RIFF RAFF

I've spent at least one weekend every summer, for as long as I can remember, with my relatives on my mother's side. For years the gathering was called the DDD (Doc Davis Descendants) reunion. Well over one hundred aunts, uncles, cousins, cousins once removed, twice removed, in-laws and out-laws would get together to eat, churn homemade ice cream, throw water balloons back and forth until the last one busted and swim at midnight to earn a polar bear patch. The youngsters played kick the can, while the grown-ups talked, over card games.

When my grandpa died, this family affair slowly transitioned into an Easter event at my Aunt Linda's home in the mountains of Pennsylvania. Then Aunt Linda hatched an idea, as she often does. What if we all got together with our bicycles and biked the trails across the US of A? And that's what we did. What we do.

My relatives live in various states and we take turns hosting this annual event. It is called RIFF RAFF- Ride In Fun For Relatives And Family Friends. We needed the "family friends" part, because my cousins and aunts always bring friends to this reunion and these friends like it so much, they keep coming every year. At this point, it's hard to tell who is a friend and who is a bona fide relative. It's my family's turn to host the 16th annual RIFF RAFF. We'll ride a Michigan trail near Detroit. Next weekend, seventy some relatives and friends from age 6 months or so to 80 years old, will camp together, bike the trail, eat, play poor man's horseshoes and euchre and participate in a game of Survivor. My sister is in charge of that deal. I told her, I am not eating any bugs! She also designed this year's t-shirt, which I cannot describe, in case some of my cousins read this- the t-shirt logo is always a surprise. Shirts from years gone by are displayed at the beginning of this post for your viewing enjoyment.

I.T. and I are on the food committee. This always paralyzes me in the same way that painting my bathroom does. The formidable task! Impossible. Thankfully, I.T. is Mr. Budgethead. He plans everything to the penny. BUT. I did contribute. I.T. bought the meat and cut it up for stew. I chopped and diced and made that beef stew for 44. I agonize over cooking for two extra guests, so this was a real biggie for me. My mother also made stew for 44. We will serve it over biscuits and there will be plenty. I hope. Altogether, we must feed approximately 70 people three breakfasts, two dinners and one lunch, and provide drinks and cookies to go with their sack lunches on the trail. They send us money. We shop, pack, haul and put out a sign up sheet when we get to the campground. Relatives and friends are required to volunteer as meal prepsters. It is an amazing ordeal.

On Sunday, we all worship together in the great outdoors. My uncle is a retired Presbyterian minister. My brother-in-law pastor's a church in our state's capitol. But many participate, sharing with words, instruments and songs.

The whole, crazy thing is one of the most special events of the summer- every year.

We're loading the truck and counting down the days... 3.5 until departure.

Friday's Fave Five

Susanne at Living to Tell the Story sponsors Friday's Fave Five. Won't you join in?

Looks like we made it. Another Friday has arrived!

#1. Favorite Friday flowers.

#2. When I am in the garage getting chicken out of the freezer, one sound I do not want to hear is the rustling of plastic bags in a dark corner. That can only mean I am not in the garage alone and that freaks me out. Freezer lid agape, chicken bag unziplocked, heart pounding, I whizzed back into the kitchen, "Fassshhhh!!!" She marched boldly to the plastic bagged corner and found this birdbrain trying to steal my bike!










Isn't he cute?

Later, my fine, feathered friend was chir-ir-irping at the door. When I went to answer, he just looked up at me like "what's for dinner?" I tried to get a picture of him there on the step through the Plexiglas, but that did not go so well. If you stare at it, you can make him out with his eyes on the sides of his upturned head and his beak pointing at me. You also have to endure the sight of my ugly toes. Sorry about that. No time to crop.


#3. I just made vegetable beef stew for 44 people. I'm so glad it's over with. Don't worry, I did not photograph it. But it tastes wonderful. More on why I cooked for 44 later.... Why is it a Friday Fave? Because that big cooking job is over with! And the event the food is for is going to be the bomb.






#4. We're going to see my niece and nephew in a play tonight. Sooo cute! I love those little buggers.





