Frost & My Garden

FROSTED BROCCOLI

So it was in the low 20s last night, and I - in the excitement of Drew coming home from Florida and in the tiredness of driving home from New Orleans near the end of the Saints game during Monday Night Football - I forgot to cover the lettuce. This morning, I awoke to well-chilled leafy greens, wilted cilantro, and icy cabbage and broccoli.

ICY CILANTRO

But amazingly, as soon as the temps warm up a little - anything above freezing will do - cilantro springs back to its prior peppy self, with lush green leaves just begging to be picked and tossed into a guacamole or onto a black bean soup.

REJUVENATED CILANTRO

Luckily for me, broccoli and cabbage are both winter plants this far south, and both perked right up as the day progressed, as they have all the other nights they've been dusted with a light frost.

DEFROSTED BROCCOLI

Also to my great relief, the previously frozen lettuce seems to have done fine, too. Now if I could just remember to cover it tonight ... the rest of the week will be warm!

TWO TYPES OF LETTUCE

WITH DAY LILIES AND WILD ONIONS PEEKING IN

And you know I can't blog about my garden without including at least one flower. This pretty little pansy is still awaiting planting, but there are many in the ground already. This year, I planted a variety of colors: purple, gold, burgundy, white. I can't wait till they fill in their beds and grace my garden with lovely colors on the sometimes dreary winter days.

If you ever wondered why I love living here, now you know: beautiful color all year long and happily growing edibles for every season. Ahhhhhhhh, this is the life!

I found a recipe for Apple Almond Gingerbread (modified by me to be Apple Walnut Gingerbread), but I discovered I was out of ginger.  I mean, really: who ever runs out of ginger?As expected when I am missing an ingredient for a recipe I've got in my head, I ran to Whole Foods for - yes - organic ginger and, as a bonus, fuyu persimmons and - also as expected - I ran into a friend and started chatting.



I didn't know she was a friend until I met her today, but yes, right there in the produce section, I discovered a friend. Just prior, she was kind of distracted, turning her buggy this way and that in the lobby area, and I had to wait for her to enter the store because she was looking at the orchids ... and at the indoor mums ... and then she walked inside the doors and just stopped. She was quite elderly, and I wondered if perhaps she had forgotten where she was.



When she realized I was behind her, she apologized and said she was just right in my way, and I said, oh it is no problem at all. And you know, mums are everywhere right now, and it's a great time to plant them in this south Louisiana climate ... even the so-called "indoor" mums that pretend to be scared of the weather. She was curious. What kind of light do they take outside? Do you cover them when it's cold? And you mean they bloom twice a year??



She told me that Louisiana Nursery has hibiscus plants for 80% off, and she had bought a double-pink just today. Well, I adore my double-pink so I trotted out my phone and showed her a picture. It's not the same variety, but similar. She noticed my other flower pictures, particularly those of various hibiscus plants. We both "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed over the dinner plate hibiscus, and she'd never seen a pink angel trumpet before.



And so our conversation was winding down and we were just about to go our separate ways when she said, you never know when a person will touch your life. My 57-year-old daughter died on October 16th from cancer, and I didn't want to come to Whole Foods tonight since I had such a bad day. But my other daughter had a bad day yesterday, and I thought that I would bring her some flowers to cheer her up. And then I met you and got to see your beautiful flowers, and I just needed to talk to someone who didn't know my heartbreak, who didn't know how sad I was, and here you are.



And so, as we were getting ready to part ways, we didn't. We properly introduced ourselves, talked about which pears are the best and the varieties of persimmons, why we love Whole Foods, moved on to our kids, discovered friends in common (she at nearly 80 and me at nearly 40, yes: we found common friends), what our favorite items are in the deli case. I learned that she was the president of the Catholic High Mothers Club way back in 1966, but the plaque at the school shows her first husband's name - even though she was married to her second husband by then - because that was the name she was known by when she was president and that was the same last name her kids had when attending Catholic.



