tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174771992024-03-12T15:40:39.932-07:00World within World"Lucy looked hard at the garden and saw that it was not really a garden at all but a whole world, with its own rivers and woods and sea and mountains. But they were not strange: she knew them all."Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-9211891968713102632010-09-15T14:44:00.000-07:002010-09-15T14:45:53.288-07:00New BlogIt's time to say goodbye to World Within World--<br />Come join the fun at my new blog, <a href="http://www.coffeeandacardigan.blogspot.com">Coffee and a Cardigan</a>!Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-48080289404087595002010-09-11T20:41:00.000-07:002010-09-11T21:11:06.093-07:00Daily Breadwear<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxR-q65OpI/AAAAAAAAATw/-mhlmGYbE7U/s1600/dailywear.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxRBCrv_wI/AAAAAAAAATg/vepGRNQnuDg/s1600/louisehat.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 332px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxRBCrv_wI/AAAAAAAAATg/vepGRNQnuDg/s400/louisehat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515872721964105474" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxR-q65OpI/AAAAAAAAATw/-mhlmGYbE7U/s1600/dailywear.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxR-q65OpI/AAAAAAAAATw/-mhlmGYbE7U/s400/dailywear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515873780737063570" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxRBCrv_wI/AAAAAAAAATg/vepGRNQnuDg/s1600/louisehat.jpg"><br /></a>Hat: Forever 21, $7<br />Necklace: Forever21, $6<br />Tank: Old Navy, $4<br />Skirt: Gap, $3<br />Booties: <a href="http://www.endless.com/Seychelles-Spectacle-Womens-Bootie/dp/B002GQ6CSU">Seychelles Spectacle</a>, $16 used<br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxRBdClauI/AAAAAAAAATo/L0xY75rwWq4/s1600/Rowena.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TIxRBdClauI/AAAAAAAAATo/L0xY75rwWq4/s400/Rowena.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515872729039203042" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Rowena's handmade dress: $4 from Goodwill<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rowena's shoes (made in France!): $4 from Goodwill<br /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-47592239288553464652010-08-04T10:46:00.000-07:002010-08-04T10:51:27.891-07:00Moving!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TFmojKil4WI/AAAAAAAAANk/_-k2LRCE7ig/s1600/IMG_1700.JPG"><br /></a>Greeting minions!<br /><br />My new blog address is coffeeandacardigan.blogspot.com! Click <a href="http://coffeeandacardigan.blogspot.com/">here</a>.<br /><br />It's a work in progress. I have been having some wonderful adventures in my new village of a city, Mount Angel. Come follow me!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TFmojKil4WI/AAAAAAAAANk/_-k2LRCE7ig/s1600/IMG_1700.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/TFmojKil4WI/AAAAAAAAANk/_-k2LRCE7ig/s400/IMG_1700.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501613741888102754" border="0" /></a>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-81907992074391224042010-03-08T20:09:00.000-08:002010-03-08T20:27:59.384-08:00Spring has not SprungIt's that time of year again...<br /><br />At the first hint of spring I pack away all my warm clothing so that I am freezing until June. Seriously. Right now I am wearing a knee-length brown jersey skirt, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">purply</span>-red tank, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hoodie</span>, and my favorite orange <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">mary</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">janes</span>. I am suffering, lemme tell you.<br /><br />It is also that time of year when I break out my favorite book, <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.amazon.com/Blue-Castle-L-M-Montgomery/dp/0553280511">The Blue Castle</a>. This book just makes me happy. I laugh and cry and laugh and cry every time I read it. It is written by the much-loved Canadian author L.M. Montgomery who is most famous for her "Anne" stories, which are also very good. I read it every year without fail and I need a new copy. For one, the paperback cover is falling off. Secondly, this mass-market publication is riddled with minor typos. Thirdly and Most-Importantly, the cover. The godawful cover:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S5XMBE2jJ2I/AAAAAAAAAL4/so0_6MlnRjs/s1600-h/dumb_cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S5XMBE2jJ2I/AAAAAAAAAL4/so0_6MlnRjs/s400/dumb_cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446483643228956514" border="0" /></a><br />It looks like a trashy romance novel! First of all, the main characters are not fashion models. That is a vital point of the story. It takes place <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">waaaay</span> before the 80s, so that fella needs to cut his hair and actually <span style="font-style: italic;">wear</span> the sweater. The cover is painfully deceiving. Full-o-Angst. And it looks like it is the stupidest book ever written. Which it is not. And that is why it is my favorite book.<br /><br />Alas, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Blue Castle</span> is now out of print! I really want a hardbound version, but the cheapest that I have found is forty bones. I gave one of my two copies to my mother-in-law because she enjoyed it so much. I am glad I did, because she takes care of things extremely well. <br /><br />I am moderately cold. I am going to swallow my pride and pull my garishly-plaid flannel pj's out of the depths of the wintry boxes. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sigh.</span>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-15741139480554549212010-01-15T13:23:00.000-08:002010-01-16T10:45:43.471-08:00Let It Snow, BabyPortland hasn't gotten any good, sticky, staying snow yet this year. Boo! Last year in early December, we had the most splendid snowstorm that the news referred to as "The Arctic Blast". Portland has no way of dealing with snow--- no salt, gravel, sand, or effective snowplows-- so the entire city completely shuts down. Darin, Rowena, and I had a wonderful week of baking, starlit walks in the empty roads, no work obligations, hot chocolate and cider, and togetherness. Oh, how I wish the snow-angels would pay us a visit this year!<div><br /></div><div>To tide me over, I browsed through some of last year's snowy photos:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DglgqnyMI/AAAAAAAAALs/Zn1EPIEbcUw/s1600-h/PC200259.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DglgqnyMI/AAAAAAAAALs/Zn1EPIEbcUw/s400/PC200259.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427084486009931970" border="0" /></a><br />Our beautiful 1978 Civic, Doris:<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DglWKjmxI/AAAAAAAAALk/i4T4Ca9H858/s1600-h/PC230026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DglWKjmxI/AAAAAAAAALk/i4T4Ca9H858/s400/PC230026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427084483191085842" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Rowena in awe of the patio<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DgkzUdFvI/AAAAAAAAALc/C4QSHk14ezg/s1600-h/PC210002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DgkzUdFvI/AAAAAAAAALc/C4QSHk14ezg/s400/PC210002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427084473837360882" border="0" /></a><br />I love my long puffy coat- it's like wearing a cute sleeping bag.