This is so cute Cece~! :-) heehee~! :-) Thanks for sending it. Kath > If you love horses and the imagination of little girls; the cooperation of the adults, and the pictures to bring it all home, go to this site. Cece > > http://forums.thathomesite.com/forums/load/photo/msg0513384010882.html?3

That's neat Charlotte~! :-) Here's a link to other missions at that web site. http://lonestar.texas.net/~pdecker/missions.htm Kath > Kath, > > I used to live in San Antonio, and I have seen the Rose window and it is so > beautiful! I have pictures of it that I took, along with pictures of the > other missions that I visited while I was there. They are so awe-inspiring! > > Thanks, > Charlotte

Bedtime Stories Across the Miles I stood in the airport, my eyes so full of tears that I could barely see my six-month-old grandson's face as I bent to kiss him one last time. My son, an air force career man, was being sent to Turkey, and he was taking his wife and baby with him. "He won't know me when you get back to the States," I said brokenly. "Now, Mom," my son tried to comfort me. "It won't take you long to get reacquainted." "How?" I wailed. "He won't even be able to understand a thing I say." I was referring to my heavy southern accent, which would be almost like a foreign language to little Damon when they returned in three years. As the weeks passed, my self-pity turned into fierce determination. I would find a way to make a bond between me and my little grandson, no matter how many miles or how many oceans might stand between us. I bought a children's picture book, a blank cassette tape and a disposable camera. I popped the blank cassette into the recorder and read the picture book aloud, using the same tone of voice and accents I would use if reading to a child. When I finished the story, I spoke a few words to Damon, ending with, "Always remember that Grandma loves you very much." I had some friends take some snapshots of me doing routine, grandmotherly things such as baking and working in my flower beds. It was a friend who came up with the brilliant idea of including a picture of me reading the book in front of the recorder. When the pictures were developed, I sent the best ones, along with the book and the cassette, to my son and his wife. I asked them to play the recording to Damon while they turned the pages of the book for him. I also asked them to show him the pictures of Grandma whenever they read this particular book to him. A couple of months later, I bought another book, another blank cassette, another disposable camera and repeated the process. Every few months Damon would receive a new story package from Grandma. By the time he was a toddler, my son reported, at bedtime he would often demand a story "from Grandma across the ocean." It was an inexpensive way to keep Damon familiar with my face and my southern drawl. And it created a wondrous, strong bond between us even though there were many miles and months separating us. Almost three years later, I stood nervously in the airport, waiting for my son and his family to disembark. Would Damon recognize his Grandma in the flesh and blood? Thus far, I had merely been a funny voice on a cassette tape and a face in a snapshot. They came through the gate, Damon clutching his mother's hand. Breaking away from my daughter-in-law, he ran toward me, crying out exuberantly, "It's Grandma!" I stooped to catch him in my arms. He looked up at me, little face beaming. "You're my Grandma!" he exclaimed. He grabbed my hand and began to pull me toward his parents. "It's Grandma! Grandma! Grandma!" The word tugged at my heart and warmed my soul. I would never, ever tire of hearing it. By Ruth Ayers Reprinted by permission of Ruth Ayers (c) 1998, from Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger and Raymond Aaron. O * O *O * O O * * O <º)(((((~((((((>>>< * <º)((((~((((>< missi

hello guys IM back :) had a great time fell inlove with sedona Arizona. but fell off a rock and hurt my left hand trying to protect my face still got my face too a little and without my hands to protect my body my chest really got an it owwwwwwwww!! i fell from a rock onto a rock damn Arizona rocks!! no skin on either knee either but hey my face looks peachy :) missed you all muchly missi

<shamelessly pinched> <G> The Mighty Oak The oak, representing the sun, and the element fire, is king of the forest and the doorway to the mysteries and to other realms; it symbolizes fertility, longevity, protection, healing strength, potency, luck, money, solidarity, balance, endurance, continuity of tradition, and great wisdom; it represents primeval strength and the ability to overcome and survive. The oak represents the seventh moon-the moon of strength-and is good for sacrificial rites. The oak has been considered sacred by nearly every culture that has encountered it. Druids worshiped and taught under the oaks; the oak grove assists in rites of magickal protection, power collecting, power focusing, and spells of stability. The oak is sacred to the spirits of lightning because it can be struck by spiritual blasts of enlightenment and still keep a firm footing in the earth; because it is often struck by lightning, it represents the ability to attract inspiration, illumination, and energy. Classically, magickal wands and staves are made of its branches (after asking the tree's permission, of course, and leaving a small gift or a libation in return); created by the waxing or full moon, these were potent tools. Oak galls, known as Serpent's Eggs, were used in magickal charms; acorns gathered at night held the greatest fertility powers. They would carry acorns for luck. Acorns planted by the dark of the moon bring financial prosperity. The oak is incredibly strong, yet pliable; its wood makes a hot blaze for heating the house; it is the finest building material that can be found and provides strength and stability to anything constructed of its wood. The Druids listened to the rustling oak leaves and to wrens in the tree for divinatory messages. Burning oak leaves purifies the atmosphere. Marriages were often conducted under oaks. Often a marker in countryside boundaries. Oak wood is traditionally burned at bonfires. The pig, sacred to the Celts and to the spirits, relishes oaks for their nutritious and tasty acorns. Acorns placed in windows guard the house from lightning and harm. If one catches a falling oak leaf, they will be free from colds all winter. Oak fires draw off illnesses. Carrying acorns can: prevent illness and pain, increase longevity and fertility, strengthen sexual potency, and preserve youthfulness. Oak is used for tanning; a dye can be made from its bark; and the acorns can be used as fodder for animals ************************************************************ Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~ "So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip." --Will Rogers