#5. I'm free. Free from a burden that has been beating me down. It feels wonderful! God is gracious and good.
Light at the End of the tunnel-

ABC in Idioms- My First Try

Jientje, yes I know I seem to be fixated on her blog lately, but if you've been over there, you can see why. Anyway, she started this thing (I think). I believe it is called a meme, but I do not know what that means. I only know that if you click on the title of my post you will be transported to her post that describes the event and if you click on the first word of this post, you will be able to see Jientje's U and V photos.



Here are my U and V photos with matching letter idioms. I'm obviously getting in on this late. W, X, Y and Z are the only letters left, but I'm sure Jientje will think of something.


This is my favorite Umbrella picture in the whole, entire world. Some of you have seen this one before. This is cheating, because I did not take this picture. I had to borrow it from Fashionista's friend. And there is no idiom. Please forgive. Okay? My U idiom shot is below.





U is for Under. I was lying on the concrete "Under the spell" of this spotted Tiger Lily in front of the retirement villa where Fash had just applied for a volunteer position. I was trying to get a shot of these speckles. When she discovered me there, Fash disappeared in a flash. I am happy to say that in spite of her eccentric mother, Fash got the job.





Okay. On to V.




V is for villain. This is Cruella DeVillain. When I can't find my hairspray, she is always the "Villain of the piece".


V is for Victor, who leaves in two weeks to visit his family and friends back in Kenya. He is studying at the college near here. Lucky for us, Outside the Box had a spare bedroom in his apartment the year Victor was looking for a place to live. That marked the beginning of a beautiful friendship for our family. We have shared Thanksgiving turkey with Victor and introduced him to Christmas caroling. This spring we gathered at my sister's house for dinner. The cat is hers. "To the Victor, go the spoils.", in this case, Victor conquered our hearts and to him we gladly share our home, family and food- in love. (Don't know that it's an idiom, but it's going to have to do)

It's not so much about the clarity of the shots (is it?), it's really about life and capturing the enjoyment of precious moments- reliving memories and sharing (right?).

Now, it's your turn!

Photographing Food

Some blogging photographers (that almost sounds rude, but I mean nothing more than bloggers wielding cameras) possess an innate ability to digitally capture the minutest of detail in a way that extracts extreme depth of feeling from the viewer. If you have no idea what I am talking about, please venture off to Belgium and tell me you don't come away craving caviar or smelling roses or hearing the ocean in seashells. If you've already been there, brace yourself for what is about to happen next here:

I wanted to share a recipe on my blog, to try to be helpful and add dimension, you know. I decided I'd better make the recipe first, to be sure it was appealing. I chose Turkey and Veggie Meatballs with Fennel (or onion, if you happen to shop where I shop) from the January/February 2006 issue of Diabetic Cooking, page 46.

I diced and chopped (you can get a good view of what that looked like back in Belgium, return there if you want to see it again) and rolled the turkey burger into 1 inch balls. Then I fried them in 1 teaspoon of oil for 11 minutes, turning frequently.

I placed them in a nice, mustard colored serving dish, sat it on a pottery barn knock off, plaid placemat on my granite-look-alike formica in my Brady bunch kitchen and....to make sure you get a birdseye view...

Stow the snacks, you don't want to be swallowing when you see this....

Okay, freeze......what are you feeling right now....come on, be honest, you can't hurt me, I'm already dying of food photo failure laughter....tell me. Do I take it to the Network, or not?

Kibbles and bits, make mine Biggie- anyone-

High Tech Heidi

Not getting much blogging done what with my new Verizon cell phone beeping me text messages from all corners of the nation. When I first started this blog, almost 50 posts ago, I had never uploaded a picture or downloaded one from a camera. In fact, I did not even own a camera and hadn't owned one since the days of film. Remember film? We used to take it in to the store and put it in a plastic canister and drop it down the hole, where it would turn into a stack of 24 glossy images on paper that we would go pick up, pay for, look at, then throw in a decorative box next to the sofa. Before the blog, my dashboard was in my car, gadgets were in a drawer in the kitchen, a new post was something a farmer would use in a fencing project and followers were found in the Bible. Look at me now! I have pictures on my blog, some taken with my Nikon Coolpix, transferred into the computer by moi using a plastic slider thingy called a card reader and others borrowed from Google. Gadgets are tools I use to add bling to my blog and followers are friends I've never met, who leave warm fuzzy comments on words created by going to my dashboard and clicking on "new post". AND, as of Saturday, I have the cell phone you saw above with unlimited text messaging. So, Pilgrim and Fash send me these brief, grammatically incorrect, spelling error laden clips of what they're up to and I send perfect and complete sentences back to them, which takes me about a quarter of an hour per reply. Yes, after much ado about too many things, Fashionista got the flip out keyboard for lightening speed texting with both thumbs and mom ended up with the "free" phone, which can require up to 4 clicks on one number pad to retrieve the desired letter for forming a single word. But hey! I'm doing it. Texting is good. I like it.

