The Indestructible Resurection Fern

The beautiful Resurrection Fern is an "epiphyte", or an air plant. In the Deep South, these lush little ferns have a fondness for the beautiful Live Oak trees, as you can see in this photo I took along the streets in Downtown Mobile. But I read that they grow as far north as New York, and as far west as Texas.

In the dusty Central Florida town where I grew up, Live Oak trees are everywhere, inhabited by squirrels who romp amongst beards of Spanish Moss, and clamber over branches covered in beautiful native ferns. It's one of nature's most magical combinations.


Well, once upon a time, I found a chunk of a dead limb that had fallen from one of the above mentioned oak trees during a storm. Ferns clung to it for dear life, not realizing that their anchor was destined for the trash pile. Neither did the two tiny fairies who were recklessly dancing along amongst the fronds. (But that's another story...)

Being a nut for houseplants, I took my free plant home and put it on the stoop out back, where my houseplants lived in the summertime. I had no idea what to do with it yet, but I was excited. I would think of something. Of course, I was a busy girl, and by the time I got back to my lovely green treasure, it was an ugly shriveled mess. I promptly tossed it out.

 

 



Ah, but I had acted hastily, dear reader. Unfortunately, I hadn't realized that this lovely little fern, like the possums that live in the woods nearby, likes to play dead. The leaves curl up and appear to be turning brown, but that is just its way of telling the world that it's thirsty. As soon as it gets even a small drink of water, the leathery fronds perk up and show off with broad palate of lush green.

It's no surprise that someone decided to call this resilient, wild fern the "Resurrection Fern". And since many of us are celebrating the season of Lent right now, it seems like a really cool time for me to write about this rugged little plant. (Especially in Mobile, just after Mardi Gras, when the oaks, still draped with dozens of bright colored beads, glisten in the sunlight with every new breath of Spring.)

Bring one inside for Easter. What a nice way to tie the resurrection of Christ to an activity you and your children could do together. The resurrection, the living water, and being born again.



Bill and I were driving around Mobile, Alabama the other day. I told him that I would love to find a little chunk of these cool little ferns to take home for a terrarium. Being super sweet, he drove around until we spotted what turned out to be a downed limb which had shattered into smaller pieces beneath an oak along the roadside. I picked up as many pieces as I figured I could get away with without annoying my patient and accommodating hubby. (I can always determine that by the size of his eyes when I come heading towards the car...) Of course, some of the pieces I'd gathered looked dead. "I think they perk right up," I said. Sure enough, this photo was taken after they had been dunked in the fish pond and allowed to revive for a couple of hours. You can still see some curled up leaves.

The Resurrection Fern is an "epiphyte", or a plant that attaches itself to a rock or tree or other support, using trailing stems, similar to an orchid or a bromeliad. It doesn't live like a parasite, sapping strength from its support. Instead, it is watered by the rain, and is fed by debris that washes onto it's roots from its anchor of choice.

Also like orchids and bromeliads, these trailing ferns can be mounted on wood or rocks, and displayed in a window that gets filtered light (like the light they would get, shaded by upper branches in an oak tree.) And because they are so small, they are perfect for terrariums and the newest craze, the "Fairy Garden".

I'd like to share with you what I did just yesterday, with one of the small pieces Bill and I rescued from the debris at the base of a public street side tree:

 

First, I studied the chunk of fern which was already well anchored to the piece of wood I found it on, and I decided what would look best "up" and "front". (As you can see, one of my china girls and a wooden cat decided to stop in and watch.)

 

I have a roll of black wire used in construction for tying rebar, which I bought at Home Depot a while back. I use it for all kinds of projects. (It will rust, but I like that quality. You may prefer to use copper, brass, or any other sturdy, but pliable wire.) I cut a piece about 9" long, and pushed one end into one upper side of the wood, until it came out the other side. This was easy in this dead piece of branch. Otherwise, I would have drilled a hole through the middle for the wire to be inserted through. Using my jewelry tools, I made a hook with the wire, where it came out of the wood.

 

As in the picture above, I brought the wire over the top of the piece of wood, and made a loop at the top to use as a hanger, attaching the remaining wire to the "hook" I had made on the other side.

Next, I cut some pieces of wire, about 4 or 5 inches in length, and curled each end. (You could make them longer, depending on what suits your fancy.) They hook together nicely to form a chain. I ended up straightening out the first loop a bit, so I can easily remove the plant from the chain for watering.

Since we are in a rental, I used a "nail free" hook to hang it from a bathroom window frame, where it will get plenty of humidity, morning sun, and where I will see it often enough to keep it watered, because though it can go quite a while without water, it will need to be watered fairly often to keep it healthy and beautiful.

Voila, my friends! One of the easiest things I've ever made, and so pretty, too.

I am going to start by watering my ferns once a week, or whenever they seem to be wilting. Whenever possible, I will water them by dunking them into a fish pond, because the fish water will help nourish the ferns. If you don't have a fish pond, you may want to spritz your fern with a little orchid fertilizer, or a mild solution of fish emulsion...but fish emulsion is stinky, so keep that in mind, if that is your choice. You also can leave your fern outside for the summer, under a tree limb.

To find your own Resurrection Fern, keep your head up and your eyes peeled. When you do find one, I'd love to see what you do with yours! If it doesn't grow in your area, you can buy it on Ebay. Just google "buy a Resurrection Fern". They are not expensive.

I am working on a follow up post, to show you how to mount one of these cuties to a piece of wood. I have this great knothole that I found the other day! I'm thinking, ferny bird house...if only I had wings...

Until we meet again, my ferns...I mean, friends. Heads up, eyes peeled. Think Resurrection.

Happy trailing ferns to you!

UPDATE;

After just two days hanging in the window, I realize that my little fern is a very thirsty girl...or boy. I found it this morning in this condition:

In a word, "Shriveled". In another word, "Already."
So I took it out to the pond in the garden here (where we are renting temporarily), dipped it, and brought it inside. When I get back home, I do have a small pond which will be great for a once-a-month watering (to nourish it), but it isn't in an easy to reach location.
So, it would be easy to water in the shower or using the kitchen spray. The biggest thing is not forgetting about it. It will be fine for a few days, and maybe even weeks, but I am not going to take any chances. I will water it every day or two. The others will need a terrarium, where the atmosphere can be kept more constant.



