tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79168937273908066382024-03-12T22:52:19.460-05:00Save EtheriaUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-9788095497317912232011-07-29T19:55:00.001-05:002011-07-29T19:56:18.171-05:00Thing to Do #17: Redo Laundry Room<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_MD8Kqi_NI0bHX3I1XfdH03vRyH1zZsicWmjuIgmzeLA2KpUzDHiLQAzCx6bl-1EY5u7zj6SeuZi78jCm0LuXu2jJRUj0rJh2SZNGGSD6jvX4I_0lEAZ7dAJ0ubk9nxw9thlWHKJK9E/s1600/DSC03153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_MD8Kqi_NI0bHX3I1XfdH03vRyH1zZsicWmjuIgmzeLA2KpUzDHiLQAzCx6bl-1EY5u7zj6SeuZi78jCm0LuXu2jJRUj0rJh2SZNGGSD6jvX4I_0lEAZ7dAJ0ubk9nxw9thlWHKJK9E/s320/DSC03153.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Redecorating our drab laundry room was way down on the household project list. But one day I found a puddle of water under our washing machine and realized it had a leak. My co-worker told me it was probably a $40 fix - just open it up and replace one inexpensive part. Well, after I failed to figure out how to open up the machine (and after my rocket-science in-laws couldn't figure it out either), David and I decided to just go ahead and buy a new washer and dryer. Stackable ones, to give us more storage space.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLl0Q_J9YieUYSRbv7bm-jCs3aAACY2Pcpn_icEwsURP-OsJBevK398Z2bF2C8xYqoVQaVm7hPBw95lrORSdk9QOUfz3koa5OvMf2NlQtzSxPV0mxjMFL4t2GUrf7ZrpIeDWJ_5SHko6w/s1600/DSC03165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLl0Q_J9YieUYSRbv7bm-jCs3aAACY2Pcpn_icEwsURP-OsJBevK398Z2bF2C8xYqoVQaVm7hPBw95lrORSdk9QOUfz3koa5OvMf2NlQtzSxPV0mxjMFL4t2GUrf7ZrpIeDWJ_5SHko6w/s200/DSC03165.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
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While we were at it, I decided we might as well paint the wall behind where the new washer and dryer would be, since this might be the last time we'd ever be able to get back there. And you can't just paint part of one wall (like the previous homeowners had done), so it seemed worth doing them all. <br />
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Along that same line of logic, we thought we might as well do the floor as well. A nice blue concrete stain did the trick. <br />
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I soon realized that the ceiling also needed new paint. Someone (probably the same person who had done the walls) had once started to paint it a light green, then changed his or her mind and painted the rest a pale yellow, then left random spots of pink. <br />
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While I was painting the ceiling, I noticed there was no cover on the light bulb. So I had to get a new globe.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdMA0IN_3YYijMII1ZAcDWjzm0dMteKBzfpWTANg52-1qjCMaz6a1lUNY5pBfwsc7yg_QNQf_zObcr9h1nUEN8Ja7onys530B6lPJ4eSlDfcq1uP_L3CYm6WhI6sN_s6QrsNOgmlGYps/s1600/DSC03337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdMA0IN_3YYijMII1ZAcDWjzm0dMteKBzfpWTANg52-1qjCMaz6a1lUNY5pBfwsc7yg_QNQf_zObcr9h1nUEN8Ja7onys530B6lPJ4eSlDfcq1uP_L3CYm6WhI6sN_s6QrsNOgmlGYps/s200/DSC03337.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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I had never noticed that the trim around the doors and windows had never been painted. And neither had the old ratty-looking shelving unit some unskilled laborer had made. Out came the white paint! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPwmhLYaT0Tg-z4q1NU9uKgm3OvsWB_a_SddOOeKmzt001rYkvXmGlHqjEGULCdZM9bfj7enYGYlPq1ZiluKTfdNn1_4fsGscPUQeufhS9OByrONueTUtCgMdi6iSLcbjRG7rE0uUA54/s1600/DSC03156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPwmhLYaT0Tg-z4q1NU9uKgm3OvsWB_a_SddOOeKmzt001rYkvXmGlHqjEGULCdZM9bfj7enYGYlPq1ZiluKTfdNn1_4fsGscPUQeufhS9OByrONueTUtCgMdi6iSLcbjRG7rE0uUA54/s200/DSC03156.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
Now I needed to organize the storage areas. So I went to Tuesday Morning and loaded up on pretty baskets. While I was there, I picked up some nice floor mats. And of course, an ironing board cover that matched the baskets. <br />
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The window looked drab then. So I borrowed a sewing machine and made a curtain - my first sewing project in at least 18 years. Found some fake lemon trees at a garage sale to dress up the sill. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlXYnUhaCj_w1Yw0fM0HpksT6mUJB5dSpu79jH9T-XojXy0a6qiEPKi3qd_kzgylNEchWnwEw4bGLsu-QmBtrd9DX-2vIhWQ7xUUcnslk-nnk592KdkG1pMhCuDlF3-ecYJRlgydRgiY/s1600/DSC04035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlXYnUhaCj_w1Yw0fM0HpksT6mUJB5dSpu79jH9T-XojXy0a6qiEPKi3qd_kzgylNEchWnwEw4bGLsu-QmBtrd9DX-2vIhWQ7xUUcnslk-nnk592KdkG1pMhCuDlF3-ecYJRlgydRgiY/s320/DSC04035.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
We've always wanted a utility sink. So we hired a plumber to install one. While he was there, we had him fix the leaking gas line we had been putting off repairing. And oh, cabinets. I decided we needed cabinets.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOF4CXNuen6dt94ESLSzIFuVUu4QNK_O7l8cG8vpYtst2URvGY9zVm6_5kyAapKURvNMncl3VZCv2sUtVYeH0S2GFhh4C3VtKY_6aYY0gd8wJDCUv3ssnr9sf4_22YVr9_f3lOEMb1vs4/s1600/DSC04037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOF4CXNuen6dt94ESLSzIFuVUu4QNK_O7l8cG8vpYtst2URvGY9zVm6_5kyAapKURvNMncl3VZCv2sUtVYeH0S2GFhh4C3VtKY_6aYY0gd8wJDCUv3ssnr9sf4_22YVr9_f3lOEMb1vs4/s320/DSC04037.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Seven months (and a big chunk of change) later, we had our newly remodeled laundry room.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyT4ucPmdy7Q3oOnoz71Nkm4mKeRUXcWZW1iGSXpOXblEz1Rmpe5jA5O1ayt5Ddgu72iCn9XSR1pzi-LNlgDW46paP0kSp1pQVPOzyFcPCgjt80H7ckTVLu3lehK70VBYe4a6oQRJdUts/s1600/DSC04058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyT4ucPmdy7Q3oOnoz71Nkm4mKeRUXcWZW1iGSXpOXblEz1Rmpe5jA5O1ayt5Ddgu72iCn9XSR1pzi-LNlgDW46paP0kSp1pQVPOzyFcPCgjt80H7ckTVLu3lehK70VBYe4a6oQRJdUts/s320/DSC04058.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Occasionally, I spot a puddle of water under my new washing machine. I just ignore it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-48369699190028873002011-06-27T19:00:00.026-05:002011-06-29T11:35:52.097-05:00Mazzy Rose Griner, 1999-2011<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXA2ZGpZK2Fxn9KpnOnVuE6MeApeMjSnukTNL2PbCcMf2Hk6zyL0OaXKxfeTxxAKWV6Ryaf1gJ3-Hg2LMo_SrlD4oOmx6L8JvRdALZ31VSpy-DH-PCd_Rz039Ltv8xSkUpHeWMNpe6JU/s1600/28.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXA2ZGpZK2Fxn9KpnOnVuE6MeApeMjSnukTNL2PbCcMf2Hk6zyL0OaXKxfeTxxAKWV6Ryaf1gJ3-Hg2LMo_SrlD4oOmx6L8JvRdALZ31VSpy-DH-PCd_Rz039Ltv8xSkUpHeWMNpe6JU/s320/28.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623605847553204690" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">In August of 1999, I had just graduated college and started my first job. I was on my own for the first time, and feeling a little lonely. So I went to a pet store to adopt a calico kitten. They had one for sale - and it bit me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>I knew that wasn't the cat for me, and although I'd had my heart set on a calico just like the one I'd had growing up, I moved on to the next cage, where I saw a grey and white kitten, about 6 months old - a little older then I was looking for. Still, I picked her up and held her in my arms. She touched my chin with her little white paw. And that's how I met Mazzy.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaoikMf10kHRykVO2qrkgTd2PhG4__VEFCS7WN9DWOoB5foqb5aC0HMTyY8uf4DKq457Pg_GaQ41KPQv1OT3bqaQPCouSEuIwriXo8pPVU96V4nv4PV1iI3P_fbN90vkHgzsamqGCvL4/s320/1.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623447657978375122" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Those first few months, it was just me and Mazzy. She slept in my arms every night, and loved having me all to herself. But about six months later, I found a calico kitten to bring home.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mazzy was not pleased.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Months passed, and I was worried these two cats would never get along, despite Callie's many attempts to win over Mazzy's affection.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTKZRPG0ivme1sGKDLLTQES2KrlYPi2UwzU4Su6hm1cdVZa9Fe7Scm6ca6S_tm1GkerE2OhUkRSl-Zzlzv7VBcjOwOMY1lbAARdGAU-z6JN7o5bkfWOZfQkt-MHWkH2K8ZTVEKXrIMdg/s320/6.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 237px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623448168569517826" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><p><br /><p><p><br><br><br /></div><div><p>Then, one day, I came home and saw this:<p></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcR9FFOJkRCIBQ5QoRXcHYSnqlD8PnIze2duFg4myFdjvLG9mNADU6SoEhyukjXVFQzbofbjevMiUO1s3cBP43DnEnEZ5pQFimUGH9giiEIyWfhd1zpsVpRhAqoCt61QRxBLA30jQQ_1U/s320/9.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 250px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623448740750708194" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>From that point on, Mazzy and Callie were the best of friends. Seeing them cuddling together always cheered me up.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn_vLpiSxavPYDgvjci4XJVPBG-Qec3G9-COLD1NTLVdPNDM7XTzVYiEsMGL7sb85SeFUr0Ao0ywRywayQjzni4JPDnmMAaZfgiK7HwI7stw2ZepJ6vWWk25xBZiDpup4sHHiHWAsCcaA/s320/23.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623606081044059010" /></div><div>Those cats were with me through six moves in three states, tolerated two cross-country road trips, and eventually learned to put up with the addition of a dog. </div><div><br /></div><div>In 2007, <a href="http://saveetheria.blogspot.com/2007/06/our-weekend-emergency.html">Callie died suddenly</a> of kidney failure. Mazzy was never the same after that. I don't know if it was the loss of Callie, the stress of our <a href="http://saveetheria.blogspot.com/2007/11/new-addition-no-i-havent-had-baby-yet.html">adopting a new cat</a> she never learned to like, or just bad luck, but soon after Callie's death Mazzy developed inflamed bowel disease. IBD can't be cured, and I pity the cats, cat owners, and cat owners' belongings (oh, and wallets) who have to live with it. We had to pill Mazzy twice every day for the rest of her life and take her in to the vet a few times a year for treatment. We had to put her (and poor Cleo) on a diet of bland prescription cat food and stop giving her night time treats, something she and Callie always loved.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, about a month ago, I noticed Mazzy seemed to have lost more weight than usual and looked dehydrated. I took her in to the vet to be examined. Blood tests showed that her white blood cells were highly elevated, indicating she had cancer. It is common for cats with IBD to develop cancer, so I wasn't surprised. The doctor said she wouldn't respond to any kind of treatment, so all we could do was make her comfortable.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the past few weeks we stopped forcing her to take her daily pills, added night time treats back into her routine, and showed her lots of love. She purred a lot and didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all - just really tired.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mazzy died peacefully in her sleep sometime during the night of June 24 - coincidentally, my father's birthday. She never seemed to be in pain, never lost her appetite or ability to walk. She was happy right up until the end.</div><div><br /></div><div>We plan to bury her remains right next to Callie, so they can cuddle together forever.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzyblrmxhYBSCCjJR_zpihwYDxPSZ3DQ7a7SYwYag3MVCbhuhBQ241zFSsEpGVgzrB6ng0yjRUw_wEr4O_HN1JgIMUA0eNK7HLex-EOH_IxGSnmnLMWouzPF0naWH3fDrcHWks0hLasM/s320/32.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623608169963837426" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 243px; " /></div><div><object width="400" height="300"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fgriner%2Fsets%2F72157627069861292%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fgriner%2Fsets%2F72157627069861292%2F&set_id=72157627069861292&jump_to="> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087"> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fgriner%2Fsets%2F72157627069861292%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fgriner%2Fsets%2F72157627069861292%2F&set_id=72157627069861292&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-11955737345264701772011-06-27T12:51:00.000-05:002011-06-27T12:51:34.019-05:00Thing to Do #65: Take Alli to church (or, The Day My Daughter Learned How to Lie)You may remember a couple of years ago David and I <a href="http://saveetheria.blogspot.com/2007/03/confession.html">checked out the local Unitarian Church</a> to see if it was one we'd like to attend, especially after we had a child. Well, a year ago next month, we decided to take Allison to church for the first time. And it was the day when my ordinarily honest little angel decided to try lying. Apparently, the Sunday school teacher was the perfect guinea pig for her little experiment.