The phone we bought for Outside the Box is being shipped to him out east. It is the rugged version Verizon. If he calls me, but happens to drop it 500 feet from a cliff and it collides with a slab of granite, then slides into the lake below, as long as he just rappels down there and fishes it out right away, we will not lose connection and can just continue our conversation like nothing happened. This will be a good phone for him. This one was the deal of the day, because I.T. actually found it for free, brand new, on some Verizon website. That search only took five hours.

Here is what was sacrificed tonight in exchange for finding out that Fash found a frog at my sister's pond that had just metamorphosed from the tadpole stage.

Dinner.

Not the first time we've eaten PB&J's because of technology.

Verizon Family

Quick post while I wait for I.T. to research the online Verizon phone deals with his company discounts applied, so we can return to the store to share those with the guy we've been working with for the last three hours. Like anything else, before we buy, we ask 1,000 questions. The guy at the store is a patient fellow- good thing. And knowledgeable. Bonus! Hopefully, we are not his worst nightmare customers. I.T. likes to have every piece of information locked away before signing on the dotted line. Not a bad thing, right? Me. I never read the fine print, or any of the print. Opposites attract, we prove it over and over.

I'm excited to get everyone in this family consolidated onto one phone plan with unlimited texting. Currently, two have Nextel (no service from the mountains of New York back to mom in Michigan, ggrrrr), one has Verizon with no texting option, but is texting anyway ($$$$$ ggrrrr), one of us has Alltel pay as you go and someone in this family has no phone and is not happy about it.

Soon and very soon, I hope!, we will have a Verizon plan, flashy new phones with pull out keyboards and everyone phoning home to mother!

As one funny blogger recently posted:

One ringy, dingy- two ringy, dingy....

Speak, Your Servant is Listening

The time was around 900 B.C., sometime after the division of the nation of Israel into the northern and southern kingdoms in 931 B.C.........So, pretty long time ago.

"In those days the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions"........ Samuel's mom had given her son back to the Lord, to serve the priest, so Sam lived with him. Eli ,the priest, was getting old. It was time for bed and Eli was lying in his usual place. They had not yet put the lamp out. Samuel was lying down, too- they were in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was....."Then the Lord called Samuel."....Sam ran over to Eli and said, I'm here, what is it? Eli told him he hadn't called him and instructed Sam to go back to bed......"Again the Lord called, 'Samuel!'".......Sam got up, went over to Eli, do you need a drink of water or something, because I'm right here and I can get you whatever you need. Eli said, Sam you must be losing it, because I haven't been calling you, son......"Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord: The word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him."

This went on until, finally, the third time, Eli realized the Lord was calling Samuel. He told Samuel, "Go and lie down, and if he calls you, say, 'Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.'"......So, Sam went and lay down on his mat.....

"The Lord came and stood there, calling as at the other times, "Samuel! Samuel!" "Then Samuel said, "Speak, for your servant is listening." Samuel became a great leader for the people of God.

The time is 2009 A.D.- present day- the time is NOW......

She was living a hard lifestyle. She did not yet know the Lord. A friend took her to a revival meeting. Radical. She liked radical. That's why she went. The Lord called her name, her heart ached, she cried tears. What was happening? She heard the voice of the Lord and she answered, "Speak, for your servant is listening." That was 30 years ago. She serves Him wholeheartedly to this day. She's raised a big family of children, faithfully teaching them daily about the love of Jesus.

She had gone to church all her life. And Sunday school. Youth group. But the commitment to the instruction of His word was not in her. She made bad choices. She still looked good. Bad choices. Everyone else was. She went to a gathering on campus- Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Give your life to Jesus? What does that mean. She'd probably heard about it before, but hadn't been listening. Now. She heard the voice of the Lord and she answered, "Speak, for your servant is listening." That was many years ago. She loves Him and her heart is committed to him, still. She keeps learning.