 

The Bible - LAV (Liberal Agenda Version)

I knew this wise old German man once. Well, he was actually first generation American, and he was probably younger than me at the time.
 of course.,
But he used to say, "By God! The whole damn world is going to Hell in a hand basket." He had a booming, deep voice that caused the air to vibrate and a brisk wind to tussle every hair on every head in the room when he spoke in anger. Cursing was saved for those special times. Optimum impact, of course. He always said this when watching the news. With a heaping bowl of goulash sitting on the dinner table between him and the television, he would pound upon the table with his fist, causing the bowl jump enough to go clunk against the wooden table top, but not enough to spill over the edges. Everyone at the table would jump, too, just a bit.

When he spoke that way, I believed him. Even if I wasn't quite sure where the expression  "going to Hell in a hand basket" came from, I knew exactly what it meant.

Tell you what. If only I had a bowl of goulash sitting in front of me, and a young girl for an audience, I would pound my table right now. I would speak with my deepest voice and cause the wind to blow her hair like a hurricane.

"By golly," I would say, "This old world is going to Hell in a hand basket," and you would know exactly what I mean.

What is happening in this world when the President of the United States of America says things like, "God bless you, Planned Parenthood." Reporters who were there said he actually told the abortionists, "You're doing God's work."

God's work? Abortion?

Nancy Pelosi has said similar things recently. As a matter of fact, I have begun to notice that the radical left is perverting God's word more and more, until very little of what they attribute to God resembles anything I might find in my Bible.

I have to wonder. What god are they talking about?
 

Faith in the Wind

We know the wind is there because we see what it does,
yet we do not see the wind.

Jesus said (my interpretation), "Faith is like the wind. You can't see the wind; you don't know where it comes from or where it's going, yet you know it is there."

You can hear it in your ears and feel it on your face. It bends the trunks of mighty trees and is powerful enough to rip buildings apart or carry them away. It pushes water into waves that crash along the sandy shores.

 God is like the wind. Though we can't see him, He is a powerful force, and not to be mocked or taken lightly. God is real.

Oh, you can have faith in Science. Especially if you are one who requires "proof".

But don't forget, great scientists once said that the earth was flat. It took a sailor to figure out that the earth was actually round. Scientists believed long ago that draining blood from people (called bleeding) made them well. Let's face it. Scientists believe what they want to believe, too often having it in their power to interpret (or skew) evidence in the direction of their personal theories and preferences. Many of these theories require great faith to believe in and thus, actually are a form of religion, accompanied with the same zeal and enthusiasm that go with belief in any other god. Yet, Science constantly changes because our understanding of the world is changing with new knowledge and technology. It takes faith, my friends, to believe in Science without question.

But faith in God does not rely on what is seen, but what is unseen, Faith is not believing in what is known, but what has been known and sometimes what has been felt, like wind in our hair. There are miraculous answers to prayers that go unexplained. Too often they are also unacknowledged - written off as coincidence. Faith is sensing God's loving presence though we cannot see him. Faith requires the acceptance that we cannot know and we cannot possibly understand everything. We never will. But Jesus assured us that there is a good God, the creator of order and life who was, is and will always be. When we feel his presence, that is awesome. We don’t know where he comes from, but we know he is here. When we don't feel his presence, he's still here. Be still and listen. You may have to wait, but He will reveal himself to you if you dare to hope in Him.

Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God, for I shall again praise him,
My salvation and my God.
Psalm 43:5

But Life Digresses...

 

Ah, Music. It has the power to soothe man's soul, I always say. I might have heard that somewhere.

Indeed, music takes us to wonderful places we've never lived. It can tell us a story without using words. It lifts us up from the mirey clay and then drops us back into said pit of dispair. It can make us laugh; it can make us cry...it can move us to protest...or to worship, realizing that music is not empty of spirit, whether good or bad.

Music has power over me. You, too?

I figured as much. I can be moved in one simple series of chords to dance the Dance of Joy. But if the next song is loud or aggressive, I may take up a broomstick and break it in two with my bare hands, panting like a pirate in battle, while threatening to kill me a li'le squarelle or somethin'. I know that's dumb. But it's what music does to people like us - you and me.

Music is powerful.

So, I am a Beatle's girl, myself. I was just fourteen. You might say I was a musical perverbial kneehigh...oops. Wrong song. (Now we're both going to sing Nashville Cats for the next week or so, being forced to make up lyrics where we know none...)

But I digress. So I was actually in the 7th grade when I remember the Beatles hitting the airwaves like a tsunami from Across the Perverbial Pond.

I promptly fell in crazy-mad love with John, Paul, George and Ringo...along with every other woman-child under the age of 22 in the modern world. Dressed in their tidy matching suits, hair just an inch or so "too long" with those adorable English accents and crooked smiles, I confess I worshiped them. More than Elvis. Four times more. More than even God, I suppose. I'm being honest.

(Have I told you this story before? If so, then read on. It won't hurt you...besides. I've got a new angle this time.)

Now, my mother did not love the Beatles, John, Paul, George and Ringo. As a matter of fact, she hated them. She saw their "long hair" as an omen of change. She saw right through those cute, innocent boyish faces singing sweet love songs like "Love Me Do" and "I Want to Hold Your Hand" to the rebels they would later become with hair like Jesus without a comb. My mother was not fooled. Nosirree!

So while my best friend and my neighbors were all listening to the Fab Four for hours every day, I had to settle for listening to WTMC Radio playing Sonatra (I still don't like him) or worse...my mother singing "Birmingham Jail", off key, and very loud. (I miss that a little bit, though.) I got to hear the Beatles only when I was visiting someone else's house. Sigh. For a girl jacked up on Pre-teen Hormones, I was beside myself with shame, frustration, and grief brought on by being the only dork in the neighborhood. And, mind you, that was before we even knew there was such a thing as a "dork"...

Yes, I was a dork before ever there was such a thing as a dork, thanks to my stubborn, Beatles-hating mom. Disgraced, I told no one except, mayhaps, my best friend, Molly.

Enter: The Beatle's First Real Song. Yep. Paul McCartney finally wrote a song that I knew my daddy - himself, a fabulous singer - would actually acknowledge as "good music". So I borrowed Molly's new 45...(that was a small vinyl record with a big hole that played one song on each side at 45 RPM's...)

Daddy came home that night and got his usual martini - moderately priced gin, 3 olives, on the rocks, a splash of Vermouth...). I had a plan. While Mama was cooking, and before he could get himself situated at the piano with previously mentioned martini, Daddy's nightly routine, I grabbed his hand and escourted him into the family room where a small record player sat on a humble little brown table, lightly dusted with cigarette ashes and marred with numerous water rings, awaiting the miracle that was soon to transpire.

I said, "Daddy, I want you to hear a song." And then I put it on...

"Yesterday...life was such an easy game to play...now I need a place to hide away...Oh, I believe in yesterday..." Paul's sweet, romantic voice wafted through the smoke-filled room, (it was the '60's, my friend) even into where my mother was cooking chicken, wooden spoon in one hand, cigarette in the other.

