sounds he tries to mimic them. He listens intently to Sesame Street, especially Elmo, and when Elmo sings with Nora Jones he gets very quiet and grins. (I'm going to buy him a Nora Jones CD). He knew I was coming and got very excited. If you mention "school" he starts laughing and expects to go "be with the kids". His teacher, Miss Monica, is an angel on earth and Ethan is madly in love with her. She was trained to work with blind kids and the family's happy that he's with her, at least until he has to move on to kindergarten.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'll share something with you: some find this weird, but they don't get it. Before all this happened to Ethan, when he was learning to talk, he spent quite a bit of time with my niece's children, and they call me Aunt Lizzy. This was right around the time when we were trying to get him to say Grandma, so he started calling me Iz, or Izzy, and then Izzy became Grizzy. So, I will always be Grizzy to Ethan, and consequently, to all my grandchildren. I love the name Grizzy and feel privileged to be the only one that I know of! Thanks to Ethan.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Above is the award, (thanks Anne), a picture of the little guy with his "other grandma", and below is a video of Ethan's Mama giving him a bath! Have a terrific weekend everybody!!!</span></div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzOZku-RL-x6_S8mAsGR3EFe1jt2K69NZSWk6PeIjjaYGVZbxDjVO0fRQej3t2Jj3tTHFW-cJvkB7SlWOj8cQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-5162453181622476882010-01-28T13:08:00.000-08:002010-01-28T13:20:55.871-08:00Hey Neighbor!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RKFJ2DDJYKQkcUVGv3RnDBU3kqHHaFnFHpNfJskyNFV9s5LfIVuY_hW-7qms29xT-O6jSVaVn6PsdBTgTgWCaFByd04uT_zjA6o6rROuzVNETixbyl7QGCW_9UtqJeFpwNn-ZD7H8Tlt/s1600-h/mr+rogers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 353px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RKFJ2DDJYKQkcUVGv3RnDBU3kqHHaFnFHpNfJskyNFV9s5LfIVuY_hW-7qms29xT-O6jSVaVn6PsdBTgTgWCaFByd04uT_zjA6o6rROuzVNETixbyl7QGCW_9UtqJeFpwNn-ZD7H8Tlt/s400/mr+rogers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431903637316031058" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ow6Vli3LcLuFgYtHr4klVLVha4Iw4JzNx3pKRUl3mnfXXCmKPNsgNokHEdAeeXAPPeUxMLTLf5U0fgN709hm8Rb-irbGwJ1ql1dbtIQPFAmcgpLf07c8NSIfwBPKr3CKKkOL1fDD51-c/s1600-h/hot+air+ballon+over+temecula.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ow6Vli3LcLuFgYtHr4klVLVha4Iw4JzNx3pKRUl3mnfXXCmKPNsgNokHEdAeeXAPPeUxMLTLf5U0fgN709hm8Rb-irbGwJ1ql1dbtIQPFAmcgpLf07c8NSIfwBPKr3CKKkOL1fDD51-c/s400/hot+air+ballon+over+temecula.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431903634550478578" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0cclbeLRUaVoESHr12icj7qPTNwR3sj2z6ClHmb3R0__4ujjE6BL1ruU1Ma43BVGAp6NDnG3yHCf5X8B-4SqHOyeUbT7AbI63tBlvpX1XWh6VYt9F4lzwkJbwLwqQxsPAVSMQmhUoda5/s1600-h/sky.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0cclbeLRUaVoESHr12icj7qPTNwR3sj2z6ClHmb3R0__4ujjE6BL1ruU1Ma43BVGAp6NDnG3yHCf5X8B-4SqHOyeUbT7AbI63tBlvpX1XWh6VYt9F4lzwkJbwLwqQxsPAVSMQmhUoda5/s400/sky.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431903624249370738" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3iMx1V8XsYcKKn12aX2yn9Gikoag-K1NvoMQoURQuz9K-N2AdWhJdbWSgBZb1peqZvzk6TZS-EzMq79CsxDxierXQ72d3nSoyCj4yqsg5hEsOOJPa343yoGn2XYnfLBezq8f_zicFQM_4/s1600-h/cheesey+potatoes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3iMx1V8XsYcKKn12aX2yn9Gikoag-K1NvoMQoURQuz9K-N2AdWhJdbWSgBZb1peqZvzk6TZS-EzMq79CsxDxierXQ72d3nSoyCj4yqsg5hEsOOJPa343yoGn2XYnfLBezq8f_zicFQM_4/s400/cheesey+potatoes.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431903615314380866" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pXk8mS9ZovKEPJep-v17LUbe24HJsxnzSYvm97HcfhLVNteUGi_mKIQsKpSDckEdtr5shlLphTaf7mzgqRwcNZiptekIevxHEK2N9v3vbDE9X6tM8roq75i9JkrNXo7_c6oYTJk5RGXr/s1600-h/blue+skies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pXk8mS9ZovKEPJep-v17LUbe24HJsxnzSYvm97HcfhLVNteUGi_mKIQsKpSDckEdtr5shlLphTaf7mzgqRwcNZiptekIevxHEK2N9v3vbDE9X6tM8roq75i9JkrNXo7_c6oYTJk5RGXr/s400/blue+skies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431903607312082018" /></a><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Join me in my neck of the woods for a spell. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Pretend I’m a Mr. Rogers clone.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Husband woke up for a “very early” business call, stepped out on the balcony off his office this morning, and immediately spotted a hot air balloon off in the distance. He was too busy trying to sound brilliant while half-awake to bother locating a camera. So the photo above is a publicity shot of one of the many hot air balloons that often fly above Temecula. Judging by the hills and mountains, we live a tad Northwest of where this particular balloon is.<br /><br />We fully intend to go up in one of these things this Spring. Well, I’m afraid of heights, and I say I want to go up now, when it’s all very abstract and fun sounding, but we’ll see if I ever really do.<br /><br />The skies around here have been particularly gorgeous lately.<br /><br />Last night I decided to jazz up some leftover mashed potatoes. I chopped up a mess of four kinds of peppers, garlic, and onions. Lightly wiped a casserole dish with a bit of extra-virgin olive oil, slammed the spuds in evenly, sprinkled generously with a five cheese blend, (I used the Mexican variety but any would do), and topped with the pepper mixture. Popped in a preheated, 400 oven and took it out when it was all bubbly and slightly brownish in spots. Lordy mercy, were they good! This is the kind of side dish that can really make a mundane meal sing. My pork chops were very jealous of all the attention the taters got. I roasted some squash as well, coated with a bit of aforementioned ever-versatile olive oil and a little fresh rosemary, pepper, and sea salt.<br /><br />I've been writing like a maniac. When I’m not working on this project, I’m thinking about this project. I dream up solutions and wake up in the middle of the night and I have to go jot down these brilliant ideas. Thank you muse, but could you whisper in my ear when I’m awake!<br /><br />Anyhow, that’s all I got for today. Better get back to work.<br /><br />What’s happening in your neighborhood, anything worth mentioning?<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-75282472239739686622010-01-26T09:33:00.000-08:002010-01-26T10:12:14.892-08:00Heartache 101<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKDtljyUNuqHMBlYmhUGnOt-GmkwRrPQ8rS3KEo9xgf460HNzdfwDT1ZtTiGbs7ZsR62-kCiw6fHubajrv1TONs9udj4A1y6gNdCzIgdtUf8vSMoclkIARyJDYvqTpbGdADu8B611lnQ9/s1600-h/Me+and+Ethan.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKDtljyUNuqHMBlYmhUGnOt-GmkwRrPQ8rS3KEo9xgf460HNzdfwDT1ZtTiGbs7ZsR62-kCiw6fHubajrv1TONs9udj4A1y6gNdCzIgdtUf8vSMoclkIARyJDYvqTpbGdADu8B611lnQ9/s400/Me+and+Ethan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431109581441527538" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFvZyxCtv8J_DRpc7rQdk4pfUjbxb3Ugx2-5MiRXaeT1pewbpmurERzcQq4-ZSQc2ujvUYXSSDBN4rnGBQdXR3mhK2ByA69JVCY1hg4BTg-zM_wElBrq5TObn3n17m7gZwpZcXVri6rfQ/s1600-h/ethancutegace.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFvZyxCtv8J_DRpc7rQdk4pfUjbxb3Ugx2-5MiRXaeT1pewbpmurERzcQq4-ZSQc2ujvUYXSSDBN4rnGBQdXR3mhK2ByA69JVCY1hg4BTg-zM_wElBrq5TObn3n17m7gZwpZcXVri6rfQ/s400/ethancutegace.