He was raised in a Christian home, was read the word of God as a child, was surrounded by believers and received a Christian education. He was obedient. He made good choices. One day, at church, when he was seventeen, the pastor's wife gave a message. She said, "We are where we are, so that Christ may be there, also." He heard the voice of the Lord. He understood the purpose of his life, the gift of it. He answered, "Speak, for your servant is listening." He reevaluated his plans. He serves the Lord today, reaching out to teens in the lost and broken, current culture they are forced to navigate. He is twenty-two years old.

She did not grow up in a Christian home. She did not know the Lord. You know the direction in which we all float, in the absence of Biblical conviction. It was the same for her. She discovered God's word. She read it. That's all. She. Read. It. She heard the voice of the Lord and she answered, "Speak, for your servant is listening." She remains faithful to the One who is enough- her strength, her provider, the lover of her soul. She stands on his promises today.

God is alive. Giving life. Gracious and good.

The stories above are all true. One is mine. One is yours. Today I am praying for the one who does not know the One, from whom all blessings flow, that he or she may meet him soon- may hear the voice of the Lord and answer:

"Speak, for your servant is listening."

All are one in Christ Jesus-

Roto-Rooting Together Forever

Last night I.T. brought me this smiling sunflower and told me about a greenhouse he'd discovered that day on the way to a meeting at corporate headquarters. "I'll take you there," he said.

Tonight, Mr. and Mrs. I.T. had a date. Burgers and green beans for dinner at the home ranch, then off to Luurtsema's where the prices on annuals have been slashed 50 to 75% less than what they cost last week. I understand how I.T. feels about saving and I.T. knows how I feel about flowers-I get all romantic around the bloomers. the blooming flowers. I get all romantic around the blooming flowers. We strolled among fuchsia colored wave petunias cascading out of pots and giant, ruby red Dragonwing begonias all boasting their Miracle Gro-th. The $3.99 a flat, mix and match, your choice deal was speaking I.T.'s love language. Shade loving, New Guinea impatiens, gazed up at me seeming to say, "our name, Impatiens, defines you, but see how we clothe the imperfection in splendor." I bought six.

I.T. turned up the heat with his selection of a Bonfire begonia bursting from a hanging basket.









We ooo ed and cooed over sunbursts of marigolds and a blue lake of ageratum, carefully adding some of each to our tray.

Back at the ranch, I.T. helped me mix dirt in the potting box he made for me last summer. Then he repositioned the tiki torches to stave off the mosquitoes, attempting to save my neck, while I arranged the flowers in pots to place around the pool.

Perfect.

Planting done, I.T. disappeared inside the house. He had another fabulous idea- Roto-Rooting. Yes. The water has not been going down so well of late. What better time to work on fixing it, than date night? Here is the Roto-Rooter with 25 feet of steel coil inside this black, round part. You simply hold onto the handle below the black, round part and rotate the black, round part around the black, long part. I know- I've Roto- Rooted with I.T. before. Here we are Roto-Rooting together in our project bathroom with the Brady bunches old sink on date night. A faint smell of sewage seems to come with Roto-Rooting. Hmmmm....
The coil travels down the drain, all over town and 25 feet later, you reverse the rotation and retrieve your problem- in this case a large, gnarly hairball. I spare you that picture here. Alternatively, I offer you a break from this date night story of two star-crossed lovers and leave you with these flowers. So, what do all you normal people do on date night?
Feel the Love-

Peeved at the Pump

As if the fluctuating gas prices aren't enough to steam your clams, the Speedway down the road has pumps with instructional text nowhere near the actual thingy that you're supposed to push or pull to get the gas out. I know, because the yellow plastic squares displaying the 87, 89 and 93- whatever those numbers are talking about- are all smashed in from people punching them over and over trying to get the digital display to roll out the zeroes! So the gas will come out! I, too, boxed the daylights out of the 87 tonight- I needed some unleaded! BUT NO. The yellow square that the "push here" was referring to was located in an inconspicuous place among all the other buttons you might want to press- like if you wanted a receipt or a cappuccino or how 'bout a refund. And could you just put a little sticky note indicating which way the magnetic strip should face in this card reader. Tonight, getting gas was a pain in the.....neck!