Daddy was gonna love this song. I knew it. The Beatles with their long hair and their not yet rebellious ways, had stumbled at last, into a new world of music beyond anything other rock and roll bands had dared to explore. This sweet love song was accompanied, not only by the usual guitars, but a romantic symphony of strings, as well. Yes, something that my father could appreciate...for sure.

"That's a beautiful song, isn't it, Daddy?"
Of course, he agreed. How could he not?
"There's nothing bad at all about that song, is there, Daddy?" I asked.
Daddy agreed. So then I layed the punch line...or set the line. Whatever. You get the picture.
"Paul McCartney is singing that song, Daddy. He's one of the Beatles. This is a Beatle's song."

Daddy smiled. He loved the song. It was evident. He probably was thinking of how he could sing that song, playing it on the piano, and we would sing it together...just me and my Daddy. We did that a lot, me...and...okay. And my sisters, too. We all had our times, with Daddy at the piano. What a sweet memory...
By now, the room was filled with peace and romance that only can come from a love song. That was when I had to make my biggest move. With tears...yes, but genuine, I swear - the pure tears of a girl child...trying innocently and with all her might, to manipulate her dear father...I asked him if I could have some Beatle's music, and he pulled me onto his lap, chuckled softly, and hugged me as he said, "Yes, of course you can, honey." (I've a feeling he was feeling a little guilty, not having known it was so important to me. I mean, the tears might have dealt the final blow. Probably. As a parent, I know that feeling well.)

Mushy story? Indeed. I love mush.

Oh. But Mama? Mama insisted from that moment until the day she died, that "Yesterday" was an old song that the Beatles had stolen from some little known crooner lost in the desert of Nevada or...I don't know. Something like that...I still watch for it on the evening news.

ENTER: Miley Cyrus and her latest adventures in performance video.

I don't want to talk about how trashy it was, though it was more than a little softly pornesque, but I want to talk about how things digress over time.

From her latest video, it was obvious that Miley was not coming up with anything truly original. She just took the sluttyness of her music heroines one step further than sluttiness has been in a long, long time...let's say, for instance, the Romans might have been more trashy when they entertained the citizens of Pompeii with sexually explicit song and dance moves, right before they fed the Christians to the lions...

Back to Miley. The influence of Madonna and Lady Gaga was quite obvious to me. Skimpy clothes, vulgar movements, the big, wandering tongue thing going on - blaacht! Of course, long ago, Madonna's influence might have been Cher's old botoxed self, skinny as a light pole, hollow, overly made up eyes, dressed scantily in a see-through dress, split between her breasts down to her...belly button...in the front and in the back. And then, let's see... Good Old Hollywood does have its moments, too. Bonnie and Clyde...Mrs Robinson...those are the ones I saw...

Think of the song "Maggie", by Rod Stewart. Or was that the one about spreading wings...I loved that song. I can't tell you the lyrics, because my granddaughter might read this. They're totally suggestive, and not something a mother would want her innocent, virgin daughter listening to.

Back once more to Miley. This stuff has been coming for a long time. Like my father once said, if you give people an inch (as in the Smother's Brothers and their cuss word on TV, and Lucy and Ricky sharing the same bed instead of twins), they will take a mile. And then another and then another. It is human nature.

So when we all look at Miley, and Harumph in disgust, we need to realize that we have all had our hand in these changes. Every time we accept a lowering of the moral standards of the day, humankind digresses.

Look at abortion, for example. Who'd have thought in 1973 that abortion on demand in the first trimester would ever lead to partial birth abortion in the '90's? Now there are whispers of post-birth abortion? (Yes. Killing the baby after birth. You hadn't heard about that? It's true.)

So, dear reader, everything in the world deteriorates - ashes to ashes, dust to dust and all that old graveyard talk. Buildings tumble, bridges rust, paper crumbles (and paper money loses its value), linen and silk and wool all eventually fall apart. Even societies falls apart. Especially in absence of (or rebellion against) a most high God. That's what is happening to us, my friends. We in America and around most - maybe all of the world, are abandoning the powerful Godly principles of the 10 Commandments  laid down for all of us by a good and just God. (Kicked the Bible out of school libraries, and the 10 Commandments out of courts, kicked prayer out of graduation assemblies, for starters.) And what we are finding in it's place is a life floating on a sea of despair, without purpose, without order, without logic. Hungry sharks circle us.

Okay. I'm depressing myself. You, too? Sorry. But you get the point.

So you see, Miley Cyrus is just one more rock star rung in the ladder downward into the pit we were warned about in the Good Old Days. But as citizens of this beautiful world, we can't just sit by and let things continue in this downward spiral, doing nothing. God has called us to do more. But what to do? I suggest to start with getting back in touch with God. See what he really says in that how-to book called the Bible. And then, even if it means losing a kinda-sorta-friend or two, we need to be speaking up for what is good and true and just. We need to lovingly (and I emphasize "lovingly") educate people to what is happening, and what has been lost.

That's a start. From a little seed grows a mighty mustard tree.

Confession of a sinful artist/writer/wifey-mom/living-in-my-childhood-as-much-as-possible type: Righteousness too often illudes me. I know you knew that. Don't remind me...However, righteousness is my life's goal. It is a worthy goal, it is.
Yours, too? Yeah! Pinky finger pull.

See you in the near Whenever. In the meantime:
Be brave.
Be true.
Be Godly.
Be strong.
Be wise.
Be have, my darling, be have.
And...Pray. Pray a lot. It's not too late.

Hallelujah!

Deborah 

 

Beans and Cornbread - The Way Mama Used to Make It!

I am tempted to start out with that poem my brother used to say in front of my friends, just to embarrass me. But I'm going to resist the urge. We both know it and surely agree that there is a good amount of truth to that stinky old poem. I think Ben Franklin wrote it, by the way. I don't know if he did, but it sounds like him. He was a naughty Founding Father, that Ben.

The Cook's Taste - Mmmm!

No need to say a lot about beans today. They're good for you and everyone knows it. Except for that one friend of mine who still thinks...well, never mind. I don't count her.

Tonight's menu:
A Big Ol' Pot of Great Northern Beans
Cottage Cheese - I prefer Small Curd, whole fat.
Cornbread (I just use the recipe on the back of cornmeal)
Fresh tomatoes, chopped (if you have them on hand) or a can of chopped tomatoes
A small tossed salad - I throw this in for my husband who is of mixed Northern extraction.

This is how my mama always cooked beans, so I think it qualifies as a Southern recipe. Southerners love beans, which unfortunately, brings me back to that poem...