Eventually, we moved on, both doing our shopping, she being called by the sweet potato crunch in the small loaf pans, me by the promise of Apple Walnut Gingerbread. In a way, it was a typical shopping trip in south Louisiana: picking up groceries while chatting with people about the produce in the produce section,the best wines and cheeses in the wine and cheese areas, the weather or maybe our beloved Tigers in the check-out line ... but sometimes, a person goes a little deeper.



Sometimes, a person touches your soul, if only for a brief moment in time. How lucky am I to have it happen to me.

ALS, better known as "the thing I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy"

The annual Walk to Defeat ALS is coming up later this month. I've done every Baton Rouge walk, but I am not sure whether I will participate this year. Oh, I still support the cause, but Team HIKE will likely not be represented in person.

Randy in wheel chair joined by Karla to his right, among other Team HIKE members at the 2006 Walk to Defeat ALS.

One more time, here is my story. It's pretty mild as far as ALS goes, but fairly traumatic just the same. I don't share this so that you will feel sorry for me, or say touching things, but so that you will have some idea of what it means to have ALS or to care for somebody with ALS.

As the saying goes, God punishes us for what we cannot imagine ... and I could not have imagined this.

When Randy and I got married on January 2, 2004, we had known each other for years. Somewhere along the way, we had both gotten divorced, and somewhere else along the way, we agreed we were madly in love and meant to be together.

Randy on the MegaWing at Lake St. John, 2004.

Since Randy was a bit older than me (22 years, 9 months, 7 days, for those who like to keep track of such things), he was worried what would happen if, as we grew old, he became sick. He was quite worried that since I was fairly young and pretty energetic, that as he got older and less able to do things, that I would leave him. He asked me to read "Tuesdays with Morrie", which I did, because he wanted me to see how sick someone could really be. He would say, you are so young. Are you sure you will want to be with me when I get old? What if I get sick?

Of course. Of course I did. 

And I asked him the same: what if I get sick? Anybody can get sick & die at any age. Of course, he said.

So after much debate, and a few years of great fun and happiness, we decided to get married. We didn't tell anybody. We called friends the night before to see who wanted to go hiking or paddling with us, and the first couple that were free? Well, we asked them to be the witnesses at our wedding. 

And when my mom called to invite us over for a traditional New Year's Day dinner, we invited her along, too.

Randy called one of his kids to let her know, but she was unable to attend on such short notice, and the witnesses brought their son, who memorialized the event in pixels, and Drew was there, eating the rice he was supposed to be throwing, but that was it. For our reception, we had champagne and desserts at a nearby restaurant.

Shortly thereafter, we bought a house, built a fence, and then built a shed. We vacationed in Florida and then again in Toronto. We hiked and kayaked and rode our bikes and in-line skated.

And then, about 6 months after we were married, the muscle spasms began. Fasciculations, they're called. He started dropping weights when doing his exercises. Heck, he dropped the shampoo when he was in the shower. By November of 2004, he couldn't button his buttons, and I had to zipper his jacket on the freezing mornings we camped in Sequoia National Park.

Migraines, one doctor said. Carpal tunnel, said another. A pinched nerve, said the next, after learning that he'd been backpacking; you must have pinched a nerve while carrying your pack. It's all in your head; it's stress; you are psychosomatic.

And then, one February 2005 afternoon, the speech therapist at school said, have you considered ALS? I did the research and realized that with the progression, there were really only two choices: ALS or inclusion body myocitis. Since it ended up being the former, I'll describe that and let you research IBM on your own.

ALS, or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, is better known as Lou Gehrig disease. That means some famous baseball player is believed to have had the disease, but nobody really knows what it means. 

ALS does this:

- it claims its victims very quickly. It is said that 50% of patients die within 2 - 3 years of diagnosis, and 90% die with 5 years. Very rarely, someone lives many years, like Stephen Hawking. My husband died within 17 months of diagnosis, and within 2 1/2 years of the onset of symptoms.