Did that sound like a complaint? Because there will be no complaining on this blog. None.

Happy face-

Monday Memories

Planet M Files is hosting Monday Memories. Thought I'd join in this morning.

We landed in this 1970 something suburb fourteen years ago while looking for the perfect property in the country with acreage and a barn, so we could have chickens and a couple of goats to milk and a big garden. That dream was going to cost more than we had in our pocket, but in the suburbs- wow- you could get a four bedroom place with two baths and a swimming pool. I got sucked in. But I was bitter about it. I really wanted the barn.

We bought a three bedroom, walk-out ranch with blue siding, a deck overlooking a good sized back yard and above ground, oval Doughboy pool with a dug out deep end. A strip of woods separated our lot in back from the muck fields where onions were growing. It was okay. Happiness can be achieved anywhere. We shared the place with our three kids and a plethora of mice. No matter what we did, the mice got into the walk-out level. After three years, I couldn't stand it.

One day I was riding my bike. Eleven doors down, on the same side of the street we lived on, I spied a man hammering a For Sale by Owner sign into his front yard. The house looked nice- a brick ranch. I imagined a brick house being tight- no mice. I wheeled my bicycle into his driveway to have a little chat. This was a four bedroom walkout with a built in the ground swimming pool and a four stall garage- two wide, two deep- did I want to see it? Yes. I wanted to see it. So, he showed me around. Any mice? I asked. Never.

Later, back at the blue ranch, I.T. and I had errands to run. Riding around in the car, I casually slipped a question to I.T., carefully mingling it with other unrelated conversation. "If we had a chance to buy a brick house that has one more bedroom than our current home, a four stall garage, an inground pool, stay on the same street we live on now-and only raise our mortgage payment $50/month- would you be interested?" I.T. is not a risk taker and does not like change. "Why?" came flatly from this man of few words. Then I told him all about the house down the street, getting the tour and how the price was so low, it'd be like having a bigger, better house for almost the same mortgage. No mice. He remained silent.

The next day, I felt sure we should buy it. I.T. had not said no. After he left for work, I hammered a For Sale By Owner sign into our front yard. Then I made some cardboard signs that read For Sale By Owner with our phone # and an arrow directing interested parties to our home through the twisty suburb. I nailed them to every telephone pole from the main road to our street. Then I rode my bike down to the brick house and told the owner we were very interested and that my husband would be wanting a tour after dinner. To make sure he knew I was serious, I told him our house was already for sale.

I biked home and busied myself with housework waiting for I.T. to arrive. At precisely 5 p.m., from my hideout in the laundry room on the lower level, I heard the familiar sound of the door between the garage and kitchen, as it opened.

Immediately, "HEI. DEEEEE!" I.T. was calling.

I rushed up the stairs, "what is it?" I gave my best innocent eyes.

"Our house is for sale." I.T. seemed upset. He had seen a sign on a telephone pole on the way into the subdivision advertising a house newly for sale. As he drove past, he glimpsed the phone number on the sign. He explained how he'd stopped the car, put it in reverse and double checked the number. It was ours. And why was there a for sale sign in our yard?

"Oh that, right...well.... I went over the conversation we'd had in the car the night before- the hypothetical house with the extra bedroom, four stall garage, in-ground pool, same street, same mortgage payment- almost. I begged him to pleease go with me to see it after dinner. He said nothing. For one brief, star spangled moment, through his rocket red glare, bombs bursting in air- I thought he might kill me. I don't remember if he actually said he'd go, but we did go down to see the house after dinner.

Back then, interest rates were low, people were working and the housing market was moving. I was afraid someone else would buy the brick house out from under me. Trying to make a deal with the owner to help prevent this, I asked him if he would hold the house for me for, say, three days- give me three days to sell my house. No deal. I kept the pressure on and he finally told me he would give me 24 hours to sell my house. For that time, he would not sell the brick house to anyone else, but if someone wanted to see it, he would show it. I.T. just looked at me like I was the nut that I am. I had 24 hours to sell our blue ranch.