Cookin', cookin', cookin'!

Great Northern Beans

1 bag of dry Great Northern Beans (or you can use Navy Beans - most any beans can be prepared this way.)
Soak beans overnight, or at least for a few hours in the morning. Drain water off. Put in a pot and fill with fresh water. Bring to a boil and reduce heat. Allow to simmer.
(If you don't soak the beans first, you can still cook them for the evening, but the poem we both know so well will take on a renewed meaning. Plan on cooking unsoaked beans for several hours. Bring to a boil, drain, and bring to a boil again. Crock Pots come in handy at times like this.)

Chop the following, or cut into bite sized pieces and Add to beans:

1 giant clove of elephant garlic or 3 or 4 cloves of regular garlic
1 large onion (Vidalias are my favorite)
1 or 2 stalks of celery
2 whole carrots or a dozen mini-carrots
1/2 bell pepper, if you'd like bell peppers

Add 1 teaspoon salt - you're going to want more. Add and taste, add and taste. Let it meld between tastings. Salt can sneak up on you when you're not looking. Sea Salt is best. Kosher is good, too.
2 or 3 fresh or dry whole Bay leaves
 
Optional:
A hunk of Salt Pork or a couple of slices of bacon - to reduce fat, you can cook and drain the bacon, and crumble into beans.

Before serving:
Add fresh ground pepper. I never use canned pre-ground pepper.

Bring everything to a boil, and reduce heat to a simmer. You'll need to add more water in 20 or 30 minutes, and keep adding water as needed. Cook a couple of hours, or until tender.
 
About 30 minutes before supper is to be served, cook the cornbread. I don't have my cornbread recipe here, because I use the one on the back of whatever package of cornmeal. They're all basically the same. If I want to go "gluten free" or less gluten, which I will tonight, I substitute wheat flour with spelt flour (a non GMO wheat) or a blend of rice and tapioca flours, and maybe some ground almond meal, which I buy at Trader Joe's. The secret to cornbread is to cook it in an iron skillet, heated in the oven and seasoned with butter or olive oil before pouring the cornbread in. Then stick it in the oven and bake.

When ready to serve, remove the Bay leaves (especially if serving for kids. The school cooks left them in when I was a kid, and I was grossed out with having leaves in my lunch.) Put the cottage cheese and tomatoes into pretty bowls and serve. We never do that, but it's a much more pleasant experience when you do. I'm going to do it tonight just to be fancy.

Now this is what makes beans and cornbread...well, Beans and Cornbread:

Cut a serving of cornbread in half, and lay open in a large dinner bowl. Put the beans on top of the cornbread, and cottage cheese on top of that. Top with tomatoes. Or you can put the tomatoes and cottage cheese on the bottom. Whatever. Heat in the oven or microwave until the cottage cheese begins to melt and everything is all hot and sassy.

Yum! Beans and Cornbread. Health food from Mama's kitchen to yours.

Excuse me whilst I check the beans...

They're ready already! It's not even been one and a half hours. Time for a teeny weeny taste of the Beanies...need just a liiittle more salt.

Note: This is a great Crock Pot food, as I hinted above. After soaking overnight, put the beans with water and veggies and spices in a crock pot and cover. Voila! It'll be done when you get home!

(Pesky Alter Ego: Did you tell them about the jalapenos?
Moi: It's not Jalapenos. It's pronounced: Jalapenos. But you'd spell it like, "Halapenios".
Alter Ego: I don't get it. Why din't you spell it like that in the first place?
Moi: I know you don't get it. You're not real, Annoying Alter-Ego. Anyway, Mama never used jalapenos.
Alter Ego: Well, I like it best with a dollop of Jalapenos on top.
Moi: That's not a dollop. It's a "few". Besides, this is Mama's recipe. She was probably 60 the first time she even tasted jalapenos. And you're not even Mexican, for goodness sake, Pain-in-the-neck Alter Ego.
Alter Ego: So? And you are not Franch.)

Sigh. Later, Gaters. Ignore that last imaginary conversation. It's beneath your dignity to even read such foolishness. It's beneath mine to write it, but I can't help myself.

Until next time, Happy Beans to You!


 

If You're Guilty and You Know It, Clap Your Hands

I feel guilty when I do something.
I feel guilty when I do not.
I feel guilty for forgetting some things and I feel guilty for remembering.
I feel guilty for things from the past, even if it isn't that I did something wrong, but actually, that someone somewhere - anyone anywhere - thinks I did.

Yep. Guilt rides me like a pony sometimes. Shame follows close behind.

Case in point: Speaking my peace. (Or is it "piece?") Whether I do or I do not, I feel guilt.

I was talking to my sister about this just the other day. I fear there may be a few people who think badly of me, because a couple of times on one of my blogs or in conversation, I was "too honest" about some controversial things I should have kept to myself. Of course Those Who Would Disagree jumped to conclusions about me that were rather unsavory, shall we say? But also, downright wrong. Years later, I still feel bad and ashamed, even though I know that what I meant and what they thought they heard were two different things.

Well, Big Sis ended the conversation by saying, "Deborah, you are too much like Mama sometimes. She always had to say what she thought. Don't tell strangers how you feel about controversial things, even if you know you're right. It just gets you in trouble. It's better not to say anything."

I know that. I do. I felt duly guilty when I hung up. And significantly ashamed.

In my behalf, I must tell you that I knew better, even then, but I was experimenting. (Uh-oh. That's even worse, isn't it?) In one instance, I was writing and as a new writer, didn't really believe anyone was listening but they were. Now lots of people have the courage to blog about controversial things, nowadays. But not if they care what others think. Hate mail...they get lots of it.

So naturally, I say a whole lot less these days. I do so in several ways:

One, I bite my tongue a lot. It's downright bloody sometimes. But I do, because my opinion is my own and not everybody needs - or wants - to know it. I really don't have to say Everything.

Two, I "consider the source". I debateth not with yellers nor liars nor fools. Not only does it not accomplish anything, but its just not worth it. I end up frustrated and they end up mad. (Because many people get mad at everyone who has a thought that doesn't jive with their own. I'm sure you're not that way, though.) I try to remember what Jesus said. "Don't throw your pearls after swine." (Every time I hear that, I wince a little bit to think that Jesus would refer to people as "swine". But you know, Jesus had no problem feeling guilty or with speaking his peace...of course, he was always right...I'm not always right.)

