My deepest apologies

     I have to apologize for being away from my blogs for the past several days.  I have lots of news to share, very soon and I will be back, just as soon as I can.  Please bear with me.  I'll be busy throughout the weekend, but as The Terminator might say, "I'll be BACK!"

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

As Long As He Knows Its His Fault

     Ya' know how some days its hard to do anything wrong?  No?  Oh.  Well, neither do I.  Then, ya' know how easy it is to blame someone else?  No?  Oh.  Well, I don't, either.  However, I might know a little bit about how it's natural to yell for the nearest possible Blamee helper when things don't work out quite the way I want them to.

     Okay, here's how it all unfolded:  there I was, minding my own business.  I reached for a book and, before I knew what had happened, the cup of milk I wanted to dunk my graham crackers in was lounging all over my pants legs and socks.  Well, no, that's not right, either.  See, the cup had stayed behind, apparently offering up its contents as some kind of sacrifice or sick joke.  At any rate, I was surrounded by milk in every direction.  All over the floor, my clothes, my shoes and... my self-esteem.

     Who did I call?  "My Good Hubby-Buddy!"

     Well, no, I didn't exactly say it like that.  He does have a nickname, ya' know?  "MGHB!"

     The point is, the milk hadn't even reached the floor, before his name had attacked his ears.  For about half a second, I contemplated how this could possibly be his fault.  Fortunately, I tucked that thought safely away for when I would REALLY need it.  I say fortunately because I'm sure, if I had tried to blame my good hubby-buddy, he would not have been nearly as helpful as he was.  Since I was all sweet and loving and didn't blame him for what was obviously his fault, he helped remove the results of his clumsiness.

     In case you're wondering how this became his fault, I should explain that we established years ago that when things go right, I am the hero and when they go wrong, it is his fault.  It keeps all that nasty decision-making to a minimum, when a situation calls for our quick thinking.

     So, before you find yourself in a similar situation, be sure to have a discussion with your hubby-buddy to establish some ground-rules.  If you work it right, he might just think that it was his idea.  Then, everybody's happy, right?

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Saturday Should NOT Fall On Monday!

     Yee-Haw!  I have finally figured out that Friday through Monday are VERY  busy days.  In fact, Tuesday through Thursday aren't terribly slack, if you ask me.  How do so many of you do it?  How do you have specific days for what you write?  I've tried.  I've really, really tried to break it down so I could have Saturdays for games.  Evidently, though, its not gonna' work out, that way.

     I still wanna' post word games for you, though.  In the first place, you seem to enjoy them.  In the second place, I love making them.  And in the third place, well.  hmmmm.  Well, I just don't know what the third place is.  A little help?

     So, here's what I was thinking:  Instead of posting a game on the same day each week, I will post a game as often as seems reasonable (hopefully, at least once a week) and you can come here and play.  Also, instead of waiting to post the answers on another day, how's about I have a place where the answers Live?  That way, when you feel you have your puzzle solved, you can check and make sure.  Sound like a plan?

     Any thoughts on this would be greatly appreciated.  I'll let you in on a little secret, too.  I Loooooove blogging.  In fact, I think my mama was right.  She said that I loved to talk so much that, one day, if I wasn't careful, I would run out of words.  Hah!  I think I may have found a way around that little problem.  As long as I can write and share on my blogs, I can talk and talk and talk and NEVER run out of words on accounta' I'm not really speaking!  Am I clever, or what?
     I'll put a link on each of my other blogs so everyone will know what's happening.  In this way, when I am in a Game-Making mood, I can Have a Ball.  And when I feel like sharing stories, well, I can do that, too.  Whaddya' think?  Is this something that you might enjoy?  Lemme' know your thoughts and we'll work from there, k?  Thank you all for your support and kind words.  So many of you have given me great advice and continue to help me out in so many ways.  I truly appreciate it, more than I can say.  So, don't be shy.  Keep sharing your views with me.  And 'til the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

I Am NOT A Houseplant!