The next day, Friday late afternoon, a couple drove by our house. They drove by again. They pulled into the driveway. They wanted to see the house. Keeping a house in show shape 100% of the time was near to impossible with three little kids and a dog running in and out of it. I told them to come back in three hours. I tore through that house cleaning and straightening. I.T. loaded the kids and dog in the car and left. The potential buyers returned. They loved it. They made an offer. I said no, the price is firm, but I'd throw in the solar cover for the pool. They took it.

It was late by the time we settled out all the paperwork and such. But early the next morning, I hopped on my bike and booked down to the brick. The owner was in the driveway trying to enjoy his coffee when I skidded in missing him by a hair. "I sold my house!"

Each child moved into his or her very own bedroom (though two have since moved out, thus we have two spare bedrooms). I.T. has plenty of space to store his stuff in our four stall garage, the pool is a neighborhood fun spot and we have never seen a mouse in this house. I.T. made me promise that for the rest of our married life, so that would be all the rest of both our lives, I would never surprise him with anything again- ever. I've tried very hard not to.

Lilies Speak

Today a polite, young man who loves the Lord our God with all his heart and soul and mind willingly left his safe and comfortable home in Michigan to begin his four years of service in the U.S. Marine Corp. He will have to do hard things. He will be uncomfortably challenged. And he will potentially risk his life to protect the country he adores. He will do this for me and for every citizen of our nation. Friday night Fashionista hosted a party in his honor. The lilies above are for him. They are saying, "Shine your light!" God go with you, Cavan.

On June 30, the world lost a good and faithful servant- Phil. During his 73 years of life on earth, he worked unceasingly for peace in the name of Jesus. He served as a missionary in Singapore and in Seoul, teaching and spreading the gospel abroad. Hundreds of his writings and letters on the subject of peace can be read at http://web.mac.com/pemerson1/Site/HOME_PAGE.html . On Saturday many gathered to celebrate Phil's life, as his family encouraged each and every one to carry on Phil's life purpose: To be a witness to Jesus Christ in whatever I do. To help others to make a difference. To live in happiness with my family and friends. To travel and learn.

Phil's life verse was Micah 6:8
He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

The yellow lilies are also for Phil. They are saying, "Welcome home, good and faithful servant!" We'll see you later, Phil....

The world is full of love and light. Therein lies hope.

Peace,

Storing up- um, Treasure...

This is Fashionista's peanut plant. No, we don't live in Georgia. I have no idea how peanuts will feel about Michigan soil and climate. We shall see.

But I am stalling.

The truth is: I woke up with this verse on my lips. Yes. Verbally being spoken out of my own lips as I brushed my teeth.

"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Matt. 6:19-21 ESV

And all I can think about is the toilet paper. The 433 rolls of toilet paper smashed into the top of the entryway coat closet. The Costco toilet paper.

That toilet paper is not where my heart lies. To prove it, I am considering having Fash set up a toilet paper stand today. Kind of like a lemonade stand. And the rolls will be free. 300 rolls of toilet paper.

This will not even seem unusual in our 1970 something suburb.

Oh, when you let your conscience be your guide....

Heidi

Costco- I'm in!

Michigan winters are long and cold. I.T. and I barely notice, because it's always only 7 days or less to Friday. That's when we settle in around the fire with our longtime friends from down the street to play a few rounds of pinochle. When it's their turn to host, we are frequently served delicious fruits, nuts, cheese, crackers and sweets from Costco. Our card playing friends are two of the best customers that club ever had. For years they have encouraged us to join, so we too could enjoy a steady supply of fresh, decadent foodstuffs and, of course, save money.

I am not one to follow the crowd, as you know, and even our friends' seamless arguments could not convince me that it made any sense at all to pay money for a plastic card- the required passport to shop in that store. No. I make weekly rounds to Aldi, then Meijer, maybe Family Fare and finish up at Wal-Mart if absolutely necessary- all sans *the card*, stocking enough for one week, then make the trek again.

We visited Costco a couple of times, as guests of our friends. Guards frisked us at the door and took our thumb prints before we entered. We could look, but under no circumstances were we even to think of purchasing anything from Costco without a plastic membership card. Got it? They're serious about *the card*. I felt nervous until I got ten feet or so inside the entrance. That's when the suction of the stuff-mart gripped me, as I was lured in by the loot. They pack a lot into this monster of a shopping metropolis under one roof. But it is organized and tidy. Employees believe in the products. They speak with confidence and a smile about all things Costco. We were mesmerized.