Three, I avoid people. No I didn't say "I avoid confrontation"; I mean, I do that, too. But I am saying that I avoid "people". I find that if I don't get myself into those situations where everyone sits around in a circle in uncomfortable chairs talking about philosophy, then I don't feel the need to open my candy trap whenever someone says something stupid that I think worthy of debate. (Yes, I said, "stupid". See what I mean? Some would say that stupid is a Mean word. It is. But it is frank. You know what Forest Gump said, "Stupid is as Stupid does." If Forest can say it...oh please. He was nice! He was like, the nicest of all.)

But if I were to analyze my real reason for feeling such a need to speak my peace, it is this. If I don't speak up for what I really believe in, then who will? And if no one else does, the world I love (and have grown accustomed to, and am leaving to my children and grandchildren) may fall quite apart.

No, I'm not kidding. Remember Hitler? Some people saw it coming. Others who were empowered by the things he had to say, ignored the world falling down around them. For convenience sake, they knew nothing, they saw nothing, and they did nothing. Eventually they learned that their hero actually was a bad guy - even worse than they had been warned about. Tragically by then, six million Jews and countless other people had been slaughtered.

Even so, today some people are saying that Hitler did some good things. He brought pride to Germany. Then the mean old Allies bombed Germany and destroyed the beautiful buildings. So the Allies were the real bad guys... Say what? Well, they were butting in where they didn't belong. You know what I say to that, don't you? Are You Crazy??? And there are actually Holocaust unbelievers, who claim it never happened. They are either Neo-Nazis or they are Muslim. There. I said it. The "M" word. (*there she goes again...the radical...*)

So nowadays, it's Facebook, Facebook, Facebook.

Everyone does Facebook. And why do they do Facebook? Because...well, to keep in touch, I suppose. But they don't really want to keep in touch. Not with who they are behind closed doors. Nope. They want to build a facade that they can be proud of. Say clever things, put up family pictures, make up for the stupid teenager they used to be or remind people how "cool" they have always been. I don't mind that they do that. Heck. I do it myself. There's nothing wrong with keeping up with family and old friends.

In so doing, however, many are missing a great opportunity to share with and learn from a variety of people about what really matters in life - two things in particular, that were banned in many 1960's households:

 Religion and Politics. (Imagine that in a deep voice with a slight echo.)

To be honest with you, I'm not sure that in this day and age, the two are not one single thing, though they should not be. But I digress...

One thing that covered both subjects came up on the Internet today. I shared it on Facebook, though I hated to be "that pesky conservative" again. It was an article on a school in DC that is going to allow Muslims prayer in school. No, not "prayer" in school. "Muslim-only prayer in school". It's not a school-wide student-wide religion-wide thing, but it will be allowed for Muslim students to go off to pray toward Mecca, I think the article said.

Now. This disturbs me. Not because it isn't fair, but because it isn't right. There's a difference, you know. Some things that are fair aren't right, but that is a concept to cover in another post. But as for school prayer, either the first amendment is allowed in schools for everyone, or it is not.

I've had a problem with preventing prayer in schools since it was removed from school in the '60's. That and The 10 Commandments and the Bible and Bible club and tracts and religious reports and religious t-shirts, etc... All removed because of one atheist. One. She didn't want her son to hear about God. So our First Amendment rights were trampled under foot in order to satisfy the desires of one person. I was a kid, but even then I knew that an entire nation's right to freedom of religion was more important than a single person's problems with religion.

My preacher wanted people to get involved. But the good Christians in my church didn't want to stir things up. They didn't like what was happening, but they weren't willing to make any waves in the peaceful cove that was their life.

I'm sad to say, I don't think people understand the Constitution these days. Perhaps not even people I went to school with who studied under the wise guidance of Coach Lowery's History classes. Nowadays, I guess instead of learning about the unique freedoms guaranteed in our constitution, kids are taught Family Planning or given sensitivity training. What a shame.

What a disgrace.

Now I find myself again watching as Muslims are given rights that have been withheld from me and my children for 50 years. Yep. Radical Muslims came in and bombed the World Trade Center, but we deserved it (right?) and it is now up to us to stop offending them by giving them special privileges that the rest of us aren't allowed to have.

It makes no sense. None, whatsoever. And guess what else. Muslims in America are pushing to be allowed to practice Sharia Law, too. You know. The law where if a man says his wife cheated on him, they bury her waist down and stone her to death. Yep. The one where if a daughter or sister disgraces the family by getting pregnant, they can murder her? The one that doesn't allow a woman to show her ankle or walk unescorted in public or she will be beaten, or go to a doctor or attend school...yep. That's the one.

Now I had to post that on Facebook, but at the risk, once again, that I will offend someone by putting up something political. But the way I see it is, this is important, and maybe even dangerous to our future as a nation. You may disagree, but the point is this.

If I believe this and don't say it and it turns out to be true, I will be neglectful in my duty as a citizen of the US. And one of those things that maybe I shouldn't say because I might offend someone -Well, this is it: I think you will be neglectful if you don't speak out, too. You may very well be complicit in what takes place in the future, if you don't investigate those things you don't want to question, but know in your heart that you should.

Not seeing, not hearing, not knowing - these things are not evidence of innocence, dear friend.

Do I feel guilty now? (Thinking...thinking...thinking...)

Nope. I feel good.

(*That one thing you said was mean. That day when you were in a sullen mood and thinking unkind thoughts. And stupid ones.* Oh. Dang. That's right. I'm so ashamed...I hate myself. Thanks for reminding me. The worst was that I heart a nice person's feelings *but you didn't know anyone was reading your crap* Still...I'd give anything if I could take it back. I didn't even mean it...*Don't ever forgive yourself.* Don't worry. I won't. It's not in my DNA.)








 

Kermit Gosnell - Serial Killer By Abortion

Abortion.

That word stirs up emotion in every body's heart these days.

Democrats want to ignore the facts - the science of the human life cycle, the evidence of ultrasound, and ignore the cries of empty arms and voices silenced before they could ever be heard.

On one hand, the Dems scream that the right to bear arms should be taken from the law-abiding citizens when a horrific shooting by a lone crazy man takes place, killing innocent children and leaving their parents broken-hearted. On the other hand, Abortion is such a precious right that it has been taken to the extremes of partial birth abortion and even leaving babies to die uncomforted and unattended when born alive during an abortion. "Fetuses" have no rights unless they are "wanted". But then they are called "babies". Pro abortion supporters (pro choicers) deny the evidence, consequences, the statistics.

"Maybe," you say, "...Dr Gosnell's case is a rare instance." I'm afraid he's not. These things happen much more than is reported. They have been happening for years, and many of us have heard about them and have tried to warn and educate others.

Sadly, most people don't want to hear.