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431109571243701202" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWbRfNPVMwE1Nz8-JKQk0UIsxMXLktf2sWaGOhECvecv-GTkJucRWVNpk7orKTok9ZeiskNgpv-vyB8C2HtscFjQJ3xdTBkOfLsrwaLmeRWlt3LcW0sJ8DIvhO7xz2QX0i_t_soD3R7MI/s1600-h/pirateethancb4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWbRfNPVMwE1Nz8-JKQk0UIsxMXLktf2sWaGOhECvecv-GTkJucRWVNpk7orKTok9ZeiskNgpv-vyB8C2HtscFjQJ3xdTBkOfLsrwaLmeRWlt3LcW0sJ8DIvhO7xz2QX0i_t_soD3R7MI/s400/pirateethancb4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431109567937533282" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><br /></span></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><br />Meet Ethan Conner, my first grandson. Pictured in his wheelchair (I'm holding his hands), as a baby, and in his Halloween pirate costume.</div><div><br /></div><div>At two years of age Ethan had a seizure and stopped breathing in his daddy's arms. He was clinically dead for several minutes. They got him breathing again in the ambulance. They lost him once more at Children's Hospital but brought him back. He was in a coma. I was there when they told his parents he would be a vegetable if he ever woke up. The brain damage was too severe.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am doing my best to make a rather involved and tragic long story short.<br /><br />Ethan had been misdiagnosed. After making so much progress he had another seizure after he had been home for a few months. He was rushed to a different Children’s Hospital. This time they got it right. Funny, this new group of doctors knew what the problem was straight away. The ventricles of his heart weren’t working, so they installed a defibrillator. Which was akin to closing the barn door after the cows had gotten out. The poor little guy had suffered even more brain damage. All the progress he had made was virtually erased. When it comes to writing about my grandson and what happened to him I am reduced to a puddle of emotion. It’s beyond difficult, trying to express the heartache of watching a child you love go through so much pain and agony. Not to mention the suffering of his mom and dad, and extended family members.<br /><br />He can’t sit up on his own. He has a permanent feeding tube and has to wear diapers. He’s going to turn five in April. He loves to listen to Curious George and Sesame Street, as his vision is impaired. They really can’t determine just what he can and can’t see. Therapy has been cut off because of the budget cuts in California. He does go to school five days a week.<br /><br />He has problems with extreme pain in his legs due to atrophy, and mucus is a constant problem.<br /><br />But he’s here. With us. Now.<br /><br />I don't suppose it's surprising that I’m fed up with shallow people, people that complain all the time about trivial matters, people that are self-centered and petty. When I'm exposed to such people I can’t help but think about Ethan’s mother and his maternal grandparents. You see, my son, and Ethan’s mother had a fling, they were together a very short while. In fact, she didn’t know she was pregnant. Seemed she was on some sort of experimental birth control and it took the doctor’s several months to figure out why she was so sick, that she was actually growing a human being inside her. My son didn’t find out until she was eight months along. He offered to marry her, but she didn’t want to get married. She didn’t want him to have much to do with the process at all. Later on, after Ethan was born and a few months old, she eventually consented to let him take the baby at regular intervals. I think it dawned on her that it wasn’t going to be so easy to raise a child on her own.<br /><br />The reason I have come to admire Ethan’s mother and her parents (until all this happened to Ethan I didn’t know them at all) is because I have never met such selfless, wonderful people before. Taking care of Ethan is a twenty-four hour a day job. And the entire family accomplishes this without protest, with love in their hearts. As he gets older it becomes more difficult to manage his needs and they never complain.<br /><br />I’m driving up to see him this Friday. They live about seventy miles away. I’ll post a new picture and you’ll be able so see how big he is now. Their whole family is made up of super-sized people, on both sides, so he’s getting huge! I can't even pick him up and he doesn't fit on my lap.<br /><br />Until my late forties, tragedy had never really found me. Then all hell broke loose. I had to take care of my father as he deteriorated from heart disease and Alzheimer’s. My stepmother was a juvenile diabetic with myriads of health problems, and she could no longer drive so I had to take her numerous doctor appointments several times a month. As her illness progressed, her own kids were conveniently MIA, so I had to take care of her, and she eventually died in my guest room of breast cancer. I was holding one of her frail hands and Dad was holding the other, when she went. It was not a pretty death. Then came Ethan’s calamity. Dad died a little over a year ago, and that was not a pretty death either.<br /><br />I have become intimately acquainted with sorrow and loss—and it’s changed me immensely. For the better. I wake up and I am happy to be here. I strive to see the beauty around me. There is no time for whining. I strive to be like Ethan’s family when I grow up.<br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div></div></div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-22435474633802569802010-01-25T13:13:00.000-08:002010-01-25T14:00:53.675-08:00Success and Suckiness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAdgifjtJTE1jOWyhth1KKpEtkkICffL-_wi_0yuYNVYS5IIdIce3WYHDA_35uQ6bm8dOxUJkWWBjOUds6SxF6ZweWAwft5PX_jFcy6mrVt3L2iFBJKchMwVQl0nPMdjsIqWM1_Qic88X/s1600-h/barry-manilow_165416_08052008.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAdgifjtJTE1jOWyhth1KKpEtkkICffL-_wi_0yuYNVYS5IIdIce3WYHDA_35uQ6bm8dOxUJkWWBjOUds6SxF6ZweWAwft5PX_jFcy6mrVt3L2iFBJKchMwVQl0nPMdjsIqWM1_Qic88X/s400/barry-manilow_165416_08052008.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430797983941125298" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSp-W-a87v1MhSMr3z7_3HF9UpOyp0yWzNeLjY03pmR9IihPIyatrOmRLbtVs-eIeBrmLd6Nv7fdZPUESV5I3leHaFBQYvox6dTuW0ElQB4HyoXYYohcuqlJBWovzRLVDxEM9KyQoM4vM/s1600-h/VerizonRemote.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSp-W-a87v1MhSMr3z7_3HF9UpOyp0yWzNeLjY03pmR9IihPIyatrOmRLbtVs-eIeBrmLd6Nv7fdZPUESV5I3leHaFBQYvox6dTuW0ElQB4HyoXYYohcuqlJBWovzRLVDxEM9KyQoM4vM/s400/VerizonRemote.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430797982132702610" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElte90BStj-Dlw6FVbooMWjazh3ZNfOmR2dsduvBM8rP9KRxpuhHHYdK7fWc-nr1EZTQUnvh2RvNrf2wa6eN77OhO1tmNgMhoieHaaYpBEvmP3LLHiHeMfn1sHTVg3g4UhpBpSS78OECs/s1600-h/lady-gaga-20080913-4547632.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElte90BStj-Dlw6FVbooMWjazh3ZNfOmR2dsduvBM8rP9KRxpuhHHYdK7fWc-nr1EZTQUnvh2RvNrf2wa6eN77OhO1tmNgMhoieHaaYpBEvmP3LLHiHeMfn1sHTVg3g4UhpBpSS78OECs/s400/lady-gaga-20080913-4547632.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430797974665899954" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPPN6RYoSH61MmxbjSAecTrV-4OHgdwNHhLoXCYvljIWMZgIrcnL_oYwfDXSO8K4OZ0_w707hIcXN8Zok8DM2LW3QSuJsD_KIFk195xIrq_egR9nVw-D3U9uz8X-bjl3wS0jt6GMd4oqX/s1600-h/dinner+plate.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPPN6RYoSH61MmxbjSAecTrV-4OHgdwNHhLoXCYvljIWMZgIrcnL_oYwfDXSO8K4OZ0_w707hIcXN8Zok8DM2LW3QSuJsD_KIFk195xIrq_egR9nVw-D3U9uz8X-bjl3wS0jt6GMd4oqX/s400/dinner+plate.