First we passed the big screen t.v.s, then the case of diamond rings. When we got to the food section, we opened our mouths at every end cap and free demo treats popped in. You can pretty much get a full lunch there on Saturdays. When we left, we felt a little bit depressed. We did not belong.

A few weeks ago, an intriguing piece of junk mail arrived. Costco was offering a $10 cash coupon to those who wished to join for the introductory rate and a $20 cash coupon for entering at the executive, CEO, big kahuna level. I paused for the flashback of the endless aisles of deals. Yeah, I wanted the gold card.

I mentioned it to I.T. He's a hard sell. I tucked the flyer into the side of a wooden box that sits by our phone- a veritable dumpster for loose paperwork that needs reevaluation.

Last Sunday was the final day of the special offer. I pulled out the flyer and took it to church in my purse. After the final prayer and chit chat, on the way to the car, I carefully reviewed the benefits of a Costco membership with I.T. He said, "you want to go there now?" I replied, "yes, I want to go there now." I flashed the flyer.

Fashionista was curious, she had heard they sold coffins there and wanted to see what styles were available. I think she visualized tens of thousands of coffins in every color of the crayon box with various designs all lined up. I burst her bubble by telling her there were two 1/4 coffins cut in half lengthwise and glued to a display board for viewing.

Anyway, we drove over there, went in the wrong door, were made to go back out and re-enter through the right door. The plain clothes door officer watched to make sure we walked directly to the membership counter, where we promptly joined at the level that offered the most perks. No credit card. Just the magic gold.

Then we grabbed a cart and got some lunch from the demo folks in the grocery department. All natural energy bars- you can pronounce every ingredient listed, fizzy soda without dyes or artificial flavoring, pork barbecue, Kirkland brand yogurt (I'm so impressed with that Costco brand- quality!) and sharp cheddar- white, not yellow- describes a few of the samples available that day. I bought the energy bars. We sampled an entire pizza at the food court on our way out.

It was exciting, though I tend to get over zealous in adventurous situations such as these. My cash envelope for groceries is now empty, plus some. I don't need to call Dave Ramsey to figure out we can't use our air conditioner this week (that should evoke enough savings from the electric bill envelope to make up the difference). I'm not sure what I'll do with 433 rolls of toilet paper and I think I.T. will need to dig out a cold storage hut under our basement to store the super sized boxes of fresh fruits and veggies. But I figure that will double as a tornado shelter. We'll cram as many neighbors down in there as we can fit and snack on whole foods while we ride out the storm. It'll boost morale in the midst of tragedy and we'll all come out ready to rebuild!

I understand, from our friends, if we play our cards right, we will actually save money shopping at Costco. I hope I'll be able to figure out how to make that deal score.

In the meantime, visit anytime -plenty of toilet paper and snacks for everyone! Plus the pool's open.

Heidi

How Do you Shoot a Firecracker?

On an extreme scorcher of a day, my mom has been known to say, "it's hotter than a firecracker on the 4th of July". I wanted to show you a hot firecracker on the 4th of July. But even though I have a fancy setting on my new Nikon that says 'fireworks display' under the menu of the scene mode, I am telling you right now getting a perfect shot of a firecracker at it's peak of beautiful explosion takes more skill than I've got. I spent the 4th of July watching fireworks through a 2.5 inch LCD screen on the back of my Coolpix S550 and all I have to show for it is this collection right here. Not exactly what I was going for. But green is in.

Looks like something out of a Rocky Horror Picture Show- I've never seen that show, but this is what I imagine might be seen in that show.Looks like Princess Fiona's *poof* just before she turned into an ogre, so she could live happily ever after with Shrek. Only problem is, she didn't *poof*, Fashionista says she made the change over in a spray of sparkles. I don't know.The spray of Fiona's sparkles?A feather duster as seen under a microscope as it dusts electrons.



You get the picture. Literally. These are them.

The moon was enough of a display for me. Didn't have the correct mode on, I don't think, but..

Maybe someone else has some good firecracker shots? Let's see 'em.

Heidi