<br /><br />Lie #1: The teacher asked the children what the nicest thing was that happened to them all day. One little girl shared that her parents took her out to breakfast at a restaurant. Allison, who up to that point had been quiet and pretending to be shy, blurted out that she also had gone out to a restaurant with her parents that morning. Nope. We made blueberry pancakes at home. But I just marked this tall tale up to copy cat syndrome.<br /><br />Lie #2: I went back up to hear the rest of the service as all the children were settling down at a table to draw a picture of the nicest thing that had happened to them all day. I was looking forward to seeing what Allison had drawn. When I returned to the classroom, I discovered her paper was blank. When I asked her why, she said because the teacher would not give her a marker. Or a crayon. Or even a pencil. What a mean teacher.<br /><br />Lie #3: The teacher then came up to me and said: "So Allison tells me you're going to her Nonna's birthday party today." The confused look on my face made her follow up with: "So I guess this is news to you?" Yes, considering my mother's birthday is in December, and this was July.<div><br /></div><div>Since then, we've tried taking her back a few times. But it hasn't proven to be a very fruitful experience for her or us. I guess we're just not church-goin folk. At least I can check it off the list as having tried!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-49209812745743595332011-06-01T21:00:00.000-05:002011-06-01T21:00:36.976-05:00Thing to Do #30: Fire a gun<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtECO27WBhU4CjOmpGGB46kzpyBX4QqysmjjRQRlwB_mhEcSiEsR1miERtUk5WavOB5qWdiQo3ySVkB1-7BIYk3tndKR-uj8gieh_m6f9jMvdAXpj7k80e6LsORd90AXjJqR6lKoxzSv8/s1600/IMG_548cropped.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtECO27WBhU4CjOmpGGB46kzpyBX4QqysmjjRQRlwB_mhEcSiEsR1miERtUk5WavOB5qWdiQo3ySVkB1-7BIYk3tndKR-uj8gieh_m6f9jMvdAXpj7k80e6LsORd90AXjJqR6lKoxzSv8/s320/IMG_548cropped.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574263629771087538" /></a><div>This Thing to Do also happened to be a 2009 New Year's Resolution. When, on December 30, 2009, I realized I hadn't done it yet, I asked my father-in-law to take me to the shooting range. Unfortunately, it was closed that day. But he understood how important it was that I check off this resolution, so he took me to a top secret, undisclosed, never-to-be-revealed location to let me fire a gun. Into a lake. (Some people here in Alabama refer to this as "fishing.")<br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-72569191529996651632010-06-16T12:15:00.012-05:002011-02-07T12:15:45.578-06:00Thing to Do #82: Build a Snowman<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLT77EIDASbPJIno5_dHQW_YPJbO5LHudqZAK9HcG4l5tQgqb7_yGGr2UQ-4arh7POYJTYOUwf_UMARrvXhlq8m1z0mA9qIL2w9N9vIFHZ-NJ-NamSpeu1NKtbuz-aTxyu4dFze0UW_Us/s1600/DSC02969.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483422399177335282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLT77EIDASbPJIno5_dHQW_YPJbO5LHudqZAK9HcG4l5tQgqb7_yGGr2UQ-4arh7POYJTYOUwf_UMARrvXhlq8m1z0mA9qIL2w9N9vIFHZ-NJ-NamSpeu1NKtbuz-aTxyu4dFze0UW_Us/s400/DSC02969.JPG" /></a> When I created my to-do list, I thought I'd have to wait until my next winter vacation up in Illinois for this one. But in December 2009, Alabama got a snowfall that accumulated a whole few inches! Of course, within a few hours it had melted and our snowman's head fell off. But he had a good life while it lasted.<br /><br />Allison and I finally had another chance to build a snowman this past Christmas while in Illinois, but she wouldn't let me take any pictures of her that time. Which is a shame, because my mother had an honest-to-goodness corn-cob pipe that we stuck in his mouth.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAWS-c_uInwWm7zd75kr5lWnI3DlT57ImNWeSRvmHWQ-KNjpSBdTfDmsjPAruUwtnLMHS2TKvJlEPIZu1UFv1mqyUanvgfIY-Tnc81D3SaPGePM2WzCuawKhN7wAM3EAW5R2Bm4z9EGQ/s1600/DSC02966.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483422781719066418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAWS-c_uInwWm7zd75kr5lWnI3DlT57ImNWeSRvmHWQ-KNjpSBdTfDmsjPAruUwtnLMHS2TKvJlEPIZu1UFv1mqyUanvgfIY-Tnc81D3SaPGePM2WzCuawKhN7wAM3EAW5R2Bm4z9EGQ/s400/DSC02966.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbQGqcb56LQsBGY-1vUVoISB8eG8LMpaWF9-fnZPZ-LzxY7S0k2-UqRsAMEJjl9mgHwUoYRZGHZl3vrngnv7Q9Ek7STRQpctlLgQGaZh-UF8Fhha4d3OLu1h4_AkexM-0AJ-1UvMKR94/s1600/DSC02976.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFCe1x41lVZTNjbz-P5YcsRm75-OC-EXQU3ZaENUJ74zKW6VJ4FxWLfv_dHNR9ofNZhGVlEt4p-tz4FlVIc-CEGwJdxOpRjKYPbI4j5wHljaNNumea4_nJv7y57NxQArkLkSfxXqcApVU/s1600/DSC02972.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483422608549323314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFCe1x41lVZTNjbz-P5YcsRm75-OC-EXQU3ZaENUJ74zKW6VJ4FxWLfv_dHNR9ofNZhGVlEt4p-tz4FlVIc-CEGwJdxOpRjKYPbI4j5wHljaNNumea4_nJv7y57NxQArkLkSfxXqcApVU/s400/DSC02972.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483424107830150642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHayv17Gf4lNAvnlPE2kwZR6wBnt2w93ZxhODZ5GuB2zFeETkhi3EGAbUOHXw5qYVMIQT8yLROOkLvXw0xO0LoqeyHFqhjzeOmz3oc0t-JVvhSaElukNYu_KLOTHSh5EhbDidvetpeQM4/s400/DSC02976.JPG" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-29016043025288138422010-06-15T12:54:00.007-05:002011-01-27T21:13:11.328-06:00Thing to Do #1: Get eye surgery<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPCYkqchHbNLvYh9MUnMtnfA677TNTOZG-SYfLYkDDGLguVHCnPdWruGAnJV6f5lqvacNviIaGRP-7hOk4fLnP0xwbm6vHLHoiaM-xH14FZ-jvdI699nV7ecAQr_gAzIqhAXlzO8_hr0/s1600/P1010115.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPCYkqchHbNLvYh9MUnMtnfA677TNTOZG-SYfLYkDDGLguVHCnPdWruGAnJV6f5lqvacNviIaGRP-7hOk4fLnP0xwbm6vHLHoiaM-xH14FZ-jvdI699nV7ecAQr_gAzIqhAXlzO8_hr0/s400/P1010115.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483065568762504114" /></a>When I was 5 years old my parents informed me during dinner that I had to get glasses. I looked around the room and thought: But I can see just fine.<br /><br />That was the last time I remember seeing with my own eyes. Until now!<br /><br />With a prescription of -9 on my left eye and -10 on my right, I'd known for years that I didn't qualify for Lasix. I'd have to get the same surgery that my sister had about 10 years ago, ICL, where a lens is implanted in the eye. I also knew that it was two or three times as expensive as Lasix. But I made a deal with my parents: They'd pay half. Great deal - except that it took me about 5 years to raise my half.<br /><br />Finally, thanks in large part to our 2009 tax return, I had my portion of the cash, so I booked an appointment. Back when my sister had the procedure done, it wasn't FDA approved, so she had to go to Canada to have it done and wait a couple weeks in between eyes. But since then the FDA has blessed it, and I got to have the surgery performed by a doctor whose office is five minutes from my house. And I had both lens implants done on the same day.<br /><br />I didn't feel nervous even for a second. I was more anxious than anything. There are a LOT of pre-op tests you have to go through, and you have to wear glasses for two full weeks before the surgery. Had I still been wearing hard contact lenses, I'd have had to wear my glasses for three months, so I was grateful I'd moved to soft lenses a few years back. I was told I'd be awake for the procedure, but I was knocked right out. I remember them putting on a clamp, then taking the other off. Simple as that. An hour later, I had better than 20/20 vision.<br /><br />I've had a few issues since then, and my vision's still not as clear as I'd like it to be, but it will continue to improve. Overall I can't complain. For the first time since I was five I can get out of bed without having to fumble around the bedside table looking for my glasses, knocking over a glass of water in the process.<br /><br />Oh, and thanks Mom and Dad!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-32534138925550500062010-06-01T12:14:00.013-05:002011-01-25T17:19:14.710-06:00New Blog. New Posts. New Stuff to Do.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QcK_OW0kCX-XR8jW5Ec3x-5IM4ZS6h1EOD4nsmi4ZdDa-fujaCONHiVWHG6jMUl4npgwoYqN0sFQGuOl7-sgUHJkPiHbsv7F8mx7w5JSzCnVBBSh3TlbgmNWsa1I0vH2uXKQfMyS8rk/s1600/P1010015.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QcK_OW0kCX-XR8jW5Ec3x-5IM4ZS6h1EOD4nsmi4ZdDa-fujaCONHiVWHG6jMUl4npgwoYqN0sFQGuOl7-sgUHJkPiHbsv7F8mx7w5JSzCnVBBSh3TlbgmNWsa1I0vH2uXKQfMyS8rk/s400/P1010015.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478617077666436146" /></a>It's time for a fresh start.<br /><br />Almost two years have past since my last blog post (and yes, we finally resolved that pesky <a href="http://saveetheria.blogspot.com/2008/06/tooth-in-tumor.html">cat-in-heat </a>issue). While hectic schedules and plain old-fashioned procrastination are on my mile-long list of excuses for not writing, my main reason has to do with the fact that I used this blog to write about what was going on in my life. Around the time of my last post, what was going on was my father was diagnosed with a brain tumor, to which he lost his battle on June 20, 2009. My father was a private man and one of my most loyal blog followers, so I didn't want him seeing his struggles posted so publicly. I also tried to maintain a brave face during that year he was sick, so I did not want to frighten him by reading about my own fears and emotions. So, I stopped.<br /><br />Lately I've really missed writing, so I'm ready to come back. And while I may occasionally write a post about my dad, I promise I won't harp on it. Instead, I intend to use this blog as a launching pad for a project inspired by my father's untimely death. A project that's all about remembering to live life every day and to always have goals that you're working toward.<br /><br />It's called 101 Things To Do in 1,001 Days. The object is to make a list of 101 things you want to do, like New Year's resolutions. But because, really, it's not always possible to get those resolutions done in a single year, you get to work within a more realistic time frame of just under three years. I started the project on August 22, 2009, so my deadline is May 19, 2012.<br /><br />So far, it's been a lot of fun, and I feel my life is more focused. I encourage everyone to try it. It was tough coming up with 101 different goals (I started to struggle around 50), but that just encourages a little creativity. And for those of you who do not have 1,001 fingers to count, here's a <a href="http://www.timeanddate.com/date/dateadd.html">calculator</a> to figure out when your deadline will be.<br /><br />So here we go. 101 Thing to Do #21: start blogging again regularly.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-12123085574379933332008-07-31T13:38:00.004-05:002008-07-31T13:52:38.116-05:00Deja vu<div>When I took a trip recently to visit my family in northern Illinois, my grandmother gave me a photo that was taken in July 1977. It shows my mother, standing in front of our old house, holding 4-month-old me while my late Aunt Ann admires my cuteness. </div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229250132828881682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz04YlBUWGQy8V_x78EtygxX2sU3tvxHcbd-17NEYHR5CeWoOMutbHm023xGD2ncPwaIi2-ucACW5csrZ7LPBezr5Y_VbDtLD30GFUN2IrxsQgtWlg78J8oaxJE_kD1bWlt4LrpfTX0vY/s400/Karen+Ann+and+Donna.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>Coincidentally, my visit was in July, when my own daughter was 4 months old. So I was inspired to recreate the photo with Allison's Aunt Cathy. This photo was taken outside my parents' new home, which is just next door to the old place. </div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229251500734522226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsv8JU9YyRKVxMXiEKssYPLfzGSvqYDIqIidWqtb_da8SFw_y9F-rwHLVDhkQETLmGw2SPN_GlcHy_Zxodv1JZT2MlNUBmWQABaGUSYqdZuIvXvPJjg9_Rt6fYi15J2GWt_YMi_DD6wU/s400/Allison+Cathy+and+Karen.jpg" border="0" /></div><div>It's amazing to me how much Allison and I look alike as babies! Except that she has a cuter forehead...</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>More blog entries to come - I've got lots of stories and catching up to do! Meanwhile, if you're itching for more Allison photos check out the link to the right, which will take you to our Flickr photo album.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-51379245285581151932008-06-11T13:16:00.003-05:002008-06-11T13:55:54.723-05:00A tooth in a tumor<a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3051/2569781146_beeb2e7b2a.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3051/2569781146_beeb2e7b2a.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a> <div align="justify">I made reference in my last post to a time when my supposedly spayed cat went into heat. For about four days Cleo howled nonstop, pointed her little butt up into the air, and made passes at the dog. When I told the vet about it, she said "she's just enjoying the springtime." And that it probably wouldn't happen again.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Well a few weeks ago, it happened again. This time, she was enjoying the season for a full week.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">The vet had me bring Cleo in to do some blood tests. Now, Doc tends to ramble on a lot and toss<a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3017/2569780676_d2f9bb6d05.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3017/2569780676_d2f9bb6d05.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a> out a lot of theories, especially in regards to what a cat's issue could be, as they apparently are an enigma to even modern medicine. I usually manage to grasp only a vague sense of what she's talking about. In this case she went on and on about what she must believe to be the common occurrence of finding a tooth in a cancer patient's tumor because a tooth cell somehow got inside a tumor. Similarly, she theorizes, an ovarian cell may have somehow gone AWOL and grown a new ovary somewhere in Cleo's body, where it set up a hormone-making factory that causes her to have heat-like symptoms.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Or, as David and I theorize, maybe the vet just forgot to spay the stinkin cat.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Back in January, I brought Cleo in for her last set of shots. The vet told me to bring her back in February to be spayed. But when I went to check out, the receptionist said I didn't need to bring Cleo back for a year - when it was time for her next round of vaccinations. When I mentioned that Doc told me Cleo still needed to be spayed, the receptionist said Cleo's chart showed that had already been done. According to Cleo's records, she was spayed when she was five weeks old (about a month before we met her and decided to adopt her). The receptionist pointed this out to the vet, who said, "oh yeah. We did do that." When I inquired as to why a kitten would have been spayed at such a young age the vet said it was a clerical error.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">To this day the vet insists Cleo WAS spayed, and she will not even entertain the idea that perhaps she's thinking of another cat on the operating table. She's sticking with the tooth in the tumor theory. Yet in her 25 years in the field she has never seen a spayed cat go into heat, and the idea is now so fascinating to her that she told me she has some scientist friends who may want to study Cleo. But she wants to see the results of the blood test first.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">It has now been three weeks since I took Cleo in for those tests. I have called the vet's office about five times to inquire about the results. I have not heard back from her. Could it be the results show Cleo is the owner of two healthy, perfectly intact ovaries? Impossible.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">By the way, the latest and perhaps final theory about Mazzy's condition is that she has irritable bowel syndome. Which basically means she (and Cleo, for convenience sake) can only eat prescription cat food from now on. The stuff sells for about 17 bucks for a very small bag that can only be purchased from your local vet. Sheesh. But Mazzy has shown improvement.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Several of you commented on my last entry (and I'm sure some of you are already planning to make similar comments on this entry) that it may be time for a new vet. Maybe so. I've been sticking with this one for as long as I have for two reasons: 1.) I was really impressed by how well she treated Callie in her final days. She made her comfortable and really tried everything to save her. When we did have to put Callie down, the vet cried. That endeared her to me. And 2.) because we adopted Cleo through her, we get 50% off all her vet bills. Sweet!</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">But I'll keep the advice in mind. We'll see how things go on Friday when I have to take Jonas in to check out a newly developed limp. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-29598634199695775842008-05-08T11:09:00.002-05:002008-05-08T12:14:45.862-05:00More Cat Drama<div align="justify"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3055/2471000906_cc8c1d8843.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3055/2471000906_cc8c1d8843.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>So Mazzy is proving to be a medical enigma. Ever since February she's had what appears to be a common cold or allergies, with sneezing, watery eyes - nothing too alarming. I ignored it while I focused on child bearing, assuming her body would take care of it. But then - gross out warning - around Easter she started throwing up, and it had a red tinge to it. The vet diagnosed it as an upper respiratory infection, and Mazzy (or May-zee, as the vet calls her) was prescribed a complex regimen of meds - an anti-nausea pill to take twice a day, half an hour before eating; an antibiotic to eat with each meal; and a gel I had to smear directly into her eyes twice a day. This conflicted with our weekend plans to visit my parents-in-law, so Mazzy tagged along. I couldn't subject my catsitters to that, even if one of them is the daughter of a vet. Mazzy seemed happier that weekend than she had in a long time. She was social, her fur felt noticeably softer, and her symptoms disappeared. It could have been a cold, it could have been allergies, or it could have been a reaction to <a href="http://saveetheria.blogspot.com/2007/11/new-addition-no-i-havent-had-baby-yet.html">a stressful situation </a>at home, which she was relieved from with a trip to the lake house.<br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Sometime close to the end of April, though, the sneezing and vomiting returned. This time the vet guessed it to be allergies, so she gave us some antihistamines. Two days later, Mazzy threw up all day long, again with a reddish hue, and even peed outside the litter box for the first time in her life. Our vet was out of town, so her husband advised we take her to the emergency vet, where she ended up spending the night.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">The emergency vet ran every test imaginable (including an X-ray, which showed something in her stomach. Jury is still out as to whether that something was just FOOD - helpful) and concluded she had some kind of virus (as well as an "unrelated" urinary tract infection, which we were given medicine to treat). They then tested her for two of the three bad (aka, fatal) feline viruses - feline leukemia and feline AIDS - and cleared her of both. The third they recommended our regular vet test for, but statistically it would be a real stretch if she had that one. Good news is, all of her organs are fine. We had been worried about her kidneys and about her suffering the same fate as <a href="http://saveetheria.blogspot.com/2007/06/callie-update-part-i.html">Callie</a> and were relieved to know that wasn't the case. So, $700 later, we're back to the common cold theory.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">That theory would hold if Mazzy didn't have another issue. At her late April visit, her vet told us to watch her weight. She had lost a pound since her last checkup six months before, but that also could have been due to the addition of a kitten in our household. The emergency vet found Mazzy had lost an additional two pounds since then - which was just a matter of days. Another theory was thrown in the hat that she had inflammatory bowel disease, but our regular vet doesn't seem to think that could be the case. Mazzy was fed fluids through an IV during her overnight stay at the emergency clinic but didn't eat any solid food while she was there. That worried the emergency vet, but the second we got Mazzy home that Sunday she ate about three bowls of cat food.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">We switched up her food from the weight watchers formula to the fatty-bo-batty formula, and increased the number of scoops we feed her. Since then, she hasn't gotten sick, and her sneezing has been better (we cut her off of those antihistamines, though, since they could have been a cause of the vomiting). The only issue we've had is the bandage covering her leg where the IV had been was on a bit tight. When I cut it off, her foot was swollen to three times its normal size and she couldn't put any weight on it. It's fine now - just looks a little funny from having been shaved around the ankle.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">But this morning she got sick again, at least three times between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m. I called the vet and have been instructed to bring her back this afternoon for some kind of injection that will "quiet her tummy." Mazzy will also be given some anti-inflammatory medication twice a day, and put on a bland diet. Sounds like we're just grasping at straws now. Anyone got a dart board and a blindfold?</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">If all this weren't enough - remind me to tell you the story sometime of how the kitten (Cleo, by the way) went into heat about a month back. Oh wait, she's been spayed. At least according to our vet, who claims Cleo was "just enjoying the springtime."</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">These cats are making owning Jonas look easy.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-76868263547673021532008-05-06T08:40:00.003-05:002008-05-06T08:46:37.388-05:00Baby photos<a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3092/2470998334_29b3c86746.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3092/2470998334_29b3c86746.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Hi everyone<br /><br />Just a quick note that I've added a convenient link to this page - located to the right under "My favorite links" that leads to our <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/griner/collections/72157604226766592/">photo album of Allison</a>. Check back periodically for updates! We just uploaded a new batch this morning if you'd like to check it out.<br /><br />Meanwhile, I've got a backlog of blog ideas (not all of them baby-related, even!) and will hopefully be posting those soon. For now I'm just looking forward to seeing my mother and grandmother, who will be coming to Birmingham tomorrow night.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-38209602367992718092008-04-14T17:29:00.003-05:002008-04-14T18:12:18.213-05:00Eek! THAT'S where I came from?<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3221/2412054424_388b561a80.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3221/2412054424_388b561a80.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a>Allison's been a busy girl these past few weeks. She's been awake a lot more during the day, and has even been sleeping through the night (by which I mean she sleeps until 5 or 5:30 a.m., which still forces her parents out of bed earlier than we're used to. But it's a huge accomplishment). She can hold her head up (mostly), scoot when you lay her on her back or stomach and hold her feet, and she's even given us a few sweet smiles.<br /><br />I went back to work last week, and David is now on his second week of paternity leave. He's learning what I already knew - that taking care of a baby, even one who sleeps a lot, is a lot of work. Both of us had a lot of ambitions at the beginning of our leaves of getting things done around the house and writing that next great American novel we've been putting off. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3219/2412049056_6b589775c2_m.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3219/2412049056_6b589775c2_m.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>But the three hours between feedings goes fast. It takes her half hour to an hour to eat, then there's a few diaper changes, book reading (David's reading her <span style="font-style: italic;">War and Peace </span>and I fluctuate between Dr. Seuss and the Norton Anthology of British Literature), and rocking to sleep. After she goes down for a nap, there's a little time for picking up all the burp clothes, bibs and blankets scattered all around the house, doing some laundry, unloading and reloading the dishwasher, or checking email. Of course, bottles always need cleaning for the next round of feedings. By the time you get a chance to sit down or realize you're starving for lunch, she's up asking for her next meal. Since she began spending more time awake during the day, we've to cut out the parts where we tidy, eat, and sit down. Yes, she's keeping us on our toes, and we realize that this is the least labor intensive part of her infancy.<br /><br />But we're not complaining. She's a very good baby. And so far, knock on wood, not colicky. Poor thing does have some reflux issues, which causes her to scream in agony one or two meals a day, but the doctor gave us some medicine to curb that as well as the reassurance that she'll outgrow it by the time she's <span style="font-style: italic;">nine months old</span>. The book <span style="font-style: italic;">Happiest Baby on the Block</span> gave us good ammo for comforting her during the rougher times, although it was a bit hard to read at times (long winded and full of cheesy puns). We've become excellent swaddlers and shooshers.<br /><br />Anyway, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/griner/sets/72157604525753117/">here's a link to some new photos</a>, including some shots of her first trip to the zoo, which she slept through (except for the minute when we snapped the photo below). But I got some very cute shots of her twin cousin Ruby.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2320/2411225587_b5668d566d.jpg?v=1208133321"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2320/2411225587_b5668d566d.jpg?v=1208133321" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-11157345887121493272008-04-05T16:06:00.002-05:002008-04-05T16:10:01.615-05:00Isn't she lovely?Thanks to my sister, Cathy, for creating this video in honor of Allison's one month birthday. Thought you'd all like to see!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/W50h1PZWD08&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/W50h1PZWD08&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />For another fun video of Allison, check out her <a href="http://www.cafeasteria.blogspot.com/">dad's blog</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-32146487776201452402008-03-24T11:12:00.005-05:002008-03-24T14:33:58.499-05:00My first month as a mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYdbiNYyxewPiTC-TWEuvbS8creoQZT5NcUfENgLCJENYvLYdFDTFtOHhnTKdOxlBS_dm7eF6TaEcq5nHbq_E2Ahx9tIdgN8a47SGz8mKgLQZTzHbLwQ_lGEgJkTS8CvtS-_PfP5ww9E/s1600-h/DSC01652.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYdbiNYyxewPiTC-TWEuvbS8creoQZT5NcUfENgLCJENYvLYdFDTFtOHhnTKdOxlBS_dm7eF6TaEcq5nHbq_E2Ahx9tIdgN8a47SGz8mKgLQZTzHbLwQ_lGEgJkTS8CvtS-_PfP5ww9E/s320/DSC01652.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181355940976183842" border="0" /></a>In just two days, my daughter Allison will be one month old. It still feels strange for me to use the term "my daughter," even though I've already grown pretty fond of her. She's a nice girl.<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />As I start to get the hang of this mothering thing, I finally have some free time to update all of you on our new addition (for photos and stories of her birth and first days, you can check out <a href="http://www.cafeasteria.blogspot.com/">David's blog</a>). Many of you have already heard Allison's birth story. I am hesitant to talk about my labor as it's bound to make many mothers jealous. But maybe some future first-time moms can hear it and be encouraged that giving birth might not be so bad. But basically, my pain medications worked flawlessly. They made me a bit sleepy, so in between reading I napped. Once in awhile I'd feel a twinge in my abdomen and ask the nurse, "Was that a contraction?" She'd say, "Yes - a big one!" Finally, when it was time to start pushing, the nurse had to wake me up to let me know. After seven and a half hours of "labor" and 40 minutes (which seemed more like 15) of pushing, Allison was born. She weighed 7 pounds, 3 ounces (the same weight I was at birth) and was 20 inches long.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HcBRhueBizm_78oos_M8_101VC6tw7WPrDPMgJCSk440xXyUvTVoyuY6VyZeWJOLPXvcvCnXpalXx24Gdv03KU_jpYWBUiKdJGjgby5g06bg6XtR7t9TOCwmpNvhBNBz8t5OYmWOuow/s1600-h/P1010027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HcBRhueBizm_78oos_M8_101VC6tw7WPrDPMgJCSk440xXyUvTVoyuY6VyZeWJOLPXvcvCnXpalXx24Gdv03KU_jpYWBUiKdJGjgby5g06bg6XtR7t9TOCwmpNvhBNBz8t5OYmWOuow/s200/P1010027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181357040487811634" border="0" /></a>She was diagnosed with jaundice and had to spend four days on a "billy bed" - like a sunbathing booth without a lid. I was upset at first - she would have to be on this bed 24/7 except for feedings and diaper changes, meaning my parents, who were in town for a few days, wouldn't have much time to hold her. But it turned out the bed fit right into her cradle, so she could spend her days with us in the living room. The bed was actually pretty impressive. Allison was wrapped in a onesie-like outfit that was attached to the bed with Velcro. The back of the outfit was sheer so that her back was exposed to a blue light that helps clear away the jaundice. Finally, by her one-week birthday, her doctor said her jaundice was better and she was declared a healthy baby.<br /><br />Allison's first night at home was a bit taxing - she had terrible gas and was up most of the night crying. David and I took one-hour shifts comforting her and sleeping, alternatively. We figured out, though, that we had forgotten to push the air out of the bottle insert, which caused her to have gas. Since then, she has done well sleeping at night. We sometimes have to wake her for her 2 a.m. feeding and occasionally she wakes us up in the early morning hours. We are tired much of the time, like most new parents, but I'd say we got it pretty easy.<br /><br />This past week Allison has finally started to be awake more often. She sleeps most of the time during the day, which allows us plenty of down time, but it has been nice seeing her eyes once in awhile (it's still up for debate whether she'll have Balsley or Griner blue eyes).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQp9EzIG0-h829aAoSEITJX2iCuukadze_MwF3I0C863OonZkrZUXkz0OiPwROUl7O-kuzc2VzSH8f38iKthsI2Tf96aeygvXc5eGzWfvtVhxLgZqIoEY8SqfCAKhuPoraqS0cPL3ol84/s1600-h/DSC01632.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQp9EzIG0-h829aAoSEITJX2iCuukadze_MwF3I0C863OonZkrZUXkz0OiPwROUl7O-kuzc2VzSH8f38iKthsI2Tf96aeygvXc5eGzWfvtVhxLgZqIoEY8SqfCAKhuPoraqS0cPL3ol84/s320/DSC01632.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181358663985449538" border="0" /></a><br />This past weekend we visited my parents-in-law for Easter. We got some great photos of Allison and her 9-month-old cousin Ruby. Neither of them acknowledges the other's existence yet, but we are excited about the two of them growing up together.<br /><br />I'm now down to just two more weeks of maternity leave, which makes me kind of sad. I'll miss being home with her all the time. David will take two weeks of leave after I go back to work, then she starts daycare at the University of Tots.<br /><br />Thanks to everyone for your well wishes and support. As requested (or demanded, in some cases) here's more photos of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/griner/sets/72157604234079229/">Allison's first few weeks</a> and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/griner/sets/72157604234369717/">her first Easter</a>. Enjoy!<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-28455522746292063752008-02-26T20:53:00.003-06:002008-02-26T21:14:27.087-06:00My Missed Opportunity to be a Hollywood Cliché<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3CbSTvJDzox5UeINhO6vQB1R0avhoJZpnDnTZ2T4mdytusc594-PB8lISFwDuy3Sr1kmO6XwG6fLTXGGdVtiR4u2-Xc6lOR3vCfIl7ShlZDCkRJJRdHbjY1uMVogG41yj3y0wxM_WXk/s1600-h/tornado.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3CbSTvJDzox5UeINhO6vQB1R0avhoJZpnDnTZ2T4mdytusc594-PB8lISFwDuy3Sr1kmO6XwG6fLTXGGdVtiR4u2-Xc6lOR3vCfIl7ShlZDCkRJJRdHbjY1uMVogG41yj3y0wxM_WXk/s320/tornado.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171487774697912018" border="0" /></a><o:p></o:p>I have been waiting to go into labor for six days now. My doctor was surprised that she didn’t need to send me directly down to labor and delivery when I went in for my regular appointment last Thursday. I was 5 cm dilated at the time. For those of you who don’t know what that means – I’ve only recently learned myself – when the baby comes out, you’re 10 cm dilated. Many women, when they are rushed to the hospital because they’ve begun feeling the pain of regular contractions, are around 2 cm. When they reach 3-4 cm they are in active labor. Monday morning, I had grown to 6 cm with nary a contraction. So basically, this child is ready to fall out. My doctor has scheduled me to be induced Wednesday morning if she doesn’t decide to come out on her own. </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><br />Well at 3:30 this morning – my 31<sup>st</sup> birthday – we were awoken by the sound of a tornado siren. The lightening flickered like a strobe light. David, my mom and I – each holding on to a pet – hunkered down on the floor of our hallway, the only area in the house with no windows, moments before the barometric pressure dropped. Just then, the front hit – it was the worst storm I can remember since moving to Alabama. This was the storm I had read about a few days ago that was to wreak havoc across the entire country. It started out in my old stomping grounds of northern California. On the Doppler it looked like a hurricane was about to hit the west coast, like a scene that might have been in the movie, <span style="font-style: italic;">Day After Tomorrow</span>.<br /></p><div> </div><o:p></o:p><br />As the storm picked up strength, we heard a loud crash toward the back of the house, and knew it had to have been caused by the huge, dead hickory tree that stands five feet from the house and has been dropping branches the size of fruit trees for the past few weeks. I was envisioning a collapsed roof or broken window. <div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><br />If this were a movie, this is the moment that my water would break or my contractions would start. But they didn’t.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><br />Finally, the storm passed, and we looked out back to examine the damage. A branch had fallen, right on my Adirondack chairs in the back yard. It smashed one that my mother-in-law had given me for Christmas, but the one I had built last summer with my father-in-law was still in tact. And the cable line had been knocked down. This was fabulous news. We have half a dozen cables running across our lawn, and I have wanted to get rid of them ever since we moved in. The phone company had come out just the day before and taken down our phone line – which ran parallel to the cable line – and run a temporary line along the ground, to be buried later. It inevitably would have been torn down as well and we would have been without phone service for a few days, I'm sure. The cable line was next on my list to have removed, since we don’t use cable (even if we did subscribe to a television service, we’re dish people). So that was a nice birthday present.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3050/2295431228_eeea18f6d0.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3050/2295431228_eeea18f6d0.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p>What I really wanted for my bday, though, was my baby. Wishful thinking led to a false alarm late in the afternoon. Called my doc, and she told me to come in. After a brief exam, however, she said I might as well go home and come back tomorrow at 6:30 a.m. to be induced as planned. She said Allison wants her own birthday. But her mercy of not coming during a tornado will definitely be part of her birth story.</o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-49007320062724857962008-01-28T12:58:00.000-06:002008-01-28T13:59:37.064-06:00The Final Stretch...<div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAjtYkw7ylBhIcOjFj7Afuj4veE9sU1mZ3apZymWCmSnCNRFV3H_vTyDTF_6PZyELg5faaj32iMNqTCkzqLowI21MC_BU2ICvAp1olydSz-OcDLF6fvHoP8hm9GHlIZ0uJqcG27Sjmjg/s1600-h/Jan+28+2008+Pregger+Profile.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160614677112933922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAjtYkw7ylBhIcOjFj7Afuj4veE9sU1mZ3apZymWCmSnCNRFV3H_vTyDTF_6PZyELg5faaj32iMNqTCkzqLowI21MC_BU2ICvAp1olydSz-OcDLF6fvHoP8hm9GHlIZ0uJqcG27Sjmjg/s320/Jan+28+2008+Pregger+Profile.jpg" border="0" /></a>It's hard to believe, but I only have one more week until I'm officially 9 months pregnant. In theory, I could be having a kid this time next month (and wondering whether she'll be a Leap Baby). All in all, it's been remarkably easy - I've had no morning sickness, no stretch marks, and a healthy appetite (as evidenced by the photo shown here, taken this morning. Never knew I could miss my chin so much). So I've had nothing to complain about, though I have been a bit frustrated these past few weeks at how tired I am all the time. It forces me to relax rather than be in my constant state of go-go-go. That and the fact that all of my joints are turning to Jell-O in preparation for labor. If anyone needs a good laugh watch an 8-month pregnant woman try to hold a fork or glass of water (just be wary of the consequences once she gets her strength back in a few months).<br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypy4c6Qths8a30el-wyZwBrZBFGQHXvCQNPFXLnJyFZILstDRWr3czlTWhvrPGeKCkKO2agpUV_UwzruWC2vtQh00gim0nGZ-KLUchJOAzPFqm71kA7hq37axVJp2wrV5khcHT_eRYYc/s1600-h/swaddled_blog.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160614788782083650" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypy4c6Qths8a30el-wyZwBrZBFGQHXvCQNPFXLnJyFZILstDRWr3czlTWhvrPGeKCkKO2agpUV_UwzruWC2vtQh00gim0nGZ-KLUchJOAzPFqm71kA7hq37axVJp2wrV5khcHT_eRYYc/s320/swaddled_blog.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div align="justify">But we're all ready to go. My mom came down a few weeks ago and helped us do the nursery, and we were thrown two awesome showers, thanks to my mom, sister Cathy, Aunt Judy, sister-in-law Stacy, mother-in-law Carolyn, and family friend Pat! We've got a pediatrician, day care, and have taken a couple baby classes. Now, we're just getting ourselves educated on how the heck to take care of a baby. I'm reading the book <em>The Happiest Baby on the Block</em> right now, which emphasizes the importance of swaddling. David's Wallace doll has been kind enough to let us practice on him (although I can't say he's thrilled about it).</div><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><div align="justify">We're also prepping the pets for the big change. Jonas is no longer allowed in the backseat of the car, for fear he'll smother the kid in his zeal to stick his head out the window. We've installed a system of bars that confines him to the far back. He's been a bit whiny about it so far, even though we set him up with a blanket and some toys to make it feel more homey. Meanwhile, the cats have to be taught not to sleep on the changing pad or in the crib. We came home one night to find Mazzy curled up contentedly on the changing pad on the dresser, as if to say, "Thank you, how considerate of you to put this cozy bed on the dresser for me to sleep upon." Then there's the whole concern about cats stealing a baby's breath while in the crib (or, you know, simply sitting on her face while she's sleeping). So we're using a trick David read about in one of his expectant father books - cover the pad and mattress with tin foil. Tip: don't just put a sheet of foil in the middle of the crib or pad. Cover the whole thing with tin foil. I peaked in the crib yesterday to see Mazzy sleeping in a corner that hadn't been covered.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">We're pretty excited, though already missing the idea of sleep. Allison's been kicking around pretty actively lately, and is getting ready for the big day herself by facing head down (thanks, Sweetie). I take her swimming once a week at a prenatal water aerobics class, which is more difficult than I thought it would be but is great for keeping me in shape. Can't say I'm fond of fraternizing with all the other expectant moms, which the class advertises as being one of the perks. While David and I are mostly concerned with how to make our kid smart - shielding her from the mind-numbing effects of TV for as long as possible, reading to her daily, and seeking out a Mandarin-speaking tutor, most of the women in my class are more concerned about finding cute curtains or the right shade of green paint for their nursery. One woman almost strangled her husband after realizing he'd chosen a yellowish green instead of the sage green she'd always dreamed would adorn her child's walls. Don't worry - she broke down in tears and got the paint she wanted. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-25754093303908293442007-11-21T15:10:00.000-06:002007-11-21T15:48:04.452-06:00Happy Fall!<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDJvJWyesKz4i9BfiRv4p6fMtB1ZVrPQ4dqvMM9Fwk4-qXu2Dj6K5y5YTfjEJVIjoTfQDOjuo8wmEk-rUzf1uzekBU9anRoRyo36rtOd3zwATsf_lsqFiVj2wp2thryxHuITjN20FqQY/s1600-h/Cup+of+Wassail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDJvJWyesKz4i9BfiRv4p6fMtB1ZVrPQ4dqvMM9Fwk4-qXu2Dj6K5y5YTfjEJVIjoTfQDOjuo8wmEk-rUzf1uzekBU9anRoRyo36rtOd3zwATsf_lsqFiVj2wp2thryxHuITjN20FqQY/s320/Cup+of+Wassail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135412954540576930" border="0" /></a><br />The leaves have turned (or perhaps completely fallen where you live) and the air is finally getting cool. To celebrate, I thought I'd share with all of you the wassail recipe that has come to be known as Karen's Wassail among my circle of southern friends.<br /><br />In truth, this wassail recipe belongs to the Macktown Historical Society. Stephen Mack was a pioneer who settled Macktown in what is now my hometown, Rockton, Ill. The namesake of my middle school married the namesake of my high school - Hononegah, disputably the daughter of a Potawatomie Indian chief. There are two stories as to how they may have met. One legend has it that Mack became sick from fever and that Hononegah nursed him back to health. In another, Mack was an advisor to the local chief but was despised by the people because he refused to sell alcohol and firearms to them. So they plotted to kill him. Hononegah reportedly either hid Mack in a barrel or met him in the woods to warn him of the plan. Mack became so grateful to her that he decided to be her husband. (Thanks, Wikipedia, for refreshing my memory.)<br /><br />As a girl my girl scout troop and I, led by my mother, would dress up in Victorian dresses and help the historical society give tours at Mack's home, just a few minutes from where I grew up. We'd decorate a little Christmas tree with ornaments we'd made in the style of the time and sing Christmas carols from the parlor to visitors. And in the kitchen there was always hot wassail on the stove, filling the entire house with a sweet aroma.<br /><br />So here you go. Enjoy! And Happy Turkey Day!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZVB8qloQSJuwOlZaWLru1GKC7KFb1Ttqavv4dYbCA_tVTnGgBjq_Lqtd5UBGEuIZrmb9w6Xd0OuBxLvSS0U1ca8q7r3J1RxadtC3rQUxbxF6kCm-mhWMN03CZhBdNqlu2FvGLMb3TCk/s1600-h/Wassail+on+stove.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZVB8qloQSJuwOlZaWLru1GKC7KFb1Ttqavv4dYbCA_tVTnGgBjq_Lqtd5UBGEuIZrmb9w6Xd0OuBxLvSS0U1ca8q7r3J1RxadtC3rQUxbxF6kCm-mhWMN03CZhBdNqlu2FvGLMb3TCk/s320/Wassail+on+stove.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135413027555020978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Karen's (stolen) Wassail</span><br />1 gallon apple cider<br />4 cups cranberry juice<br />2 cups orange juice<br />2 cups brown sugar<br />4-5 cinnamon sticks<br /><br />Combine ingredients, bring to a boil, and simmer for 10 minutes. Can be refrigerated and reheated. Serve hot with cinnamon sticks.<br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-45291932657985561692007-11-09T08:20:00.000-06:002007-11-09T10:12:45.315-06:00The New Addition (no I haven't had the baby yet)<div><div><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2344/1903282398_a14b3c7f3d.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2344/1903282398_a14b3c7f3d.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a> So I have a rambunctious dog, an indoor cat I have trouble keeping indoors, am still grieving over the loss of my other kitty, and am in the middle of a dozen major house projects. Oh, and I'm pregnant, and have all those life-changing experiences associated with that coming up in the very near future.<br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>What better time to get a new kitten?</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>We didn't plan on it. I sent David to the vet last week to pick up Jonas from his annual exam, and the vet told him she was thinking of us the other day. Then she showed him The Kitten. David couldn't resist. He held her, played with her, even took her picture. And then came home with those same sweet pleading eyes he had when he first saw Joe's pound puppy photo. The vet said The Kitten loves people, dogs and other cats. Which describes our household. And she's just plain sweet.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We took the weekend to think about it, then decided what the heck. The vet said we can bring her back at any time if it doesn't work out - even six months from now. But it looks like it's going to work out. She's quite the cuddler, and it's actually been really great having a new little bundle of energy running around.</div><div></div><br /><br /><div>We're introducing her to the other pets slowly. Right now The Kitten is confined to the back bedroom, a paradise of toy mice, scratching pads and kitty beds. David and I trade off spending time with her and with the other pets, around whom we try to act like nothing's different. Mazzy doesn't seem to notice the new addition. This weekend we're going to try putting a towel that The Kitten's been sleeping on under Mazzy's food bowl to get her used to the smell. Eventually we'll move up to letting them sniff each other from under the door, then give The Kitten more and more run of the house. I think she's ready for that step now. She's already made a break for the hallway several times.</div><div></div><br /><br /><div>Jonas seems to be adjusting much more quickly. <a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2419/1902442027_f3d1cfea6d.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2419/1902442027_f3d1cfea6d.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>He's been very curious about what we've been hiding in the back room. So this morning David let him in. He had him lie down while The Kitten explored around him. Joe showed no interest in her - he was focused only on the treat in David's hand. Reportedly The Kitten thinks Jonas' tail is the greatest toy in the world. After batting that around for awhile she bravely ventured up to his face, and he let her sniff him without growling or making any threatening faces. </div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Now we need a name. We're really stuck on this point. Ironically we had no trouble coming up with boy and girl names for our unborn child but now sit around the dinner table throwing around names for a cat. So we are now open to suggestions. Anyone got any good cat names? We're feeling the pressure to find one soon before she becomes simply The Kitten forever.<a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2189/1902436313_162563d28f.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2189/1902436313_162563d28f.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-56457030197831928932007-11-06T13:41:00.000-06:002007-11-06T13:55:11.634-06:00Prison Break, Season 2<div align="justify">Crazy, I know. Two blog posts in a day from me. I definitely should be safe from Bill's stinky fish email for awhile. But had to share with you a "Guess what Jonas did" story.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">We came home from a pumpkin carving party Halloween weekend, fully expecting to hear Jonas' loud and obnoxious barking from the back yard. But it was dead quiet. My first thought was that he somehow had found a new way to escape the yard. But we went inside, and he came running down the hall toward us, excitedly wagging his tail and offering some shredded stuffed animal in his jowls. Next thought: How in the world did I forget to put him outside before we left? We all know how Jonas is banned from being inside because of the terrible things he does to my furiture. But I distinctly remembered putting him and his dinner out back. Then we saw it - a huge hole in the screen of the back window. We'd left the windows open to get some fresh air into the house while we were out. My dumb dog managed to escape his yard to get INTO the house. Who does that? </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Then my third thought - where's Mazzy? Not in the house, of course. So David and I grabbed the flashlight and went out scouring the neighborhood for my little escape artist (I'm sure she put Joe up to tearing the hole in the screen). All I could think about as we searched was how much it would stink to have lost both my cats in a matter of months. But by the time we got back to the house, there she was, outside the window (which was now closed) trying to jump back in through the hole in the screen. Phew.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Jonas spent the next day nursing his paw, which he apparently hurt by shreading a huge hole in a metal screen. We had no sympathy for him. Too bad he probably didn't associate tearing screen=hurt paw. We keep the back windows closed while we're gone now.<a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2273/1888805342_fd12b74bdb.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2273/1888805342_fd12b74bdb.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-34237473856512954082007-11-06T12:58:00.000-06:002007-11-06T13:34:55.186-06:00Progress Report<a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2111/1888814064_629ee8f187.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2111/1888814064_629ee8f187.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br />Well we've started the house painting project. We're doing the back first so we can perfect our method before painting the more frequently viewed front. Already we've seen improvement in our technique, and it's really starting to look pretty good.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2306/1888806694_9015cefa33.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2306/1888806694_9015cefa33.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>We bought several small cans of different shades of brown paint from Home Depot and painted samples of each on the side of our shed (which we plan to tear down some day). One color was too light, the other too dark, a third too pink. The favorite, however, turned out to be the only one that seemed to require two coats - which means more paint and more expense. I was also nervous at first at how orange it looked when wet. It's called wine barrel - in the photo it's the color on the right and left sides. The far right shows how it looks with just one coat. Now compare that with the wheel barrel in the photo and you can understand why I was concerned.<br /><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2415/1888807690_28d420606b.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2415/1888807690_28d420606b.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>But after a few hours of drying it toned down to a nice reddish brown, so we took a leap of faith and bought a few buckets of it, along with some black suede for the trim.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Now after two <a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2324/1888810192_bdf1690203.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2324/1888810192_bdf1690203.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>weekends and a few evenings, we have almost finished the entire back side of the house. Here's some before, during and after shots for ya. Rolling is awesome - it gets so much done so quickly. But the way the boards are on our house we have to use a brush to paint the narrow, inset boards. Between that and the trim progress seems slow. I also made the mistake this weekend of walking around the house and seeing how much more house we have to go.<br /><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2111/1887986777_e3e7652c3c.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2111/1887986777_e3e7652c3c.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />But we'll get there. Especially since we're calling in reinforcements - my parents-in-law - next weekend to help speed things up before the cold weather (and my growing belly) make the work too difficult for me and David to finish.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2351/1887990121_f01e2fa403.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2351/1887990121_f01e2fa403.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /><p></p><p></p>BEFORE (YCH)<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2351/1887990121_f01e2fa403.jpg?v=0"></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2005/1888816886_7740a7364e.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2005/1888816886_7740a7364e.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br />AFTER (YAY!)<br /><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2351/1887990121_f01e2fa403.jpg?v=0"></a><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2005/1888816886_7740a7364e.jpg?v=0"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2005/1888816886_7740a7364e.jpg?v=0"></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2005/1888816886_7740a7364e.jpg?v=0"></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-11888796378913174092007-10-20T09:15:00.000-05:002007-10-20T10:14:39.422-05:00Goodbye, mint-chocolate-chip-ice-cream house<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2259/1655492900_0c8570d85a.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2259/1655492900_0c8570d85a.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a>I love my house. I knew from the moment I first walked in it during our house hunt that I wanted it. It's a mid-century modern house with a fabulous Great Room, in which the kitchen, living room, dining area and a sun room are all part of one large area. It's very welcoming, and I knew it would be a great room for hosting. David loved it, too. But there were two things about the house that he hated - the tremendously overgrown back yard and the mint-green-with-black-trim paint job on the outside. He disliked these two features so much he almost didn't want to buy the place. I convinced him that these were easily fixable, and that cleared the way for us to close the deal.<br /><br />As soon as we moved in last summer we started hacking away at the mass of bushes and thorny vines that were choking the outside. That basically doubled the size of our yard. It's now under control, and next spring we may even be able to start landscaping and adding plants we actually want.<br /><br />This month, it's time to fulfill the other condition of our house purchase. Painting!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2096/1655937478_220dafcc1c.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2096/1655937478_220dafcc1c.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a>There is a watercolor picture of our house hanging in the sun room. It's the architect's rendition of the house from the 50s, and it shows the outside as a plain but attractive brown - obviously it had just been stained, not painted. David and I really like how our house looks in this picture and cannot understand why the woman who had lived here for 40-some years decided mint green was preferable. From what we can tell in places where the paint is peeling she even had it painted mint green several times over the years. So we are definitely set on going back to some shade of brown, which may be tricky, as we'll have to choose a paint that resembles wood tone because staining just isn't an option anymore.<br /><br />So to help us choose the right color, I turned to Photoshop for help. Here are some possibilities I came up with:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2152/1654594071_9f55448e89.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2152/1654594071_9f55448e89.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Dark Brown: I don't mind this color, but David thinks it comes off looking cheap.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Cedar: This shade would closely match our wood fence, and currently is our favorite. But is it too matchy-matchy?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2227/1655460108_9828359123.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2227/1655460108_9828359123.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Light Cedar: While not our favorite, this color closely resembles the color depicted in the architect's rendition.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2255/1654595849_81a9188b32.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2255/1654595849_81a9188b32.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We do know we want to go with a dark brown or even black trim. We've researched colors traditionally used on mid-century modern homes, and whenever we found a brown house it had black trim, and we think it looks pretty good - though I don't think it really works on other styles of houses. The other most popular color palette for mid-century moderns involve painting the house white, which is definitely out of the question for us.<br /><br />This weekend we're going to make a run to Home Depot for some samples, and maybe a few small cans that we can test out on the back of the house. But feel free to cast your vote for your favorite - or tell us these are all awful.<br /><br />In the end, we may just say forget it - let's just go crazy and really cement our home's reputation as the most garish in the neighborhood.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2418/1655461890_23d105e4fb.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2418/1655461890_23d105e4fb.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-72542372482663674072007-10-09T19:18:00.000-05:002007-10-09T19:44:36.265-05:00Everyone, meet Allison<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnkMyCyJYyuzfjcmakmHvop7KoJpsobAiySHogzDhWcJ81uu6nHCFMCja_2uiDzpbVUJIUhVyr4GrOD2kpbz9IGIfwlkpFwGGRRszA3KfmWMwzRpsDIZVhO-whQdRFIsA43WTEzcPrVk/s1600-h/Allison+in+The+Womb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnkMyCyJYyuzfjcmakmHvop7KoJpsobAiySHogzDhWcJ81uu6nHCFMCja_2uiDzpbVUJIUhVyr4GrOD2kpbz9IGIfwlkpFwGGRRszA3KfmWMwzRpsDIZVhO-whQdRFIsA43WTEzcPrVk/s320/Allison+in+The+Womb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119497605200257858" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, it is strange that this is the first post I've written on this subject. Most of you, my friends and family, know that I am pregnant. For those of you whom I haven't had the opportunity to tell yet, surprise! I am 19 weeks in - that's 5 months if you don't want to do the math - and yesterday David and I learned that we are having a girl. This came as a complete shock to both of us - we were approximately 98.2% sure it was a boy - sure enough, in fact, that we've been calling my belly Jack for the past few weeks. But we are in no way disappointed. We're very excited and happy, and actually seeing her and knowing that she's a her has made this whole experience more real. I'm pleased to share with all of you one of her first photos in human form.<br /><br /><br />We have decided to name her Allison Guy Griner. She's about 8 inches long now, and weighs just over half a pound. She has four chambers in her heart, a liver, two kidneys, and two hemispheres in her brain. This week, her brain's figuring out how to use her five senses, and she can apparently already hear my voice. We read somewhere that David should talk to my stomach so she can get used to his voice, too. So, of course, he speaks to her in his best Sean Connery voice. Boy, is she in for a surprise.<br /><br />In case you're wondering, I'm feeling great. I was somehow very fortunate and did not have morning sickness. I'm past the stage where I'm tired all the time so I have lots of energy to do things like dig a 16-foot trench in the front yard. More on that later.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisRuYFoKmuulOOLljk6_3hLv6u63Hwpn-MmtA0qfRMxW5sxSdMsxNgT2sum8PoBSEM6WiB7lcJVAc7aPeNzCyL1YA78phzPQzFkWat_8w_OVG6_HCSzYVX-U-bAwpqPbrzzZidpoea4cA/s1600-h/oct+9+2007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisRuYFoKmuulOOLljk6_3hLv6u63Hwpn-MmtA0qfRMxW5sxSdMsxNgT2sum8PoBSEM6WiB7lcJVAc7aPeNzCyL1YA78phzPQzFkWat_8w_OVG6_HCSzYVX-U-bAwpqPbrzzZidpoea4cA/s200/oct+9+2007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119501247332524882" border="0" /></a><br />And I'm finally at a point where my belly's big enough where people can say with confidence, "Oh, you're pregnant!" rather than think quietly to themselves, "Is she pregnant, or is she just letting herself go a little?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-73844621095203528092007-09-25T12:01:00.000-05:002007-09-25T12:46:34.075-05:00European Vacation: Day 9 - Return to ParisOur return flight to Paris early the next morning was uneventful, although that day would be the last David would see his bag for another two or three weeks. Our camera was in that bag, which is why I have no photos from the final hours of our trip to share with you.<br /><br />We enjoyed the best meal of our entire trip on this final evening - a home cooked French Sunday dinner courtesy of Alexia's mother. We drank champagne with our appetizers, a delicious red wine with the main course (a great roast beef), and a sweet wine with dessert. What was really great, though, was getting to spend some time with Alexia's father. I hadn't seen him in nearly 10 years and he was away on a business trip earlier in the week. He came back to Paris while we were in Germany and Prague and was scheduled to leave again a few hours before we returned, but he changed his flight so that he could at least stay and have appetizers with us. It was a short visit but I'm grateful to have had at least a little time with him (and that he and David finally got to meet).<br /><br />Alexia and her mother shared with us one of their favorite foods - foie gras. It was very good. Neither of them could understand, though, why people refuse to eat it just because of the way the harvested geese are treated. Alexia believes that if they'd just try it, they'd change their minds. She and my friend Dawn would get along great.<br /><br />During dessert we had a very lively conversation about French politics. Coverage of the candidates in the States had been very limited, and so we got to hear some fun stories of dumb political moves made by Segolene Royal.<br /><br />Dinner lasted very late, and we had a great time. We had been told David's luggage, which had not made it onto our plane, would be delivered to Alexia's parents' home sometime that night. It never came, so we called and asked that it be mailed directly to our house in Alabama. We then could do nothing but cross our fingers that it would arrive someday.<br /><br />The next morning we had to say goodbye to Alexia, who had to go to work, and it was very sad to see her go. David and I slept in a little before heading out to a cafe to order pain chocolats and cafe (in French) all by ourselves!<br /><br />Soon our trip came to an end, and we had to get on the plane for home. Our flight was late leaving from Paris, so when we landed in Newark, NJ, we had to rush to try and catch our connecting flight, which would have left an hour before. In our rush I left a cardboard tube full of Mucha prints in the overhead compartment of the plane. Alas, we would never see them again, despite our efforts over the next few days to get the airline to locate them.<br /><br />When we got to the check-in counter of the airline that was to fly us to Atlanta, we learned that our flight had NOT left an hour ago - in fact, it didn't even exist. We had flown Air India to and from Paris, and for whatever reason they were unable to issue us electronic tickets. Therefore, they had to mail us paper tickets several weeks before our trip. Sometime between booking and that day standing in the Newark airport the flight number and time had been changed. The new flight had already left (several hours ago - we never would have made it even if our overseas flight had been on time) and we were not even listed as passengers on it. We panicked only a few minutes before the man at the counter assured us that we only needed to go back to Air India and they would fix everything - it was, after all, their fault. We did, and after waiting in a long line along with dozens of very angry fellow passengers, we were given a hotel and meal vouchers and two seats on a flight that was to leave the next morning.<br /><br />In the end it all worked out for the best. We had been planning on staying in a hotel in Atlanta that night anyway, since we would be arriving around midnight. But as it turned out we got to go to bed earlier and stay in a hotel for free. I would have preferred having David's luggage and my precious Mucha prints, but oh well. Like I said, the luggage was eventually returned to us several weeks later (a tag on it indicated it had been sitting at O'Hare for most of that time), and David happened to know someone who was going to Prague the week after we got back. She was nice enough to mail us some replacement Mucha prints.<br /><br />And that's it! Thanks for everyone's patience while I took my sweet time blogging about the trip we took way back in May. I'm looking forward to tackling a list of new subjects.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-21080191643044726112007-09-20T12:29:00.000-05:002007-09-25T12:48:03.827-05:00European Vacation: Days 6-8 - Prague<div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1068/542396627_f03c6b9a83.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1068/542396627_f03c6b9a83.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1193/542349991_e6bd5afb41.jpg?v=0"></a></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1193/542349991_e6bd5afb41.jpg?v=0"></a></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1193/542349991_e6bd5afb41.jpg?v=0"></a></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">David and I were actually pretty disappointed with Prague. Maybe it was that we had built it up <div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1193/542349991_e6bd5afb41.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1193/542349991_e6bd5afb41.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div>so much in our minds over the years. But we found it entirely too touristy. I guess we prefer experiencing tastes of local culture when we travel, but Prague was littered with thousands of souvenir shops selling plastic junk and postcards (although some marionette shops were pretty cool - see above) and restaurants and pubs offering authentic American cuisine. Yet we made the most of it and saw as much as we could in the short time we were there.<br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1193/542349991_e6bd5afb41.jpg?v=0"></a></div></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://lh4.google.com/amirjol/RlXld_Rv_HI/AAAAAAAACVc/rjSB3mOQlcA/DSC00458.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://lh4.google.com/amirjol/RlXld_Rv_HI/AAAAAAAACVc/rjSB3mOQlcA/DSC00458.JPG?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a>Prague Castle was first on our list. It is the focal part of the city, centered on a hilltop that you can see from just about any neighborhood. To get there, you have to cross Charles Bridge, which is probably one of the most photographed sites in Prague. It is a long pedestrian bridge that crosses the river and is decorated with a variety of statues, mostly of saints and Jesus. It's difficult to admire the statues during the day, however, with all the tourists and street vendors. But we still enjoyed strolling across it and people-watching. <a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1015/542286742_710df6cd78.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1015/542286742_710df6cd78.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1015/542286742_710df6cd78.jpg?v=0"></a></div><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1279/542288012_13df97d9a1.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1279/542288012_13df97d9a1.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>Outside the castle gates, which were guarded by statues of giants fighting, we stopped to listen to a small group of musicians who were featured in our guidebook. Vitus Cathedral, located on the castle grounds, was definitely the highlight of the tour. It offered your standard cathedral fair, but one stained glass window was designed by Czech artist Alfons Mucha and depicted historical scenes of the Czech Republic. Mucha is one of the most renowned Art Nouveau artists, and the three of us love his work. We probably bought more Mucha prints during our stay than any other type of souvenir. </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1406/542399073_763d76e006.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1406/542399073_763d76e006.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Also in the cathedral is a very, very tall bell tower. We were warned - a sign at the bottom of the staircase said there were 289 steps. What we didn't expect was that it would be so narrow - and two-way. <a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1123/542400145_6a2f9755f0.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1123/542400145_6a2f9755f0.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>Claustrophobes, beware. But it was well worth it. At the top was an open-air balcony overlooking the city and offering plenty of scenic views. Plus we got a great photo of the angel Alexia (and some dude).</div><br /><p><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1338/542291358_95a3c47e70.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1338/542291358_95a3c47e70.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1390/542405653_e105cb3d6d.jpg?v=0"></a></p><p> </p><p><br /><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1251/542296280_0a80cb0597.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1251/542296280_0a80cb0597.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>Prague castle itself was not all that exciting. Very minimalist, and if you're interested in knowing more about it than that I'll loan you our guidebook. St. George Basilica, located next to the castle, was sad to see just because it looked like it used to have beautiful murals on its ceilings but they were not well-preserved over the years. However, it did have an impressive (and unlabeled) shrine to someone, whose bones I suppose were the ones displayed in the glass case. </p><p><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1390/542405653_e105cb3d6d.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1390/542405653_e105cb3d6d.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1175/542295006_87b0c82fcb.jpg?v=0"></a></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Lastly was Golden Lane - a narrow street of very small, overpriced souvenir shops that had apparently been built when humans only grew to be about 4 feet tall. We poked our heads into a few stores but then <a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1175/542295006_87b0c82fcb.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1175/542295006_87b0c82fcb.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>made our way to a tower where prisoners were regularly tortured. A lot of interesting devices were on display, so of course David and I were fascinated. Alexia refused to venture inside, however, stating that she "did not like torture."<a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1290/542404953_d3505b658b.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1290/542404953_d3505b658b.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1336/543154011_5163850ae5.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1336/543154011_5163850ae5.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p>The next day was Museum Day. We of course made our way first to the Mucha Museum. It was small but very nice as well as informative. The gift shop was disappointingly sparse, but fortunately a ton of souvenir shops carried copies of his prints. Afterward we enjoyed a coffee break at Cafe Emporio - a very eclectic little cafe with broken egg shells decorating one wall. <a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1262/543046376_2560342b70.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1262/543046376_2560342b70.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Next was the museum of Communism. The Czech Republic was under Communist rule until only about 20 years ago when the Velvet Revolution took place, and it was interesting to learn what life was like. Propaganda portrayed Amer<a href="http://lh3.google.com/amirjol/RlXm0fRwAkI/AAAAAAAACuE/NMfFoNVxzJs/DSC00565.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://lh3.google.com/amirjol/RlXm0fRwAkI/AAAAAAAACuE/NMfFoNVxzJs/DSC00565.JPG?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a>icans as evil oppressors. </div><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1173/543156679_60303f335e.jpg?v=0"></a></p><br /><p></p><p></p><br /><p>We wrapped up our museum tour in the Jewish Quarter, which <a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1173/543156679_60303f335e.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1173/543156679_60303f335e.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>featured several synagogues and a cemetery. In the cemetery, people were buried on top of one another because of limited space, which is why the headstones were so crammed together. It was a very solemn and impressive area. Here and there we came across walls where people left tiny scraps of paper with prayers written on them in the nooks and crannies.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><p></p><br /><div align="justify"><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://lh6.google.com/amirjol/RlXnFPRwAxI/AAAAAAAACuk/pB5vs2VGVE8/DSC00578.