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430797969406810434" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I bought some fresh basil and some buffalo mozzarella and some pretty red tomatoes at the Farmer's Market. I thought of making a salad last night, but longed for something warm and substantial. I thought I might find some nice white fish. But they didn't have any suitable fish at the market. So, I settled for chicken. I decided to improvise and make chicken paillards with a garlic lemon sauce. I would serve the paillards over basil infused creamy asiago polenta and top them off with roasted tomatoes, improvising all the way. And what a success the dinner was. I should come up with a name for this dish. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">(I made The Son put down his knife and fork so I could snap a pic of his plate, so that's the real deal pictured.)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> The Husband, and my youngest son and daughter were singing my praises. Our lovely meal was worth getting burnt in the eye. I was busy sauteing the chicken in olive oil and a bit of butter when I heard a PoP, but didn't get out of the way quick enough, and got struck in the eye. Ouch! I immediately ran over to the sink and doused my eyeball in cold water. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It's such a good feeling when we put out a lot of effort and see that effort pay off. It's not so good when we work our butt off, and things don't pan out. Ah, the tough get tougher, (or so they say), and if we practice stick-to-it-tiveness we will prevail. I try to teach my kids this. But, once in a while we attempt to accomplish something we really don't excel at. No matter how hard we try. There's a lesson in learning just where our abilities lie. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Everybody knows somebody that thinks they can sing but they can't. This particular delusion seems to be awfully common, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">after all the tone deaf are just that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, tone deaf. And being a terrible singer is no big deal, if all you do is lock yourself in the car and try to keep up with Lady Ga Ga. Who ya gonna hurt? Lady Ga Ga can't hear you, and as long as you pipe down at traffic lights and spare the pedestrians in the crosswalk, you won't offend a soul. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">On the other hand, if you behave like Ernesto, you will rupture innocent eardrums. Ernesto Ruiz worked for my father at his appliance store. I was working there too, setting up the kitchen design showroom, and after the store closed Ernesto would fire up one of the many stereos, (he favored Barry Manilow), grab the intercom microphone, and belt out Copa Cobana, or Mandy (God help us) at the top of his lungs. He sounded beyond pathetic. Ernesto truly believed that he had missed his true calling. (Ernesto's a family man now, owns a string of furniture stores. My brother told me this recently. I wonder if he makes his employees listen to him sing. And who's he singing with now, Michael Buble?)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I'm not in the least bit mechanical. And I'm terrible when it comes to understanding electronic anything. I can't program our complicated (they lie and say it's simple) remote for our cable, let alone operate the darn thing. Which my drives techno-savvy family bonkers. They expect that I should be able to record a movie, or fast forward through commercials on my own, and I just can't!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">For some reason I can run my Mac just fine. Of course I've been working on Apple computers for twenty plus years, I guess if I couldn't operate one, that would make me quite inept.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">We all have our long suits and our short suits. Name one thing you've got going for you, and one thing you wish you could do, but suck at. We'll all get to learn more about each other ;-)</span></div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-77947932675127445792010-01-23T21:05:00.000-08:002010-01-23T21:22:50.981-08:00Terrific<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8I_P-3XsYuHmDJsxBD7QIu_BAl_DMfQR3f4bPzM_KNyCRb83IkfCTeyuR1UmVa9EBZAK7qzA8lq2Df9AHXbnuPi5eyUOUDm3xuJyp5OKoBbgFCKeiPDp5UZB2EVSpeTb6q5fed5h-LWVT/s1600-h/williams-sonoma.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8I_P-3XsYuHmDJsxBD7QIu_BAl_DMfQR3f4bPzM_KNyCRb83IkfCTeyuR1UmVa9EBZAK7qzA8lq2Df9AHXbnuPi5eyUOUDm3xuJyp5OKoBbgFCKeiPDp5UZB2EVSpeTb6q5fed5h-LWVT/s400/williams-sonoma.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430172019710183250" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcHpeCC133ulUUZj4Rq4rmqrHhkNT7oXq5JY4cEyOS6yL2KtO6gBp1TYeSNctrC3lc7mDrQDMFnNIL6NKInbjEz-ynOImq7IZQeSwWPp8jhYN1tw8i8v8tnoFSbvDTj_AvVME-fRPDcPK/s1600-h/TustinTJMaxx.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 292px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcHpeCC133ulUUZj4Rq4rmqrHhkNT7oXq5JY4cEyOS6yL2KtO6gBp1TYeSNctrC3lc7mDrQDMFnNIL6NKInbjEz-ynOImq7IZQeSwWPp8jhYN1tw8i8v8tnoFSbvDTj_AvVME-fRPDcPK/s400/TustinTJMaxx.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430172013431971954" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBtKMJSaLpEIk55Y_vFk4QsoWguxi9tzNgSceTVgQ_Jg7kqO7KdQ9sNOdbBqpAhRAwl7nDbk1rCCK97j29CFJ3IGBZkh8Sm16UoBpjh-NnyOh8eTDxy8uZdhVaS3STGkdfi218-QG_UHC/s1600-h/snd+mall.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBtKMJSaLpEIk55Y_vFk4QsoWguxi9tzNgSceTVgQ_Jg7kqO7KdQ9sNOdbBqpAhRAwl7nDbk1rCCK97j29CFJ3IGBZkh8Sm16UoBpjh-NnyOh8eTDxy8uZdhVaS3STGkdfi218-QG_UHC/s400/snd+mall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430172011459023842" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAKr5EyyuGll1yF0glIJKFmniU5vdBKXX8OvIPGed9A_8FnroK9-FEjJiouuqy3c2zI5weVn6gHtQMrULAGyfEc79pDgIq6FprLZXpUhUV6nROdv5jMZFCYlTSkYyTB3PSqBsa7UZxIVd/s1600-h/photo_promenadetemecula.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAKr5EyyuGll1yF0glIJKFmniU5vdBKXX8OvIPGed9A_8FnroK9-FEjJiouuqy3c2zI5weVn6gHtQMrULAGyfEc79pDgIq6FprLZXpUhUV6nROdv5jMZFCYlTSkYyTB3PSqBsa7UZxIVd/s400/photo_promenadetemecula.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430172005119891442" /></a><br /><div>Oh Mercy! A day of shopping on a glorious day! First, we stopped at the Apple store. The Husband is looking for a car charger for his I-phone, but of course I'm lusting after a new laptop and he's drooling over a system, (you know you're in trouble when you're looking at a system!) I grabbed him by the arm and got him out of there, just in time. Whew!</div><div><br /></div><div>Williams Sonoma. What a store. You can spend 18 bucks on a jar of jam. I saw a double-sided omelette pan that caused me to have lust in my heart, but I got a grip, after all I've been rustling up omelettes with a regular non-stick pan forever--did I really need the double-sided one? Not really. I spotted one of those nifty silicone-coated paring knifes. I need that! Don't I? Not one of my paring knifes is coated in silicone, surely they're defective? What about the giant-sized electric paella pan? That could come in handy. The Husband grabbed me by the arm and got me out of there, just in time. Whew!</div><div><br /></div><div>We were walking along and I said, "What a sky! I gotta take a picture of that." So, I took the picture. All last week we had rain, rain, rain, so I had to take the time to celebrate the mostly blue sky. </div><div><br /></div><div>And do I have to say more than TJ Maxx? I am a bargain lover and man oh man does TJ Maxx give good bargain. My eyes were rolling back in my head. </div><div><br /></div><div>On the whole it's been a lovely day. We came home and I made dinner and now we're going to watch a movie. This is one of those, this is what I did today blogs. Terrific is my word for the day. If you're in the mood to leave a comment, tell us what's terrific for you, right now.