Thursday, November 30, 2006


It’s a balmy 20 degrees here this morning, everything is covered in ice, with the promise of a goodly amount of snow arriving throughout the day. One of these days I’ll have a fireplace (or two or three) to curl up in front of, with a good book and cup of hot cocoa. For now, I just have to pretend.

I’ve gotten caught up in a few things lately and forgot to mention, in case you haven’t noticed, Lovi is a copycat and got her own blog. So if you want more of a Google ad selection, you can go visit her and click on her ads. I can guarantee that hers won’t be near as interesting as mine, though. She’s too chicken to mention things like puking or blood and guts or artificial insemination of cows. That kind of stuff gets the good ads, as my readers know.

I’ve picked up a few readers from Lovi’s and Holly’s links and want to welcome them. Somebody was here from France a few days ago, and someone from Brazil has checked in a few times. Hello hello hello! Feel free to leave a comment and tell us a little about yourselves, and don’t forget to click on the Google ads! We’ve been through ads for pet meds, sleep disorders, nausea and vomiting, cow ring tones, and now we’re into clothing.

Where else are you going to find that kind of selection?

Yep, I aim to please!


Tuesday, November 28, 2006

My Mother-in-Law

I have the best mother-in-law. She’s fascinating, interesting, unusual, and as nice as can be.

For those of you that know Hubby, imagine six more of him, all in the same room. Quite the picture, hm? I’ve always said his mother is a saint. If they had had the term back in the days she was raising these seven kids, they all would have been diagnosed with ADHD. Sometimes Hubby alone is more than I can handle. With seven—I would have owned stock in valium.

Several times I have heard the story of how Ma would wake up in the morning and pray for patience to deal with my hubby. Sometimes I wish I had heard the story before we got married.

Ma’s love of learning must have come from her mom. Her mom was an avid reader and writer, and her parents published a newspaper. Ma loves to read, and not New York Times bestsellers. She reads to learn.

I think she’s open to any idea to learn. She is currently a student at a university in her area, taking an art class. She’s done many kinds of paintings and sculpture. She has read magazines and books to learn techniques and improve her skills.

She has lived in New Mexico, Colorado, and Missouri. She’s kept the books for a construction business her husband owned, worked at a bank, as a realtor, and as an aide in a nursing home. Those are just the things I can think of, and she has all kinds of stories—mostly about the things she learned while living in different areas and working in the various professions.

I enjoy listening to her—she is so enthusiastic. She is the best grandma, and they adore her. She is interested in everyone and everything about them. Her favorite line is: “Tell me a story.”

I love her uniqueness and independence. She enjoys her solitude and life on her farm, although she just rents the land out now. She likes to take little trips, but it’s not unusual for her to leave for home a day or two earlier than anticipated. And you best tell her good-bye before you go to bed, because when she’s ready to go, she’s gone long before dawn.

I married into an extremely “hespis” family, but I think I got a pretty good deal, especially when it comes to my mother-in-law.


Sunday, November 26, 2006

P. S.

Lainy pointed out that I forgot to mention something.

It was a beautiful day, so Lainy and I were outside keeping the occasional smoker and my dog (not the one that got lost) company.

My son came outside with a “bridegroom’s shirt” (very nice) that he was going to put in the car. Turns out that eldest brother-in-law had gone to Mexico for business. He had brought back all kinds of goodies, so he laid them out on the table for everyone and my son had chosen the shirt. He told us to go in and pick something.

Lainy decided she would stay outside with the dog, so I told her I’d choose something for her. (Yes, I know, I’m just thoughtful that way. I wasn’t going to tell this story, being the Modest Maude that I am, but she insisted.)

BiL had gotten some really neat things: hats, t-shirts, ceramic hand painted iguana, Christmas bear with a sombrero, and mask, and some laser art etched cubes. I chose a t-shirt.

Lainy got a whip, but she’ll have to wait until Christmas for the chains.

Now see, aren’t I the best sister-in-law?