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://lh6.google.com/amirjol/RlXnFPRwAxI/AAAAAAAACuk/pB5vs2VGVE8/DSC00578.JPG?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a></div>Our last full day in Prague was spent just wandering. We had exhausted all the tourist traps and now just wanted an agenda-free day. We decided to explore the Little Quarter, where we had spent the least amount of our time. We found a Royal Garden that was really pretty. It boasted Greek-influenced statuary, a hedge maze, fountains, and free roaming peacocks (which, under no circumstances, can you walk on the grass to take pictures of, as the nice man in the photo was coming to tell me). A wall that bordered the garden was made up completely of stalactites and stalagmites, like you'd see in a cave. Next to the wall was a large penned-in section that housed several enormous owls. I had no idea they could get that big. <a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1183/543109396_5e9f437a87.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1183/543109396_5e9f437a87.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1067/543102940_3e254c7060.jpg?v=0"></a></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1101/543210197_3e640a93ab.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1101/543210197_3e640a93ab.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div align="justify">Alexia had the brilliant idea next to get ice cream. It was a perfect day for it - sunny and warm. Nearby the ice cream shop we discovered a little bookstore, where I picked up a book of Czech fairy tales for a friend and a novel about the Golem legend. We wound our way back to the neighborhood near our hotel and stopped to view the Lennon wall - a graffitied wall dedicated to John Lennon. Our tour book said the government used to paint over it repeatedly when it first appeared but eventually gave up when they realized people were not going to stop decorating it.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"><a href="http://lh5.google.com/amirjol/RlXnV_RwBAI/AAAAAAAACus/O-_FV9jXwZQ/DSC00593.JPG?imgmax=512"></a><a href="http://lh5.google.com/amirjol/RlXnV_RwBAI/AAAAAAAACus/O-_FV9jXwZQ/DSC00593.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://lh5.google.com/amirjol/RlXnV_RwBAI/AAAAAAAACus/O-_FV9jXwZQ/DSC00593.JPG?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a>We ate lunch on a patio of a nearby restaurant, where we sat next to a fat kid playing a handheld video game. Glad to see he was enjoying his cultural experience. David and I each ordered a personal pizza - which ended up being way too much food. David, being the good guy he is, decided to give our leftovers to a young homeless man with a dog and very shaky hands. He showed no reluctance to accept it. </div><br /><br /><div align="justify">It was time for a beer by then, so we found an outdoor bar on Wenceslas Square (site of the Velvet Revolution). Entertainment here was provided by a young group of British men apparently "on the stag." This is a sort of tradition in Britain - a party weekend in Prague similar to a bachelor party. The star of this group was a rather unattractive gentleman wearing nothing but Mr. Fantastic underwear. He was either very comfortable or very drunk because he did not seem at all ill at ease. </div><br /><br /><a href="http://lh3.google.com/amirjol/RlXndfRwBJI/AAAAAAAACu4/gLDo-6oZMao/DSC00604.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://lh3.google.com/amirjol/RlXndfRwBJI/AAAAAAAACu4/gLDo-6oZMao/DSC00604.JPG?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a>For our last dinner in town, David made reservations at a very cool vegetarian restaurant called Clear Head. The tables were decorated with glass beads and illuminated with a blue light. We had a bottle of Moravian wine, which was delicious. I enjoyed a dish made of potatoes au gratin covered in spinach and goat cheese. Alexia had some kind of veggie burrito, and David got a mushroom pasta. It was all very, very good.<br /><a href="http://lh6.google.com/amirjol/RlXnYPRwBDI/AAAAAAAACu0/CeRbmUVaupw/DSC00596.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://lh6.google.com/amirjol/RlXnYPRwBDI/AAAAAAAACu0/CeRbmUVaupw/DSC00596.JPG?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1067/542298790_e680f7becf.jpg?v=0"></a></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">During our visit we ate at two other restaurants worthy of note: Klub Architecture and Original Needle House. Klub Architecture (where the cool picture at left of Alexia was taken) I'd definitely recommend as a must if you go to P<a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1067/542298790_e680f7becf.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1067/542298790_e680f7becf.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>rague. But get a reservation. We did not have one, yet they were still able to seat us because we arrived early in the evening. But we were only allowed 45 minutes to eat and then get out. The ambiance was awesome - like eating in a very chic wine cellar. The food was even better. Thanks to Mike Gruss for recommending! Original Needle House we came across by accident while looking for a good place to eat. Their specialty was very generous shishkabobs (below). It didn't take us long to learn about a cultural phenomenon in regards to Czech dining. The wait staff does not take it upon themselves to check on you to see if you need anything - a napkin, a drink refill, your check, etc. You pretty much have to flag them down or get up and ask them for whatever it is you may need. We toyed with the idea of never hailing a waiter at Original Needle House, just to see if they'd turn off the lights and go home without ever bringing us our bill.<img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 200px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1234/543052412_962e065f84.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></div><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1266/543160697_a9e84cac22.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1266/543160697_a9e84cac22.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1122/543161247_f5b9971197.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1122/543161247_f5b9971197.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />That, my friends, was Prague. One entry left - our last day in Paris.<a href="http://lh4.google.com/amirjol/RlXlk_Rv_QI/AAAAAAAACWk/gaV0aBThh4Y/DSC00470.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 200px;" alt="" src="http://lh4.google.com/amirjol/RlXlk_Rv_QI/AAAAAAAACWk/gaV0aBThh4Y/DSC00470.JPG?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916893727390806638.post-24231831032133953212007-09-06T13:10:00.000-05:002007-09-20T12:29:39.283-05:00European Vacation: Day 5 - Evil Czech CopsWe were a little nervous about the train journey to Prague - our itinerary called for us to switch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1372/542345387_9aa57b8e36.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1372/542345387_9aa57b8e36.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a> trains about five or six times, and sometimes we were only going to have a minute or two to get on board. Turned out to not be as bad as we expected. In most cases, our connecting train was right next to the one we had just gotten off of, and all the other passengers were also getting on that same train. We only had to run at one station, and we did cut it pretty close.<br /><br />The most interesting part of the trip was on one train in the Czech Republic. The three of us were just sitting, reading quietly, not expecting to get off the train for another hour. An old man seated near us made a whistling noise to get our attention, then gestured for us to get off. The train stopped, and everyone got off and started walking down a gravel road that ran parallel to the tracks. This was it, we thought. We're going to die. Instead, we all got onto a bus, which drove through a nearby town. The whole ride we couldn't help but wonder 1) why were we suddenly forced to get off the train and onto a bus, 2) where were we going? 3) were we still on our way to Prague? and 4) if we were not, how the heck were we going to get there now? Communicating with whistling and<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1344/542237166_a9a3aa7352.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1344/542237166_a9a3aa7352.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a> gestures can only get you so far in a foreign country where we couldn't speak or understand a word of the language. Even when we tried to say the word for "thank you" we were getting funny looks, like maybe our slang book, written circa 1972 (ie in the middle of the Czech Communist era), was actually telling us to say something like "thanks, Commie!" Eventually, however, we pulled up at another train station, followed our fellow passengers to another train, and got on. We never knew the reason for this odd little detour.<br /><br />Finally, we arrived in Prague. But our excitement was short-lived. At the train station, we struggled to understand how to buy tickets for the subway. We took our best guess at what type of tickets we needed, then headed toward the entrance. We found no turnstiles like you would in ordinary subway stations. There was a small, unobtrusive machine on a wall near the entrance. Alexia asked if we thought that's what we used to validate our tickets. I foolishly said it couldn't possibly be - that there must be a turnstile up ahead. There wasn't. We got on the subway, thinking maybe we turned in our tickets when we exited. Wrong. As soon as we got off at our destination, David and I were stopped by a man in uniform. Alexia, with her experience of constantly being approached by peddlers within the Metro in Paris, casually kept on walking, thinking this man simply wanted to sell us a watch. Instead, the man told us we should have validated our tickets in the mystery machine near the entrance. He showed us instructions printed on the wall of the subway, and I thought, what a nice man. Giving us a lesson on how to use this system. Then he said we needed to pay him 1,000 koruna. What?!?! Fortunately, we had just withdrawn some cash, which probably saved us from going to jail, but unfortunately we had NO CLUE how much 1,000 koruna was in dollars. Were we to hand over to this man all of our spending money for the next week?<br /><br />I had remembered reading something in our guidebook about being approached by men on the street demanding that we pay some ridiculous fine. Remembering that, I suddenly wasn't so sure that this guy was actually a cop. I mean, who in the world would fine a foreign tourist who had literally just arrived in town for failing to comprehend a ludicrously complicated subway system? So I took the advice of the guide book and stopped a passerby to ask if this truly was a fine-able offense. He said yes, and a quite common one. I then ordered the "cop" to show me his badge. He did, and it matched up with one pictured along with the instructions on the wall. Well fine, I told him I'd pay the fine, but that I was not about to pull out my money while within his sight. I told him I was going to go stand behind a nearby pillar to retrieve my cash. I was taking a great risk that this man would haul my husband off to some dark Czech prison while I wasn't looking, but hey, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1324/542346671_916599b2f0.jpg?v=0"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1324/542346671_916599b2f0.jpg?v=0" border="0" /></a>I still wasn't convinced he wasn't a scam artist who would tell his buddies outside where to find my cash-laden wallet. Finding David still standing there when I returned, I grudgingly handed over my cash, demanded a signed receipt so that we wouldn't get fined by the next "cop" we ran into, and we were free to go. Poor Alexia! During the whole ordeal, she was standing alone and confused at the top of the escalator, wondering whether her friends were lost or simply too stupid to not buy a watch from a street peddler.<br /><br />We later learned that 1,000 koruna equals about $40, so it wasn't as expensive as we'd thought. Had we been a native, the fine would have been double. Still, a cab would have been cheaper - and more pleasant.<br /><br />A note about the photo above: It's the only picture we took of that dreadful subway station. Pretty, but deceiving.<br /><br />Reunited, the three of us found our way out of the evil subway station and stumbled our way around until we eventually found our hotel. Our first impression of Prague was not pretty, and the rest of the day we tried our best to ignore the sour mood our subway experience left us in.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0