</div><div><br /></div>All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-64244355702049612402010-01-22T16:22:00.000-08:002010-01-22T17:46:05.214-08:00My Surreal Tale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH25JHWuy0pjq_0uE_2Gp-yNHvZltcG2nEZaBwkskJ8w-wwlqaWGdpo4iw2__Yc4zfeN3tcBeQqv2V5nxFT9bnZv_kKyeIK4IAKmJBcNH4FYsZevvX-vbgxyMECSUGuIY5Sf5MLWRDx9wN/s1600-h/mini-old-brick-style-cell-phone-051207.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH25JHWuy0pjq_0uE_2Gp-yNHvZltcG2nEZaBwkskJ8w-wwlqaWGdpo4iw2__Yc4zfeN3tcBeQqv2V5nxFT9bnZv_kKyeIK4IAKmJBcNH4FYsZevvX-vbgxyMECSUGuIY5Sf5MLWRDx9wN/s400/mini-old-brick-style-cell-phone-051207.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429743750393854274" /></a><br />According to the comments you all so kindly left on my previous post it looks as if we all agree, Anderson Cooper is a brave man. And the more I hear about him, it sounds as if that occurrence with the boy in Haiti wasn’t an isolated display of his heroic character.<br /><br />After a lengthy conversation with a friend yesterday, I started thinking, what, (if not downright heroic, but certainly helpful act), have I ever performed for a complete stranger?<br /><br />A peculiar incident came to mind. One afternoon I was driving my three-year old daughter and thirteen-year old son to Target, my son had just gotten out of school for the day. We pulled off the 57 Freeway in Orange County to get gas. My daughter was in her car seat and my son was sitting alongside, doing his best to keep her amused. I climbed out to pump the gas.<br /><br />A pretty dark girl stood at the pump in front of me, next to a moped. A young boy (I’d venture to guess he was around six or seven) was standing next to her, wearing a backpack that looked way too heavy for his tiny shoulders. Well, her card wouldn’t work in the machine, and she told the boy they were out of money and she didn’t know what she was going to do. Just then a man walked over from the other side of the pump and offered to buy her some gas. “I couldn’t,” she said.<br /><br />“Hey,” he said, “I’ve been in a jam before, Let me buy you some gas.”<br /><br />I was pleased to see that there were still gentlemen in this world. I went about my business, but soon heard the girl call out, “Get your hands off me, you dirty bastard!”<br /><br />I looked up to see the guy pawing at her, right there at the gas pump. Seemed he wanted a little something/something before he shelled out a few measly bucks! I hurried over and screamed at him, saying, “Let go of her—now!”<br /><br />He launched a few choice words in my direction before kicking the moped over, which nearly struck the little boy. In a rage, he stomped it a few times before hopping in his oversized-brand-new-shiny-pick-up-truck and taking off like a bat outa hell.<br /><br />I helped the girl right the moped, but it was obviously damaged. “I can’t ride it this way!” She cried. “Why me? Why is everything bad happening to me lately?”<br /><br />The little boy threw his arms around her slender hips, and said, “Oh, Mama.”<br /><br />She looked too young to be his mother. I’d mistakingly pegged them as brother and sister. “Look,” I said, watching my son hop out of my mini-van. “We can load the moped in the back of my van. And I'll drive you home.”<br /><br />My son said, “Mom, I used the mobile phone to call 911, I gave them that man’s license plate number, they’re on they’re way over.”<br /><br />“Damn it! No!” The girl cried. “You called the cops?”<br /><br />The design firm I was working for at the time had seen fit to give me a mobile phone to use in emergency situations, (they were super-expensive to operate back then, and I might add the size of brick), but I hadn’t even given the phone a second thought, as the thing baffled me anyway. But my son had been clear-headed enough to use it, (bragging moment, he’s a micro-biologist now), and when confronted with the girl’s displeasure his hopeful face crumpled. “My son did the right thing,” I told her, “That maniac will have to pay for damaging your bike, and besides, he can’t run around accosting girls.”<br /><br />“I don’t have a license,” she said. “They’re gonna bust me!”<br /><br />I put my hand on her shoulder, she was so distraught the little boy was whimpering. “Calm down. They won’t ask to see your license.”<br /><br /><div>I told my son to go sit with his sister. A motorcycle cop drove up, dismounted, and asked what happened. The girl told her story. He looked at me then, asking, “And just who are you?” I told him that I'd been pumping gas nearby and witnessed how the guy manhandled her, and how he kicked the moped over and stomped on it.<br /><br />“So, you’re telling me, he offered to buy her gas, and then he made advances?”<br /><br />“Yes,” I said, adding, “And when she pushed him away he freaked out.”<br /><br />“You two want me to believe that he did all that, right here at the gas pump? In front of everybody?”<br /><br />“<i>Everybody</i>?” I said, “<i>Not everybody</i>. Nobody else was here, except us.”<br /><br />“Who called 911?”<br /><br />I pointed to the van. “My son did.”<br /><br />He walked over to the van and peered inside. Then he walked over to the moped and looked at it. “Have you been drinking?” He asked the girl.<br /><br />Were we on Candid Camera? I thought. <i>Surely this couldn’t be happening?</i> “Look,” I said, feeling more than a little out of sorts with the slow-witted husky cop by then, “Give her a break, she’s with her little boy in the middle of the day, all she needed was some gasoline.”<br /><br />“Be quiet," he warned. I shut up.</div><div><br /></div><div>The jerk leaned over the girl, and asked, “Were you propositioning that man?”<br /><br />I just had to interfere. I flipped out, saying, “Pleeaassee! Are you insane! I told you, I was standing here the whole time. I told you exactly what I saw. That’s <i>all</i> that happened!”<br /><br />So his partner pulled up, they went off and had a little pow-wow, and the girl turned to me and whispered, “Great. I’m going to jail.”<br /><br />“You aren’t going to jail,” I muttered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”<br /><br />“You wait. You’ll see.”<br /><br />The cops strolled over and asked for the girl's license (I'd been wrong on that count) and she told them she'd forgotten it at home. I told the mean cop that I was going to load her moped in my van and drive her home. We had three hungry children to think about. I gave them both a piece of my mind, telling them that they should be off chasing the pervert, not harassing the girl. So, they took her information down, they took my information down, and off they went. They didn’t even offer to help load the moped. The experience was quite surreal.<br /><br />We got in the car. I told her I was pulling into the McDonalds across the street because I had promised my kids a snack. I ordered three Happy meals and the kids ate while I drove her home. “So,” I said, “We’ll see if they catch that guy, and he’ll have to pay to have your moped fixed. I hope he goes to jail.”<br /><br />She replied, in a deadpan voice, “Not gonna happen. I gave them fake information. And that’s not my bike. And I’m moving back to Arizona, tomorrow. They treat me like this because I’m Mexican. My folks are in Arizona—they’ll help me. I should have gone home a long time ago. Since I came to California my life’s been one long screwed-up downhill ride.”<br /><br />“Sorry to hear that,” I said.