     My good hubby-buddy says I'm turning into a houseplant.  I don't think I am because I checked my fingers and all my toes and there are no signs of twigs or branches that I can see.  Just because I've only been out of the house perhaps a dozen times in the last seven months doesen't make me a houseplant, ya' know.  Silly Hubby-Buddy.

     So, yesterday, he talked me into going out to the store with him.  It was a little odd when I stepped out into the daylight and was compelled to turn my face toward the sun.  Well, no.  I s'pose that's natural.  However, I'm still trying to figure out why my arms suddenly rose and my hands began reacting much like sunflowers, with the palms following the warmth as if they needed nourishment of whatever it is that the sun offers.  Ah!  Maybe I was just yawning and stretching and didn't notice.  Because I am not turning into a houseplant.  Nosirrrrreeee!  I am not.

     We decided to drive around a little bit and look at some of the houses.  We haven't done this in awhile and I must admit, I do enjoy a relaxing drive.  At one point, as we headed west, we were gifted with the most gorgeous burst of fire in the sky.  It was as if the sun suddenly realized what time of day it was and threw all her beauty out at once in a blast of sunset.

     My body leaped forward, hands resting against the window, palms up.  I craned my neck towards the last moments of light and closed my eyes... almost all the way.  I didn't want to miss the beauty that had been offered, after all, and every part of me stretched to enjoy the warmth of Mother Nature's bounty.  But its not because I'm turning into a houseplant because I'm not.  Turning into a houseplant, I mean.  I'm not a houseplant.

     As we arrived back home, the red-gold beauty in the sky  was just about to fade into the far horizon.  I stepped out of the car and turned toward the west.  I stretched as far as these tired bones would allow.  Then, curiously, I began to relax, my head slowly drooping and arms resting against my sides.

     My good hubby-buddy, having parked the car, walked towards me and asked, "What are you doing?"

     "What?  Oh, nothing," I responded nervously, straightening up and heading into the house.

     "You look like a sunflower at the end of the day."  Hubby-Buddy quipped.

     "No, I don't!  I'm just tired."

     "I knew it!  You really are turning into a houseplant!"  He was beginning to annoy me.

     I hurried inside and found a comfortable place where I could just vegetate.  Now, I ask you, does that sound like I'm turning into a houseplant?  I don't think so.

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

My Brothers And The High-Heeled Shoes

     I was raised with three brothers, two older and one younger.  My sister was born many years later and we were mostly grown, by the time she came on the scene.  As the only girl amongst boys, I had a tendency to lean more towards being a tomboy than girly things.  As I got older, I guess my brothers, particularly Oldest Brother and Second Brother, felt the need to help me lean back the other way.

     I was eleven years old and in fifth grade.  There was a pre-teen dance coming up and I had been asked to go with a young man from my class.  Although I always thought of this as my first date, I can't really think it was a date.  In the first place, my dad drove me to his house to pick Ronnie up and at the end of the two hour dance, my dad returned to deliver us both back home, him first, of course.  But I'm getting waaaaaaaay ahead of the story, here.

     On the day of the dance, it being Saturday, my mama took me shopping for my very first pair of high heeled shoes.  How clearly I remember, they were a full one inch tall.  I thought I was gonna' stop the show.  I was sooooo proud.

     When I got home, I couldn't wait to put those shoes on and show 'em off.  I must have put on quite a display because Oldest Brother and Second Brother immediately took me in hand.  We lived in an appartment that had a long hall and Oldest Brother and Second Brother kept me there for the next four hours, learning how to walk in heels.  Thank Heavens those shoes only had one-inch heels.  I might have killed myself in them, otherwise.  Who knew that walking in heels was NOTHING like clunking around in sneakers?!?

     At the time, I couldn't care less if my brothers thought I looked like I was walking through a field, dodging cow patties.  Looking back, though, its one of my favorite memories.  That my brothers cared enough to stay with me for four long hours is amazing.  After all, they were teenagers, with buddies and girlfriends and lives of their own.  I have often wondered, though, if others brothers do the same for their sisters.