The fact is that abortionists can get away with things that your local pet store couldn't. To the abortionist hardened by years of tearing babies apart in what should be the safety of their mother's wombs, the things that come out alive during a botched abortion aren't "babies". They are fetuses and fetuses are something less than human, even if they look fully human, breathe, cry, gurgle and wiggle like new borns. Imagine this: To further complicate the issue, these babies are often damaged from the "procedure". They may be deprived of oxygen, burned, or missing limbs, strangled or mangled. Or they may not be damaged at all. Either way, if those children are allowed to live and go on to have productive lives, then they would come to be seen as...people. In light of that, how will abortion supporters be able to justify even one abortion after that?

Now let's talk about Republicans. They call themselves "conservative", but are they? Most are not when it comes to abortion. Instead of considering the validity of the pro life argument, they call pro life supporters "extremists". They want to ignore the issue - it's inconvenient to be pro life. It's a messy, complicated subject. It upsets people. It turns voters off. "Abortion is a personal choice" - and its a done deal. The law of the land. A medical procedure, like having a tooth pulled or the appendix out...besides, there are bigger fish to fry in the political pot. It's legal.

Sometimes even good governments legalize inhumanities and social injustices. Slavery was legal once. But it was wrong. And after centuries of slavery, that wrong was made right.

Coming into adulthood in the midst of the abortion war, I watched as Dr. Nathanson, an original outspoken abortion advocate, opened a clinic and later closed it, after seeing the workers and doctors in his clinic change from good to bad. He became a pro-life advocate, speaking out in behalf of the unborn. He said that ultrasound was what did it - what convinced him that life in the womb was indeed human life - a baby. Ultrasound wasn't invented in 1973, when Roe Vs Wade was enacted. But that's another story.

Right from the beginning, I somehow knew in my heart, that first trimester abortions wouldn't be enough for the hungry abortionists. How could it be? There's so much money to be made - so many women to exploit.

Oh, I hear you. The same weary arguments that you've been using for 40 years, as millions and millions of children are slaughtered and millions of women's lives are damaged or ruined and sometimes even murdered by reckless, ruthless abortionists. Women have been talked into abortion, coerced, and sometimes forced, by "well-meaning" people who they think care about them.

Enter Dr Kermit Gosnell. Not a licensed abortionist. Not even a gynecologist. Just a man who, like Dr Nathanson, had been a champion for the abortion industry. But instead of realizing with ultrasound that the unborn were indeed people in an early stage of life, Gosnell realized opportunity. He could "serve" people of color - the poor blacks and browns in his town, and make lots of money at the same time.

I was shocked to learn some things about the clinic that Dr. Kermit Gosnell ran. I'll list them for you, to make it easy:
1. His clinic was filthy, with blood on the walls and floors, on furniture, etc.
2. He did abortions at all stages, including late term abortions even though those were illegal in Pennsylvania.
3. He often had no nurses or staff who would attend patients (victims) after the abortions.
4. If the patient couldn't afford pain killers, Gosnell did not always use anesthetics.
5. Drugs were administered by employees, trained on the job - not professional doctors or nurses.
6. His office was inspected three times and didn't do well. The last time was in 1992 or so. They found plenty of things wrong there, but didn't require that they be corrected.
7. Three times at least, women were reported to have died in his clinic, and not once did those deaths get investigated.
8. Tom Ridge, a Republican Governor, didn't want to "interfere with a woman's right to choose", so he didn't insist on abortion clinics being inspected. (Your local restaurants have much more stringent requirements to live up to than these abortion clinics.)
9. Dr Gosnell usually aborted black or brown babies, but if a white woman came in, there was a separate room for them. The reason: White women were more likely to report any abuses than women of color.
10. When the clinic was at last inspected, they found jars of baby parts - especially feet - preserved in jars, and the freezer was full of aborted babies in garbage bags.
11. Some estimate that Gosnell made as much as 10-15 thousand a day aborting poor women's babies.
12. Gosnell performed at least one abortion against the young woman's will, with Gosnell and several office workers holding the young woman down, tying her to the bed, and drugging her. She was so mutilated, she can't have children now.
13. Some women were drugged so much that they slept for hours - long after the safe, normal period of time to be "under". He almost drugged them to death.
14. Many women who were butchered by Gosnell were made infertile - Gosnell aborted the only baby they would ever be able to conceive or carry full term.
15. Many babies were born alive. Gosnell said there was sometimes less risk in letting them be born alive than in killing them before birth.
16. Then Gosnell would kill the babies by plunging a scissor into the back of their necks and severing the spinal cord - which didn't always kill them right away. The pain they suffered - I can't imagine such horror. If dogs were treated like that - even rats in a lab - Americans would be outraged and picketing in the streets. Why do those same people allow the unborn to suffer like this?
17. This is beyond Gosnell's clinic to the majority of abortion clinics which are opened in poor minority neighborhoods in the US. As a result, abortion is the major cause of death in the African American community. Being pro-abortion is a racist sentiment to many people who know this fact.
18. They investigated Gosnell, not because of the reports of deaths and late term abortions, but because he was accused of giving out prescription drugs, like Oxycontin.

There were many more things that shocked and horrified me, but you can read about them in the articles and websites at the bottom of this page.

I know that many people want to believe that Dr Gosnell was a crazy man. I have been hearing things like this for over 32 years, when I realized that a doctor in Richmond Virginia was an abortionist who left babies to die on the table after being born alive during abortion. Later, I heard about women whose uterus were accidentally removed, killing the mothers. And when I heard about women who were forced into abortions by parents, husbands, boyfriends and other "concerned" people. (Lorena Bobbitt was one.)

I am beyond disgusted that this terrible sociopath, Dr Gosnell, and his house of horrors hasn't been broadly reported by the mainstream media. Some have mentioned it or "reported" on it, but how thoroughly? How irresponsible can they be? Women have a right to know. People of color need to know. You and I have a right to know.We have the responsibility to know. There's no excuse for ignorance in this day and age.

We have to stand together against the self-willed ignorance that prevails in this nation. There was a country run by a madman 60 years ago. And while he slaughtered millions of people behind walls and fences across his nation, the people pretended they didn't know. They didn't want to know. When they found out, they realized that they had blood on their hands because they had closed their eyes and their ears to the cries of help. Hitler believed in abortion. He believed in sterilization. He believed in euthanasia. Hitler was what many call these days, "Pro-Choice".

What can we do, as voters and citizens? We must demand that our senators, house of representatives, governors, all the way down to the local governments get educated and make necessary changes.

Human life may be inconvenient at times, but that doesn't make it disposable. No child is truly "unwanted". There are lots of empty arms longing to hold a baby who can't produce a baby of their own.