<br /><br />“Mama, I don’t wanna leave,” said the boy.<br /><br />She turned around, glared at him, and snapped, “Shut the fuck up.”<br /><br />I didn’t appreciate her language or attitude. You could see the shock on my son’s face, and shortly thereafter he handed the boy the Happy Meal toy, as if he thought that might make the kid feel better. </div><div><br /></div><div>The girl certainly wasn’t the most likable person I’d ever run into, but I sure did feel sorry for her son. And I hoped their lives would improve, if indeed they were returning to Arizona. When I dropped her off, and after we helped her unload the moped, she didn’t thank us. She simply turned away and began to push the moped down a narrow driveway towards a ramshackle house, the boy tagging behind. </div><div><br /></div><div>I did help her though. I’m pretty sure I did.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-32326508061254274432010-01-21T20:46:00.000-08:002010-01-21T23:38:55.080-08:00BRAVE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwqF-4yKVoClR9yqNbS9wwGWcuVVur8Jx2RZ-K7QgSJrYF42D-mQxJYh69IPiWRkOxAixw4mySKerX5Xx44X8iTjhNuvVL0_150x0NRvtGZPT0bVn10EdnF7WWaBaVvF_wA87iep5jC6E/s1600-h/haiti.ac.boy.5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwqF-4yKVoClR9yqNbS9wwGWcuVVur8Jx2RZ-K7QgSJrYF42D-mQxJYh69IPiWRkOxAixw4mySKerX5Xx44X8iTjhNuvVL0_150x0NRvtGZPT0bVn10EdnF7WWaBaVvF_wA87iep5jC6E/s400/haiti.ac.boy.5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429422216476036978" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K7YqE1X4oyUWjn4X1z11kAqtgjje5P_U97Ce8ggHCB1voO9KtM6mDvxvab_TdrbdWqoJVXo7LZyG4m6n33_vPN6tKo_7LU6XZf48MDks60-ttoJwf7ufdz2hzMj9R0flrgUgTsQDUAbi/s1600-h/Vanderbilt_Family11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K7YqE1X4oyUWjn4X1z11kAqtgjje5P_U97Ce8ggHCB1voO9KtM6mDvxvab_TdrbdWqoJVXo7LZyG4m6n33_vPN6tKo_7LU6XZf48MDks60-ttoJwf7ufdz2hzMj9R0flrgUgTsQDUAbi/s400/Vanderbilt_Family11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429422211796548978" /></a><br />I was in the car, driving somewhere I didn’t want to go to, to do something I wish I didn’t have to do…<br /><br />When, one of those talking heads on the radio related a story about Anderson Cooper in Haiti. The talking head said that Anderson witnessed crazed looters throwing cinder blocks off a building, down into the crowd on the street, and a boy was hit in the head. It seemed the blow to the boy’s head caused him to be so unsteady on his feet--he could not stand up--let alone run for cover. More cinder blocks were poised from above, and nobody was doing anything to help the injured boy. If he didn’t move he would be hit a second time. Anderson Cooper rushed to his side and helped the boy to safety. News reporters don’t do that kind of thing, they just don’t.<br /><br />The talking head started laughing and mocking Anderson Cooper, saying that everyone in Haiti has AIDS, and just wait, when the do-gooder reporter returned to the USA he would be shunned by <i>all his buddies</i>, because nobody would want anything to do with a guy that had been covered with the blood of a Haitian boy.<br /><br />If I could have reached through the radio I would have socked that IDIOT smack dab in the kisser.<br /><br />Look, I’m not Anderson Cooper fan. I don’t watch the news all that much. But I have to ask, how many people do you know that would rush to help that boy, putting their own life in jeopardy, in such a manner? Could you be so brave?<br /><br />I had no idea that Anderson Cooper was gay, (for the record I almost feel as if the radio guy was holding that against him, GAG.) I had heard that his mother was Gloria Vanderbilt. I once saw a movie about her childhood, seemed the heiress had a tumultuous beginning. She married several times, and had Anderson and his brother later in life. His brother committed suicide right in front of her. It must have been horrifying to see her own son jump out of the window while she tried in vain to stop him.<br /><br />Anyway, that’s about the extent of what I know about Anderson Cooper—except this—he’s obviously a better person than most. He did what so many would never do. I am a fan now. A big fan.<br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-70999422323587335172010-01-19T20:45:00.001-08:002010-01-19T20:58:16.728-08:00The Outer Limits<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiimmcQx9ztBxsotRWUDmIm1MnJAzxkUrZDKIuDkBgPC6HCjX1HYKlN6L9jcC-WlK4_Xry7kC9-A_ON1i_GFoFjz3UKG39FfyPgNnM14hLUqRuxXHEl8PVxXrCZD-4suhuQLus5h-XGFi8F/s1600-h/TheOuterLimits-Screenshot-old.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiimmcQx9ztBxsotRWUDmIm1MnJAzxkUrZDKIuDkBgPC6HCjX1HYKlN6L9jcC-WlK4_Xry7kC9-A_ON1i_GFoFjz3UKG39FfyPgNnM14hLUqRuxXHEl8PVxXrCZD-4suhuQLus5h-XGFi8F/s400/TheOuterLimits-Screenshot-old.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428681586212998146" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Hey there! I've been out of loop. MIA. And all I can say is, I've been way out there, in the outer limits. The periphery so to speak. Go ahead, tell me you haven't been there, but I won't believe you. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">But, here I am, back! Good or bad, this blog is like a garden, I may not weed it all the time, I may not plant new seeds (or bulbs), and I may not water as much as I should, but doesn't that make it less of a garden. I think not!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It is winter, so cut me some slack. Spring's on it's way and I know the garden will benefit. All I can say is, I'm glad you're with me now, it means so much. And I plan to drop by and visit you soon. The truth be known, the outer limits are kinda scary, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">and lonely</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;">FOR ALL OF YOU TOO YOUNG TO REMEMBER, THE OUTER LIMITS WAS A TV PROGRAM WHEN I WAS A KID, WHICH EXPLORED THE UNKNOWN, THE MYSTERIOUS, AND THE CREEPY FRIGHTENING REALMS OUR PARENTS DIDN'T WANT US TO KNOW ABOUT. BELOW IS THE OPENING OF THE SHOW...</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><br /></span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. We can roll the image, make it flutter. We can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat: there is nothing wrong with your television set. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to... The Outer Limits.<br />— Opening narration – The Control Voice – 1960s </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div></div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-56504959737855475982010-01-15T12:41:00.000-08:002010-01-15T21:10:27.168-08:00Sweet Friends<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKSRclYJxeh8dG-YypK9IWSOeVKsNffxMb1MlJef9oNaPiaZDY0onP0udqmH9KsJoieBaUWdAQM0vPk8r1Zu02pmLdZgO0HOhjpa1kHSMBjw2fnWIx3phEri4VWwnVBCJSgFuEE45qA6P/s1600-h/Happy+101.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKSRclYJxeh8dG-YypK9IWSOeVKsNffxMb1MlJef9oNaPiaZDY0onP0udqmH9KsJoieBaUWdAQM0vPk8r1Zu02pmLdZgO0HOhjpa1kHSMBjw2fnWIx3phEri4VWwnVBCJSgFuEE45qA6P/s400/Happy+101.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427071378320924562" /></a><br />Michele Emrath from <a href="http://www.southerncitymysteries.blogspot.com/">Southern City Mysteries </a>has bestowed upon me Happy 101. Now I will go ahead and share ten things that make me blissfully happy. Then I’m to tag ten bloggy friends. So they might see fit to repeat history.<br /><br />BLISS INDUCING STUFF<br /><br />1. My very first cup of morning coffee. I grind my own beans and coffee is best if you drink it immediately after it’s been brewed.