     Do you have a favorite memory from your childhood?  I surely hope you write it down for your posterity.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Two Famous Roosters

     Perhaps you've read some of my posts about what great farming skills my family displayed while we lived in the country?  If so, then you know that one of our better talents was loving the animals.  In fact, we loved them so much that we didn't eat our own animals.  They were our friends, after all.

     Well, let me tell you about two of our friends.  One was named Cogburn.  The other we called Captain Hook.  The story of how they acquired such names is very interesting, but that's for another time.  For now, I'd like to tell you how these roosters gained fame in the neighborhood.

     One of the more interesting and less desirable jobs, when you raise chickens, is slaughter day.  Since we knew that slaughter day was coming up, we told our children to find some way of marking the two young roosters that had become family pets so they wouldn't wind up in the soup  Not ours, of course.  Trusting that the kids would find a way to follow through on this task, we said no more, until the day arrived.

     Shortly before we started setting up the necessary equipment for getting the job done, we noticed that the roosters had, indeed, been marked... all over.  The mark was only supposed to last for a couple of days.  Who knew the kids would use food coloring?  And who knew chicken feathers would soak up the color so well?

     For weeks, Rooster Cogburn and Captain Hook pranced around, just as if they knew they were the only blue roosters on the planet.  Then, about three weeks later, someone offered us $300 apiece for those little beauties.  It was awfully tempting, that's for sure, but we knew we couldn't sell 'em.  They were our friends, after all

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Mother Nature's Best Trick

     Its not quite 7:00 AM and I have been up for several hours.  It appears that the blizzard is calming down, although I am very guarded about whether this is true or just a lull in Mother Nature's fury.  Maybe today will bring warmth and sunshine, eh?  I certainly hope so.  On Red Wagon Flights, I have posted about my very first giveaway.  I would love it if you'd check it out and enter.

     Mother Nature does seem to be carrying an attitude, this winter, don'tcha' think?  It might interest you to know that last Friday the United States was blessed with a remarkable phenomenon.  Originally, I thought that snow had fallen in every state in the US, except Hawaii.  As it turns out, I was wrong.  Hawaii also had snow.

     I don't know how this information makes you feel.  I am doing a happy dance because it happened in MY Lifetime!  Can you believe it?  Snow in all fifty states on the same day!  Very, very coooool, if you ask me.  No pun intended, but of course, it was kind of a neat accident, wasn't it?

     Be sure to wrap up warmly and stay inside.  I'm not sure that Mother Nature is ready for us to go outside, quite yet.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

A Day Late, A Dollar Short And Three Hundred Years To Go

     I am a bad, bad blogger.  I am behind and it will take me three hundred years, seven months and nineteen days to get caught up with all that I need to get caught up with.  I have not posted my games this week.  I have not posted my answers for last week.  I'm not sure, but I think I have not even remembered to breathe, for the last three weeks.  I did notice a tinge of blue coloring around the gills, when I glanced in the mirror, this morning.  I hope that I am smart enough to take a breath for survival, before it is too late.  If you happen to see that I am lying down in the middle of my blogging and turned completely blue, please send for help or do what's necessary to resuscitate me.  I shall be forever grateful and save my haunting for another day.

     Here's a new kind of game for you.  Using the code-key below, can you read the message that follows?  The top row is what it should be and the bottom row is the letter that has replaced the actual letter in the message.  A = D, B = C, etc.

Heavenly Father's Love On Valentine's Day

 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

 D C B N O J I G L K S F M X Z H Y T U R Q A V E W P

   
DXN   L   DM   JLFFON   VLRG   BGDTLRW,   VGLBG   LU   OAOTFDURLXI   FZAO;  VGOTOJZTO,  DFF   BGLFNTOX   DTO   DFLSO   QXRZ   MO;   VGOTOJZTO,   L   FZAO   FLRRFO   BGLFNTOX   VLRG   D   HOTJOBR   FZAO;   DXN   RGOW   DTO   DFF   DFLSO   DXN   HDTRDSOTU   ZJ   UDFADRLZX.