Abortion. America is not through with abortion. Abortion is our Holocaust, the killing of the innocent. It's the ultimate exploitation of womanhood to deny the value of motherhood. Abortion is murder - the Genocide of the Innocents.

For more information:
Dr Nathanson: http://www.life.org.nz/abortion/aboutabortion/historyglobal9/Default.htm

Dr Gosnell: http://news.yahoo.com/woman-had-abortion-gosnell-clinic-165031824.html
http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/04/29/jury-to-hear-closing-arguments-in-gosnell-murder-trial/

Abortion side effects: http://www.abortionrisks.org/index.php?title=Social_Effects_and_Implications_of_Abortion
http://www.abortionfacts.com/reardon/the-after-effects-of-abortion

Accounts from victims of abortion - young women: http://www.standupgirl.com/

Methods of abortion: http://www.lifenews.com/2013/01/02/abortion-methods-and-abortion-procedures-used-to-kill-unborn-babies/

Black pro-life groups: http://www.nationalblackprolifeunion.com/
http://www.blackprolifecoalition.org/
 

Holy Hot Tamales, Pardner! This Salsa is Homemade!

Fresh tomatoes, onions and other colorful fruits and veggies will make
your homemade salsa fun and can add variety to your menu.

Fresh salsa is delicious, and pretty darn easy to make from scratch.

Homemade salsa was a regular weekend treat back on the ranch when my young'uns were growing up. But now that the kids are growed I haven’t made Salsa in a few years. However, when my husband wanted to buy Sam’s “fresh salsa”, I offered to make my own. Let’s face it, my friend. Real Homemade Anything is so much tastier than Commercial “Homemade” Whatever.

Well, I chopped and blended and stirred, clicked my cowgirl boots and turned around three times.

For some reason, however, I couldn’t remember all the ingredients I used to include, to save my life. So I'm sorry to say, the first night with the homemade salsa, Bill and I were most disappointed in the flavor. It was mediocre at best - downright boring at worst. We decided to let the ingredients meld overnight while I let my brain search in its memory for the missing secret ingredients.

Homemade Salsa is healthy and delicious, and a great way to get a few
veggies down into your family's hungry little tummies.
Besides the usual fried corn chips, you can serve salsa on baked chips,
pita chips, crackers, or cut up celery and other veggies,
and place them next to it as a dinner time salad substitute.

Last night, after tasting the incomplete salsa, the missing Secret Ingredients came to me, like tumbleweed across the desert on a windy day: Chili Powder, Cumin and other typical Mexican spices! Basic Salsa 101! Easy as pie. Easier, even. Just shake a little in.

Whoooowee!

That did the trick. I’m not gonna tell you “exact” measurements, because I usually cook things like this by tasting and adding and tasting again. Besides, I really think that sort of thing should be left up to each cook’s individual taste. If you don't usually cook that way, I want to encourage you to try it. Develop your own palate. Trust your instincts!

Real Homemade Salsa  

1 large can crushed tomatoes (I use organic) OR if you have 6 or more large fresh tomatoes on hand, peel and blend them until they are just to the “crushed” consistency.

1 or 2 large Jalapeno peppers, seeded - depending on the “heat“ you prefer (or if you like seriously HOT salsa, Habaneros are screamin‘ hot. You won‘t need more than one or two, added to the Jalapenos.)

1 or 2 large sweet peppers, like an Anaheim Pepper, Poblano or Banana. Red or Yellow Bells are delicious, too. Any pepper that adds the pepper flavor without the heat is good.

1 medium Onion - I prefer sweet onions, like Vidalia or Texas Sweet, but my son likes plain ol' yellow onions which have a bit of a bite. It's up to you.

1 or 2 large Garlic Cloves, crushed or very finely minced (I used 1 very big one)

Cilantro, chopped (I tore off a small handful from the top of the bunch)

Juice and pulp from 2 juicy Limes (may want to add more later)

2 Tbsp Cider Vinegar (sometimes, I use Balsamic. Again, you may add more later. Taste it, first.)

1 tsp Sea Salt or Kosher Salt

Black Pepper - Fresh ground, only! Lots of it!

1 Tbsp of Chili Powder (for starters - I used quite a bit - probably 2+ Tbsp.)

1 tsp of Cumin (for starters - I probably used 1 heaping tsp)

Fresh herbs: if you have them: Lemon Thyme (strip leaves off stems) and Garlic Chives (Chopped - use flower heads, too, if they’re ready) Salad Burnet

Directions:

Put the crushed tomatoes in a medium mixing bowl. Chop the other ingredients. (Sweet peppers, cilantro and onions can be chunky. I process hot peppers and garlic to a fine consistency - I first cut them into chunks small enough to toss in a food processor and then process until finely chopped. ) Add powdered ingredients, mix well, and add more to taste.

Note: Use disposable gloves to cut and chop peppers.

Otherwise, the oils can be really difficult to get off your hands and out from under your nails, and you can burn your eyes and mouth, or even your kid's eyes. Or your dog's eyes... To be truthful, I didn’t use gloves this time, because I couldn’t find them (we just moved), but I was careful not to touch the inside of the peppers when slicing them for the food processor. But if I had been chopping them by hand, or using the super-duper-hot peppers, I would surely have bought some disposable gloves when I purchased the ingredients at the grocery store earlier. By the way, if the pepper is so hot that you start gasping for breath as I was this time, you know it’s really hot. Be extra careful, little buddy!

Note - To sort of "stir things up" a bit, try one or all of the following:

For a protein boost, you can add beans (black, pinto or kidney beans are some great choices), or Avocado (if you're going to eat it within a couple of days). You can also add corn, for color as well as variety.

Note: When preparing small leaved herbs with stiff stems such as Lemon Thyme or Salad Burnet:

Hold the stem at the growing tip, and run thumb and forefinger down stem to remove stems.

Note: Always use fresh ground pepper, Sea Salt or Kosher Salt, and fresh Garlic and onions.

 

Okee-dokee, now!

I 'recon it's time to mozy on, so...Happy trails to you, Pardner... Until we meet again.

May the Good Lord hold you and yours safely in his hands, and may He shower your household with healthy cows in the pasture, and not too many bunnies in your lettuce patch.

Cowgirl Deb, also known 'round these parts as Honey B.

*She picks up her Chihuahua, hops on her faithful steed and together they ride off into the sunset. ...By the way, she's ain't no cowgirl from Texas or New Mexico. She's just a small town southern girl sportin' a fancy WalMart farmer's hat. Her faithful steed - a Subaru that goes by the name of Bullet. *

Limequats in Pots - Growing Small Citrus Trees in Cooler Climates

As you might know, I am a Florida girl. I haven't lived there for many years, but I still think of myself as that barefoot little girl in short-shorts and rib-tickler, dodging sandspurs in the field below our house. The scent of orange blossoms filled my summer days, and will always bring me back to memories of childhood.