Today is Thursday, May third, the 123rd day of 2001. There are 242 days left in the year. Today's Highlight in History: On May third, 1979, Conservative Party leader Margaret Thatcher was chosen to become Britain's first female prime minister as the Tories ousted the incumbent Labor government in parliamentary elections. On this date: In ousted the incumbent Labor government in parliamentary elections. 1802, Washington DC was incorporated as a city. In 1916, Irish nationalist Padraic Pearse and two others were executed by the British for their roles in the Easter Rising. In 1921, West Virginia imposed the first state sales tax. In 1937, Margaret Mitchell won a Pulitzer Prize for her novel, "Gone With the Wind." In 1944, US wartime rationing of most grades of meats ended. In 1945, Indian forces captured Rangoon, Burma, from the Japanese. In 1948, the Supreme Court ruled that covenants prohibiting the sale of real estate to blacks or members of other racial groups were legally unenforceable. In 1971, anti-war protesters began four days of demonstrations in Washington DC aimed at shutting down the nation's capital. In 1978, "Sun Day" fell on a Thursday as thousands of people extolling the virtues of solar energy held events across the country. In 1986, in NASA's first post-"Challenger" launch, an unmanned Delta rocket, lost power in its main engine shortly after liftoff, forcing safety officers to destroy it by remote control. Ten years ago: The government reported the nation's civilian unemployment rate fell in April to six-point-six percent. Exxon Corporation and the state of Alaska withdrew from a one billion-dollar settlement of the "Exxon Valdez" oil spill (another settlement was reached later). Author Jerzy Kosinski was found dead in his New York City apartment; he was 57. Five years ago: An international conference in Geneva ended 30 months of arduous negotiations over whether to ban land mines with a weak compromise treaty giving countries nine years to switch to detectable, self-destructive devices. One year ago: The trial of two alleged Libyan intelligence agents accused of blowing Pan Am Flight 103 out of the sky over Lockerbie, Scotland, in 1988 opened in the Netherlands. (Last January, one of the defendants, Abdel Basset Ali al-Megrahi, was convicted of murder; the other defendant, Lamen Khalifa Fhimah, was acquitted.) The archbishop of New York, Cardinal John O'Connor, died at age 80. Today's Birthdays: Broadway librettist Betty Comden is 82. Folk singer Pete Seeger is 82. C ountry singer Dave Dudley is 73. Singer James Brown is 68. Singer Engelbert Humperdinck is 65. Sports announcer Greg Gumbel is 55. Singer Christopher Cross is 50. Country musician Cactus Moser (Highway 101) is 44. Country singer Shane Minor is 33. Actor Dule Hill ("The West Wing") is 26. Actress Jill Berard is eleven. "When your work speaks for itself, don't interrupt." -- Henry J. Kaiser, American industrialist (1882-1967). (Copyright 2001 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

The Rose Window by Mimi Swartz It's not just a carving on a mission wall. It's a declaration of enduring love. [picture of the Rose Window] http://lonestar.texas.net/~pdecker/gifs/samissions/jose12.jpg ---The Rose Window at the San José Mission in San Antonio is known as much for its mystery as for its beauty. First of all, the window isn't where it's supposed to be. You'd expect something known as the finest example of Spanish colonial ornamentation in the United States to be situated above the entrance to the mission's main church, keeping company with the glorious carvings of pious saints. An oval portal has that position of honor; the Rose Window, an elegant anomaly on an otherwise barren wall of worn and crumbling stone, adorns the sacristy around the corner. No one knows why the window is so ornate -- sacristy windows are traditionally simple -- and no one knows what it was used for; steps inside the sacristy leading up to the window suggest only that someone might have preached a special service from its height. No one knows who made the window or how it got its name, either. The Rose Window, it can be said with certainty, keeps its own counsel. In its silence, it projects a beauty that manages to be both serene and eccentric. The Rose Window is imposing -- nearly seven feet tall -- but is set only four and a half feet above ground level, so it's accessible. Four carved arches push their way out of a rectangle framed by two stolid columns, while limestone leaves laze across the stone like vines claiming a ruin. A wrought-iron gate of exuberant curlicues covers the glass. It is known that when the Rose Window was made in the 1770s, nothing of its scale and intricacy existed in the United States. The window embodied the extravagant dreams of the Franciscan friars who commissioned it. Traveling north from Mexico in search of converts, those men made few concessions to the frontier: they taught the Indians not just to farm, tan hides, and honor God but also to play the trumpet and violin. When it came to architecture, the friars wanted the mission's stone carvings to be as sophisticated as anything found in New Spain and imported the finest Mexican artisans to do the work. "No one could have imagined there were such good artists in so desolate a place," remarked one visiting friar in a letter from the mission. The biggest riddle of all is why the Rose Window is so named. It is not, as is sometimes assumed, related in any way to traditional rose windows, the round, complex stained glass versions that bathe medieval European churches in comforting hues. San José's window is proudly plain in comparison, and the light it throws is painfully sharp -- a New World light, for people willing to see life as it is, not as it should be. It is also unlikely that the window is so identified because there are roses carved into the stone. Various theories over the years have posited that the plants are more likely to be pomegranate or acanthus. For quite some time it was thought that the proper name for the Rose Window might be Rosa's Window, in honor of a story that has been embroidered for generations. In the most elaborate version, a noted Spanish sculptor named Pedro Huizar, charged with carving a religious window at San José, instead used his considerable talent to carve a monument to his lovely sweetheart, Rosa. When the window was complete, he sent for his love -- who died in a shipwreck on her way to New Spain. Huizar spent the rest of his life celibate and penitent, carving the religious portal above the entrance to the church. The story is nice but unlikely. According to a National Parks Service study completed in 1981, Pedro Huizar was born in Aguascalientes, Mexico; he was married twice and had at least three children. He did live and work at San José, but as a carpenter and a surveyor, and he didn't get to the mission until the 1790s, twenty years after the Rose Window was finished. The theory these days is that the window was named after Saint Rosa of Lima, the first saint of the New World. But if the Rose Window is deceptive, it is never false. The truth is that the truth long ago ceased to matter. Around the turn of the century, copies of the window began appearing all over Texas (eight rose windows adorn the old Joske's store in downtown San Antonio) and as far away as San Francisco. People still tell and retell the legend with great pride and affection, and the plaque beside the window at San José gives Huizar credit for creating it. In this way the Rose Window has become a monument not so much to love itself but to our need to believe in love, in its redemptive power and improbable tenacity, the way a rose -- or even a pomegranate -- might take root and thrive in the coldest stone. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

The Dust Storm by Anne Dingus When all of Texas seems about to blow away, the best defense is a sense of humor --- True grit. Pioneers who didn't have it before their first sandstorm certainly did after. That’s why cowboys said a spunky fellow had sand. Though rarely lethal, sandstorms are universally despised. Nothing can keep out flying sand -- not closed windows, not bandanas, not prayer. (Wet rags under the door help, but not much.) Sandstorms spell trouble. An 1895 storm blew down section houses along the Texas and Pacific Railway tracks. A sixties spate of "Oklahoma rain" chased by a blizzard dumped brown snow across the High Plains. A pair of 1977 dust storms ruined $6 million worth of winter wheat in the Panhandle and injured twenty people in El Paso. With Texas one of thirty states now stricken by drought, new tales may be on the way. Any Texan can tell you a sandstorm story. Native writers appreciated its drama. Tom Lea set the opening chapter of The Wonderful Country in one, and in Lonesome Dove green cowhand Newt suffered baptism by sand on his second day up the trail. The gutless heroine of Dorothy Scarborough’s 1925 novel, The Wind, hated the sand: "Her eyes smarted with it…and her throat choked with it…. When she lay down at night her pillow was scratchy with its covering of sand, she could feel the grains crawling inside her clothing like vermin." Wind is, of course, the moving force behind a sandstorm. When north winds howl into Texas, they displace rising hot air and snatch up any loose soil in their path. The stronger and faster the winds, the more sand they push before them. An equally strong factor is drought. The drier the land, the looser the topsoil and the more easily the upper layer is swept away. Although most Texans use the terms "dust storm" and "sand storm" interchangeably, the legendary sandstorms of the past are as rare today as they are ferocious. Decades ago prairie grass protected most of the soil on the plains, but pockets of sand blew about freely. Eventually, however, years of sustained plowing exposed millions of acres of dirt and made dust storms more common. Because dirt is finer-grained than sand, a storm flings it higher and faster. Thus sandstorms hang low on the horizon; dust storms boil up like thunderheads. A final difference is color. Sandstorms are yellow, dust storms brown. In 1934, a six-year dry spell and poor land management produced the Dust Bowl, withering farms across the Panhandle and Great Plains. By 1936 the Amarillo weather bureau had counted 192 dusters locally. (No wonder the Amarillo High School team is called the Sandstorm – the Sandies for short.) Dust storms and poverty drove people out of their homes to seek new beginnings elsewhere. One of them was songwriter Woodie Guthrie, who abandoned his job as a sign painter in Pampa to hitch a ride west to California and fortune. He told the first truck driver who stopped that he wanted "outta this damn dust." Dust storms can occur statewide at any time of the year, but they are most prevalent in the High Plains, particularly in a twenty-county area around Lubbock and most often in late winter or early spring. During the typical Dust Bowl storm, 122 tons of dirt an hour blew through Lubbock. But the worst duster of the century pummeled the area on January 25, 1965. Streetlights came on at noon and soon disappeared in the roiling dust. Tumbleweeds raced past motorists on the highway – back when the speed limit was 70. Airline pilots reported dust at 31,000 feet – six miles high. The storm scoured the paint off pickups and dumped three and a half inches of grit into the rain gauge at Reese Air Force Base. The Lubbock Avalanche-Journal reported wryly that farmers "couldn’t do much except stay inside and watch their farms travel." Humor is the only weapon against flying dust and sand, and in that department, Midland takes honors. In 1955 the Reporter-Telegram announced the formation of the Sandstorm Advisory Board, whose one and only duty was to name the storms -- in a farsighted move, after men. The first name chosen was, naturally, Adam; the second, Benson, after then-Secretary of Agriculture Ezra Taft Benson. And folklorist J. Frank Dobie saw the sunny side of the issue. He told of a Texas Ranger who, in the aftermath of a sandstorm, spied a cowboy hat on the ground. Picking it up, the ranger discovered a man’s head underneath. Frantically he dug out the buried cowpoke, who coughed, spat, and croaked out, "Get a shovel. There’s a good horse under me." Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

Woo-Hoo~! :-) Hiya Partner~! :-) Fantastic to have you back home~! So Sorrwee you got an owwies..... : Did Paul kick that bad old rock~? Missed ya a bunch, glad you're back. I love Sedona too. Beautiful Red Rocks. ('cept that bad old mean one that hurted ya) <G> :-) So how ya doin' other than that? Do you have some stories for us? Did ya bring me somethin'~? :0) <heehee> :-) love ya, kath > hello guys IM back :) > had a great time fell inlove with sedona Arizona. > but fell off a rock and hurt my left hand trying to protect my face still got > my face too a little and without my hands to protect my body my chest really > got an it owwwwwwwww!! > i fell from a rock onto a rock damn Arizona rocks!! > no skin on either knee either but hey my face looks peachy :) > missed you all > muchly > missi > > > ==== FOLKLORE Mailing List ==== > We share stories, poems, jokes, home remedies, and much much more... > Most of all, we share our Hearts. > »§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« >

we had "stickers" in Illinois too. ;-) kath The Sticker Bur by Mimi Swartz Into each and every barefoot Texas childhood a little sticker bur must fall. --- I was in my early teens before I realized that children in other parts of the country could run barefoot through tall grass without fear. Any child who attempted to do so in Central Texas -- or in most parts of the state, for that matter -- was either very brave or just plain foolish. For Texas fields and lawns had little in common with the velvety expanses of, say, Massachusetts or Northern California. Here, defenseless children had to contend with grass that concealed chiggers, mesquite thorns, hackberry branches, and, grizzliest of all, a small brown barb known to connoisseurs as the sticker bur, land mine of the back yard. No instep, no matter how proudly toughened on sizzling pavement, could endure it. The sticker bur served notice to suburban children that the Texas landscape, however well fenced, watered, graveled, or gardened, remained untamed and inhospitable. As part of a roving band of neighborhood kids, I learned to survey yards like a point man heading into dangerous territory. A dry, patchy lawn was best avoided, though a healthy-looking turf of Bermuda grass held no promise of safety either. Sticker grass was usually paler and spinier than Bermuda, but that difference was discernible only at very close range. Our gang may not have known where stickers came from (I believed they were prickly pear burs, blown in from the desert), but we knew full well what they could do. When little Stan Shaw, one of our bravest members, would show off by racing up the street through the grass, the rest of us would wait to hear his strangled yelp -- akin to that of a betrayed cocker spaniel. Then we knew the sticker had struck, and another yard was off limits. Those were tragic moments for us because alternate routes were scarce: even in October the asphalt was searing, and armies of red ants patrolled the curbs. Of course, no self-respecting Texas child would be caught dead doing the sensible thing, which was to put on a pair of shoes. The sticker comes from a lateral and low-growing, grasslike weed called the sandbur, which has been causing trouble for quite some time. It was first identified in the eighteenth century by the Swedish botanist Carolus Linnaeus, author of Species Plantarum, the seminal work in plant taxonomy. The burs are actually spiny seeds that mature in the summer, just in time to torture tiny feet. "No other grassy plant has this...lance-armed bur, and a description therefore is almost useless," writes Edwin Rollin Spencer in All About Weeds. "He who finds a sand bur does not have to be told what it is." Today there are several kinds of sandbur, including southern, longspine, and field sandbur (whose Latin name, Cenchrus incertus, is particularly apt). The most cursory study of a botanical map will reveal why the plants are so familiar to Texans. Sandburs prefer the sandy soil of the southern U.S., especially that beside highways and baseball diamonds, where sand containing sandbur seeds is dumped as fill. Some infested states may have one kind of sandbur but not another, but Texas has all three common kinds, and they all thrive here. In this case, more is clearly not better. It's hard to find anyone who doesn't hate the sandbur. Weed specialists use words like "nuisance," "pernicious," "noxious," and "hateful" to describe it. "It's considered one of the real bad grasses," says Texas A&M extension weed specialist Dr. Rupert Palmer. Cows and sheep dislike sandbur because it is painful to eat; commercial stockmen hate sandbur because it contaminates wool and mohair and is grounds for docking at time of sale. Suburbanites hate sandbur because it hides and breeds in their Bermuda grass. Herbicides can be used to keep the seeds from germinating, but the best ways to get rid of sandbur are (a) mow and water your Bermuda grass frequently, or (b) plant St. Augustine grass, which shades and crowds out sandbur, or (c) pull the sandbur out. One A&M specialist confessed that it took him three years to get his yard sticker-free using the last method, but it worked. Still, there's one thing to be said for the loathsome sticker. It breeds cautiousness, a quality not widely admired here but useful in a state that features both jellyfish and rattlesnakes. The wise Texan learns to pick and choose his fights with the landscape. Nowadays, for instance, I do run through moderately high grass. But only with my boots on.

The popular Big Red soda pop flavor is actually a combination of lemon and orange oils, topped off by a dollop of pure vanilla for a creamy aftertaste. The red is nothing more than FD&C red 40 food color. But the drink's chemistry pales in importance when you realize that if Coca-Cola succeeds in taking over Dr Pepper, Big Red will be the last native soda pop -- created, owned, and operated by Texans -- left on the planet. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

Find your favorite soda pop~! :-) http://www.nehi.com/ here's the link to the Ginger Ale and Gingetr beer Page. http://www.nehi.com/ginalginbeer.html Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

>> THE FOLLOWING IS FROM AN ACTUAL 1950'S HOME ECONOMICS TEXTBOOK INTENDED >> FOR HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS, TEACHING THEM HOW TO PREPARE FOR MARRIED LIFE: 1. Have dinner ready.  Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal, on time.  This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him, and are concerned about his needs.  Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospects of a good meal are part of the warm welcome needed. 2. Prepare yourself.  Take 15 minutes to rest so you will be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh looking. He has been with a lot of work-weary people.  Be a little gay (???-OBVIOUSLY 50's!) and a little more interesting.  His boring day may need a lift. 3. Clear away clutter.  Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives, gather up school books, toys, the paper, etc.  Then run a dust cloth over the tables.  Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. 4. Prepare the children.  Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces if they are small, comb their hair, and if necessary, change their clothes.  They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. 5. Minimize the noise.  At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of washer, dryer or vacuum.  Try to encourage the children to be quiet. Greet him with a warm smile and be glad to see him. 6. Some DON'TS.  Don't greet him with problems or complaints.  Don't complain if he's late for dinner.  Count this as minor compared with what he might have gone through that day. 7. Make him comfortable.  Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or suggest he lay down in the bedroom.  Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.   Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes.  Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice. Allow him to relax and unwind. 8. Listen to him. You may have a dozen things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time.  Let him talk first. 9. Make the evening his.  Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or to other places of entertainment instead try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his need to be home and relax. 10. The goal.  Try to make your home a place of peace and order where your husband can relax.            ***********************************           THE UPDATED VERSION FOR THE WOMAN OF 2000: 1. Plan for dinner.  Make reservations ahead of time.  If your day becomes too hectic just leave him a voice mail message regarding where you'd like to go and at what time.  This lets him know that your day has been crappy and gives him an opportunity to prepare for your mood. 2. Prepare yourself.  A quick stop at the Clinique counter on your way home will do wonders for your outlook and will keep you from becoming irritated every time he opens his mouth. 3. Clear away the clutter.  Call the housekeeper and tell her that any miscellaneous items left on the floor by the children can be placed in the Goodwill box in the garage. 4. Prepare the children.  Send the children to their rooms to watch television or play Nintendo.  After all, both of them are from his previous marriage. 5. Minimize the noise.  If you happen to be home when he arrives, be in front of the television with remote clicker in your hand. 6. Some DON'TS.  Don't greet him with problems and complaints.  Let him speak first, and then your complaints will get more attention and remain fresh in his mind throughout dinner.  Don't complain if he's late for dinner, simply remind him that the leftovers are in the fridge and he can do his own dishes. 7. Make him comfortable.  Tell him where he can find a blanket if he's cold.  This will really show you care. 8. Listen to him.  But don't ever let him get the last word. 9. Make the evening his.  Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or other places of entertainment.  Go with a friend or go shopping. Familiarize him with the phrase Girls' Night Out. 10. The Goal.  Try to keep things amicable without reminding him that he thinks the world revolves around him.  Obviously he's wrong. Eat Right- Stay fit-die anyway!

Jicama by Jeannette Ferrary & Louise Fiszer "A stranger in the produce section." These are the words that cookbook author Laurel Robertson used to describe a lumpy, odd-looking creature she discovered one day in the grocery store. Although it appeared about as promising as a dusty old stone, she followed her instincts and brought the inert-looking blob home for dinner. If she hadn't, she concludes her happy tale, she never would have met the jicama. For those who still haven't met the jicama it is a vegetable humble, if not homely in appearance. For some reason it is never described for itself but always compared to something else. It doesn't even get much credit for its own crisp, just sweet enough taste, which is also usually likened to that of other vegetables. Use it like water chestnuts, some say, or grate it as a passable substitute for daikon. It is also characterized as a cross between an apple and a potato. And yet nothing is quite like the jicama, a member of the morning glory family that hails from Mexico and South America. A cousin of the sweet potato, this underground tuber comes in two types: agua (watery juice) and leche (milky juice). Like the hot pretzels on the sidewalks of New York, jicama is a street food in its native habitat, sold with a squeeze of lime and a shake of fiery chili powder. Also called the yam bean root, jicama ranges in weight from a few ounces to 6 pounds. Its crispy white flesh is hidden under a fibrous dust-brown skin, which must be completely stripped off. Like potatoes, jicamas can be steamed, baked, boiled, mashed or fried. Unlike potatoes, however, they can also be eaten raw. Sliced into wide sticks, jicama makes a crunchy carrier for guacamole and highly seasoned dips. Cut up into squares, it enhances fresh fruit salad, absorbing and reflecting surrounding flavors. It is equally versatile as a cooked vegetable -- sauteed with carrots or green beans, stir-fried with chicken or shrimp, or simmered in savory stews. Low in starch and calories, jicama is satisfying, flavorful and nowhere near as strange as it looks. Consumer and Cooking Guide Market Selection Choose medium-size jicamas with smooth, unblemished skins. Availability Year-round. Storage Store in a cool, dry place, uncovered, for up to 3 weeks. Cut pieces may be wrapped in plastic, and stored in the refrigerator for up to one week. Equivalents 1 medium jicama = 2 cups, cubed Nutritional Value Good source of potassium and vitamin C. Cooking and Handling Notes Rub a cut lemon or lime on the cut surface of jicama to maintain whiteness. Basic Cooking Methods See individual recipes. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

I was thinking maybe we could do away with the brown sugar and use a sweetener substitute....?? kath Member Rating ***** Mango-Kiwi Salsa This tangy fruit salsa is served with decorative jicama cutouts instead of chips. 2 ripe mangoes, peeled and finely chopped 1 kiwifruit, peeled and finely chopped 1 green onion, thinly sliced (2 tablespoons) 1/4 cup finely chopped red sweet pepper 1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger 1 tablespoon brown sugar 1 tablespoon snipped fresh cilantro, parsley, or basil 1 tablespoon lime juice Dash ground red pepper 1 medium jicama 1. For salsa, in a mixing bowl combine mango, kiwifruit, green onion, red sweet pepper, ginger, brown sugar, cilantro, lime juice, and ground red pepper. Toss to coat well. Cover and chill for 1 to 4 hours. 2. For jicama chips, peel and halve jicama. Cut jicama into 1/4-inch-thick slices with a sharp knife. If desired, cut jicama slices into desired shapes using cookie cutters for the flower shapes. Serve with salsa. Makes about 2 cups salsa (sixteen, 2-tablespoon servings). Nutrition facts per serving: 30 calories, 0 g total fat, 0 g saturated fat, 0 mg cholesterol, 1 mg sodium, 7 g carbohydrate, 1 g fiber, 0 g protein, 20% vitamin a, 30% vitamin c, 1% calcium, 1% iron. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

Hi Folks: Shoot! I have been trying to convince The Mama Lady that this is the way it should be done for years. I haven't succeeded yet, but I'm working on it. Bill Covey Author of: Watson Is Where It Wuz http://BillCovey.50megs.com

Better Homes and Gardens Diabetic Recipes. Member Rating ***** Grilled Herbed Vegetables For easy cleanup and fuss-free cooking, bake or grill mixed veggies of your choice in a foil packet. 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 clove garlic, minced 2 teaspoons snipped fresh rosemary or 1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary, crushed; or 2 tablespoons snipped fresh basil or 1 teaspoon dried basil, crushed 1/4 teaspoon salt 4 cups mixed vegetables, such as eggplant chunks; halved small yellow squash, zucchini, or pattypan squash; green beans; red onion wedges; and/or sliced yellow, red, or green sweet pepper Pepper 1. In a medium mixing bowl combine the olive oil, garlic, rosemary or basil, and the salt. 2. Add the vegetables to oil mixture, tossing to coat. Spoon vegetable mixture onto a 24x12-inch piece of heavy foil. Bring opposite edges of foil together; seal tightly with a double fold. Fold in remaining ends to completely enclose vegetables, leaving a little space for steam to build. 3. Grill the vegetable packet on a grill rack directly over medium-hot coals about 20 minutes or until vegetables are tender, turning the packet over halfway through the cooking time. (Or, bake vegetables in a 350 degree oven about 25 minutes or until tender.) Season vegetables to taste with pepper. Makes 4 side-dish servings. Nutrition facts per serving: 63 calories, 4 g total fat, 1 g saturated fat, 0 mg cholesterol, 149 mg sodium, 8 g carbohydrate, 3 g fiber, 1 g protein, 37% vitamin a, 91% vitamin c, 2% calcium, 4% iron, 1.5 diabetic exchange vegetables, .5 diabetic exchange fat. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

HERB GARDEN ~ INDOORS ON YOUR WINDOWSILL According to Burpee and the National Gardening Association you can easily grow herbs such as Basil, Oregano, Parsley, Rosemary, Sage, Tarragon and Thyme right on your kitchen windowsill or other sunny spot. They recommend that you sow seeds into small pots with gravel over drainage hole, filled with sterile potting soil. Be sure to add sharp sand or perlite to mixture to promote drainage. If you have room, place individual pots in a larger container that fits on your sill. Fill it with soil up to the rim of the pots. This will maintain higher humidity and promotes better growth. Follow seed packet directions for care and feeding. For those of you who prefer instant gratification, purchase already growing herbs in small pots and place them in a larger container to fit your windowsill. REMEMBER HERBS NEED AT LEAST 4 HOURS A DAY OF DIRECT SUNLIGHT. Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

LUCKY BAMBOO – THE PERFECT MOTHER'S DAY GIFT My daughter gave me three stalks of Lucky Bamboo for Easter and I am completely smitten. They come in single stems of various lengths or in already arranged dishes of 3 to 21 stems nestled in flat dishes or vases filled with stones or pebbles. Mine is in a tall cylindrical clear glass vase with clear glass stones bought at Pier One. They are impossible to kill and last forever. You simply fill the container with water about 3/4 full and change the water weekly. Our Nursery man told me that you can add less than 1/4 tsp. Peters All Purpose Fertilizer, that dissolves in water, to the water when you change it each week. For maximum Feng Shui effectiveness, place your Lucky Bamboo in the east corner of your house when you are facing the door. Does not require direct sunlight and can even be grown in a bathroom. According to ancient principles of Feng Shui numbers, three stalks attract happiness, five attract wealth, seven result in good health, and twenty-one stalks offer a very powerful all-purpose blessing. You can make your own arrangements or buy a starter kit from Planet Bonsai a place I found on the Internet at: http://www.planetbonsai.homestead.com/bamboostalks.html Or another site that has curly bamboo stalks at: http://www.erikasgiftbaskets.com/mdrgifts/luckybamboo.html We found ours at a local Nursery in Miami. Their stalks are twisted while growing to give interesting shapes to the stems. Check with your local Nursery or ask them to get you some. Like these tips? Please forward Susan's "Tip of the Day" to your friends. If you have a favorite tip, idea or request you would like To share with our readers, please send them to mailto:susan@kitchenproject.com Visit our Website at http://www.kitchenproject.com and http://www.thewanderingchef.com Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~