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DgkkGfPiI/AAAAAAAAALU/aQ_rDJJ9g9s/s1600-h/PC200255.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S1DgkkGfPiI/AAAAAAAAALU/aQ_rDJJ9g9s/s400/PC200255.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427084469752249890" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I have some jalapeƱo chicken sausages </div><div style="text-align: center;">and hot cider waiting to be devoured. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Cold-weather delicious food is always on the menu for me, </div><div style="text-align: center;">no matter what the temperature.</div><div><br /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-89100268552950298372010-01-12T18:57:00.000-08:002010-01-12T21:26:42.898-08:00I Learn the Hard Way<div><br /></div><div>The last day of Christmas came and went, and our dead Christmas tree needed to be disposed of. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm going to burn it!" I said. Darin mildly protested, and I got my way. I put it on the patio and tentatively put a match to a middle branch. "I really shouldn't do this," I thought, but my hand didn't obey. As a result, the tree burst into flames. I panic.</div><div><br /></div><div>In true Louise-luck-fashion, the doorbell rang when the fire reached its peak. Why, hello! Enter Karen and her husband, two clients of Darin's here to drop off their virus-ridden computer. So utterly embarrassing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fifteen minutes later, a fireman knocked at our back door. I ran past Darin so I could take the blame for the fire. After apologizing profusely, "Mr. Fireman" (which I so stupidly called him) kindly told me that backyard fires are illegal but he would not fine me. He even waved goodbye enthusiastically to the very interested Rowena before he and his two friends took their leave.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The best part? For your viewing pleasure, we got the burning on tape. You can hear poor Rowena's protests, my panicky I-shouldn't-have-done-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">thats</span>, Darin's stern you-shouldn't-have-done-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">thats</span>, Karen's hilarious reaction, and there's even a ball of fire headed towards the house combined with a bleeped-out curse word from Darin! Enjoy.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwrOYdRp-yPzXws0RIfH7ziM5DJ7w2CDt_-lZ06Zt9dA2UiDppxsSto0oCR3GJ2iCfPSktNMBmUKYc' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Disclaimer form Darin: He wanted to delete the sound from the video because of his harsh demeanor, but rest-assured that he was very supportive after the firemen left, comforting me each time I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">frantically</span> ran to the window in fear of more authorities (which was every ten minutes or so).</div><div><br /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-53704848903840310422010-01-08T22:11:00.000-08:002010-01-10T00:11:02.051-08:00Straighten Up<div>We recently had a Pizza & Game night with our Portland pals Patty and Keenan. It was great to catch up after the crazy holiday season. And what better way to celebrate than with experimenting with my hair straightener? </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Patty's beautiful curls before:</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4EkY7sI/AAAAAAAAAKs/3CeDwZGENDo/s400/P1080006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424621898838896322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">And the after. Rowena (who was too excited to sleep just yet) </div><div style="text-align: center;">was very content to cuddle with "Pappy".</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4bs30FI/AAAAAAAAAK0/u78ZROKf9yc/s1600-h/P1080011.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4bs30FI/AAAAAAAAAK0/u78ZROKf9yc/s400/P1080011.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424621905048490066" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Isn't this a gorgeous picture? Sheesh.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4uW99pI/AAAAAAAAAK8/OxMpFSOb7dE/s1600-h/P1080012.JPG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4uW99pI/AAAAAAAAAK8/OxMpFSOb7dE/s400/P1080012.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424621910056892050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;">To no one's surprise, Keenan wanted to get into the action, too. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Just look at those shiny tendrils!</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4bs30FI/AAAAAAAAAK0/u78ZROKf9yc/s1600-h/P1080011.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4bs30FI/AAAAAAAAAK0/u78ZROKf9yc/s1600-h/P1080011.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg4bs30FI/AAAAAAAAAK0/u78ZROKf9yc/s1600-h/P1080011.JPG"></a><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg5Bbh2XI/AAAAAAAAALE/Sjrcv77oj04/s1600-h/P1080013.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg5Bbh2XI/AAAAAAAAALE/Sjrcv77oj04/s400/P1080013.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424621915176294770" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The unfortunate result:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg5i98j2I/AAAAAAAAALM/P9ggz-bEbJk/s1600-h/P1080015.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0gg5i98j2I/AAAAAAAAALM/P9ggz-bEbJk/s400/P1080015.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424621924179021666" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></a><div></div></div><div>Keenan is such a good sport! He even wore one of Roey's little pink clips to keep his bangs back during <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cranium-102040001-100E-Whoonu-Tin/dp/B000AK9E66">Whoonu</a>. </div></div></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-51334769840147011312010-01-07T23:06:00.000-08:002010-01-07T23:16:26.399-08:00Good Intentions<div><br /></div>So, I almost wrote a great blog for today. I had a fancy article planned regarding how to turn a spring nightgown into a winter dress. Unfortunately, none of the pictures turned out and Rowena kept running in front of the camera. (How does one take pictures of oneself in the mirror, anyway?) I'll have to have Darin take some pictures later. After a month of crunches.<div><br /></div><div>Random food note-- We had meatloaf last night. I make it with steel-cut oats as the binder, and it works out so much better than the regular stuff! I discovered it accidentally a while back when we didn't have any quick oats on hand. </div><div><br /></div><div>'Til next time!</div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-27734938896990513502010-01-04T13:44:00.001-08:002010-01-04T21:54:32.058-08:00Disturbing BehaviorMy brother David (who gets home from Iraq today for a 2-week visit- YAY) gave me a candle tin a few years ago. Inside this tin was not a candle, nor anything scented or soothing. Nestled inside was a dirty doll head with matted hair and freakish blue eyes. I have always kept this trinket for sentimental reasons and it's just so funny to see people's perplexed reactions when they open it.