The Importance of Fans

Look what my little friend surprised me with this week!

She had suggested at last Friday's get-together (when I was fanning away the affects of hot flashes with magazines and the like) that I search for one of those old church fans.

Do you remember them? They were always stuck in the slots on the back of the church pews with the hymnals and looked something like a thin piece of cardboard attached to a paint stirrer.

I dismissed the idea, of course, because those things are so damned unattractive.

I guess she had such empathy for my situation that she went on a mission to find something more suitable to my liking.

Aren't they marvelous?

Both fold away and can be tucked into a purse or whatever for instant relief.

Like Riding A Bicycle

We drove across two counties, far into the mountains to hear these fellows play.
Jb tells me that they have a Grammy or two under their belt.


But the real attraction for me was seeing my other half reunited with his old band from over 10 years ago.

These three got together for a dry run the evening of JB's 50th birthday.

When they started playing on Saturday, quite a few in the audience just couldn't sit still during their performance.




(Don't you just love these guys' shirts? Half the men in America would see either one as a welcome wardrobe addition.)

Sleeping With The Memory

I took a ride with my other half the other day because he wanted to show me something. I became interested when he suggested I bring the camera.

I enjoy sharing landscape photographs with old friends in Texas. I love it when they're envious of the Virginia landscape. The twists and turns of the road provide constant visual stimulation--to say the least!--and the mountains seem to wrap around like a protective barrier.

My daughters have come to appreciate certain aspects of a change of scenery. Old and familiar offers no challenge. Life becomes a drudgery. Bad habits creep in and days run together. Before long, there is no time.

People make time for what is important. Or like my other half philosophies, "People do what they want to do." Maybe the tough part is figuring out what you want to do... or not playing out the many "what ifs" in your head.

Just keep moving. Do something. Then at the end of the day, you can rest peacefully with your memories.

109 Quarts Later...

The last jar was sealed and tucked under the thickest towels I could find at just before 10pm last night.

The "morning after" in this particular instance is all about rings, lids and sticky stuff. Although I must admit, the men were much neater that I had originally feared. And much more willing to do whatever was necessary to guarantee the success of this venture.

Actually, everyone was very even-tempered and helpful. Almost like they were all on valium or something. Okay, there was an occasional glass of wine... but really no more than a glass or two. And that was only after the work was done.

I was very impressed with the clean up efforts by the men. When I looked out into the backyard this morning, I wasn't horrified as I expected to be. The kettle had been rinsed and there weren't 85 million coffee cups or a hundred plates on the table under the awning.

The weekend went well. We re-connected with old friends, made some new ones, and have a lot of apple butter.