     I really will post answers to last week's puzzle and this code, in the next few days. Have fun. Then, let me know if you like this kind of a game, okay? Happy Valentine's Day!  And 'til the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Fear and Trembling

     I just got word that there was an earthquake in southern Illinois.  Having lived in California, a number of times, the idea of an earthquake that measured 5.3 on the Richter Scale doesn't sound terribly bad.  That is, until you consider that Illinois and the surrounding states are not accustomed to the ground starting up like a hot-rod engine and traveling under its own power.

     Years ago, I read quite a bit about the New Madrid Fault, where the recent earthquake originated, it seems.  In 1811 and 1812, New Madrid was so active that more than 2,000 tremors shook the earth in a five-month period.  Five of those quavering land movements measured 8.0 or more, in magnitude.  The seismic energy that shook the earth was actually several times larger than the quake that did so much damage in San Francisco in 1906.

     Having experienced numerous tremors when I lived in California and one very bad shaking situation that I thought was an earthquake and I was about to die when I lived in Washington state, I dread to think how much damage an 8.0 magnitude earthquake would do.  In 1811-1812, quakes in Missouri actually rang bells on the Eastern Seaboard and destroyed the land so badly in the Missouri Bootheel that it was unfit for farmers for many years.

     I do hope we've seen the last of the effects from The New Madrid Fault.  It hasn't been that long ago that we saw, in Haiti, just how devastating an earthquake can be.  Mother Nature seems to have her own set of rules and guidelines.  I only hope that she will settle down very soon.  This winter season has seen a little too much destruction and devastation for comfort. 

     May we all continue to be safe from harm and have the opportunity to enjoy Mother Nature's beauty, for many years to come.  Be safe and warm.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Watch Me Get Organized

     I am so far behind on pretty-much everything I'm s'posed to be doing.  This is not intended as an excuse or means of relieving myself of guilt, as I should have a better handle on everything I do.  I am four years old, after all.  However, I lost myself in learning, yesterday, and I shall be forever grateful for the time spent in gaining the knowledge that I have.

     Organization is something that seems to elude me, in many ways.  Oh, my home is not a terror or anything like that.  In fact, we enjoy the peace of clutter-free living throughout every area of our home... except my office.  And though it is, for the most part, clutter free, improvements would greatly enhance my life.

     Now, you would think that, being a writer, I would find great pleasure in having my workspace free of stressful clutter-spots.  And you're right.  When I am in control, my whole existence is better.  And please don't misunderstand.  For the most part, even my office is somewhat organized.  But organization is not something that comes naturally for me.  Having Dyslexia and Adult ADD creates a sense of permanent confusion in my mind that is difficult to overcome and I have to concentrate Very Hard to accomplish the orderly surroundings that I crave for my own little area.

     Enter Kathryn Lay.  I was greatly blessed by learning from this fine lady and you may wish to seek out her book, The Organized Writer Is A Selling Writer.  Since I did mention her accomplishments in yesterday's post, I will only advise, again, that if you want to increase your writing income, I sincerely believe that Kathryn can help.  I have bought the book and I fully expect there to be great improvement in my life.

     How about you?  Are you ready to sell more of what you write?  Are you going to move forward in your efforts?  Then, this is one of the best writing tools I have ever seen.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

The Organized Writer

     Good morning.  I'm awfully late posting, this morning, but I've been learning so much about writing and organizing and so much more that I do hope you'll forgive me.  There is a place where I go to learn, as often as I can.  Its called the Writer's Retreat and, among other useful things about being there, they have an author visit each month or, thereabouts.  The author visits are not always on the same day, but I have learned some very useful information from so many authors that I try never to miss one of the guest author visits.