Saturday, November 25, 2006

My Holiday

I enjoy Thanksgiving. Five of the seven brothers and sisters live out of town/state, so Thanksgiving is usually a reunion for Hubby’s family. We all meet at his sister’s house for dinner Thanksgiving Day.

With Ma, all the brothers and sisters, and their spouses and kids, there are about twenty (give or take) that descend upon the unsuspecting small town. It makes for quite an interesting day. One of my favorite parts is that I don’t have to cook or clean a house before or after the assault.

This year, twenty-two of us sat down at the table to eat a magnificent feast my sister-in-law had prepared. There was the usual catching up to be done, as this is the only time most of us see each other. There was the traditional “I am thankful for…” statement from everyone. There was money to be made and lost by those that played Texas Hold ‘Em. There were dogs to be lost and found. There were children left behind at the park.

Yes, while my son was chasing down an errant tennis ball, everyone else loaded up and left. They thought he was in the other vehicle, so when they got to the house, Hubby had to go back and get him. Poor kid. Good thing he doesn’t have self-esteem issues!

It was a beautiful day to share with family and I’m glad I have such a fun group of in-laws.


Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Happy Thanksgiving

“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.” (Psalm 107:1)

Enjoy the holiday and time spent with family and friends. For those traveling, have a safe journey.


Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Beta Blogger

Holly had asked about BetaBlogger the other day. I’m not sure how she could tell I had switched to it, but I did. I logged on to post a new blog one day and it gave me the option of upgrading, so I did.

New bloggers to this blogsite are now automatically enrolled under the Beta version. Eventually, all blogspot bloggers will have to convert, and they’re starting the process. Maybe since my blog is fairly new and will be quicker or easier to switch they picked me out fairly early. I don’t know how they’re doing it.

Once you get your template set up the way you like, Blogger is fairly easy to use. No need really for knowledge about html, css, or whatever all that jargon is. The Beta version has its good points and bad points. Actually, the bad points are probably good points I just haven’t figured out yet. (Ok, I finally have, but it took a while. So if you have problems, maybe I can help)

Getting a Google account, which is required to switch to Beta, is easy. You will use your e-mail address and a password to sign in. I didn’t really notice any other changes until I decided to update my template. Once you click on that particular button, well, I hope you have a backup copy.

Making changes to your template should be easier for those of us that are web page challenged. Except for a few things that have taken me days to fix.

SiteMeter went away, but it can be added back in, and didn’t change the numbers. However, when you go to reinstall it, you will have to go back to SiteMeter and get the correct code for the Beta version. Then, don’t use the “Add a page element” at the bottom of your layout page, otherwise the logo will be on the left side of the page. To center it nicely at the bottom of your page, go to the “Edit HTML” and paste the code in to the bottom. I’d have to double check it to say exactly where.

I haven’t tried this, but you might also think about putting it in your sidebar, underneath all your other goodies. I’m just not sure if it will center in the sidebar, or stay to the left. And I don’t think it’s really necessary to put it in the sidebar unless you’re using the version that shows the number of hits and want it to be more visible.

AdSense had changed locations and I had to put it back. It was also a different size, and when I went in for the easy edit, it worked fine, except it doesn’t have the option I used to have. So I had to go back to AdSense and get the code for that.

For your convenience, I have also added a web search bar, and if you’re interested in Firefox, click on the link in my sidebar. I’m rather pleased with it, it has some nice features.

For a nominal fee, I will be glad to answer other questions.


Sunday, November 19, 2006

Appropriate Church Attire

I’m having an internal debate with my selves, and I guess I’m getting a bit frustrated.

Talking with some friends the other day, we got on the topic of what to wear to church. I said I always figured God didn’t care what I was wearing, He was just glad I was there. Then one of the other gals mentioned that it said in the bible that we are supposed to dress in our best attire.

Ms. Missouri reared up and said: “Show Me.”

So I’ve been searching in spare moments for that passage and can’t find it. I’d be appreciative if someone can point it out for me.