<div><br /></div><div>Darin took some interesting pictures of Doll Head today with Rowena's assistance. I just had to share them.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0JkVlHbpOI/AAAAAAAAAKU/jBaiA8Rx0Sw/s400/IMG_1125.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423007223210812642" /><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Can I have a hug?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0JkWL3jfJI/AAAAAAAAAKc/1Nw6qNXEm1c/s400/IMG_1130.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423007233613200530" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This last one is very dark and blurry, </div><div style="text-align: center;">which makes it all the more creepy. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/S0JkWX4ZN0I/AAAAAAAAAKk/NiIFYpKEohk/s400/IMG_1137.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423007236837947202" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, have a weirdly wonderful day! </div><div style="text-align: center;"> We are having some friends over for dinner and an <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0361748/">"Inglourious Basterds"</a> viewing. </div><div style="text-align: center;">See you soon!</div></div></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-2534089772576810302010-01-03T14:26:00.000-08:002010-01-03T14:39:15.742-08:00Brownie Sunday<div><br /></div>I had all these nuts and cocoa powder in the pantry that I had to use up, so I whipped up a batch of <a href="http://theblackapple.typepad.com/inside_a_black_apple/2009/08/my-favorite-brownies.html">my favorite brownies</a>. This recipe is so easy and non-chaotic that you'll never resort to boxed brownies again.*<div><br /></div><div>I actually ground up the hazelnuts, almonds, walnuts, and cashews in my not-so-Magic Bullet and it made this crumbly sort of butter. I simply sprinkled the concoction on top of the batter after I pried it from Darin's grasp. The brownies aren't done yet, but the house smells so good right now-- chocolate and nuts swirled with the omnipresent spice candle.</div><div><br /></div><div>* Disclaimer-- My sisters Lili and Faith do not like this recipe. For unknown reasons, it did not turn out well for them. I think that they must have been distracted when baking, because I am a lesser cook and have made these brownies successfully several times.</div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-24067474957097947122010-01-01T21:46:00.000-08:002010-01-01T22:12:18.690-08:00Happy New Year<div><br /></div><div>Hullo, copious amounts of devoted readers! Much love to you and your families on this first day of the year and (for you Cathaholics) happy Feast Day of Mary, Mother of God!</div><div><br /></div><div>Here are some resolutions of mine to help get you started:</div><div><br /></div><div>1) Schedule a time to exercise each day instead of my usual randomness.</div><div><br /></div><div>2) Eat less sugar. I am not currently pregnant and have not been for almost 2 years-- so quit it, you!</div><div><br /></div><div>3) Learn to not buy things just because they are on sale. 'Basically free' is not free.</div><div><br /></div><div>4) Burn more incense.</div><div><br /></div><div>5) Sew, sew, sew! Force mom to sew something with me.</div><div><br /></div><div>6) Write a letter a week. (A real live paper letter! That one puts in the mailbox! With a stamp and everything! Gee whiz!)</div><div><br /></div><div>7) Be more loving. </div><div><br /></div><div>8) Have a baby.</div><div><br /></div><div>9) Keep the house clean and beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div>10) Buy <a href="http://www.zappos.com/n/p/p/7381246/c/3406.html">red boots</a>. (I need them. I really do.)</div><div><br /></div><div>11) Store up treasures in heaven! Pray more. </div><div><br /></div><div>12) Read good books and watch good movies. (This is slight cheating, because I do this anyway. I am currently reading Chesterton's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Complete-Father-Brown-Mystery/dp/014009766X">Father Brown mysteries</a> and am going to start watching <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0040746/">Rope</a> in a moment.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Good luck with your resolutions! May you keep them and avoid breaking their little nagging hearts. </div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-49532084582135134682009-12-27T16:58:00.000-08:002010-01-01T22:13:14.068-08:00Christmas Tibidgins<div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzgD3lZuVVI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/gQyfNOyULFI/s400/IMG_1078.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420086405008086354" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">My sister Faith's spiced cocoa and homemade marshmallows was delicious.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzjnNwxkI3I/AAAAAAAAAKM/FtIC9npLDYA/s1600-h/IMG_1118.JPG"></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzgD4OzSWhI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/nj7Diia0mVo/s400/IMG_1101.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420086416121158162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Darin made Rowena this wonderful little kitchen-- she's a lucky little girl!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzgD4QKQeuI/AAAAAAAAAKE/PY48ZF1qlhk/s1600-h/IMG_1066.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzgD4QKQeuI/AAAAAAAAAKE/PY48ZF1qlhk/s400/IMG_1066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420086416485939938" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">It's a big hit.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzjnNwxkI3I/AAAAAAAAAKM/FtIC9npLDYA/s400/IMG_1118.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420336375157498738" style="text-align: left; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzgD4OzSWhI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/nj7Diia0mVo/s1600-h/IMG_1101.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SzgD3lZuVVI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/gQyfNOyULFI/s1600-h/IMG_1078.JPG"></a></div></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-38428572027448451552009-11-28T13:29:00.000-08:002010-01-01T22:13:31.088-08:00In My Own Little Corner<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SxGXNEafvuI/AAAAAAAAAJg/ZKXWHuzas-I/s1600/IMG_1033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SxGXNEafvuI/AAAAAAAAAJg/ZKXWHuzas-I/s400/IMG_1033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409270878227644130" border="0" /></a>I really love this corner above our bedroom fireplace. It's the first thing you see when you come in. I think it's the combination of stuffed childhood friends, stacked hats, Fred Astaire, cherished books, and robin's egg blue that gets me.