     If you aspire to being published or being published more often, I strongly recommend that you visit the Writer's Retreat.  The support and encouragement that you'll receive there will greatly enhance your determination to further your career.  Also, you can ask any question, anytime, and someone will help you with whatever you need.

     I've been writing for many years and had published quite a bit, but until I began visiting the Writer's Retreat, my confidence wasn't where it should be, as a writer.  I now have more confidence and more knowledge of the market and what my focus is, as a result of having learned so much on the Writer's Retreat.

     Again, I encourage you, if you wish to further your writing career, go visit and enjoy all that can be learned at Writer's Retreat.  For the record, the guest author, today, is Kathryn Lay.  She has published over 1600 articles, essays and stories included in magazines and anthologies.  Her latest book is called, "The Organized Writer Is A Selling Writer."  This lady truly knows how to get her work published and she's willing to share her knowledge and her organizational skills with us.  So, hurry!  This is her last day.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Two Miracles In One Day!

     Don't you just loooooove Blog Valley?  Yesterday, I was given two gifts, because I blog, that I might never have known about, otherwise.  Here in Blog Valley, we enjoy something that none of our predecessors ever had; friendships that were previously beyond our reach.

     If you happened to wander by, yesterday, you may have enjoyed learning about the Orphan Trains that changed history for 75 years.  It was a most amazing time in American history and one which continues to intrigue me.

     Marilyn, a follower and frequent visitor, was here and said that she had not heard of the Orphan Trains.  I visited her home on the web and was rewarded with extremely good news.  In fact, you just may want to rejoice with Marilyn when you pop over to her house and read how excited she is.  Congratulations, Marilyn!  Our prayers have been answered.  I am truly thankful.

     But the good news did not stop there.  No, I was further excited when someone new wandered onto the scene, specifically to comment about my subject of choice; Orphan Trains.  So there I was, minding my own business and chatting about a subject of which I am passionate.  I asked if anyone's lives had been affected by the appearance of Orphan Trains in America and POOF!  Was I really thinking anyone would answer yes to such a question?  Of course not. 

     But did I learn even more than I knew, before?  You bet your sweet bippy, I did and you will, too, if you go to her blog.  In fact, Donna's grampa' was an Orphan Train Traveler!!!  And Donna came to MY little home on the web!  Can you believe it?

     So be sure to visit Marilyn and congratulate her on her wonderful, outstanding good news.  And head over to Donna's house and check out the story about her grampa' and many others who took part in  a remarkable era in American history.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

How Orphan Trains Affect Our Lives, Today

     Have you ever read about Orphan Train Children?  Who knew that little children were scattered over a nation, by way of train, to provide homes?  If you've never heard of this system of placing children with families, you really should pick up some books about it and start reading.
     Charles Loring Brace, a young minister, had moved to New York City to continue his Seminary training.  Coming from a prominent Connecticutt family, he was completely shocked at what he discovered.  Thousands of homeless children roamed the streets, orphaned, abandoned, forgotten.

     Wanting to help, Charles formed the Children's Aid Society in 1853, in an effort to unite desperate, needy children with loving parents.  Farming families to the west, he felt, would provide the love and nurture that these children so desperately needed.  Eventually, through his efforts, more than 100,000 children were placed into homes by sending them on what became known as Orphan Trains.

     There are arguments for and against the system that was used for placing so many children.  Naturally, there were those who abused such a plan, taking into their homes only those whom they felt would work hard and provide free labor.  Having read a great deal on the subject, I'm also aware that there were cases of physical and sexual abuse.  However, there can be found many stories of loving, caring families who took their responsibilities to train a child and show love as the sacred position it should be.

     Depending on the account I am reading at the moment, I have mixed feelings.  On the one hand, there were actually vagrant children as young as five years old who were thrown into prison with adult criminals because they had nowhere to go, before the Orphan Train was established.  I cannot imagine the horrors that such a child would experience.  Charles Loring Brace knew there would be abuses, I'm sure.  Overall, though, I believe that he felt Good would prevail and the world, particularly for the forgotten children, would be a better place.