<br /><br /><div>2. When my phone beeps and someone is sending me a cute photo. Especially if it’s one of my kids sending a pic of a grandchild. Yay! Got two today!<br /><br /></div><div>3. When I settle down to watch a movie in our home theater room and little Lita (think 3 lb Chihuahua) gets on my lap, burrows under the blanket and falls asleep.<br /><br /></div><div>4. The Husband, in general.<br /><br /></div><div>5. New shoes turn me on.<br /><br /></div><div>6. Traveling anywhere for any reason.<br /><br /></div><div>7. Project Runway<br /><br /></div><div>8. A perfectly chilled glass of chardonnay<br /><br /></div><div>9. Going on a hike and watching The Husband photograph wildflowers in the spring.<br /><br /></div><div>10. Writing fiction.<br /><br />My posse:<br /><br />Cheryl – <a href="http://www.cheryldelosreyescruz.blogspot.com/">Cheryl de los Reyes Cruz A Work In Progress</a><br />Sylvia – <a href="http://www.sylviafromoverthehill.blogspot.com/">Sylvia From Over The Hill</a><br />Elspeth – <a href="http://www.itsamystery.blogspot.com/">It’s A Mystery</a><br />Stacy – <a href="http://www.stacypost.blogspot.com/">A Writer’s Point of View</a><br />Alix – <a href="http://www.casahice.blogspot.com/">Casa Hice</a><br />Kristen – <a href="http://www.jennifershirk.blogspot.com/">Me, My Muse and I</a><br />Delphin – <a href="http://www.theromanticqueryletter.blogspot.com/">The Romantic Query Letter and The Happy Ever After</a><br />Boomer – <a href="http://www.boomerbabybliss.blogspot.com/">Baby Boomer Bliss</a><br />Kim – <a href="http://www.Thechild-Kim.blogspot.com/">The Child</a><br />Katy -- <a href="http://www.crazymommymykaty.blogspot.com">Crazy Mommy</a><br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-68718954904615639862010-01-13T12:38:00.000-08:002010-01-13T13:13:29.515-08:00Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_n3EyKO-BFucZ6aGGuF4YfxEqkomcFtlhcMyWkfNn5B7JW8Kx5ldv-JF1-JPuErN4C0gf_IF3zZVg0CDSE70W2Hd8z5SWflQs6jz5njtW6R_itYSdjcJ7MdOATvmA8G851LD5J6J7t-hK/s1600-h/rain+two.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_n3EyKO-BFucZ6aGGuF4YfxEqkomcFtlhcMyWkfNn5B7JW8Kx5ldv-JF1-JPuErN4C0gf_IF3zZVg0CDSE70W2Hd8z5SWflQs6jz5njtW6R_itYSdjcJ7MdOATvmA8G851LD5J6J7t-hK/s400/rain+two.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426334299864130306" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Crap, it's really coming down.<br /><br />I used to love the rain, I was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. But the allure is lost on me anymore. Rain makes my dogs stink, and when they come in from outside they leave mudddy paw prints all over the floor. I know we need the rain. God knows we don't get enough. But it's so bleak.<br /><br />I spontaneously began to hum the lyrics to Albert Hammond's, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It Never Rains in Southern California, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">a few minutes ago</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> I found myself wondering what happened to that guy, he was so popular and then seemed to disappear. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Bless Wikipedia, I found answers! In case you were wondering, it turns out he's prolific as all get out, he certainly didn't become a car salesman or a real estate investor. Did you know he wrote </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">One Moment in Time</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, the song Whitney Houston performed at the Olympics in Seoul Korea? And he's written songs for some biggies, including Elton John and Aretha Franklin. He wrote </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">To All the Girls I Loved Before, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">(don't hold that against the poor guy, the song sold millions, somebody must have liked it.)</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> His son, Albert Hammond Jr. is in the band The Strokes. Mr. Hammond was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame on June 19 2008. And, in January 2010 Hammond's busy writing material with Welsh singer Duffy for her second album. Who knew?<br /></span><br />Seems it Never Rains in Southern California</div><div>by Albert Hammond</div><div><br /></div><div>Got on board a westbound 747<br />Didn't think before deciding what to do<br />Ooh, that talk of opportunities<br />TV breaks and movies<br />Rang true<br />Sure rang true<br /><br />Seems it never rains in southern California<br />Seems I've often heard that kind of talk before<br />It never rains in California<br />But girl don't they warn ya<br />It pours, man it pours<br /><br />Out of work, I'm out of my head<br />Out of self respect, I'm out of bread<br />I'm underloved, I'm underfed, I wanna go home<br />It never rains in California<br />But girl don't they warn ya<br />It pours, man it pours<br /><br />[Instrumental Interlude]<br /><br />Will you tell the folks back home I nearly made it<br />Had offers but didn't know which one to take<br />Please don't tell 'em how you found me<br />Don't tell 'em how you found me<br />Gimme a break, give me a break<br /><br />Seems it never rains in southern California<br />Seems I've often heard that kind of talk before<br />It never rains in California<br />But girl don't they warn ya<br />It pours, man it pours<br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-9028715053684400392010-01-12T13:59:00.000-08:002010-01-12T23:20:54.686-08:00Topsy-Turvy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdYzEsLiovOZV2jO1ww-LBOT4Q1tTTTIJbz4YQQrdTNUS8guQbQiKkhT0V0_srjCMf5mUMVGBB3TrvFw_RHGcLfhQHxgdpkeUrbQH0CtclCwYp5c-W95YXPWk4PedMWyf4Kps5qZ36S1o/s1600-h/Mary+Tyler+Moore-Longer+flip,+circa+1970.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 317px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdYzEsLiovOZV2jO1ww-LBOT4Q1tTTTIJbz4YQQrdTNUS8guQbQiKkhT0V0_srjCMf5mUMVGBB3TrvFw_RHGcLfhQHxgdpkeUrbQH0CtclCwYp5c-W95YXPWk4PedMWyf4Kps5qZ36S1o/s400/Mary+Tyler+Moore-Longer+flip,+circa+1970.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425979369504640690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nRXa7RQHA7nfYy619_kvoFq1MTNoQrrNMJp314vTzwqkKI5wE9LqrKa6cv_ZpUd7TqMfsA8VeVgfulGAM-qJ8BaDSlsV0QROIKB7d4iLfh-jA8XTvAtjtUtyakLTSgD8iXrDr0cyRCBT/s1600-h/upside-down-tomato.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 315px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nRXa7RQHA7nfYy619_kvoFq1MTNoQrrNMJp314vTzwqkKI5wE9LqrKa6cv_ZpUd7TqMfsA8VeVgfulGAM-qJ8BaDSlsV0QROIKB7d4iLfh-jA8XTvAtjtUtyakLTSgD8iXrDr0cyRCBT/s400/upside-down-tomato.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425979363146379010" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPTfEuFrmzN6_n8qdR8RcMDPw10mLDNdy5V3q7W-mb-p-Kn2Hnwhw-1GSQD9xAKmtD3CsJycGujB-E8Rtf_xUG1yJHsmClHD2XjaQ9r6ERm8Le3rd-FBttI-MMva9B5XU7LSNGfxi-xeg/s1600-h/tossing_pizza_dough.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPTfEuFrmzN6_n8qdR8RcMDPw10mLDNdy5V3q7W-mb-p-Kn2Hnwhw-1GSQD9xAKmtD3CsJycGujB-E8Rtf_xUG1yJHsmClHD2XjaQ9r6ERm8Le3rd-FBttI-MMva9B5XU7LSNGfxi-xeg/s400/tossing_pizza_dough.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425979358573205410" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBwenct7vqQ7EtDgcHbWNvTiKUNYRxQ-k57Jwd5NGlGiAwvPnMPokbSCPTlBNu6DS2d979cIBfA9QMdbfq2TIIosP6Ztz6hbzuZCS7Qi1cwYkxQJu2oO8UkZsFbUzFV56q9LN5O_WDZAZ/s1600-h/pancake+flip.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBwenct7vqQ7EtDgcHbWNvTiKUNYRxQ-k57Jwd5NGlGiAwvPnMPokbSCPTlBNu6DS2d979cIBfA9QMdbfq2TIIosP6Ztz6hbzuZCS7Qi1cwYkxQJu2oO8UkZsFbUzFV56q9LN5O_WDZAZ/s400/pancake+flip.