I've been dreaming of orange blossoms lately. That's why my husband came home from the store with a small citrus tree in early June, when they were being sold at Home Depot and Lowe's Home Improvement stores.


This is a very small Limequat tree, fresh from the store this year.
Though it is small, there are at least two dozen fruits clinging to those branches.
The blooms are white, by the way. Those pink blooms are just
a neighboring geranium, checking out the activity.

It was one of the last citrus trees left, and is called a Eustis Limequat. I had never heard of it before. But one small fruit hung from the tip of a single branch, smaller than a Key Lime, and the bright green color of a regular grocery store lime. Seven blossoms clung to the branches, as yet unopened. I waited for several days, and when they did open, the blossoms dropped immediately, much to my disappointment. However, it was a new plant in a new home, and I had anticipated that possibility.

Well, almost immediately, my little Limequat started budding again. I waited patiently, and when these buds opened, I took one of my small artist paint brushes and as soon as each began to open, I gently tickled each blossom in the middle to pollinate. (I could have used a q-tip, too.) It takes at least two blossoms to pollinate, and I had dozens. I was hoping to get at least enough fruits so I could make a pie this winter.

On the left is the Limequat that was on the tree when Bill brought it home to me.
On the right are some of the small fruits; the result of my pollination using the artist paint brush.

A week or two later, I examined my little tree, and found that almost every bloom had dropped off; this time leaving a tiny speck of fruit growing there. I counted them. Fourty-four baby Limequats in all. Wow.

Along with the oranges, grapefruits and guavas, we had a Kumquat tree in my yard when I was a kid. It was more of a large bush, I suppose, and it was always full of Kumquats, which are a small orange colored, oval shaped fruit, about 1 1/2" long. My sister Nancy and I would pick them as a snack, eating the delicious, sweet orange flavored skins, but usually discarding the mouth-puckeringly sour, seedy fruits. They aren't sour like a lemon is sour, but like those candies that my kids used to buy that make the glands under the tongue seize up and shudder in shock.

Some things to note if you are looking for information about Limequats:
1. Limequats are more cold tolerant than Key Limes. So if you want to plant yours outside (in a warm region), you can plant it a little further north than you could the Key Lime. I had a Key Lime that survived outside, in a pot for two winters in Hickory, North Carolina, under a deck, in a warmer part of the yard. It didn't survive the third winter, when it had been moved out from under the protection of the deck into the open yard. I'll bring my Limequat in when I bring in my Orchids, at about 40 degrees, though it should survive in a little cooler temperatures.
2. According to the grower, Limequats grow better in smaller pots other than large. When I read this, I decided not to repot this plant when I got it. As it grows, I will gradually move it to a bigger pot. But I want to keep the pot small enough that I can still move it in and out on my own.
3. During growing season, Bill and I fertilize all our plants about every six weeks or so with fish emulsion, an organic fertilizer that stinks to high heaven, but is good for the plants and doesn't contaminate fruits or herbs. (Go by the directions on the bottle. Some plants, such as orchids, need a weaker solution.) So we included our new Limequat in the routine. I have learned that Limequats should be fertilized in the spring, and again in August. We have already fertilized ours with fish emulsion twice. It didn't hurt it, though the first time, it dropped the blooms early, so I won't fertilize it again until next spring.
4. The fruit is ripe when it starts turning yellow, like a Key Lime. This takes a long time. If you are impatient...well...you're going to have to learn to be patient. You can consider waiting for citrus fruit to mature as being Patience 101.
5. Basic information (from Duarte, a seller, below):
Zone: 8-9
Mature height: 4-8 feet
Blooms: late Spring to early fall
Fruit ripens from November 1st to the middle of March
Self-pollinating.

*Later: Alas, I was just inspecting my little Limequat, and it doesn't look like all fourty-four fruits have survived, but there are still at least a couple of dozen there. Still enough to make a fine Key Lime pie. The one mature fruit hanging on is beginning to yellow slightly on its belly. I am expecting it to ripen up within a month or so, and then I will be able to taste it and see if it's more Lime or more Kumquat.

*Much Later: When mature, the limequats turn yellow. The skin is not as tasty as a Kumquat, but the fruit isn't as sour, either.

Limequats can be made into Bonsai trees, or you can buy them already as Bonsai. I want my little tree for the fruit this time, but may want to try one as a Bonsai next year. Or I may decide to grow one from seed, specifically to Bonsai.
Below are some sites you may find helpful or interesting. The first is "Making Your Own Bonsai" from this blog. But others are for more information or to purchase Limequats:

http://recklesslydancingwhilesupperburns.blogspot.com/2011/06/making-your-own-bonsaiin-picturesits.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limequat
http://lemoncitrustree.com/limequat.html
http://lemoncitrustree.com/care_instructions.html
http://fauntleroyband.tripod.com/bonsaitreesbonsaisnurseriesplantshouseplantsbonsaigardensnurseryplantbonsaitreegardening/id89.htmlhttp://meyerlemontree.com/limequatorder.html
http://duartefruittrees.com/?page_id=63

The First Day of Motherhood

August 14, 2012 - Fourty-three years ago, my unborn child was in the head down position with feet planted firmly beneath my ribs. I'd been watching those tiny feet travel across my belly for two months or so, and by now my ribs ached mightily. I confess, I was a good bit fearful, not knowing what to expect from childbirth or motherhood. But I was mostly excited to get that baby out of me, hold it in my arms and watch it's life unfold like a flower before my eyes. I had begun to have cramps, and we knew it wouldn't be long before I would meet this little person for the very first time.

This is Kathleene. My little girl.

August 15, 2012 - After 23 hours of labor, the baby was born. Doctor Webb, my best friend's father, delivered her. He was excited. His eyes sparkled as he held her up, naked and freshy, her face squeezed tightly between his fingers. Yes, it was a little girl. Still groggy from the anesthesia, I opened my eyes to see that tiny red face in Doctor Webb's hands, mouth wide open, screaming with anger over being taken from her warm, comfy hiding place. The hospital lighting glowed all about her like a halo, making her look angelic in spite of the screaming.

I would tell you I fell in love with her right then and there, but I was already in love with her from the moment I realized she was inside of me. This very day, fourty-three years ago, was the beginning of a lifetime of adventure for both of us; it was my first day of Motherhood.

Happy Birthday, my darling Kathleene. You are a treasure and a joy!

Mama