     As I understand it, the Orphan Train became the forerunner to the Fostering system we have, today.  Sadly, in both worlds, there are some who abuse the system.  But I hope I am correct in believing that many children do find loving and caring adults, with whom lasting relationships are developed.  No one should be without love and anyone who has or does abuse a child is, in my opinion, lower than the dirt and deserves every bit of punishment they receive, here and in the hereafter.

     Are you or do you know someone whose life was changed by the Orphan Trains?  I would so much like to meet and visit with you.  Perhaps you know someone and don't even realize it?  I think we would all be surprised to know our neighbors a little better.  Don't you?  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Going, Going, What Next?

     Before we moved, we lived in an apartment that I very much liked.  In it, there was one room which I claimed as my office.  This office was small, about 8'x10', and I used it for everything I did.  My computer, being a major focus in my life, was the most-often used toy in that room and I had a friend who would kindly teach me as much as she could.  The going was sometimes rough, however, as I struggled to comprehend all that she tried to share.

     In said office, I also had two desks (one had doors on the front), two large decorative metal shelves, one small shelf to match, one tall wooden bookshelf, two file cabinets (one short, one tall), crafting tools, toys for the grandies to play with and a stack of short bookshelves.  This stack was convenient to my desk and well-used.  The ceilings were ten feet high and we used every inch of space.

     For the supplies I had in my office, the room was small.  My dream, when I moved, was to acquire a room large enough to accommodate all of my tools for writing, crafting, sewing, stamping and whatever else struck my fancy.  I like being busy and I like creating.

     Now, don't get me wrong with what I am about to say.  I love my house.  I love it like I have never, ever loved anyplace I have lived.  However, the office I now have is roughly half the size of my former office.  I still have four bookshelves... well, six, if you count the two short ones, side by side.  I also have a legal-sized file cabinet and a larger desk than I had before.

     Knowing that we are going to be moving, again, this makes me wonder what my next office will be like.  Stay tuned, as you may witness the miracle of closet-creation when I discover that I am forced to write, sew, craft, stamp and enjoy my grandies in an office the size of which has not been heretofore attempted.  I think I'm beginning to anticipate the challenge with some small degree of excitement.

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

When Stubborn Butts Heads With Stubborn

     Little girls can be incredibly stubborn.  I know this from first-hand experience.  My mama used to tell me of an incident when I was about three years old.  Apparently, I had done or not done something that called for me being in a form of Time Out and Mama set me on the couch.  I promptly took myself out of that situation and crawled down.  She set me back on the couch and, again, I got down.

     Evidently, I did not feel that I should have to stay on that couch, as I spent the next hour, trying my dear mama's patience.  Remarkably, she returned the favor by returning me to the couch, over and over, again.  If you had known my mama, someone who did not like to deprive her children, unless it was absolutely necessary, you would know what a sacrifice it was for her to follow-through on this particular disciplinary action.

     So, for a little more than an hour, the female minds battled for power.  Finally, and she always ended by saying she wasn't sure how much longer she could have continued, as we had both reached a point where silent sobs accompanied steady tears, Mama lifted me by both arms and SET me on the couch, saying, "Now, stay there and don't you dare get down!"

     With those words, I must have decided that she was either more stubborn or more powerful because that is exactly what I did; I stayed there.  Mama said that, once I accepted the terms, she only had me sit there for five minutes, but it was the longest five minutes she ever suffered through.

     As was her custom, when the discipline was through, she held me and told me how much she loved me and how important it was for me to learn to listen.  The lesson must have sunk in because she said I never did show a streak of stubbornness quite that extreme, again.  Maybe, the lesson sunk in.  Or maybe, I just decided that I should cut my mama some slack.  Ya' just never know with summa' those rotten little girls.  Rotten, rotten.  Through and through.  And I assure you, rotten is my middle name.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Sardine Memories of My Grampa'

     Have I ever told you about my grampa'?  Today I was enjoying a sardine sandwich and, as always happens, it reminded me of my grampa'.  See, Grampa' l-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-v-e-d sardines like you cannot begin to imagine.  How do I know he loved sardines?  Because, for one thing, he ate them often.  And for another thing, the process he went through everytime he ate them was extremely involved.