>So saying the gnome took himself off. And the princess with her magic wand >touched the wrinkled old women, and left them the withered roots they really >were, to be thrown upon the rubbish heap; and with light feet skipped off >across to the meadow to take possession of the freshly filled basket. But to >her surprise she could not find it anywhere. Up and down the garden she >searched, spying into every comer, but not a sign of it was to be found. By >the trellis of grapevines she met the gnome, who was so much embarrassed at >the sight of her that she became aware of his confusion while he was still >quite a long way off. >'You are trying to tease me,' she cried, as soon as she saw him. 'Where have >you hidden the basket? I have been looking for it at least an hour.' [begin Part 2] 'Dear queen of my heart,' answered he, 'I pray you to forgive my carelessness. I promised more than I could perform. I have sought all over the land for the roots you desire; but they are gathered in, and lie drying in musty cellars, and the fields are bare and desolate, for below in the valley winter reigns, only here in your presence spring is held fast, and wherever your foot is set the gay flowers bloom. Have patience for a little, and then without fail you shall have your puppets to play with.' Almost before the gnome had finished, the disappointed princess turned away, and marched off to her own apartments, without deigning to answer him. The gnome, however, set off above ground as speedily as possible, and disguising himself as a farmer, bought an ass in the nearest market-town, and brought it back loaded with sacks of turnip, carrot, and radish seed. With this he sowed a great field, and sent a vast army of his goblins to watch and tend it, and to bring up the fiery rivers from the heart of the earth near enough to warm and encourage the sprouting seeds. Thus fostered they grew and flourished marvellously, and promised a goodly Crop. The princess wandered about the field day by day, no other plants or fruits in all her wonderful garden pleased her as much as these roots; but still her eyes were full of discontent. And, best of all, she loved to while away the hours in a shady fir-wood, seated upon the bank of a little stream, into which she would cast the flowers she had gathered and watch them float away. The gnome tried hard by every means in his power to please the princess and win her love, but little did he guess the real reason of his lack of success. He imagined that she was too young and inexperienced to care for him; but that was a mistake, for the truth was that another image already filled her heart. The young Prince Ratibor, whose lands joined her father's, had won the heart of the princess; and the lovers had been looking forward to the coming of their wedding-day when the bride's mysterious disappearance took place. The sad news drove Ratibor distracted, and as the days went on, and nothing could be heard of the princess, he forsook his castle and the society of men, and spent his days in the wild forests, roaming about and crying her name aloud to the trees and rocks. Meanwhile, the maiden, in her gorgeous prison, sighed in secret over her grief, not wishing to arouse the gnome's suspicions. In her own mind she was wondering if by any means she might escape from her captivity, and at last she hit upon a plan. By this time spring once more reigned in the valley, and the gnome sent the fires back to their places in the deeps of the earth, for the roots which they had kept warm through all the cruel winter had now come to their full size. Day by day the princess pulled up some of them, and made experiments with them, conjuring up now this longed-for person, and now that ' just for the pleasure of seeing them as they appeared; but she really had another purpose in view. One day she changed a tiny turnip into a bee, and sent him off to bring her some news of her lover. 'Fly, dear little bee, towards the east,' said she, 'to my beloved Ratibor, and softly hum into his ear that I love him only, but that I am a captive in the gnome's palace under the mountains. Do not forget a single word of my greeting, and bring me back a message from my beloved.' So the bee spread his shining wings and flew away to do as he was bidden; but before he was out of sight greedy swallow made a snatch at him, and to the great grief of the princess her messenger was eaten up then and there. After that, by the power of the wonderful wand she summoned a cricket, and taught him this greeting: 'Hop, little cricket, to Ratibor, and chirp in his ear that I love him only, but that I am held captive by the gnome in his palace under the mountains.' So the cricket hopped off gaily, determined to do his best to deliver his message; but, alas! A long-legged stork who was prancing along the same road caught him in her cruel beak, and before he could say a word he had disappeared down her throat. These two unlucky ventures did not prevent the princess from trying once more. This time she changed the turnip into a magpie. 'Flutter from tree to tree, chattering bird,' said she, 'till you come to Ratibor, my love. Tell him that I am a captive, and bid him come with horses and men, the third day from this, to the hill that rises from the Thorny Valley.' The magpie listened, hopped awhile from branch to branch, and then darted away, the princess watching him anxiously as far as she could see. Now Prince Ratibor was still spending his life in wandering about the woods, and not even the beauty of the spring could soothe his grief. One day, as he sat in the shade of an oak tree, dreaming of his lost princess, and sometimes crying her name aloud, he seemed to hear another voice reply to his, and, starting up, he gazed around him, but he could see no one, and he had just made up his mind that he must be mistaken, when the same voice called again, and, looking up sharply, he saw a magpie which hopped to and fro among the twigs. Then Ratibor heard with surprise that the bird was indeed calling him by name. 'Poor chatterpie,' said he; 'who taught you to say that name, which belongs to an unlucky mortal who wishes the earth would open and swallow up him and his memory for ever?' Thereupon he caught up a great stone, and would have hurled it at the magpie, if it had not at that moment uttered the name of the princess. This was so unexpected that the prince's arm fell helplessly to his side at the sound, and he stood motionless. But the magpie in the tree, who, like all the rest of his family, was not happy unless he could be for ever chattering, began to repeat the message the princess had taught him; and as soon as he understood it, Prince Ratibor's heart was filled with joy. All his gloom and misery vanished in a moment, and he anxiously questioned the welcome messenger as to the fate of the princess. But the magpie knew no more than the lesson he had learnt, so he soon fluttered away; while the prince hurried back to his castle to gather together a troop of horsemen, full of courage for whatever might befall. The princess meanwhile was craftily pursuing her plan of escape. She left off treating the gnome with coldness and indifference; indeed, there was a look in her eyes, which encouraged him to hope that she might some day return his love, and the idea pleased him mightily. The next day, as soon as the sun rose, she made her appearance decked as a bride, in the wonderful robes and jewels, which the fond gnome had prepared for her. Her golden hair was braided and crowned with myrtle blossoms, and her flowing veil sparkled with gems. In these magnificent garments she went to meet the gnome upon the great terrace. 'Loveliest of maidens,' he stammered, bowing low before her, 'let me gaze into your dear eyes, and read in them that you will no longer refuse my love, but will make me the happiest being the sun shines upon.' So saying he would have drawn aside her veil; but the princess only held it more closely about her. 'Your constancy has overcome me,' she said; 'I can no longer oppose your wishes. But believe my words, and suffer this veil still to hide my blushes and tears.' ' Why tears, beloved one? ' cried the gnome anxiously; every tear of yours falls upon my heart like a drop of molten gold. Greatly as I desire your love, I do no a sacrifice.' 'Ah! ' cried the false princess, 'why do you misunderstand my tears? My heart answers to your tenderness and yet I am fearful. A wife cannot always charm, though you will never alter, the beauty of mortals is as a flower that fades. How can I be sure that you will always be as loving and charming as you are now?' 'Ask some proof, sweetheart,' said he. 'Put my obedience and my patience to some test by which you can judge of my unalterable love.' 'Be it so,' answered the crafty maiden. 'Then give me just one proof of your goodness. Go! Count the turnips in yonder meadow. My wedding feast must not lack guests. They shall provide me with bride-maidens too. But beware lest you deceive me, and do not miss a single one. That shall be the test of your truth towards me.' Unwilling as the gnome was to lose sight of his beautiful bride for a moment, he obeyed her commands without delay, and hurried off to begin his task. He skipped along among the turnips as nimbly as a grasshopper, and had soon counted them all; but, to be quite certain that he had made no mistake, he thought he would just run over them again. This time, to his great annoyance, the number was different; so he reckoned them for the third time, but now the number was not the same as either of the previous ones! And this was hardly to be wondered at, as his mind was full of the princess's pretty looks and words. As for the maiden, no sooner was her deluded lover fairly out of sight than she began to prepare for flight. She had a fine fresh turnip hidden close at hand, which she changed into a spirited horse, all saddled and bridled, and, springing upon its back, she galloped away over hill and dale till she reached the Thorny Valley, and flung herself into the arms of her beloved Prince Ratibor. Meanwhile the toiling gnome went through his task over and over again till his back ached and his head swam, and he could no longer put two and two together; but as he felt tolerably certain of the exact number of turnips in the field, big and little together, he hurried back eager to prove to his beloved one what a delightful and submissive husband he would be. He felt well satisfied with himself as he crossed the mossy lawn to the place where he had left her; but, alas! She was no longer there. He searched every thicket and path, he looked behind every tree, and gazed into every pond, but without success then he hastened into the palace and rushed from room to room, peering into every hole and corner and calling her by name; but only echo answered in the marble halls there was neither voiced nor footstep. Then he began to perceive that something was amiss, and, throwing off the mortal form that encumbered him, he flew out of the palace, and soared high into the air, and saw the fugitive princess in the far distance just as the swift horse carried her across the boundary of his dominions. Furiously did the enraged gnome fling two great clouds together, and hurl a thunderbolt after the flying maiden, splintering the rocky barriers, which had stood a thousand years. But his fury was vain, the thunder clouds melted away into a soft mist, and the gnome, after flying about for a while in despair, bewailing to the four winds his unhappy fate, went sorrowfully back to the palace, and stole once more through every room, with many sighs and lamentations. He passed through the gardens, which for him had lost their charm, and the sight of the princess's footprints on the golden sand of the pathway renewed his grief. All was lonely, empty, sorrowful; and the forsaken gnome resolved that he would have no more dealings with such false creatures as he had found men to be. Thereupon he stamped three times upon the earth, and the magic palace, with all its treasures, vanished away into the nothingness out of which he had called it' and the gnome fled once more to the depths of his underground kingdom. While all this was happening, Prince Ratibor was hurrying away with his princess to a place of safety. With great pomp and triumph he restored the lovely princess to her father, and was then there married to her, and took her back with him to his own castle. But long after she was dead, and her children too, the villagers would tell the tale of her imprisonment underground, as they sat carving wood in the winter nights. >From the Brown Fairy Book Edited by Andrew Lang Kath <mzmouser@earthlink.net> ~`* `*' `*' `* `*' `*' *' `*' *' `*' `* `*' *' `*' ~~~