<br /><br />I purchased the middle print during my most recent Michigan trip. My dear chum Natalie and I found it at a wonderful curio ship in downtown Plymouth. I also have an attachment to those <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">seafoamy</span> curtains. My mother bought them at a garage sale when I was a teenager, and I've had them in every bedroom I've lived in ever since. The dainty pale blue and yellow embroidery along the sides is just the best.<br /><br />Long live pretty bedroom corners!Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-69502018856232844382009-11-25T16:06:00.000-08:002010-01-01T22:13:49.951-08:00ThanksI am thankful for so much this holiday: family, friends, husband, daughter, cat, acquaintances, mild windy weather, Jesus, the ever-changing trees, warm and pretty clothing, French press coffee, good books, and my duvet... the list goes on and on.<br /><br />:: Rowena's handholds<br /><br />:: Mom hugs<br /><br />:: Browsing through <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Etsy</span><br /><br />:: Waking up at 3 a.m. on Black Friday to work with my friends.<br /><br />:: Anticipating my Christmas stocking (I will always be six on Christmas morning)<br /><br />:: Dad's repetitive lessons and observations<br /><br />:: Sturdy boots to clomp around in<br /><br />:: Darin's bedhead<br /><br />:: Amazon DVD sales<br /><br />:: My black shift dress and camel <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">cowlneck</span> sweater<br /><br />:: Rowena, Rowena, Rowena. My heartbeat.<br /><br />:: Any blog readers that I may have<br /><br />:: Turkey, cranberries, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">garlicy</span> mashed potatoes, ham with mustard, too much pie, and the like.<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-82360831280516901522009-11-23T19:16:00.000-08:002010-01-01T22:15:00.384-08:00Love at $20 a PairI am always searching for a good pair of shoes. Lately, the criteria includes a versatile classic boot not made in China-land. Of course, the only boots really worth investing in are <a href="http://www.thefryecompany.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Fryes</span></a>. I mean, Confederate soldiers wore the Frye Harness boot! Not taking sides here, but their military garb sure was cool-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">lookin</span>'. Unfortunately, at circa 200 bones a pair, Frye boots are out of the question.<br /><div><br /></div><div>A shoe-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">mazing</span> thing happened today... the story begins yesterday. On <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Craiglist</span> of all places! I found 2 brand-spanking new pairs of Frye Harness boots for $20 dollars a pair. You should probably read the last sentence again, because it's amazing. What's even more fantastic is that I was the one who claimed them yesterday, paid and received for them today, and am currently wearing them! (Black on left, brown on right.) The nice, saintly lady who sold them was really surprised how popular they are: "I just can't wait to delete all those emails about those darn shoes!" The boots were just gathering dust and cobwebs in the back of her closet! </div><div><br /></div><div>Darin is currently purchasing mink oil from Freddy's so I can give my new babies a bath. Sigh... I am just so materialistically happy about them.</div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SwtUxx366wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/8H3bU1fu0wM/s320/Brown_Frye.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 314px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407508991766620930" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SwtU6lEI4rI/AAAAAAAAAJI/EDyxbLYvyIc/s320/Black_frye.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 314px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407509142947029682" /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-42210221972196079902009-08-18T09:44:00.000-07:002010-01-01T22:15:27.339-08:00For ShameI have the best blog in cyberspace. In my head.<br /><br />So sorry I haven't kept up. It's not that I don't have anything to say. In fact, it's just the opposite. Where the bloody hell do I begin?<br /><br />Let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start.<br /><br />The profession of Mothering has been on my mind a lot lately. This is probably because I have been a mother for almost 2 years. I thought I would hate it, but I love it extremely. Rowena is a wonderful little person and I adore her. I work barely ten hours a week outside the home just so I can laugh with her and play with her and cook with her and be with her. You really ought to meet this little <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">nymphlet</span>.<br /><br />I often meet new people in Portland. One of their first questions is, "What do you do?" I automatically panic every time.<br /><br />Will they judge me? Will they think I am wasting my young 26-year-old life? Will they feel sorry for me? Oh my gosh... <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> I wasting my life?<br /><br />Last night at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ikea</span>, Rowena joyfully puttered from one display to the next, unintelligibly chattering about the experience. It was really darling. As she toddled past a fellow customer, he said to his friend,<br /><br />"That reminds me- I need to buy some condoms."<br /><br />He did not say this in a cruel manner, but his statement truly hurt me. Doesn't he see what a wonderful person Rowena is? Doesn't he see that her existence makes the world a better place? Doesn't he understand that Rowena is the future and hope of the world he lives in?<br /><br />I didn't react to what the man said, and perhaps I should have. I could proceed to explain what a noble profession I have, but I won't. It's been said much better by others. I really am proud of what I do, and I hope to gain the courage to show it more. The best thing I can do to get a little respect as a mother is to raise Rowena as a loving, happy, responsible person- and often read her <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Miss-Rumphius-Barbara-Cooney/dp/0140505393/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1250616225&sr=8-1">"Miss <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Rumphius</span>".</a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SorlWuKVZEI/AAAAAAAAAIw/aBXOm_pewz8/s1600-h/IMG_0825.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SorlWuKVZEI/AAAAAAAAAIw/aBXOm_pewz8/s400/IMG_0825.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371357684103996482" border="0" /></a>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-85853714546108456842009-04-07T17:51:00.000-07:002010-01-01T22:15:49.706-08:00HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVELYDearest Rowena,<br /><br />Thank you for giving me such an incredible year. You are the sweetest, gentlest, funniest girl. EVER. You have made me a stronger, better person. You make this world more beautiful just by your existence. You are my reason. Thanks, kiddo. Happy birthday.