     Picture it.  When Grampa' opened up a can of sardines, the first thing he did was to v-e-e-e-r-y carefully extract the little critters from the can.  I don't know if anyone else remembers, but sardines used to come whole in the can; head to tail.

     Grampa' would prepare the table ahead of time by setting out mayo, mustard, bread, salt, pepper and a cold glass of milk.  Then began the process, the very detailed process.  Remove the head.  Next, precisely slice the sardine in half, lengthwise, so as to expose the bones and lay them all aside.  Grampa' was not fond of sardine bones, even though they are soft and edible.

     I loved watching Grampa' prepare sardines.  You might think that he was now ready to create his sandwich.  Nope!  Before he could do that, he had to remove the skin.  Have you ever tried to remove skin from a sardine?  To say the least, it is not an easy thing to do.  It doesn't come off clean like an eggshell.  But apparently, Grampa' didn't care for skin, either, so he went through the painstaking efforts of taking every last piece of skin off.

     Finally, finally... Grampa' was ready to enjoy his masterpiece.  And enjoy it, he did.  This may sound like too much for a person to go through for one sandwich, but you know what?  It's one of the things that made my grampa' special and whenever I eat sardines, its just as though he were here with me.

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

One L-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-n-g Day

     I've decided that Heavenly Father really knew what He was doing when he made a day as a thousand years.  Not that my opinion means anything, in this case, but that is one decision that I wholeheartedly embrace.

     Don't you kinda' wish our days were a thousand years?  Just think how much more we could get done!  I often wonder if, in the hereafter, we will need to eat and sleep.  Do you ever think about that?  My hope is that we will be able to eat, if we want to, but that it won't be the time-waster that it is, now.  And sleeping?  Oh!  Let me tell you how I do hate sleeping.

     Maybe its just because I have so much trouble, sleeping, but I truly hope that this is one activity that will be unnecessary.  Still, I like to have my cake and eat it, too.  So, of course, I really hope we'll be able to sleep, if we choose to.

     Do you have Hereafter dreams like these?  Or am I a Lone soul with this particular quirk?  I'd really enjoy hearing how you feel on this subject.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya

Back On Track

     How I do love Sunday.  After three weeks of missing Church, I was finally able to return, yesterday and it was wonderful.  We have just a handful of people who go to Church where I go.  There simply are not very many members for many, many miles around.  However, those who do attend are such good people that I feel blessed to be able to associate with them.

     Visiting from another area was a couple about my age.  Well, actually, I think they're a little younger than my good hubby-buddy and myself.  Anyway, he gave a talk and it was quite interesting.  I like it that he was quiet-spoken.  I think that words are so much more effective when they are delivered in a conversational tone than when they are yelled as though they must be forced, physically, into the listener's ear.

     When I was young, my dad was a preacher and it always amazed me that there was so much screaming and carrying-on from the pulpit.  As I grew and attended other Churches, I was met with the same, what I considered to be disrespectul, attitude.  Later, after much searching and praying, I found the Church where no one yells.  In fact, the messages are shared gently and quietly.  I must say, I am much happier and I do learn considerably more, this way.

     So yesterday, I was able to attend Church and I came away with a greater feeling of having enjoyed the Spirit of love.  It is difficult for me to imagine Heavenly Father speaking at the top of His voice.  Somehow, in my mind, love from The Father is more kind than that.  Do you feel the same?  Or are you more inclined to think that the screaming is necessary in order to reach hearts and souls and drag people, kicking and screaming, into righteous living?  Of course, this is just my view and I have no desire to offend anyone.  I am curious to know how you see things, though.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya