tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37328913989770732622024-02-20T09:33:53.833-08:00Oh, No! Mama's Off Her Meds, Again.Random stuff about living and other crap like that.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.comBlogger1416125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-5336638459349409182015-06-21T22:07:00.002-07:002015-06-21T22:07:59.473-07:00My Mom's A Celebrity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VU3v8i122VpNsPR9L7wWJfmoKKLQv_QXIqTMh317SDWQlpOklgXNRVPyDo8bTfm5jSBG-OpxMakagvghYtG9t1A7OmVJlL_NBDJTz-PHMEq3ZKow9n1DR61R5AJ2pZKR2otBjpVmNYE/s1600/moms+picking+up+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VU3v8i122VpNsPR9L7wWJfmoKKLQv_QXIqTMh317SDWQlpOklgXNRVPyDo8bTfm5jSBG-OpxMakagvghYtG9t1A7OmVJlL_NBDJTz-PHMEq3ZKow9n1DR61R5AJ2pZKR2otBjpVmNYE/s320/moms+picking+up+kids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">Moms picking up their kids from preschool are like celebrities...someone is yelling your name, pushing past people to get to you & bragging to everyone that they know you. Definitely makes my day after having such a difficult one with people who are old enough to be in the workplace, but who behave as though they should be in preschool instead.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-7019480283532470782015-06-08T22:26:00.002-07:002015-06-08T22:26:23.486-07:00How Little One Knows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj6Ezfy1BhLYe2hOYFpPFnYGs2PEySX85JQQwuu8V8khyNiHEk-m_mm2ebbVhYERET0YzER_Q_AUFb5rdPn0OS0UalyWnKofT7bi-fqa5qU62_PeLP9Sd1_Q18BKDiD4OJYn4YfN0x4Q/s1600/try+explaining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj6Ezfy1BhLYe2hOYFpPFnYGs2PEySX85JQQwuu8V8khyNiHEk-m_mm2ebbVhYERET0YzER_Q_AUFb5rdPn0OS0UalyWnKofT7bi-fqa5qU62_PeLP9Sd1_Q18BKDiD4OJYn4YfN0x4Q/s400/try+explaining.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">A person soon learns how little they know when a child begins asking questions... This is so true. Try explaining something to a child and the only word you can think of to explain it is the word they asked about.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-52977977610950639442015-06-07T13:07:00.000-07:002015-06-21T22:09:27.048-07:00Act a Fool<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9xSaSGdPmS0L4ODILJZu9rJHfRnkI4FNdwERt0cQ5cH-5bOys8wRVTOmVMeSzFIvg_3H7H0trObY_8Z0rHmc5NG77Vzn5hmrcV3050paQnn-zAJSxrgU47KRt8BgwXfe68WXlVin65M/s1600/A+time+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9xSaSGdPmS0L4ODILJZu9rJHfRnkI4FNdwERt0cQ5cH-5bOys8wRVTOmVMeSzFIvg_3H7H0trObY_8Z0rHmc5NG77Vzn5hmrcV3050paQnn-zAJSxrgU47KRt8BgwXfe68WXlVin65M/s400/A+time+out.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">A time out? No, no...it's called a spanking. Go on. Act a fool. I'll demonstrate.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-16789601356771735072015-06-06T15:20:00.000-07:002015-06-06T15:20:10.491-07:00I Smile<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgju46f8t8G__K-SMCYCwK_nI1RV9tiWv6INTMwVcs5I4mqazll72khYzIxwQUQOhJywnfVCni__1zv3PDp774DM2-rzwZhvbcH_Db31YS7KXu2E2U1u0VBv3z9swRgBRYG_skWmooM5s8/s1600/i+smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgju46f8t8G__K-SMCYCwK_nI1RV9tiWv6INTMwVcs5I4mqazll72khYzIxwQUQOhJywnfVCni__1zv3PDp774DM2-rzwZhvbcH_Db31YS7KXu2E2U1u0VBv3z9swRgBRYG_skWmooM5s8/s400/i+smile.jpg" width="346" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">I smile and act like nothing's wrong. It's called dealing with life and staying strong.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-70326203099339752112015-06-06T13:02:00.000-07:002015-06-06T13:02:23.294-07:00Two Mysterious People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Qo-5xLLU8qVQMhLfC9oIdn-Enn4Evd0OwXAlNfI3QWvnYF_XnkXapo-s7lAXA66D80WUEOoS-88g89V5Wbs25i7P4Rj12sqVoDIN4vy90mMZj3dEt0Voc4atyG8td57SA4cZc9tzKwY/s1600/Two+mysterious+people+live+in+my+house+somebody+and+nobody.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Qo-5xLLU8qVQMhLfC9oIdn-Enn4Evd0OwXAlNfI3QWvnYF_XnkXapo-s7lAXA66D80WUEOoS-88g89V5Wbs25i7P4Rj12sqVoDIN4vy90mMZj3dEt0Voc4atyG8td57SA4cZc9tzKwY/s400/Two+mysterious+people+live+in+my+house+somebody+and+nobody.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">Two mysterious people live in my house... somebody and nobody. Somebody did it and Nobody knows who.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-6779776841631717472015-05-24T18:36:00.000-07:002015-05-24T18:36:38.650-07:00Oreo Cheesecake Cookies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxdgSg7_BbgZRiAU53rvg7SSWvAtjKoNaagybjOjuTioXkCRT9wpS582PbX3J3tYcU-MdzP0ev-wxZpbQcXIpZwh3YXplrmJEkQrSCCRYlFuLd-fSy1PCCD0ZOmwIabuEvY1mf8QUKQI/s1600/Oreo+Cheesecake+Cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxdgSg7_BbgZRiAU53rvg7SSWvAtjKoNaagybjOjuTioXkCRT9wpS582PbX3J3tYcU-MdzP0ev-wxZpbQcXIpZwh3YXplrmJEkQrSCCRYlFuLd-fSy1PCCD0ZOmwIabuEvY1mf8QUKQI/s400/Oreo+Cheesecake+Cookies.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">These incredible cookies are an insanely easy and delicious treat, in which cream cheese replaces butter to create creamy, soft cookies.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">Ingredients:</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">½ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">3 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">1 cup granulated sugar</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">1 teaspoon vanilla extract</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">1 cup all-purpose flour</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">½ cup mini chocolate chips</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">1 cup Oreo cookie crumbs (approximately 10 cookies)</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">Directions:</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">2. In a mixing bowl, cream together the butter and cream cheese on medium speed until smooth and well-combined.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">3. Add the sugar and vanilla extract and mix until the ingredients are well-combined. Add the flour and mix on low until the flour is incorporated. Stir in the mini chocolate chips with a rubber spatula.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">4. Place the Oreo cookie crumbs in a small bowl. Scoop the cookies into about 1½ to 2" balls and then roll in the cookie crumbs. Place the cookie balls on the baking sheet. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, or until the edges are golden and the tops are slightly puffed.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">5. Cool on the pan for 2 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely. Store in an airtight container.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-63622536444256587212015-05-17T16:34:00.001-07:002015-05-17T16:34:55.944-07:00Make Your Own: KFC Coleslaw<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pEjP_tvI-75mVVrJoIKWigIrg_1Fs557XvZypy29Xe7jCMTSa_c-O8l9dJ6NbNzWgZ0tpaG4pcBvjh2GuwyKUywQbhWfQJOi1M5XWH2UeWOIuS_umkrLYrTM7BybixefJBRoq_j1u2A/s1600/kfc+coleslaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pEjP_tvI-75mVVrJoIKWigIrg_1Fs557XvZypy29Xe7jCMTSa_c-O8l9dJ6NbNzWgZ0tpaG4pcBvjh2GuwyKUywQbhWfQJOi1M5XWH2UeWOIuS_umkrLYrTM7BybixefJBRoq_j1u2A/s320/kfc+coleslaw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The creative cook from Crouton Crackerjacks concocted the homemade KFC coleslaw recipe and we can’t enough!<br />
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With freshly chopped cabbage, carrots and his original sauce, this recipe is too easy to pass up.<br />
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Even if you don’t plan on having fried chicken for dinner, this coleslaw pairs superbly with your favorite BBQ-flavored steak or oven-baked chicken!<br />
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Follow along with the video below to see the simple instructions!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/x-0ZwT1EGYE/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/x-0ZwT1EGYE?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-428484240866179492015-05-01T13:40:00.001-07:002015-05-01T13:42:55.293-07:00After I Saw This, I Never Threw Away Leftover Corn Cobs Again! Genius!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXv2192WYHS4lTiAlJTi0_3pKuvOR_iKkdU_0kZDlJk8FgaQiyu2piR3geecuqTV_gEvunVROfgtynt_YQzlyG6Det5vnDd6MRinytwEbrEN1d7fzQsUWtx3QPfoyyXSmz_8eS7YYOWc/s1600/corn+on+cob+in+pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXv2192WYHS4lTiAlJTi0_3pKuvOR_iKkdU_0kZDlJk8FgaQiyu2piR3geecuqTV_gEvunVROfgtynt_YQzlyG6Det5vnDd6MRinytwEbrEN1d7fzQsUWtx3QPfoyyXSmz_8eS7YYOWc/s1600/corn+on+cob+in+pan.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">Got any leftover corn cobs in your kitchen? How about corn that has gone stale? Don’t throw those cobs away! You can use them to concoct a spectacular topping/whip with a simple soak in some heavy cream.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">Courtesy of Lucky Peach, here’s an awesome way to make use out of leftover corn that’s tough and/or chewy. This recipe brings out the sweet, savory flavor of the corn, allowing them to infuse together for about an hour, and with delicious results.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">Here are the easy-to-follow instructions: </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<div>
<b><span style="color: white;">1.In a medium saucepan over low heat, warm the cream.</span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="color: white;">2. Add the corn cob, bring to a boil, and remove from the heat.</span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="color: white;">3. Let the milk infuse on your countertop for 1 hour. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">4. Strain the mixture through a chinois or fine-mesh strainer into a clean bowl and refrigerate until chilled, about 1 hour.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">5.Meanwhile, place an empty mixing bowl in the freezer until it is very cold. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;">6. Transfer the cold corn cream to the cold mixing bowl, add powdered sugar and salt. Whisk until fluffy.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">Is this something you’d make at home? I definitely would! Please SHARE this awesome recipe with your friends on Facebook!</span></b><br />
<div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">Don’t throw your leftover corn cobs away! You can use them to concoct a spectacular topping/whip with a simple soak in some heavy cream.</span></b></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-6888421107678433112015-04-30T11:06:00.000-07:002015-04-30T11:13:19.721-07:00There Are Wonderful People in this World<b><span style="color: white;">A waitress named Brandi says she “completely broke down in the kitchen” when the hostess brought her this credit card receipt from a recent customer.</span></b><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-PVIeCpENjV_qkwvNIF7eH4UDjP_j1iCcJAul7gMkwYLO-Kki1CdwS2sIWl829b91lYeyC4dngZcXEyz6CzLBd6ziscbCXX43lySgEUFKtHFBzZ0BqxCNlfNUsw8UL8-Zf74Tyd_rqM/s1600/waitress+letter+1.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-PVIeCpENjV_qkwvNIF7eH4UDjP_j1iCcJAul7gMkwYLO-Kki1CdwS2sIWl829b91lYeyC4dngZcXEyz6CzLBd6ziscbCXX43lySgEUFKtHFBzZ0BqxCNlfNUsw8UL8-Zf74Tyd_rqM/s1600/waitress+letter+1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: white;"><b>The customer tipped her $200 on a $9.00 meal after he overheard her talking quietly to a coworker about missing her son.</b></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJLAZkDeFHlTgityNJ3sE1hG2NfZ3jd79AYmgxQZEWJY9UlwTnS7JqJs9FKC_va-ta0QbXYhrIwToqpMS5PD8ayhJ665Sk_PPqhdw2lRqYAH8oUoJ6QFbxNzpNrOd8pRhYfyEj6RbKOM/s1600/waitress+letter+2.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJLAZkDeFHlTgityNJ3sE1hG2NfZ3jd79AYmgxQZEWJY9UlwTnS7JqJs9FKC_va-ta0QbXYhrIwToqpMS5PD8ayhJ665Sk_PPqhdw2lRqYAH8oUoJ6QFbxNzpNrOd8pRhYfyEj6RbKOM/s1600/waitress+letter+2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><b><span style="color: white;">He left this note with the receipt.</span></b><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EAB5Bif6zDATky2NA5XaEwlIR0N3FvgiY6wRQ4PlSDHcHczvfEGD2RhzcU8WNQ30aa8ZL-kBVJX34zskQ9AmtOjv6r50ApuA51uRS0S3u6C776-osqStTU163zxFyV8oFVSQLKJ87vQ/s1600/waitress+letter+3.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EAB5Bif6zDATky2NA5XaEwlIR0N3FvgiY6wRQ4PlSDHcHczvfEGD2RhzcU8WNQ30aa8ZL-kBVJX34zskQ9AmtOjv6r50ApuA51uRS0S3u6C776-osqStTU163zxFyV8oFVSQLKJ87vQ/s1600/waitress+letter+3.jpg" /></a> <br /><br /><span style="color: white;"><b>There are wonderful people in this world.</b></span><br /><a href="sourcehttp://mamasoffhermedsagain.com/a-waitress-didnt-know-her-customer-was-listening-and-broke-down-in-tears-when-she-saw-this/">Source</a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkVPkQkGjMdJ34lGICBreP3EJ0h7Ki_WOUl3nOi88JUx1NQ1LvylmyhhoCHVXkDaMm10MgAFWENu4zsZG98C54L6b82ot8o5r4ZN49mDRqdcf6BMU8ECDm7HUdUUpGZuSSAYZ19begSE/s1600/Bacardi-Pina-Colada-Cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkVPkQkGjMdJ34lGICBreP3EJ0h7Ki_WOUl3nOi88JUx1NQ1LvylmyhhoCHVXkDaMm10MgAFWENu4zsZG98C54L6b82ot8o5r4ZN49mDRqdcf6BMU8ECDm7HUdUUpGZuSSAYZ19begSE/s1600/Bacardi-Pina-Colada-Cake.jpg" height="400" width="391" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br />If you like both Bacardi and cake, then this is the cake for you!</span></b><div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /><u>Ingredients:</u><br /><br />1 package white cake mix<br />1 (4 ounce) package instant coconut cream pudding mix<br />1/3 cup dark rum<br />4 eggs<br />1/2 cup water<br />1/4 cup oil<br />Frosting<br />1 (8 ounce) can crushed pineapple, in juice<br />1 (4 ounce) package instant coconut cream pudding mix<br />1/3 cup dark rum<br />1 (9 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed<br /><br /><u>Directions for Cake:</u></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;"><br />1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.<br />2. Grease and flour 2 9-inch layer pans.<br />3. Blend cake mix (dry), pudding (dry), eggs, water, rum, and oil in large mixer bowl on low speed, constantly scraping bowl, until moistened, about 1/2 minute.<br />4. Beat on medium speed, scraping bowl frequently, 3 minutes.<br />5. Pour batter into prepared pans.<br />6. Bake 25 to 30 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center of cake comes out clean.<br />7. Cool 15 minutes.<br />8. Remove pans; cool completely.<br />9. Fill and frost layer cake.<br />10. Sprinkle with coconut.<br />11. Refrigerate cake (and any leftover cake).<br /><br /><u>Directions for the Frosting:</u></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">Combine crushed pineapple in juice, rum, and pudding; beat until well blended. Fold in whipped topping and spread on cake.</span></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-54644220202800673202015-03-15T16:22:00.003-07:002015-03-15T16:22:42.180-07:00The Miracle of a Brother's Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNjmach9mPg0brHGcKt1RJnyuuKtM1-R-JapQ3oM5OkLAvpL5XGUEXR5deQLiRC4zyx4_URw7yaffpUOhj2VDxxF5nYnNp-J9qCGmyf8qULVoayyQSlq2ShOLZEFe9Am8pNVViQyxX3A/s1600/brother's%2Bsong.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNjmach9mPg0brHGcKt1RJnyuuKtM1-R-JapQ3oM5OkLAvpL5XGUEXR5deQLiRC4zyx4_URw7yaffpUOhj2VDxxF5nYnNp-J9qCGmyf8qULVoayyQSlq2ShOLZEFe9Am8pNVViQyxX3A/s1600/brother's%2Bsong.jpeg" height="207" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could do to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael would sing to his sister in Mommy's tummy. <br /><br />The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen. Then the labor pains came. Every five minutes... every minute. </span></b><div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br />But complications arose during delivery. Hours of labor. A C-Section was required. Finally, Michael's little sister was born, but she was in serious condition. With sirens howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital in Knoxville, Tennessee. <br /><br />The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatric specialist tells the parents, "There is little hope. Be prepared for the worst." Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. The had fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby - now they plan a funeral. Michael, kept begging his parent to let him see his sister, "I want to sing to her," he says. <br /><br />Week two in intensive care. It looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. <br /><br />Karen made up her mind. She would take Michael whether they liked it or not. If he didn't see his sister now, he would never see her alive. <br /><br />She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed in ICU." <br /><br />The mother rises up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glares steel-eyed into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!" <br /><br />Karen tows Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazes at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. And he begins to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sings: <br /><br />"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray —" <br /><br />Instantly the baby girl responded. The pulse rate became calm and steady. <br /><br />"You never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away —" <br /><br />The ragged strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr. <br /><br />"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms . . ." <br /><br />Michael's little sister relaxes as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her. Tears conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed. <br /><br />"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away." <br /><br />Funeral plans were scrapped. The next day, the very next day, the little girl was well enough to go home! Woman's Day magazine called it "the miracle of a brother's song." The medical staff just called it a miracle.</span></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-36450245034473227852015-03-15T13:21:00.001-07:002015-03-15T13:22:25.728-07:00We Are Never Alone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokEih1VU0DazRxqZtuk6GBZO5CyP3PY9aapiJA1u6-5p0W4YxmRuSWDekExvLQ7TSpUdsIeClQvaJdZkwAGtNnXqKlah7gQYOaIpgYgfePS5huWZLmwEoTyVzqunsUr2wdWoVu5I3V7Q/s1600/you+are+not+alone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokEih1VU0DazRxqZtuk6GBZO5CyP3PY9aapiJA1u6-5p0W4YxmRuSWDekExvLQ7TSpUdsIeClQvaJdZkwAGtNnXqKlah7gQYOaIpgYgfePS5huWZLmwEoTyVzqunsUr2wdWoVu5I3V7Q/s1600/you+are+not+alone.jpg" height="355" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth's rite of passage?<br /><br />As a boy approaches manhood, his father takes him into the forest blindfolded. He is then left alone, blindfolded, and he is required to sit on a tree stump the entire night. He is not allowed to take off the blindfold until the first ray of sun shines through it. He is all by himself and he cannot cry out for help to anyone.<br /><br />Once he survives the night... he has become a MAN. He cannot tell anyone of this experience, as each boy must come into his own manhood.<br /><br />One boy, on the brink of manhood, was lead into the forest by his father. The boy was terrified, as he could hear all kinds of noises. He felt the the beasts all around him and was afraid that maybe even some human would hurt him. The wind blew the grass and earth and it shook his stump. But he sat stoically... never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could be a man.<br /><br />Finally, after a long horrific night, the sun appeared and he removed his blindfold. It was then that he saw his father... sitting on the stump next to him. He had been at watch the entire night, to ensure that no harm came to his son.<br /><br />That is how life is... we are never truly alone. Even when we do not know it, our loved ones are there, watching out for us... sitting on the stump beside us.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-42671604695232080042015-03-15T11:09:00.002-07:002015-03-15T11:09:45.672-07:00Chicken Noodle Casserole<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqAs97kh58jnpj8bFDZFdfW3cUIlMdx47kIjryhPw9lIRAPKOBJGWOAU3TT3M8LSIyhsesGQUA2cjmBw847tFifw6sKs-0nzO8OAX1ttieX_4EFAtdm54lB1ncUUyXpxhJVyl8zLPXio/s1600/chicken+noodle+casserole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqAs97kh58jnpj8bFDZFdfW3cUIlMdx47kIjryhPw9lIRAPKOBJGWOAU3TT3M8LSIyhsesGQUA2cjmBw847tFifw6sKs-0nzO8OAX1ttieX_4EFAtdm54lB1ncUUyXpxhJVyl8zLPXio/s1600/chicken+noodle+casserole.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">An old family favorite that's been handed down through each generation.<br /><br />Ingredients:<br /><br />8 oz egg noodles, uncooked<br />1⁄2 cup butter (8 ounces)<br />1 cup sliced mushrooms (about 4 ounces)<br />1⁄3 cup flour<br />2 cups chicken broth<br />1 cup milk<br />1⁄4 cup pimiento, chopped (2 ounce jar , drained)<br />2 teaspoons salt<br />1⁄2 teaspoon pepper<br />2 cups cooked diced chicken<br />1⁄3 cup grated Parmesan cheese<br /><br />Directions:<br /><br />Cook noodles according to package directions and drain. Meanwhile in a large skillet , melt butter over low heat. Saute mushrooms . Blend in flour, stirring until smooth. Gradually add broth, milk , pimiento, salt and pepper, stirring constantly until sauce is thickened. In a buttered 2 1/2 quart casserole , combine noodles, chicken and sauce. Sprinkle Parmesan cheese over top . Bake chicken noodle casserole 20 to 25 minutes in a preheated 350 degree oven.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-62390843821240455162015-03-15T10:56:00.003-07:002015-03-15T10:56:39.432-07:00Snickers Bar Cake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9J388bOzLS8WzKPozQlp-H-ghevroxUYRVaKYGFfvXds4qXm4aF9qDdf9GUzV4NmiPzkNxiOW9C7Gy-rLoR_VxGUfXhW3xbUjKmTM664hcEDjHnBB3S0XGb4cdGA9fYuRRtSuf3TRoqY/s1600/snickers+bar+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9J388bOzLS8WzKPozQlp-H-ghevroxUYRVaKYGFfvXds4qXm4aF9qDdf9GUzV4NmiPzkNxiOW9C7Gy-rLoR_VxGUfXhW3xbUjKmTM664hcEDjHnBB3S0XGb4cdGA9fYuRRtSuf3TRoqY/s1600/snickers+bar+cake.jpg" height="347" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">This is one of my favorite cakes utilizing one of my favorite candies!<br /><br /><u>Ingredients:</u><br /><br />1 box devils food cake mix, plus ingredients to make the cake<br />1 can sweetened condensed milk<br />1 jar Smucker’s hot caramel ice cream topping<br />1/2 cup chocolate chips<br />2 cups heavy whipping cream<br />1/2 cup powdered sugar<br />1 tsp vanilla<br />3 snickers candy bars, chopped<br />1/3 cup peanuts, chopped<br />caramel sauce<br />chocolate sauce<br /><br /><u>Directions:</u><br /><br />1. Bake cake in a 9×13-inch pan according to direction on the package.<br /><br />2. While cake is baking, mix condensed milk and hot caramel topping until well blended. When the cake is done and while it’s still hot, poke holes in it with a fork or straw. Pour milk mixture over the cake. Allow cake to cool completely. Sprinkle chocolate chips over cake.<br /><br />3. In a chilled bowl, whip together heavy cream, powdered sugar and vanilla. Whip on high speed of an electric mixer for 1-2 minutes. Stir in chopped snickers. Spread over cake. Sprinkle chopped peanuts over cake. Drizzle caramel and chocolate sauce on top. Chill.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-74036046796776683422015-03-15T10:46:00.001-07:002015-03-15T10:46:38.152-07:00Banana Bread Brownies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrmdJvBe9ezCixDnjyM6vLAavHhqDWHqBp6G7xZa5fkAThxuphWMJm_Xe8MjR0zUZ90DRHx3K1nlCN-LNebN-oybXu8-PIigMUe58jecSjzvCL6w2KQRz9ZX_1xB7UEfzlWwTeovsMNE/s1600/bana+bread+brownies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrmdJvBe9ezCixDnjyM6vLAavHhqDWHqBp6G7xZa5fkAThxuphWMJm_Xe8MjR0zUZ90DRHx3K1nlCN-LNebN-oybXu8-PIigMUe58jecSjzvCL6w2KQRz9ZX_1xB7UEfzlWwTeovsMNE/s1600/bana+bread+brownies.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">These "brownies" are absolutely delicious and a definite family favorite!<br /><br />Ingredients:</span></b><div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br />1-1/2 c. sugar<br />1 c. sour cream<br />1/2 c. butter, softened<br />2 eggs<br />1-3/4 (3 or 4) ripe bananas, mashed<br />2 tsp. vanilla extract<br />2 c. all purpose flour<br />1 tsp. baking soda<br />3/4 tsp. salt<br />1/2 c. chopped walnuts (optional)<br />Brown Butter Frosting:<br />1/2 c. butter<br />4 c. powdered sugar<br />1-1/2 tsp. vanilla extract<br />3 tbsp. milk<br /><br />Directions:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;"><br />1. Heat oven to 375F. Grease and flour 15×10-inch jelly roll pan. For the bars, in a large bowl, beat together sugar, sour cream, butter, and eggs until creamy. Blend in bananas and vanilla extract. Add flour, baking soda, salt, and blend for 1 minute. Stir in walnuts.<br />2. Spread batter evenly into pan. Bake 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown.<br />3. Meanwhile, for frosting, heat butter in a large saucepan over medium heat until boiling. Let the butter turn a delicate brown and remove from heat immediately.<br />4. Add powdered sugar, vanilla extract and milk. Whisk together until smooth (it should be thicker than a glaze but thinner than frosting). Using a spatula, spread the brown butter frosting over the warm bars (the frosting will be easier to spread while the bars are still warm).</span></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-19175012433322239212015-03-03T18:58:00.001-08:002015-03-03T18:58:35.370-08:00Peanut Butter Cookie Lasagna<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0zR2jHGCWplbpgyCdxDJYTKXn98bBi95d-seeQfb0BgzlzldI27ZSBolMM9PWj5egoHoHEy_AepRjFShXXy6Cf6BPi3VqtHXsKHifqsyr8A_tFGTTAi-wXCKYYRkvqnSo-n-07lyWAA/s1600/dream+pie.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0zR2jHGCWplbpgyCdxDJYTKXn98bBi95d-seeQfb0BgzlzldI27ZSBolMM9PWj5egoHoHEy_AepRjFShXXy6Cf6BPi3VqtHXsKHifqsyr8A_tFGTTAi-wXCKYYRkvqnSo-n-07lyWAA/s1600/dream+pie.jpeg" height="235" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: white;">One of the easiest and yummiest desserts I've had in a very long time!<br /><br />Ingredients:</span></b><div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br />1 box Nutter Butter Cookies<br />Cool Whip or whip your own fresh whipped cream (1 cup cream plus a drop of sugar for sweetness)<br />peanut butter cups<br />½ cup peanut butter, melted in microwave<br />1 box instant or regular vanilla pudding, prepared according to package</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;"><br />Directions:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;"><br />1. Line the bottom of an 8×8 pan with Nutter Butter Cookies.<br />2. Top with a drizzle of the melted peanut butter.<br />3. Add ½ the pudding.<br />4. Add half the cream.<br />5. Top with chopped peanut butter cups.<br />6. Repeat the layering!<br />7. Decorate the top with crushed nutter butter cookies, peanut butter cups and a drizzle more of peanut butter.<br />8. This must be chilled overnight for the cookies to soften!</span></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-8080816493506591472015-03-03T18:48:00.002-08:002015-03-03T18:48:44.027-08:00The Two Pebbles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ_HVRMsTwIFgUTpw8pmrnnqAemYhwZLyTXNbcbLg1kFSDEvPg4gP38-mwO0bQZb6BN6nOyacOI6lc22nW6Vaz774JmrE9MVu8IoQ4ux3uWbIJ751eshS6RIEqx7IiMrRg9KxTs3MD8nU/s1600/a-story-of-two-pebbles-10-638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ_HVRMsTwIFgUTpw8pmrnnqAemYhwZLyTXNbcbLg1kFSDEvPg4gP38-mwO0bQZb6BN6nOyacOI6lc22nW6Vaz774JmrE9MVu8IoQ4ux3uWbIJ751eshS6RIEqx7IiMrRg9KxTs3MD8nU/s1600/a-story-of-two-pebbles-10-638.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">Many years ago in a small Italian town, a merchant had the misfortune of owing a large sum of money to the moneylender. The moneylender, who was old and ugly, fancied the merchant's beautiful daughter, so he proposed a bargain. He said he would forgo the merchant's debt if he could marry the daughter. Both the merchant and his daughter were horrified by the proposal.<br /><br />The moneylender told them that he would put a black pebble and a white pebble into an empty bag. The girl would then have to pick one pebble from the bag. If she picked the black pebble, she would become the moneylender's wife and her father's debt would be forgiven. If she picked the white pebble, she need not marry him and her father's debt would still be forgiven. But, if she refused to pick a pebble, her father would be thrown into jail.<br /><br />They were standing on a pebble-strewn path in the merchant's garden. As they talked, the moneylender bent over to pick up two pebbles. As he picked them up, the sharp-eyed girl noticed that he had picked up two black pebbles and put them into the bag. He then asked the girl to pick her pebble from the bag.<br /><br />The girl put her hand into the bag and drew out a pebble. Without looking at it, she fumbled and let it fall onto the pebble-strewn path where it immediately became lost among all the other pebbles. "Oh, how clumsy of me," she said. "But never mind, if you look into the bag for the one that is left, you will be able to tell which pebble I picked."<br /><br />Sometimes it is necessary to think out of the box or, in this case, out of the bag.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-59501742475298307172015-02-23T13:15:00.002-08:002015-02-23T13:15:36.005-08:00Samoas Cookie Cups<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMEFOHQp21i06XH8TXNoFYLOtzZYuYbq4cZtSHh4vUZcppejuh3nWH5tTLhKyXOto0ZVghXSp3bcgQTyH5-yKAXGE_AMeuBzEQZRbI8KYuD8pecghbmnEZR2DNkASQRN-_FQ9mVWZsuc/s1600/Samoas+Cookie+Cups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMEFOHQp21i06XH8TXNoFYLOtzZYuYbq4cZtSHh4vUZcppejuh3nWH5tTLhKyXOto0ZVghXSp3bcgQTyH5-yKAXGE_AMeuBzEQZRbI8KYuD8pecghbmnEZR2DNkASQRN-_FQ9mVWZsuc/s1600/Samoas+Cookie+Cups.jpg" height="368" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;"><br />Girl Scout Samoas are my very favorite cookies, and this recipe does them extreme justice!<br /><br /><u>Ingredients:</u><br /><br />1 pkg chocolate almond bark<br />About 12 Vanilla Wafer cookies<br />1 pkg caramels, unwrapped<br />2 Tbsp milk<br />1 & 1/2 cups shredded coconut, toasted<br />Sea salt, for sprinkling<br /><br /><u>Directions:</u><br /><br />1. Line a muffin tin with 12 paper liners and set aside. Meanwhile, in a large bowl, microwave the almond bark according to package directions, stirring until smooth and melted.<br />2. Take about a Tablespoon of chocolate and spoon it into each muffin cup. Spread it along the sides of the muffin cup, about halfway up, and along the bottom evenly. Drop a cookie in the bottom of each cup. Repeat until all cups are filled and set the remaining chocolate aside for topping.<br />3. Melt the caramels, milk and a dash of salt in the microwave for about a minute. Stir, then zap for another 30 seconds or so until completely melted and smooth. Stir in the toasted coconut until combined.<br />4. Place a heaping Tablespoon or two of the caramel coconut mixture on top of each cookie cup. Repeat until all cups are topped with the caramel coconut mixture.<br />5. Lastly, take the remaining chocolate and spoon it over each filled cookie cup, ensuring the chocolate coats the tops and sides of the cookie cups, covering the mixture completely. Immediately sprinkle the tops of the coated cups with sea salt, if desired.<br />6. Place the cups in the fridge or freezer for about 30 minutes to harden the chocolate, then bring back to room temperature before eating. These keep for about 3 days when stored airtight at room temperature.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-32008250303810323512015-02-22T10:40:00.000-08:002015-02-22T10:40:19.546-08:00Sincerely, Edna<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5oRjCmvuVY26c7dsLs8nPMPiO17jgK9m6DJA-YyUv7i08WJEcsCBWfzDPv0IIRbAfkdhkkbKQ-II5u3jpt3HVwjkqrWe9bLC_KscnOr8VbHP9rubfA7_IS9-54GKwGps_fh4La1T7sIQ/s1600/mailman.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5oRjCmvuVY26c7dsLs8nPMPiO17jgK9m6DJA-YyUv7i08WJEcsCBWfzDPv0IIRbAfkdhkkbKQ-II5u3jpt3HVwjkqrWe9bLC_KscnOr8VbHP9rubfA7_IS9-54GKwGps_fh4La1T7sIQ/s1600/mailman.jpeg" height="400" width="242" /></a></div>
<br /><b><span style="color: white;">There was a man who worked for the Post Office whose job was to process all the mail that had illegible addresses. One day, a letter came addressed in a shaky handwriting to God with no actual address. He thought he should open it to see what it was about. The letter read:<br /><br /><i>Dear God,<br /><br />I am an 83 year old widow, living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had $100 in it, which was all the money I had until my next pension payment. Next Sunday is Easter, and I had invited two of my friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with, have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me?<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Edna</i><br /><br />The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all the other workers. Each one dug into his or her wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected $96, which they put into an envelope and sent to the woman. The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of Edna and the dinner she would be able to share with her friends.<br /><br />Easter came and went. A few days later, another letter came from the same old lady to God. All the workers gathered around with anticipation while the letter was opened. It read:<br /><br /><i>Dear God,<br /><br />How can I ever thank you enough for getting my money back for me? Because of you, I was able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. We had a very nice day and I told my friends of your wonderful kindness... by the way, there was $4 missing... I think it might have been stolen by one of those jerks at the post office!<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Edna</i></span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-24407857367565031662015-02-21T20:21:00.000-08:002015-02-21T20:21:03.854-08:00Hello?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MVpFwwD3vIDF5tPF9wN8FjpvuUt8sjrbHAXJbT-MJwFR49VpYtVRw99KUotrGEPd0qbHb9COOd8LE6RhyphenhyphennKn_3gj1iBTJ1j5I8R_HezvJ20kurI-uSRFwLhjOwklgowtK8QiexEIuIE/s1600/forgetfulness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MVpFwwD3vIDF5tPF9wN8FjpvuUt8sjrbHAXJbT-MJwFR49VpYtVRw99KUotrGEPd0qbHb9COOd8LE6RhyphenhyphennKn_3gj1iBTJ1j5I8R_HezvJ20kurI-uSRFwLhjOwklgowtK8QiexEIuIE/s1600/forgetfulness.jpg" height="400" width="207" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br />Three old ladies were sitting at the dinner table discussing their problems with getting old. The first one said, "Sometimes I catch myself with a jar of mayonnaise in my hand, while standing in front of the refrigerator, and I can't remember whether I need to put it away, or start making a sandwich."<br /><br />The second lady says, "Yes, sometimes I find myself on the landing of the stairs and can't remember whether I was on my way up or on my way down."<br /><br />The third one says, " Well, ladies, I'm glad I don't have any of those problems, knock on wood." As she hit her knuckles on the table she looked up and said, "That must be the door... I'll get it!"</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-15220413597194877132015-02-21T14:21:00.002-08:002015-02-21T14:21:32.377-08:00Apple Pie Shot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTLXyxGeL0_2fvS5sEYw49bDxnesQ4aw9EmsgwArPwBoC9GLxIIugMPBFry-SqsyJPoeQCERKVUWMS8tDL7kov9CzCzUbH00FgI-l-tSP6FRVz5YtBFMOdanxPe4WOTipMQ3tjBlTVZ0/s1600/apple-pie-shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTLXyxGeL0_2fvS5sEYw49bDxnesQ4aw9EmsgwArPwBoC9GLxIIugMPBFry-SqsyJPoeQCERKVUWMS8tDL7kov9CzCzUbH00FgI-l-tSP6FRVz5YtBFMOdanxPe4WOTipMQ3tjBlTVZ0/s1600/apple-pie-shot.jpg" height="400" width="367" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: white;">This is so delicious, it's almost impossible to describe... guess you'll just have to try one for yourself!<br /><br />Ingredients:<br /><br />1 fluid ounce vodka<br />1 fluid ounce apple cider<br />1 tablespoon whipped cream<br />1 pinch ground cinnamon<br /><br />Directions:<br /><br />In a 2 ounce shot glass, combine vodka and apple cider. Top with a dollop of whipped cream and a pinch of cinnamon.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-56034657180387155302015-02-21T09:39:00.000-08:002015-02-21T09:39:35.432-08:00My Dinner Date<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGVGdofmeT5wpIyIPseGpZDLJKTivvQiICZXO3IZq3eMY82uXzCnuRT0_3uL8GNmN9XjIoRLs1pHgFU9Z9oYxmzpZ3iXirfso_2Yjhzy0oBsM9DnXqBdvgdpP7tabHxrLhyphenhyphenqs9ygvXjk/s1600/man+and+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGVGdofmeT5wpIyIPseGpZDLJKTivvQiICZXO3IZq3eMY82uXzCnuRT0_3uL8GNmN9XjIoRLs1pHgFU9Z9oYxmzpZ3iXirfso_2Yjhzy0oBsM9DnXqBdvgdpP7tabHxrLhyphenhyphenqs9ygvXjk/s1600/man+and+mom.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /><b><span style="color: white;">After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, "I love you, but I know this other woman loves you too, and she would love to spend some time with you."<br /><br />The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my MOTHER, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.<br /><br />"What's wrong, are you well?" she asked. My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.<br /><br />"I thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you," I responded. "Just the two of us."<br /><br />She thought about it for a moment, and then said... "I would like that very much."<br /><br />That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up, I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel's.<br /><br />"I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed," she said, as she got into the car. "They can't wait to hear about our meeting."<br /><br />We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entries, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips.<br /><br />"It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small," she said.<br /><br />"Then it's time that you relax and let me return the favor," I responded.<br /><br />During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation - nothing extraordinary but catching up on recent events of each other's life. We talked so much that we missed the movie.<br /><br />As we arrived at her house later, she said, "I'll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you." I agreed.<br /><br />"How was your dinner date?" asked my wife when I got home.<br /><br />"Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined," I answered.<br /><br />A few days later, my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't have a chance to do anything for her. Some time later, I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An attached note said: "I paid this bill in advance. I wasn't sure that I could be there; but nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you, son."<br /><br />At that moment I understood the importance of saying, in time, "I LOVE YOU."<br /><br />And to give our loved ones the time they deserve. Because nothing is more important in life than family... and they shouldn't be put off until "some other time.”</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-36232520615632425492015-02-21T09:28:00.002-08:002015-02-21T09:28:55.505-08:00Ugly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunvU8eZu7BX3PZbQYCERKKjF5rcG2qQCHXyxXoyhI9jBPqzDBeATmiGt8dTU1rJ-tg0p-Tm3D_ouUKGHTscb5KHjVm9kV0pi11Yqj8AeOGEYHPE20153B55P_BkjzRZATsb1t0rKQJ8Y/s1600/ugly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunvU8eZu7BX3PZbQYCERKKjF5rcG2qQCHXyxXoyhI9jBPqzDBeATmiGt8dTU1rJ-tg0p-Tm3D_ouUKGHTscb5KHjVm9kV0pi11Yqj8AeOGEYHPE20153B55P_BkjzRZATsb1t0rKQJ8Y/s1600/ugly.jpg" height="241" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /><b><span style="color: white;">Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world:fighting, eating garbage, and, shall we say, love. The combination of these things, combined with a life spent outside, had their effect on Ugly. <br /><br />To start with, he had only one eye and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail had long ago been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. <br /><br />Ugly would have been a dark grey tabby, striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. "That's one UGLY cat!" All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. <br /><br />Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running, meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If you ever picked him up, he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find. <br /><br />One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor's huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly's sad life was almost at an end. <br /><br />Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home, I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. It must be hurting him terribly, I thought. <br /><br />Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear. Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying, was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. <br /><br />Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion. At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain. <br /><br />Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. <br /><br />Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be like Ugly.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-67185863776235515902015-02-21T06:35:00.001-08:002015-02-21T06:36:26.559-08:00Hold My Beer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4DwF5mfVIeUtF4RXz0bXQrfgJxV_NTGL6c8SOH1DgS84HO7Is5fQCoTo4SsOkh7BpW_L_BRzxwdFDtz-S2ao4kCCm03SILbfPngCmF6P_nD-hKTlus5b63eD40KNGarYKKQ14srYEQQ/s1600/Taser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4DwF5mfVIeUtF4RXz0bXQrfgJxV_NTGL6c8SOH1DgS84HO7Is5fQCoTo4SsOkh7BpW_L_BRzxwdFDtz-S2ao4kCCm03SILbfPngCmF6P_nD-hKTlus5b63eD40KNGarYKKQ14srYEQQ/s1600/Taser.jpg" height="400" width="310" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br />Dear Friends, <br /><br />My wife is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, "Hey y'all, hold my beer and watch this!" Well, I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie in the near future. Here goes. <br /><br />Last weekend I spied something at the pawn shop that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. Tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out - way too cool! <br /><br />Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!! <br /><br />Yipeeeeee... I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to my wife what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave. <br /><br />Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc. There I sat in my recliner, my cat looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not my cat) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping may cat for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet kitty, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time...<br /><br />So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. <br /><br />All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no friggin' way!" <br /><br />Friggin' way - trust me, but I'm getting ahead of myself. <br /><br />What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I'm sitting there alone, my cat looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it buddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight—always twenty-twenty. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya hate that?) <br /><br />I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY CRAP! <br /><br />DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. my cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, do it again!" (Note: if you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Tazer, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep in your thigh like yours truly.) SON-OF-A-BITCH that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both titties were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure. <br /><br />Film at eleven...</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3732891398977073262.post-39795655281518185862015-02-20T17:51:00.001-08:002015-02-20T20:49:53.277-08:00Embrace Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9c-6UKanv6uSQKyo7DvRWlrKCQZToiGeEpu5MOU6lPxn4US-6yG6u1dhGMHAXcEmcQE9cLDRAzrIL996Gkaw1t-w0cOedJg2UxB4uyOs_MsPIO7heDQL_2D0lE65sFM1SlCvrkxObow/s1600/embrace+life.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9c-6UKanv6uSQKyo7DvRWlrKCQZToiGeEpu5MOU6lPxn4US-6yG6u1dhGMHAXcEmcQE9cLDRAzrIL996Gkaw1t-w0cOedJg2UxB4uyOs_MsPIO7heDQL_2D0lE65sFM1SlCvrkxObow/s1600/embrace+life.jpeg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: white;"><br />A man of 92 years, short, very well-presented, who takes great care in his appearance, is moving into an old people’s home today. His wife of 70 has recently died, and he is obliged to leave his home.After waiting several hours in the retirement home lobby, he gently smiles as he is told that his room is ready.<br /><br />As he slowly walks to the elevator, using his cane, I describe his small room to him, including the sheet hung at the window which serves as a curtain.<br /><br />"I like it very much," he says, with the enthusiasm of an 8 year old boy who has just been given a new puppy<br /><br />"Mr. Smith, you haven’t even seen the room yet, hang on a moment, we are almost there."<br /><br />"That has nothing to do with it," he replies.<br /><br />“Happiness is something I choose in advance. Whether or not I like the room does not depend on the furniture, or the decor – rather it depends on how I decide to see it."<br /><br />"It is already decided in my mind that I like my room. It is a decision I take every morning when I wake up."<br /><br />"I can choose. I can spend my day in bed enumerating all the difficulties that I have with the parts of my body that no longer work very well, or I can get up and give thanks to heaven for those parts that are still in working order. Every day is a gift, and as long as I can open my eyes, I will focus on the new day, and all the happy memories that I have built up during my life."<br /><br />"Old age is like a bank account. You withdraw in later life what you have deposited along the way."<br /><br />So, my advice to you is to deposit all the happiness you can in your bank account of memories.<br /><br />Thank you for your part in filling my account with happy memories, which I am still continuing to fill…<br /><br />Remember these simple guidelines for happiness.<br /><br />1. Free your heart from hate.<br /><br />2. Free your mind from worry.<br /><br />3. Live simply.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: white;">4. Give more.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: white;">5. Expect less.</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350983134051200205noreply@blogger.com1