<br /><br />Love,<br />Mom<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv3GyAwtJI/AAAAAAAAAHs/cTNkq4Rl1-o/s1600-h/P4070037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv3GyAwtJI/AAAAAAAAAHs/cTNkq4Rl1-o/s200/P4070037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322119080544613522" border="0" /></a><br />After noon Mass, (which Ro spent happily yelping in the back of the church) Darin and I went to Rocco's for a couple slices of pepperoni/garlic/artichoke pizza. We then met Patty and Keenan at Stumptown. Always delicious. (This was directly after a homeless man bellowed "Happy Birthday" to Little Ro.) I usually go to ST at night when all their pastries are snagged, but today we got lucky and enjoyed their chocolate chip cookie and flourless brownie cookie. Amazingly delicious and different. Darin enjoyed a raspberry Italian soda while I had a trusty ol' vanilla latte:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv3hC2U_wI/AAAAAAAAAH0/L2pnQ8hX_Nk/s1600-h/P4070025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv3hC2U_wI/AAAAAAAAAH0/L2pnQ8hX_Nk/s400/P4070025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322119531740856066" border="0" /></a><br />Rowena loves her Aunt Patty, who is simply phenomenal with children (and dons awesome t-shirts):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv4rMg3S5I/AAAAAAAAAH8/XekscAU_Tps/s1600-h/P4070021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv4rMg3S5I/AAAAAAAAAH8/XekscAU_Tps/s400/P4070021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322120805645503378" border="0" /></a>It was a lovely 75 degrees in P-Town today... thus all the bikes were out, including these beauties:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv7S9JubLI/AAAAAAAAAIU/GCWup02xjwk/s1600-h/P4070020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv7S9JubLI/AAAAAAAAAIU/GCWup02xjwk/s320/P4070020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322123687739944114" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv7SxPckQI/AAAAAAAAAIM/QBIm7MMq69s/s1600-h/P4070033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv7SxPckQI/AAAAAAAAAIM/QBIm7MMq69s/s320/P4070033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322123684542714114" border="0" /></a>When we got home, Mom was waiting for us with a brand new, homemade sock monkey for the birthday girl!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv_gZ6p4yI/AAAAAAAAAIk/-LUEmxle688/s1600-h/P4070055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/Sdv_gZ6p4yI/AAAAAAAAAIk/-LUEmxle688/s400/P4070055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322128316846170914" border="0" /></a>Seriously, could she be any more like her mother? Just look at that mischievous face.<br /><br />Please send happy thoughts out way, as we are FLYING tomorrow! I am off to clean up the bedroom while watching American Idol, that God-forsaken train-wreck I just can't stop watching. Then off to bed and up at 5. Ugh.<br /><br />Happy Birthday, Rowena! Thank you for making our lives that much fuller!Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-3897632077614304302009-04-07T17:29:00.001-07:002010-01-01T22:16:31.955-08:00Everything Old is New Again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdvxRQB_u5I/AAAAAAAAAHU/DZeh46zuXsE/s1600-h/P4070001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdvxRQB_u5I/AAAAAAAAAHU/DZeh46zuXsE/s400/P4070001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322112663331781522" border="0" /></a><br />So, what do you think? I think that my freshly painting craft station is just what the sewing fairies ordered. I really love it. I especially love the flower on the middle drawer:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdvxR4glxCI/AAAAAAAAAHk/6yqsrqHDu34/s1600-h/P4070016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdvxR4glxCI/AAAAAAAAAHk/6yqsrqHDu34/s400/P4070016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322112674197521442" border="0" /></a>I considered replacing the hardware, but I decided not to for two reasons.<br />1) I would have bought them from <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.anthropologie.com">Anthropologie</a>, thus spending fifty more dollars, thus forsaking my twenty dollar budget.<br />2) I actually love the contrast between the ultra-femme robin's egg blue and the gothic hardware.<br /><br />Here is a peek inside one of the drawers, bursting with rick-rack, bias tape, buttons (gimme more), and old doilies:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdvxRzvd8rI/AAAAAAAAAHc/TvWidJnMRtg/s1600-h/P4070012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdvxRzvd8rI/AAAAAAAAAHc/TvWidJnMRtg/s400/P4070012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322112672917746354" border="0" /></a>I also lined the drawers with olive green floral contact paper, procured from our local Fred Meyer. I have enough left over to line my dresser and vanity. Thoughts? Criticisms? Hugs? Hanky-panky?Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-57143907178519583182009-04-01T17:06:00.001-07:002010-01-01T22:17:01.843-08:00The Before PictureThe minute I saw this desk on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Craigslist</span>, I knew I had to have it. I think it was the daisy in the center that did me in. And the Ten Dollar price tag. I knew it was the future home of all Louise Things Crafty. Darin was a darling and woke up early to pick it up, and found an ingenious way to strap the thing on top of Spence (our trusty Honda).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdQBuLuTWxI/AAAAAAAAAHM/rcVkuU-CwO8/s1600-h/desk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SdQBuLuTWxI/AAAAAAAAAHM/rcVkuU-CwO8/s400/desk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319878952764005138" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I cleaned, sanded, and painted it myself! (Well, Darin painted the second coat without my knowledge... he's quite a speedy helper mouse.) I haven't taken pictures yet, but it is sitting in my bedroom cheery and Charlie Brown sticker-free! I will post the 'after' picture asap. Have a super day!<br /><br />And if you think about it, please say a little prayer for my beloved brother David, who left for military duty today. He insists that that worst thing that could happen to him is a paper cut, (he's a lawyer JAG guy) but I will still miss him terribly.Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-37898306690467206972009-03-09T12:06:00.001-07:002010-01-01T22:18:15.067-08:00One Man's JunkThis past weekend, I attended the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.palmerwirfs.com">Antique and Collectible Show</a> in Portland with meine Mutti. We had a wonderful time, perusing the random booths and bargaining with the sellers. I even met the actress who played Zuzu in "It's a Wonderful Life!" She was a lovely woman, but it made me a little sad... she sold IAWL cookbooks and posters and other memorabilia. I am glad that she wasn't a typical child star (crack by 9, dead by 15), but you could tell that Zuzu was <span style="font-style: italic;">all she had</span>. Know what I mean? Sigh. I felt so guilty that I bought an overpriced cookbook.<br /><br />Anyhow, here are some of my favorite purchases...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqq81Fl1I/AAAAAAAAAGU/b84nmq0POgw/s1600-h/IMG_0230.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqq81Fl1I/AAAAAAAAAGU/b84nmq0POgw/s400/IMG_0230.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311268621669209938" border="0" /></a>How sweet are these little fabric bundles? And I love love love that sunflowery concoction!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqrdCcasI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Y3LH49pa9k4/s1600-h/IMG_0233.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqrdCcasI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Y3LH49pa9k4/s400/IMG_0233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311268630315166402" border="0" /></a>I heart the top clock pattern! Definitely my current favorite. The best thing about the fabric? The Fabric Lady threw in a pair of mint-condition hardbound 1930s Complete Sherlock Holmes! I was so grateful! Wherever you are, Fabric Lady, I thank thee.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqsD-rspI/AAAAAAAAAGk/D_FrquYPiJs/s1600-h/IMG_0235.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqsD-rspI/AAAAAAAAAGk/D_FrquYPiJs/s400/IMG_0235.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311268640768373394" border="0" /></a>Rowena wanted to put her little sticky fingers all over it, but restrained herself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqsiiE30I/AAAAAAAAAGs/X9ET3DMhBs0/s1600-h/IMG_0247.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVqsiiE30I/AAAAAAAAAGs/X9ET3DMhBs0/s400/IMG_0247.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311268648969887554" border="0" /></a>The darkness of the photo doesn't do my new doll justice, but I just love her. She was made in Hungary; any good name suggestions?<br /><br />I also scored some new/old embroidered pillowcases for our bed:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVsr8nJM1I/AAAAAAAAAG8/eitrtlVeV4g/s1600-h/IMG_0260.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVsr8nJM1I/AAAAAAAAAG8/eitrtlVeV4g/s400/IMG_0260.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311270837813850962" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVsriky2lI/AAAAAAAAAG0/KuWuo0xvOpw/s1600-h/IMG_0259.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SbVsriky2lI/AAAAAAAAAG0/KuWuo0xvOpw/s400/IMG_0259.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311270830824675922" border="0" /></a><br /><br />They do this show every 3 1/2 months! I cannot wait until July!<br />I want to get my hands on more treasure.<br /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-37482281293922377592009-01-28T17:34:00.000-08:002010-01-03T14:41:18.484-08:00I Think I Need This<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SYEIBNNwBfI/AAAAAAAAAFw/Gv5_aKmFgB8/s1600-h/cosette_dress.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SYEIBNNwBfI/AAAAAAAAAFw/Gv5_aKmFgB8/s320/cosette_dress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296523453584639474" border="0" /></a><br />How adorable would this dress be with little white gloves and t-strap pumps? The collar is utterly delicious. This one is on my ever-growing Easter dress list.Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-9141655709064741922009-01-21T11:15:00.003-08:002009-01-21T12:16:31.718-08:00Spring AwakeningI love spring.<br /><br />The very day the WC rain subsides and the sun pops through the frigidity, I am instantly thrown back to happy college days on the quad, rosy cheeks, watching boys play football, fields of purple heather, rainy kisses, horseback riding...<br /><br />I especially love spring clothes. All I crave this time of year are nautical pieces... blue stripes, canary yellow raincoats, halter-neck tops, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">flowy</span> skirts, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">kelly</span> green anything, with a side of tan shoulders. When Rowena goes down for her nap, (and the chores are relatively done... or started) I immediately browse online shops and magazines. I am (surprisingly?) very impressed with <a href="http://www.oldnavy.com">Old Navy's</a> selection this season. Their spring collection is brimming with watercolor prints, frilly tops, deliciously saturated colors, polka-dots, and ruffles. There's something positively freeing about eschewing poly blends in favor of cotton voile. Sigh of happiness... I can't wait to wear the clothes I love. <br /><br />What is your must-have spring item? Enlighten me, and increase my wants.Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-17804773170255236232009-01-16T14:37:00.000-08:002010-01-03T14:42:59.782-08:00New Year, New LifeDarin stands at the mirror with grim eyebrows, pounding his barely-there tummy, growling "Cellulite! Cellulite! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Arrggh</span>!" I half-smile indulgently, recalling my earlier aversion of the mirror at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Jazzercise</span> for fear of seeing that beached sea lion body I am currently trapped inside. Ah, me.<br /><br />I have been coaxing/nagging Darin to take health and fitness more seriously for months now. It is extremely difficult to eat responsibly and exercise daily with an eternally skinny husband who frequently brings home pastries and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">chocolaty</span> delicacies. Recently though, something finally clicked with the little man.<br /><br />"Hey Louise, did you know that you can control your own metabolism?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yes, I've told you that before.</span><br /><br />"Hon, to use the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Abslide</span> effectively, use your stomach muscles, not your arms!"<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />I know, I told you that 2 months ago.</span><br /><br />"You can't spot reduce!"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">O to the M to the G, my "Workout for Dummies" <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">DVD</span> has bellowed that info since I used it in college!</span><br /><br />I am immediately reminded of this fantastic passage from <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Women</span>:<br /><br /><blockquote>Amy's lecture did Laurie good, though, of course, he did not own it till long afterwards; men seldom do, for when women are the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">advisors</span>, the lords of creation don't take the advice till they have persuaded themselves that it is just what they intended to do; then they act upon it, and, if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel half the credit of it; if it fails, they generously give her the whole.</blockquote><br />I don't think anyone can seriously disagree with the above statement. Anyway, Darin and I have made some lifestyle changes and have <span style="font-style: italic;">been successful</span> in implementing them! Proud? <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Surprised</span>? You should be.<br /><br />Limiting sugar. This sounds like a no-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">brainer</span>, but pregnancy trained me to eat whatever I wanted when I wanted it. A terrible mentality to apply to anything. I don't let the last thing I eat for the day be sweet.<br /><br />No eating past 7 pm. I wake up hungry now, sometimes in the middle of the night! Instead of grabbing crackers, I drink a full glass of water.<br /><br />Keeping up with my exercise routine. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Jazzercise</span> about 4 times a week, and with the nice weather, I will start bike riding again. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Jazzercise</span> is the absolute best! The trick is finding the best instructors- let's just say I avoid Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Same blasted class set every blasted time. She just alternates the stretch routine.<br /><br />Eating until satisfied, not full. Doing this keeps me more in tune with my body and ups my energy.<br /><br />These small lifestyle changes have made D and I happier, already healthier, and more in tune with each other. I greatly appreciate his encouragement and accountability. This is not a diet or fad, but a lifestyle. More about my motivation in my next blog post.<br /><br />In the name of spring dresses, I will succeed!Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-88709212044658182572008-10-13T15:04:00.000-07:002010-01-03T14:44:11.560-08:00I ConfessLet's be honest.<br /><br />I confess that I make a mini-pot of coffee every morning. The first cup is out of necessity. The second and a half cup is because I love the taste.<br /><br />I confess that I cleaned the kitchen this afternoon in my new black pumps.<br /><br />I confess that I stole and ate most of Darin's hidden chocolate.<br /><br />I confess that I love some nieces and nephews more than others.<br /><br />I confess that I threw away Darin's "King Arthur" dvd because it sucks so bad.<br /><br />I confess that I forgot to give Roey a bath for almost 2 weeks.<br /><br />I confess that I have eaten my coworker's leftovers she threw away. (One time, okay?)<br /><br />I confess that my daughter is perfect; I pity people that aren't her mother.<br /><br />I confess that Roey and I sleep in until 11 am every morning.<br /><br />I confess that I love going into work so I can miss my baby.<br /><br />I confess that I am kind of in TV love with Jim Halpert.<br /><br />I confess that I have imagined killing the yippy neighbor dog.<br /><br />I confess that I avoid Facebook as of late because I miss my friends so badly. It just hurts too much sometimes.<br /><br />I confess that I spend some afternoons raiding my closet and making outfits.<br /><br />I confess that I drink the last bit of wine from the bottle. No wine glass needed.<br /><br />I confess that I intentionally ripped Darin's high-school underwear so he would make the conscious decision to dispose of it.<br /><br />I confess that I only have an active MySpace account to spy on Darin's coworkers. Their concepts of relationships are so foreign to me... definitely voyeuristic on my part.<br /><br />I confess that Roey almost just fell out of my lap.Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17477199.post-38850293431781680792008-04-17T13:33:00.004-07:002010-01-03T14:43:42.446-08:00Before I Forget: Rowena's Birth StoryIt was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ikea's</span> fault.<br /><br />Darin and I took a fancy to the red dresser this Swedish mega-mall had advertised for almost $300. Crafty and frugal Darin decided to recreate it, only better, and for half the price. We bought the wood, red stain, and other supplies and headed to my dad's garage an hour south from our house. I, being 8 months pregnant and lazy, took advantage of Mom and Dad's cable and watched <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">HGTV</span> with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Flava</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Flav's</span> degenerate dating show as backup. Darin busied himself in the workshop like a man.<br /><br />The next morning consisted of Mass with Mom and Pops followed by lattes with classic film as conversation. A perfect morning, in my opinion. We all headed up to my brother and sister-in-law's home to prepare for a baby's arrival. Long story short, they were planning to take care of a practically homeless 3-month old girl until further arrangements could be made for adoption to another family. We busily cleaned the kitchen while Mom went for a food run. Bad timing, Ma.<br /><br />As I leaned over to remove a laptop from the table, I felt a warm gush of fluid escape from you-know-where. My first reaction? "Man, I got my period! Oh, wait." I held my legs together the best I could and hopped to the bathroom. I dropped my pants, held my breath, and looked. My next reaction? "OH S%#@! Um, Darin? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Lili</span>? Dad? My water broke." The just-cleaned bathroom was not so clean anymore, but my sis-in-law was wonderful and cleaned up my natural gumbo like a pro.<br /><br />Me, terrified: "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Lili</span>? Am I having a miscarriage?"<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Lili</span>, steadily looking at me: "I don't know, Louise."<br />So glad I can now laugh at that moment.<br /><br />There was a point when I was alone in the bathtub for what seemed like an hour. My family was running around making phone calls and collectively freaking, forgetting the exploding young woman in the bathtub. "I'm lonely and scared! Someone come talk to me!" Never happened until Darin came in (from calling the hospital and consulting the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">internet</span>) and helped me dress. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Lili</span> supplied me with panties, sweats, and a huge bottle of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Melaleuca</span> all-purpose cleaner and we were off to the hospital.<br /><br />We arrived at triage, my life completely changing before my eyes. I went up to the front desk and announced to the underage nurse, "My water broke. I am having a baby." She responded with an apathetic, "Name please?" I wanted to shake her shoulders and say, "I don't think you understand. My <span style="font-style: italic;">water</span> broke. I am having a <span style="font-style: italic;">baby</span>."<br /><br />Another apathetic young woman who I barely remember took me to a room where Darin and I started watching <span style="font-style: italic;">Return of the King</span>. Appropriate. I got strapped up with thingies that tracked my contractions and baby's heartbeat. The contractions felt just like menstrual cramps. I could handle it. It was 4 p.m. and I hadn't eaten anything that day save the vanilla latte after church. My worthless nurse (whom I will henceforth refer to as No-face) said that I could only have "clears"- Jello, juice, water. I ate the Jello with gusto and tried to relax. Mom and Dad were in the room and we were all having a relatively easy-going time. I don't think I really believed that I was having a baby. No-face came back in and informed me that her shift was over, so I was getting a new nurse. I gave No-face an enthusiastic good-bye. Enter Diana.<br /><br />Without Diana, my birthing experience would not have happened. Rowena would still be in my womb, scratching up my uterine walls. Diana was a source of calm and happiness, invaluable qualities to a girl in my situation. She was about 50-odd years, with six children under her belt. She never-once blinked an eye when I yelled in pain when she checked my centimeter progress. She happily cleaned up my Jello-y vomit on the bathroom floor. (Now there was a dilemma. I was on the toilet... wondering what she would rather clean up on the floor. Poop or vomit? Poop or vomit??! I chose the latter, paying no attention to the garbage can next to me.)