In the meantime, there’s quite a bit of discussion about what to wear to church going on out there in cyberspace. It ranges from ‘be comfortable” to “ dress as if you were attending dinner with a king.” “Modesty” was mentioned quite frequently.

Apparently, you’re not being respectful of God if you aren’t wearing your “Sunday best.” Apparently, you’re a slut if any cleavage shows. Apparently, some people judge you on what you wear to church. Apparently, others judge only themselves.

Obviously, I have only confused myself. There are pros and cons to both sides. However, I find that the “dress in your best” side makes me feel guilty, and that irritates me.

Mind you, I dress nicely for church. However, my idea of nice and other’s idea is probably vastly different. A few pounds ago, I wore dresses or skirts or slacks, but I had plenty of them, and not many occasions other than church to wear them. Now, jeans and a shirt, or even a nice pair of shorts, work for me.

Shorts seem to be one of the most controversial—a big no-no. We go to another church when we are out of town visiting family. A very long time ago, someone said as we were leaving for Mass that shorts were not appropriate for church. I was wearing shorts, but it was dismissed because they were culotte-like.

I never thought anything about it again until we were there this past summer. Being an extremely hot weekend, I was wearing shorts. I really don’t pay attention to what others are wearing in order to judge them, but if your eyes are open, of course you are going to notice things. “I wonder how she got her hair to do that?” “I really like that blouse, I wonder where she got it?”

As people were going to communion, after a while, I got to thinking that I hadn’t seen anyone in shorts. Naturally, I focused on that and checked out everyone else that went by. No shorts, not even on kids. So I started feeling uncomfortably self-conscious.

I’m disgusted with myself for being bothered by what other people might have thought of me. I shouldn’t care. However, now I’m probably going to wonder any time I’m there again during the summer: if I wear shorts, is it because I’m ok with it, or would it be in protest, to say “I don’t care what you think about me?”

I think I’m sticking with the “be comfortable” side. If you’re at church and not trying to turn on the cute next-door neighbor with your clothing, you’re good to go. I know Mass is a celebration and is deserving of my best efforts. But I have to think that if I’m having a bad day and don’t feel like messing with my hair and don’t have anything other than jeans and a t-shirt that’s clean, God would much rather I showed up to church dressed like that, than to not go at all.

I wonder if the people that are upset about what people wear to church still wear a chapel veil, like we were required to do back in the good old days?


Thursday, November 16, 2006

Lovi's Log

Good grief!! No sooner do I get off the phone from Lovi chewing me out, than Holly calls. At least she started off with something nice: “They’ve finally got new ads.” But they’re both on my case because I haven’t put up a new post in over two days. Shame on me! Lovi said it’s bad enough if I don’t have a new one every day, it’s even worse if Holly doesn’t have a new one, either (and I won’t even mention the SNSS, who, again, hasn’t posted in ages). I told Lovi that Holly had TWO new blogs today, so I should be off the hook. Oh no, not good enough.


You’d think I did this for a living. It’s a good thing I get paid to put up with this harassment.

Speaking of getting paid. Hubby and I were on our way home from dinner to celebrate our 20th anniversary when I mentioned to him I was getting a check from the ads on my blog. “What, three cents?” he said. “Actually,” I said, “I’ve made at least $50.” “No way,” he said. “Yuh huh,” I said. “You get paid to write a blog?” “Yep.” So he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, like “what’s the world coming to?”

I was telling Lovi about that conversation and she said “$50???” “Yep,” I said, “at this rate, I’ll have most of my plane ticket to New York paid for in a couple of years.”

I think I heard her falling out of her chair. She was still back on the $50. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said. “No.” “Fifty bucks?” “Yep.” “I can’t believe it. Where do I sign up?”

Greedy Monster.


Tuesday, November 14, 2006

A Conversation With Mary

Lovi sent this to me in an e-mail. Someone had written: “Wouldn’t you love to know what her conversation is about?” I wrote Lovi back and told her she’s saying: “Parents—can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em……what’s a kid to do?”

I suppose she could have been saying: “Did you see what that brat across the street did? I told him he would be in big trouble. Boys just never listen!”

