Oh bother...

I'm sick of the rain.  The rain makes bad pictures.  The rain makes lots of mud.  The rain makes me sad.  The end.

I made this pincushion but the rain makes bad pictures and it is so much cuter in real life.  Stupid rain. 

Maybe the sun will come out tommorow.  Yeah I'd bet my bottom dollar that tommorow they'll be sun.  Just thinking about....ok I'll shut up now.

Smiles from the soggy, wet, muddy farm,

Lisa

My free chairs...

These bentwood ice cream style chairs were thrown in for free with something I bought last summer at auction.  My husband kept bugging me to break them up and burn them.  Really, he has NO vision at all. 

All the poor dears needed was some love.  Well ok, they what they really needed was some stain and new seats.  Problem is that I just KNOW that I have four of these needlepoint seat covers but I can only find two.  But I KNOW they are here somewhere...I think.  

                                               

Smiles from the dump, uhhh I mean farm,

Lisa

Of picnics and roses...

Neither of which are in the immediate future for me--unless I want to sit in the cold mud and look at gardening magazines. 

SO, I made two more pin cushions.  First is a wee little picnic basket...

And then a little bucket of roses....

Smiles from the farm,

Lisa

Shall we dance?

Did you know that I am a very good dancer?  I mean grace just leaches from my very pores.  I glide through my life with poise and control like nothing you have ever seen.  I shall be idolized for all eternity for my skill and balance.  It is what I am known for.  I am like Baryshnikov, Ginger Rogers, Martha Graham, Gerald Ford...wait...what?

I haven't posted lately because I tripped over my camera UCB cordy thingy and broke it, so I can't add pictures.  I should be getting the new one today or tommorow, if I can make it to the mailbox without falling over.  Keep your fingers crossed.

Smiles,

Lisa

ADDENDUM:  USB-UCB, whatever, I broke it.  Also, anyone follow Pioneer Woman?  Did you read today?  A movie.  She is having a movie made of her life.  Please comment, I'm dying to know what other bloggers are thinking. 

The story Beatrix Potter never told...

Once upon a time Miss Molly McVermin decided to take up residence in a home that didn't belong to her!  Nowadays we call that trespassing if we've got manners and if not, we call it squatting.  If you're of a legal bent, it is called breaking and entering!  Oh that naughty Ms. Molly McVermin, tsk-tsk. 

Well it just so happened that the house she chose to barge right in and make herself at home at belonged to the Bea family.  The Bea family were plain old blue collar working folk,   They really were just trying to get by and they took the rude trespass of Miss Molly McVermin as just another bothersome weight on the burden of their already weary lives. 

All winter long Miss Molly McVermin languished in the warmth of the Bea home.  She ate from their larder, read their simple books, sullied their tidy housekeeping and generally made a nuisance of herself.  Still the Bea family kept on working, storing food only for their uninvited guest to not only eat it but destroy the containers it was kept in. 

Finally one day in early March when the sun shown warm, Ms. Molly McVermin put on her finest clothes, donned her prettiest hat and announced that she was going to go out for some fresh air.  She told the Bea daughters to clean up her room.  She told the Bea sons to fix the heel on her broken pump.  She told the Bea mothers to have tea ready for her when she returned.  She winked and smiled inappropriately at the Bea fathers and made them VERY uncomfortable.   

All of the Beas watched curiously as she sauntered toward the door.  Grunting and huffing she pushed her head and shoulders through the narrow opening.  "NEXT YEAR," she shouted, "NEXT YEAR we shall have a grand door for me to use."  The Beas rolled their eyes. 

Halfway out the door, Ms. Molly McVermin realized quite unfortunately that she was stuck.  "Oh COME ON!" she yelped.  "What am I, a silly old bear?"  The Beas' neighbors started to come out of their homes to see the commotion.  She asked them for help, but they were too busy.  She hollered for HER Beas to come help her.  They couldn't hear her, or if they could...they didn't let on. 

The sun rose high in the late winter sky, slowly it sank back down below the trees and still Ms. Molly McVermin struggled to get in or out of the Bea home.  To no avail, I am afraid. 

By morning, she was dead. 

The End

She's right you know...

GO READ THIS POST FIRST...REDNECK MOMMY

Ok, did you read it?  I grew up in a time and a very isolated place where the word "retarded" wasn't scary or mean or bad.  There was a girl (woman) that lived next to my grandmother who was retarded.  As a child I needed to know why she was the way she was.  I was told that she had temper tantrums and threw things and pulled her hair and talked funny and dressed different and looked different because she was retarded. I played with her when she had good days and went home when she had bad ones. She was my friend.  Simply that, not my retarded friend, just a friend who happened to be retarded.   My mother grew up playing with her too and I imagine was given the same explanation.   It never crossed my mind to call her anything but her name.  Her name was Cheryl.   I was never allowed to make fun of people with disabilites, if I had been caught by mama or my grandmother saying anything bad about a disabled person, I might have become disabled myself.  It was NOT permitted.  

When I was a teenager, a girl in my class had a brother with cerebral palsy.  She hated the word "retarded".  I didn't understand because in my world "retarded" had never been used as a bad word.  It was an explanation, like you can't eat any more 'cause your full, or you can't sleep 'cause you're not tired.  I just didn't get what the big deal was.  I even began to use the word myself in the place of something stupid or ridiculous. 

Tonight I realize how wrong that is.  I have had to label my children so that they could get the services they need.  According to the level of need, the money available, the ridiculousness of the bureaucracy involved, we have had to get them different diagnoses.  Autism, developmentally delayed, blind, MR, cognitive delayed.  I have to admit that until I read Tannis' post, I was at a point where I really didn't care if they called my kid ANYTHING as long as he got to go to school and eat lunch with the other kids.  As for the other people in the world, the ones who cringe at drool, shake their head at a 7 year old in diapers, the friends and family who don't call because they don't want to "bother" us, well I don't even see them anymore.  Their consequence means nothing to me.  It's the people, the kids that come up and call them by their names that matter.  The ones who ask them how they're doing when they know that they can't answer.

I think we softly walk through this life hoping no one sees our weaknesses. It's so easy to laugh at people who are so blatantly different on the outside when we are all, below the surface, different, because just maybe your laughter will drown out the person who is laughing at you.

So to hammer home Tannis' point...the next time you start to use the R word, please remember that you are telling the world that these children don't matter; that my child and all disabled people are stupid, boring, ridiculous, worthless, junk.  And man, go ahead and ask me if that's true.  Or better yet, ask him. 

Lisa