I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people […]
baby boomers
Photo Friday: Fruits of our Labor
It’s Labor Day Weekend! The garden is in full swing, and we enjoying abundance. It’s a great time […]
Photo Friday: Seeds of Change
So far, the summer is dry and hot. Yes, it is still summer and will be for at […]
Photo Friday: Harvest Moon
The moon is gorgeous these past few nights. I wish I could marry these photos with the […]
Did you ever buy something you just love and then can’t find it again? Did you ever get so delighted with a purchase that you had to tell someone? Did you ever meet someone who impressed you with his or her commitment to quality? All three things happened to me just before I went on my camping trip. (Spoiler alert: remember last week’s Photo Friday.)
I bought these great pair of flip-flops in Hilton Head. I was attending a conference and the flip-flop sandals were an end-of-season-great-price in the resort gift shop. The flip-flops were $30. On sale. It was 10 whole years ago.
What? You’re probably asking. $30 for a pair of flip-flops? I hate to shop; I’m not that woman who moans when she smells good shoe-leather. (That’s my sister, Deanna.) Still, every once in a while, I decide to treat myself to something purely unnecessary; something that makes me feel pampered; something a wee bit extravagant.
This year, one of the sandal toe-ribbons on my flip-flop broke. Oh how I love that gentle gross-grain ribbon between my toes; no break-in-my-flip-flop blisters to welcome me to summer. Okay, maybe it is time I gave them up anyways. The fabric is getting a little tattered looking.
Yes, I was wearing the same sandals for the past 10 years. A quick trip in the washer, and dried in the sun, and I am set to go again. Good as new. Lucky for me, the leather Peanut still proclaimed loud and clear: Eliza B. So for $30 over 10 years, that’s just $3 a year. A pretty good deal. One I want to repeat.
Photo Friday: Camping in the Heat
Oh my! Even the nights were hot. Thank God for sandy beaches and cool waters of Lake Michigan. […]
My oldest brother, six years younger than me, hitch-hiked across America. He left with a back-pack full of […]
Harold Cole Watkins, PhD, overcome with remorse, killed himself one rainy night in late 1937. A few months earlier, Dr. Watkins was on cloud nine. His new, sweet, raspberry-flavored, Elixir Sulfanilamide made it possible for parents to administer the bitter sulfa medicine to their children sick with Streptococcus infections, commonly known as strep throat. A few months earlier, Dr. Watkins was on cloud nine. His new, sweet, raspberry-flavored, Elixir Sulfanilamide made it possible for parents to administer the bitter sulfa medicine to their children sick with Streptococcus infections. Sore throats.
A pharmacist employed by S.E. Maassengil Co., Dr. Watkins met the company’s goal in response to public demand for a liquid form of the hard to swallow pill. Now, over a hundred people were dead, most of them children. Some children died in their mother’s
Photo Friday: “Picking Up a Baby Bubble-Bee”
This week I hired grand-kids to help me with some yard-work. “Did you know you can pet a […]
My friend Jan lost her mother this month. Jan is doing her best to keep the proverbial stiff upper lip. In the words of her mother: “Crying never solved anything. Get out there and do something.”
Although I understand her mother’s sentiment. My Dad had a similar adage: if you’re feeling low, look around and find someone who needs a helping hand. We can get bogged down and sometimes we need a change of pace to kick-start us into a better frame of mind. Still, for the most part, I beg to differ. Crying is doing something.
Tears provide us great relief.
There are three kinds of tears:
- Tears that lubricate eyes and make it possible for eyelids to slip effortlessly over our eyes with each blink;
- Tears that respond to irritants and flood the eyes in an effort to rid them of pollen, dust, or onion odor;
- Emotional tears brought on by extreme joy, frustration, or sadness.
I’m a crier. I cry when I’m happy, I cry when I’m sad, I cry when I’m angry. That last one can really get me going.