How about: “Can we talk about my bedtime? If I clean my plate, can I stay up an extra hour and watch ‘Desperate Housewives’?”

“I think it’s time for a baby brother. Talk to the folks, would you?”

“I need to have a word with you about my allowance.”

“If I can’t have a brother, how about a puppy for Christmas?”

“While we’re on the subject, will it be a white Christmas?”

“A cat?”

“What do you think about this election crap?”

“C’mon, a hamster? Please?”

“Helloooooooo, anybody in there?”

My teenage age daughter was literally lying on the floor laughing when I came up with some of these. What do you think little Anna is saying?


Sunday, November 12, 2006

Thank You, Dear Readers

I received an e-mail from Google the other day, notifying me that my ads had generated enough revenue to send me a check! I am so excited!

Special thanks to my sister-in-law, Lainy, who reads and clicks every day. And to Rabbit, who clicked on sleeping and weight loss ads, even though he has no problems in either area. If you all read his comments at Holly’s or LawDog’s blogs, you’ll see he always signs off with “Regards, Rabbit,” the same as he did here. I just think that is the neatest thing. He said he was taught well by his grandmother, and I hope we have lots of grandmas just like her out there.

Thanks to Gbro and mattg and phlegmfatale, who came by way of Holly, and sister Lovi, and of course, my sisters-of-the-heart Az, Cait, and Holly. And just in case she’s waiting for someone to notice and comment, Cait has lately been signing off her comments with “Cheers.”

I think that’s most of you from my daily average of 11 visitors according to SiteMeter, but I don’t know who the others are. Although, I think I’m getting as addicted to SiteMeter as Holly is. It’s amazing to see some of the cities and countries visitors come from.

I really am having a lot of fun writing this and I especially look forward to the comments. Holly, I have to warn you, though, I may have to go back to the word verification one of these days. I’ve already had one spam comment, obviously someone that didn’t have a grandma like Rabbit’s.

Thanks again for reading and clicking those ads. New York, here I come!


Saturday, November 11, 2006

Thank You, Veterans

I received an e-mail with the picture and short story about the Air Force sergeant that comforted a small Iraqi girl whose family members had been executed. This is one of the things of which our soldiers are proud, what makes leaving family and friends behind a little more bearable.

Like so many of you, I have family and friends that have served, are serving, and will serve overseas. I am so proud of them.

The last few years, my focus has been that of a family member with a deployed soldier. But I am also a veteran, and very proud of those that have come before and after me. It is an honor to have served with many of them.

God Bless America and God bless our vets. Amen.


Friday, November 10, 2006


I have been threatened.

Holly sent an e-mail, challenging the four sisters-of-the-heart, the next time we are together, to eat a “teensy, tiny, eensy, ittsy, bittsy” bite of a calf fry. Should we refuse, she will out us in her blog and call us names.

I know calf fries by the name of mountain oysters; Az called them Rocky Mountain Oysters. Holly’s Dearly Beloved described them as a little grainy, kind of like liver (which ends the discussion right there for me), and a light meat—but not as light as chicken or rabbit. Az said they reminded her of chicken gizzards (which again ends the discussion as far as I’m concerned). Cait said she thought they tasted like chicken fried steak.

You know what that means, don’t you? I’m the only one that hasn’t/won’t eat them.

I told Holly if I had to eat them I would puke on her. She said fine, as long as I don’t puke in her nice, pretty car. (It’s a convertible, it’s not like she can’t air it out!) She said I could try it with some wine. I told her I’d puke fries and wine on her. Then she suggested that I could get drunk. I told her then I’d puke all kinds of stuff on her.

She’s laughing at me the whole time.

I don’t butcher the cows, so I don’t have a problem eating hamburger or steak. However, I know where those calf fries come from and have helped harvest them. Uh-uh, no way, I am NOT gonna eat them.

I don’t do puke, either, even my own kids’. You know, when you work in the ER, you just have to deal with stuff. I don’t work in the ER anymore, so I don’t have to deal with stuff anymore. To this day, I have a clear picture of myself, pregnant, standing next to Bed 6, everyone else is on break, and a drunk is puking all over my hand.

Nope, I don’t do puke. Or calf fries/mountain oysters.

So, she’s going to call me a Weiner and a Wanker. Now you don’t have to bother going to her blog today.


Thursday, November 09, 2006


I had to learn all kinds of things when we moved back up here to a farm and got cattle. Such as, they really were smarter than Hubby gave them credit for.

I remember the first time a cow lost a calf during birth. She walked all around, calling for her baby. It was very sad. (I always said I should have been a vet instead of a nurse because I had a lot more sympathy for most animals than some of the people I cared for.)

They are also very protective. One time a deer jumped over a fence into the pasture, which caused a bit of a stir. The mama cows were grazing, and before they could get back to the herd, the older calves had surrounded the babies.

I learned things like this because we were using artificial insemination and that meant we (which usually meant me) had to go out twice a day to watch for signs of heat. But that’s another story.

Anyway, I learned there were certain factors involved with what a cow was called. In fact, a cow was actually not a cow until she had her first calf. Until then, she was a heifer. A bull calf became a steer when he was castrated (ohhhh, another story!).

And a steer brought up to the pen to be fed out with grain was called…………T-Bone.


Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Connect the Dots

Lovi called this morning to make sure I had voted. “Straight ticket Democrat, right?” she asked. “Yeah, right,” I said (we don’t have a straight ticket option anymore), “I pushed my little pen for straight ticket.” “You had to press something?” she asked, “Wow, you all are high tech. We got to connect the dots.”

I had to slip my ballot inside a box. There were holes in the box next to each choice, and I had to take a stylus and press down inside the hole of my choice. This stamped a black mark on my ballot. Seemed simple enough and fairly chad proof, until I removed the ballot from the box to slide it into the counting machine. I saw that some of my black marks were smaller than others, not completely round or filling the circle. I sure hope they counted those. But at least if they have to hand count, it’s not difficult to tell the difference between a black mark and a blank spot.

Lovi, on the other hand, had two dots next to each choice, and she had to draw a line between the two dots of her choice. Sounds pretty foolproof, unless you get someone that’s really nervous and shaking, that can’t draw a straight line. Who gets the vote if it waivers between the Damnocrat and Republican?

I’m hoping for the next election that we’ll get to paint by numbers.


Monday, November 06, 2006

Poor Google

I really think they don’t quite know what to do with me. My understanding is that they try to get a feel for your blog to determine what kinds of ads to use.

First, there’s some lag time before the “appropriate” type of ad shows up. Cait was getting a little tired of learning about tumors in cats and dogs, or where to get the best deals for pet meds, before they finally found new material.

Second, it seems they’re evidently only using key words, or some other system besides actually reading the blog. Holly pointed out there was an ad for the Red Cross the other day. And that was after I wrote not one, but two blogs, lambasting the Red Cross—two weeks ago. I guess they figured I didn’t want to volunteer for the Red Cross, maybe I’d want to work for them instead.

I think they’re getting a little more variety now. We’ve moved past the pet info to law enforcement training, flight lessons, nursing schools and degrees, weight loss, and even choir fund raising.

The only thing is, they choose ads based on the content of my blogs, but I’m not allowed to click on those ads. So I can’t find out more about the things I’m interested in!

Although I guess I can see where it would be a problem with clicking on one’s own ads to make money.

Darn it. But just wait until I throw them my next curve ball.


Sunday, November 05, 2006

I've Created a Monster

You may recall Holly’s comment about being disappointed if she comes here and sees the same old thing posted.

I was talking to my “blood” sister, Lovi, the other day, and she was giving me a hard time about not having a new post every single day. It seems she’s grown accustomed to making blog rounds with her morning pot of coffee.

Great. You know, she used to go to the newspaper’s website.

So I told her that really wasn’t fair. Holly doesn’t always post every day. Neither does Holly's Snot-Nosed Stepson. I told Lovi I was about ready to complain to him once because he hadn’t posted in almost TWO weeks! The only one that posts almost every day (and thank goodness for that!) is LawDog.

“So?” she said.

I should have told her to start her own blog.


Saturday, November 04, 2006

To ID or Not To ID?

Near as I can figure, the Democrats swear that requiring ID to vote is a sinister Republican plot to keep Democrats from voting. Heck, if it’ll keep “Jon Carry” from being elected, I’m all for it.

Can somebody please explain to me exactly what the problem is with requiring ID? You have to prove who you are to get a driver’s license or passport. You have to show your ID to buy cigarettes or liquor. Some places require ID if you use your credit card. Some doctor’s offices are starting to ask for it. I went for a physical therapy evaluation yesterday, and even THAT office wanted my driver’s license.

So why is it “discrimination” to require ID to vote? Is there anybody that doesn’t drive, travel out of the country, buy cigarettes or liquor, use a credit card, or go to the doctor—that wants to vote?

I really don’t understand what the fuss is all about. I think you should have to prove you are who you say you are and that you meet the requirements to vote. Maybe not every single time, although I still don’t see what the big deal is. You have to show them something, it would be a lot easier for me to show them my driver’s license than to try to remember where I keep that stupid little piece of paper they send. Add a little box to the driver’s license for a Y or N that says you’re eligible to vote or not.

If it’s still an issue, at least require the documentation to register to vote. And do away with registering by mail, just to keep everybody honest.


Thursday, November 02, 2006

Men Are From Mars

Listening to the (so far) non-Christmas radio station on the way back from dropping the girls off at school, the hosts were discussing a study that some anthropologists had conducted. Seems our sleeping habits can be traced back to caveman days. Seventy percent of men prefer to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door, due to their protective nature. (How noble.) If the man is not home, the woman prefers to sleep on the man’s side or to cuddle his pillow. (How sweet.) However, when the woman is away, the man spreads out over the whole bed. (He waits until she’s gone??????)

Well, I’m one of the 30% that says I don’t care which side of the bed is closest to the door, my side of the bed is my side of the bed; so keep your behind (and head and shoulders and legs and feet) on your side of the bed.

And sleep on his side of the bed? Are you nuts? When Hubby is gone, I wash the sheets so I have a nice clean bed that I can spread out all over. It’s not just my side of the bed anymore, it’s my bed.

(However, I do have to admit that while he was in Iraq, I liked to keep his leather jacket close.)

So, I don’t think I’m from Mars or Venus. More likely Pluto. Yeah, the planet that was declared a non-planet. Hm, I wonder if they play non-Christmas music eleven out of twelve months of the year?


Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Bah Humbug

We have at least two radio stations that play continuous Christmas music. When it started out several years ago, the music began playing on Thanksgiving Day.

Sure, ok, that’s fine.

The next year, somebody like the idea so much and evidently couldn’t stand the wait, so the music started maybe a week before Thanksgiving. Since then, it’s started earlier and earlier.

I’m taking my daughter and the neighbor girl to school this morning, turn up the radio to listen for the traffic report, and I hear a Christmas song.

“Maybe it’s just the one song, to start getting us in the mood,” I thought.

Next song: Christmas. People are calling in, requesting their favorite Christmas song and saying they’re so happy the station is playing Christmas music. The station ads are about “your Christmas music station.”


I switched stations.

Now, I enjoy Christmas music. Truly. At Christmas time. And 1 November, the day after Halloween, is NOT Christmas time.

Please, give me a break. People complained about how commercialized Christmas was becoming, with stores putting out Christmas displays earlier and earlier. Have we become immune to this immersion?

I can do a month of Christmas music. Not two. I’m sick of Christmas songs before we even get to the Christmas season. Actually, it’s not really the songs I’m sick of, it’s the idea of spending 1/6th of the year listening to it. You can’t wait for it? Play ONE song every now and then. Not non-stop for two months.

Next thing you know, they’re going to start having the After Thanksgiving Sales in June, before Christmas in July.