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425979352613418834" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXf3EAtLCaLXY4_n8y-Tgw9xJu8xdd7qhGNdX_3ZSvHGZGSj6-CWh__vlIS0ZW3euU9L5iSG13hFKotpms6c2Zpl7M7p3kFOA9_6e-YvnvZmnA6f_GP8jVRy06hGhw_7csPCn7NDoTSRo/s1600-h/pineapple+upside+down+cake.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXf3EAtLCaLXY4_n8y-Tgw9xJu8xdd7qhGNdX_3ZSvHGZGSj6-CWh__vlIS0ZW3euU9L5iSG13hFKotpms6c2Zpl7M7p3kFOA9_6e-YvnvZmnA6f_GP8jVRy06hGhw_7csPCn7NDoTSRo/s400/pineapple+upside+down+cake.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425979346890228386" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It’s a fine thing to mix it up every now and then. In fact, the beginning of a New Year is the perfect time to change our "mode of operandi". We human beings are creatures of habit, and although it’s a trite concept, <i>it’s frickin true</i>, the older we get the more likely we are to become accustomed to living our lives a certain way.<br /><br />Funny, I realized the kitchen is the first stop for instruction on how to go topsy-turvy. Someone once decided to take some juicy pineapple and a little flour and bake their cake upside down. What a concept! And someone once decided to take a little flour, turn the griddle up high, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">or maybe a flat rock heated over the fire?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> And then they mixed up flour, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">flour is a handy kitchen staple</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, with a little water and baking soda and voila—hotcakes. Although you'll have to flip those puppies, a tricky process at best, but if you manage to pull it off without a hitch you'll end up with delicious delivery systems for syrup! And what about the hazard-prone-pizza-dough-toss? Certainly this practice could end in disaster. But, if executed properly, another delicious result will transpire, especially if there’s a wood-fired oven at hand.<br /><br />And who came up the flip hair-do? A style that defies gravity. I don’t know about you, but my hair doesn’t “flip out” on it’s own. Doesn’t Mary Tyler Moore pull it off nicely? I know; chances are Ms. Moore employed a stylist, or a team of stylists wielding gallons of super-hold hairspray. How on earth would you flip your own hair at the back of your own head? I can’t imagine how it could be humanly possible to accomplish this task on one's own. But no matter—doesn’t she look marvelous?<br /><br />Whoever invented the topsy-turvy tomato plant thingy—what a bloody genius! I bought one of these last season but never got around to setting it up. I plan on using it this year, as soon as spring rears its warm little head. Tomatoes do very well here in Southern California, but it can get too hot for them in the thick of summer. Hanging this contraption in a semi shaded spot will help save the plants from scorching. I love it! I wonder if growing tomatoes up off the ground will eliminate those ugly-fat-green-horned worms that always seem to find the plants? One can only hope. Or will the industrious critters assemble and camp out underneath the hanging vines until enough of them show up to climb piggyback? Until some of them are able to climb high enough to reach the juicy plant? Shudder.<br /><br />Just last night, a couple of my secondary characters living in my WIP got together. Now, these two were not supposed to meet, they were never scheduled to have a thing to do with each other. But now they’re up to no good and have succeeded in turning my story on its pointy little head! Back in the saddle and behind my Mac this morning, I analyzed this turn of events, and realized their antics only served to energize the WIP. I am pleased with the results.<br /><br />Sometimes, for no particular reason, I drive down roads I’ve never driven before, even if it means I won’t reach my destination as fast as usual. I’m one of those that grows bored when submerged in the same old same old. I realize that this post relates to my last post, and I guess that's indicative of my current state of mind.<br /><br />I’d love to hear how you all are shaking things up, sending monotony topsy-turvy, flipping your routines or notions upside down.<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-32032699770807769362010-01-10T14:57:00.000-08:002010-01-10T15:10:04.335-08:00Different Strokes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_PXp4P6vkg5kHbf9j6R-w5X0DFcKf9eyPt-UXnV4ChNT69xBJxws-UjaoQBilN9ocknlbulClaPcfX1SMAU_pSQUAlXHswWbFYInuVB-952t_VIpuL2aIjLS5PZK4aCpkV0QiQLS0k8-/s1600-h/harry-potter.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_PXp4P6vkg5kHbf9j6R-w5X0DFcKf9eyPt-UXnV4ChNT69xBJxws-UjaoQBilN9ocknlbulClaPcfX1SMAU_pSQUAlXHswWbFYInuVB-952t_VIpuL2aIjLS5PZK4aCpkV0QiQLS0k8-/s400/harry-potter.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425252261235455634" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXYyaOQ0AojeiCzLo_AskD0Jf9vI5r3ywP6t88O775G7LacCI88-qlgTAWBzMAAZciGnbBYPQ8zik1v5VcCZANAI9iFE_itG1SwH1vtXXrN7Okw37C_yaSZVGQhtkxHMbfnqkhUGGV6ZW/s1600-h/the_brothers_bloom-poster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXYyaOQ0AojeiCzLo_AskD0Jf9vI5r3ywP6t88O775G7LacCI88-qlgTAWBzMAAZciGnbBYPQ8zik1v5VcCZANAI9iFE_itG1SwH1vtXXrN7Okw37C_yaSZVGQhtkxHMbfnqkhUGGV6ZW/s400/the_brothers_bloom-poster.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425252255752457762" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFEAo-qrogSMNAstbVkCa9RKT3vsbGwrBZqe-IIP4Etr4x9vqdXsRHmufKnMjDiwsqjhaFUH42cCYWbrAtJNPJLHEXDE3HjqlgNv6JefV6CB8RkN2GOXjkPqcjAqFugbKOZZ9kDLCQr7l/s1600-h/sushi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFEAo-qrogSMNAstbVkCa9RKT3vsbGwrBZqe-IIP4Etr4x9vqdXsRHmufKnMjDiwsqjhaFUH42cCYWbrAtJNPJLHEXDE3HjqlgNv6JefV6CB8RkN2GOXjkPqcjAqFugbKOZZ9kDLCQr7l/s400/sushi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425252250211402834" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pDon7PV1B7KUMp528_kW9xf6R6fuj7n7umbQtOEWumRrItZJAW9DIWw1bBvRYZTRkjNqFQ7dZFNUH7TXvH_JxqHzkP00JrGUu593BmsIBkmtWgALB3X95C1lRy9fIynnHykkqDyZYbOq/s1600-h/farmers+market+veggies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pDon7PV1B7KUMp528_kW9xf6R6fuj7n7umbQtOEWumRrItZJAW9DIWw1bBvRYZTRkjNqFQ7dZFNUH7TXvH_JxqHzkP00JrGUu593BmsIBkmtWgALB3X95C1lRy9fIynnHykkqDyZYbOq/s400/farmers+market+veggies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425252240207958322" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYcQ2dzeAUsVv1klKfuqJbERaOJS4mMprd-SIEf9JELz4SIIkHXWXRMGq5Gd0sdA4aUV47-TiIcW1R_k6IGx4k8TaxLoM4pccI4PxGBKqu8xN_R-i9L50v_z3Tjcu1wrz8S56JCaTJMGs/s1600-h/persimmons.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYcQ2dzeAUsVv1klKfuqJbERaOJS4mMprd-SIEf9JELz4SIIkHXWXRMGq5Gd0sdA4aUV47-TiIcW1R_k6IGx4k8TaxLoM4pccI4PxGBKqu8xN_R-i9L50v_z3Tjcu1wrz8S56JCaTJMGs/s400/persimmons.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425252238371634130" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Husband and I enjoy strolling through the farmer’s market here in Old Town Temecula. The sights and sounds fill our senses. We buy locally grown veggies, fresh homemade hummus, fruit, or whatever catches our eye that particular morning. Without naming names, (you know who you are), I asked someone to go with us, and their flippant response was, “No thanks. What’s the point? I don’t do outdoor markets.”<br /><br />Okay. Whatever. Not your cup of tea? No skin off my pointy nose.