<br /><br />There was a point when it was just Mom and Diana in the room. My contractions were getting more intense, and my future as mother was getting increasingly real. I began to cry.<br />"I can't do this. I am so scared. I really can't do it."<br />Diana took my hand and gently said, "You can do this. You can do anything."<br />That was somehow more encouraging than Mom's boisterous "Ready or not, you're <span style="font-style: italic;">gonna</span> do it!" Good <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">ol</span>' Ma.<br /><br />Diana finally asked <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> question. "Louise honey, have you given any thought to pain medication?"<br />I tried to look meditative and serious. "Oh well, I want to see if I can handle this... I would like to- Lord, let's be honest here. Yes. I definitely want an epidural!"<br />The pain was getting bad. I couldn't sit, or stand, or lay down. I stumbled around the room, repeating, "Dammit. Dammit." Poor Darin really didn't know what to do.<br /><br />Fast forward, post-medication- about 10 p.m. I was able to take a 2-hour nap. It was the most beneficial sleep I have ever experienced. Not only did I get some stamina back, but I went from 3 centimeters to 10. The doctors were amazed at the progress and told me that I could start pushing whenever I felt like it. Even though the pain was virtually gone, I could feel every contraction. I gave some good pushes with Darin helping me up every time... "I see some hair!"... gave some half-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">assed</span> pushes... "Sorry, I really didn't try that time"... felt the head crowning... "Don't push yet, Louise"... the doctors and nurses scrambled around the room retrieving stuff needed... "Okay, GO! Push!"... I pushed hard and felt a creature slide out.<br /><br />Everyone crowded around the foot of the bed, talking and yelling excitedly. I fell back on my pillow, exhausted and utterly spent.<br />"What is it?!"<br />No one answered me...<br />"Hey! What is it!?"<br />Mom said, "It's a girl!!! What a dreamboat! What a dreamboat!"<br />"Is she okay?" I yelled.<br />Diana answered, "She's perfect."<br /><br />Dr. T laid the naked little thing on my chest. She immediately stopped crying. She knew me. She looked up at my face. "She looks like me." I couldn't stop staring at the half-moons on her fingernails. Darin lay his head next to mine with tired tears in his eyes. I felt only one overwhelming sensation with this little baby girl in my arms: peace. That was one thing I wasn't expecting.<br /><br />It was 2 a.m. and my little family was able to sleep for a few hours. Rowena slept in my arms. One of the doctors woke me a couple hours later and kindly told me, "Rowena has low blood sugar, so we are going to place her in the nursery for a few hours for testing." I answered too quickly, "Okay, fine. I understand." I didn't yet understand what to feel for this wee thing that just came out of me. I willingly gave her to the nurse. I figured I could use a few hours uninterrupted sleep. How does one sleep when something so immense and inexplicable just happened? I like lying to myself.<br /><br />It was about 3 p.m. the next day and I still hadn't seen my daughter. Darin and my father had seen her earlier in the afternoon, but my stitches were fresh and my entire body throbbed with exhaustion and pain. Also? I was terrified... of my new life, believing that I would completely fail this new person. I suddenly had an intense desire to see Rowena. I limped with Darin to the nursery.<br /><br />I looked around the room riddled with volunteer women rocking and feeding little babies. My eyes finally rested on a certain little red-faced furry newborn. An adorable one at that. A kind-faced woman held and fed her, happily chatting with another volunteer. My heart jumped to my throat. I needed to hold my baby. I wanted to sprint across the room and tear that little lass from the stranger's arms. Rowena was soon in my arms, peaceful and beautiful and perfect. I was a mother. I felt it in every bone and hair and painful stitch. My heart finally gave in and allowed me to love my daughter. It hurt, oh, how it hurt! The love a mother has for her child is so wonderful, yet so painful! The tears rolled down my face and wouldn't stop. I clutched her close to my aching body for an hour, just staring at her gorgeous face and half-moons on her fingernails. That hour seemed like a minute.<br /><br />Rowena was a month early, so we didn't really have very many things for her. Her dresser was still in pieces in our car, the clothes that we did have were much too large (and still are!), and I had forgotten everything I read about childcare. (I still can't believe that hospitals just <span style="font-style: italic;">let</span> you take the baby home.) Thank God for my mother. She supplied us with new blankets, dresses, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">onesies</span> and made dinner for us... brown rice and chicken. Sigh, that tasted so delicious after hospital food.<br /><br />Being a mother has given me a new purpose in life. It is the most scary and awesome and crazy thing I have ever done. I didn't know that I could love something so much and so intensely. I am completely exhausted after writing this blog entry. I can't even tie in the first sentence with the last sentence. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">This'll have to</span> do:<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJEb_HZkYI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XGhJS34jo-A/s1600-h/P4240039.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJEb_HZkYI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XGhJS34jo-A/s320/P4240039.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233820964547563906" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkocODxI/AAAAAAAAAAs/_lTaTycnwcw/s1600-h/P1010069.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkocODxI/AAAAAAAAAAs/_lTaTycnwcw/s320/P1010069.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233822212591324946" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkTlepGI/AAAAAAAAAAk/pFE9Zp4UsZE/s1600-h/P4090042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkTlepGI/AAAAAAAAAAk/pFE9Zp4UsZE/s320/P4090042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233822206993015906" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkCTZa_I/AAAAAAAAAAU/WxAm702eiZA/s1600-h/P1010073.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkCTZa_I/AAAAAAAAAAU/WxAm702eiZA/s320/P1010073.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233822202353773554" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkUuqxyI/AAAAAAAAAAc/cf_l1uqolIw/s1600-h/P4070061.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oSflGrnpo44/SKJFkUuqxyI/AAAAAAAAAAc/cf_l1uqolIw/s320/P4070061.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233822207299995426" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01014769202704872348noreply@blogger.com1