<br /><br />It took The Husband, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">way back in the 80’s when big-haired chicks roamed the planet in acid-washed jeans</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, a couple of years to indoctrinate me into appreciating sushi. Now, I love it. Well, most of it. I won’t touch sea urchin with a ten-foot pole, let alone my mouth. All our kids go wacky for sushi, which by the way is no cheap date. My brother, on the other hand, will not even consider Japanese food. I’ve done my best to make it very clear, don’t even try, you’re wasting your breath trying to convince my brother, (The Husband is big on turning other's into converts), he’s never going to step foot inside our favorite sushi bar, no way Jose.<br /><br />Let me throw a few more well-worn clichés around: one man/woman’s trash is another man/woman’s treasure ~ to each his own ~ whatever turns you on, floats your boat, fires your rocket…<br /><br />I have a friend that’s positively over the moon about bidding for stuff on e-Bay. She’s a storehouse of knowledge about cutting deals and shipping costs. I admit freely to being totally ignorant on the subject, although The Husband has picked up some computer and camera equipment at phenomenal prices. I just haven’t been motivated to check out e-Bay, and my friend thinks I’m losing out on one of life’s greatest pleasures.<br /><br />When it comes to books, music, and movies, our preferences tend to really stand out. I just watched a movie called </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Brother’s Bloom</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, an offbeat film to be sure, but I LOVED it. I probably won’t recommend this film to most people my age because I’m quite certain they won’t appreciate it the way I do. And that’s okay, different strokes for different folks, (more clichés, sorry I can't seem to stop myself.)<br /><br />When it comes to choosing books and movies, I’m constantly amazed at how limited most people’s choices are, mystery buffs tend to stick with mystery, fantasy w/fantasy, romance w/romance, thriller w/thriller, YA w/YA, and so on and so forth. I'm a fairly versatile reader and watcher of movies. I’m multi-dimensional and quite open to new adventures.<br /><br />I wasn’t all that interested in seeing The Kite Runner. I just didn’t have the vaguest idea what it was about, but when The Husband put it one the tube I grabbed my popcorn and joined him. What a great movie! Now, I must read the book. Along those same lines, when my son talked me into reading Harry Potter several years ago, I didn’t expect to enjoy the book as much as I did. We bonded over Rowling's prose, how cool is that? Being flexible pays off at times.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">How about you? Have you given any books or movies a whirl that you normally wouldn't have considered? Do you love something that others think is strange?</span></div><div><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981771317071817483.post-61519874015591531072010-01-08T13:10:00.000-08:002010-01-08T13:21:30.211-08:008 BALL<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXlczhMvLDEGD7gw0DcTQEJXcfsfx5fRK6cTBFcAqHfMJBP09ju1XXEOqckN-x1y96TN4jjvTWt5e4nIoOYs512vfiemmvQ4dZDdNJTGPIg5DCZGC4WClaHJoxZfgF-dZOuP6ONMrziYQ/s1600-h/Eight-Ball-on-with-Shadow-on-Red-Billard-Table-Photographic-Print-C11989375.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXlczhMvLDEGD7gw0DcTQEJXcfsfx5fRK6cTBFcAqHfMJBP09ju1XXEOqckN-x1y96TN4jjvTWt5e4nIoOYs512vfiemmvQ4dZDdNJTGPIg5DCZGC4WClaHJoxZfgF-dZOuP6ONMrziYQ/s400/Eight-Ball-on-with-Shadow-on-Red-Billard-Table-Photographic-Print-C11989375.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424481822699624690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVTR9RjAv-gctqRxB0FMQ48i5XpydRsQoRnWkgDg_IP2GyhMQR0M3s_I4oAqY3Nws8rayhrhD_x3o5rAKKnAKaE-iAjjYAnnQ1df6gb8BUolbdrIWScPpjDS4a23nJY9FcRiUx-BrTxQA/s1600-h/BooksPiledUp_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVTR9RjAv-gctqRxB0FMQ48i5XpydRsQoRnWkgDg_IP2GyhMQR0M3s_I4oAqY3Nws8rayhrhD_x3o5rAKKnAKaE-iAjjYAnnQ1df6gb8BUolbdrIWScPpjDS4a23nJY9FcRiUx-BrTxQA/s400/BooksPiledUp_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424481821047141618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lTPfc-7rmVF1NOH48MFowSXl1ovp48nRI69UGxP9fC4CE63xGOCo-Aqqat2IXRuYSAElyAEtgfqQdxDuGOqMrT4aqw3UTVV9Dydgyu4M7_uZWytpNeSt-3TTXha6bFCKaM0i0ONwlmz9/s1600-h/Novel+Life+.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 348px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lTPfc-7rmVF1NOH48MFowSXl1ovp48nRI69UGxP9fC4CE63xGOCo-Aqqat2IXRuYSAElyAEtgfqQdxDuGOqMrT4aqw3UTVV9Dydgyu4M7_uZWytpNeSt-3TTXha6bFCKaM0i0ONwlmz9/s400/Novel+Life+.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424481810350372898" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The project I’m currently working on requires tons of research. Despite common assumptions, you can’t always find what you need to know on the Internet. It’s inevitable that you’ll have to crack open a book, resort to shopping on e-bay and/or Amazon searching for out of print material, that kind of thing. It’s all very time consuming, but it can also be quite invigorating. I am exhilarated, at this stage of the game anyway. A mile high stack of books stares me in the face. Post-Its all around.<br /><br />Whilst immersed in this research mode I get so enthralled I end up delving in far deeper than necessary—out of sheer curiosity and the hunger to learn more. I’ve got to exercise a little more restraint. Goodness sakes, there are only so many hours in the day. And I’ve got to get some bloody writing done! Not to mention the peskier details of life, feeding, sleeping (not getting much of that), paying bills, car maintenance, laundry, grocery shopping, BLOGGING AND VISITING MY PALS BLOGS, whew! (Wiping brow)<br /><br />As with so many things, one thing often leads to another.<br /><br />I am reminded of the days when schlepped all over town looking for the perfect samples to bring to a client, and how I’d get utterly carried away, picking up ideas and inspiration for my own house, future clients, or my parents and friends. So varied and compelling were the choices, I just couldn’t limit myself. My SUV would be jam-packed with wonderful fabric swatches, tile boards, cabinet door samples, squares of stone, carpet, wood, and stacks of wallpaper books; </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">yay, wallpaper’s back, better patterns and colors than ever before, and with a vengeance, I might add.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Well, you get the picture.<br /><br />Whoa, I think, slow down sister. Don’t bog yourself down. Go in, find what’s crucial, and get out. The writing’s the thing. You can always poke around for more facts if need be. Quit pigging out on knowledge as if you’re some greedy Roman with a trough to spew in when you get too full. I wonder; can one’s brain get too full? Sensory overload?<br /><br />No matter, I’m a fiend, that’s the short and long of it. I’m on a roll, behind the eight ball, and it feels fine.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">FYI: why I wrote that last fantasy post about getting in a car and driving somewhere alone? I pictured myself recharging as I sped along the highway, and words pouring out and onto the keys of my trusty laptop, (once I found a non-descript roadside motel to stay for the night, so as to avoid distraction.) A girl can dream can’t she?<br /><br />What about you? How are all your projects coming along? What’s you current fantasy? Keep it clean ;-)<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><br /></span><br />All Rights Reserved. © 2009 by Elizabeth Bradley.</div>Elizabeth Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03150221675618198674noreply@blogger.com25