- it takes away all voluntary muscle function. This includes, of course, the large muscles that control the arms and legs, and it also includes (among others) facial muscles that let a person smile and lungs that let a person breathe. My husband lost the ability to use his hands long before he was properly diagnosed; he developed "drop foot" and began tripping and falling. 

(On a hike in Big Bend National Park, he fell from one rocky switchback to the next, a fall of about 7' or 8' ... "I tripped over my shoelaces," he said. I said, "You have ALS." Our friends who were with us said I was over-reacting: "people trip and fall sometimes; don't worry about it." This, as my sweet then-seven-year-old son pulled out his personal first aid kit to help stop the bleeding wound; this, as I had to drive more than an hour to the nearest pharmacy to restock my previously well-stocked first aid kit with even more gauze, antibiotic ointment, and tape.)

- on a related note, for most victims, ALS takes away the ability to speak and to swallow. My husband was able to talk until the end, although he had begun a special diet to prevent choking. His lungs failed before his voice, so we were very lucky that he was able to communicate fairly well to the end.

- in the rarest cases (i.e. there are no case studies on this, according to our doctors), ALS affects a person's brain. Most people with ALS know what is going on and just can't do anything about it; they eventually lose the ability to speak, to smile, to eat, to walk, to bathe, to use the bathroom, to do basically everything, but they generally do not the ability to reason. 

My husband was the rarest of the rare. Oh yes, the doctors recognized that he had to be unique, and they told him so. But only 2 days before he died, and only after numerous brain scans and hospitalizations. I had been saying for a year that I thought the ALS was affecting his brain, but nobody was worried about that (except me, and again I was "over-reacting") because it was so rare. In the last three weeks of his life, Randy fought off a(n imaginary) cavalry with our orange towels; he reported me to the police because I wouldn't let him off his (imaginary) island; he reported me to the doctors because I left two (imaginary) little girls freezing to death in our laundry basket without a blanket; he wanted the (imaginary) shrimp out of his hands, but he didn't want it given to that (imaginary) damn alligator on the floor of our bedroom. He suffered auditory, visual, and tactile hallucinations.

On the other hand, he was also rare because he was able to work for a very long time. He was diagnosed in July of 2005 and worked until November of 2006, shortly before he died. His employer made accommodations at the office, and eventually let him work half days at work and half days at home. While he was at the office, I would get up, get him ready for work, get my son to get himself ready for school; then I would drop my son off at school, drop Randy off at work, and then go to work myself, before reversing the procedure at the end of the day.

Sounds simple, right? Getting Randy ready for work meant lifting him (175 pounds) into his wheel chair, bringing him to the bathroom, helping him on the toilet, putting him back in his wheel chair, washing his hands and face, brushing his teeth and hair, shaving his whiskers, bringing him back to the bed and lifting him onto the bed from the chair, rolling him from side to side so I could get his shirt and pants on, getting him back into the wheel chair, putting his socks and shoes on, packing his bag for work, preparing and feeding him breakfast, and then getting myself and my young son ready (and fed) before getting into the van. 

Simple enough, right? Well, getting into the van meant lowering the wheel chair lift onto a landing - oh yeah, we couldn't get concrete because of Hurricane Katrina, and so a group of retired guys came over and dug out the needed area, filled it in with rocks and sand, and then laid 100 pavers with a lovely brick border - then I would have to drive the power chair onto the lift, raise the lift (which scarily shifted the entire van), then climb into the van and drive the wheel chair to the location where it could then be locked in place for travel. Randy had to be strapped into his chair because he had little torso strength and control, and then he and his chair were strapped into the van.

Camping in our trusty tent at Cloudland Canyon State Park, Georgia.


After dropping my son off at school and walking him in, I would bring Randy to work. At first, this meant a reverse of the above procedure, and then monitoring while he drove himself into the building, where someone else would help him get to his desk. Then, his office moved into one of the fancy new state buildings with handicapped accessible features that, well, weren't. The big "push me" button for the automatic doors didn't work; there was insufficient time to swipe the security card for entrance to the building and to drive the wheel chair through before the alarm sounded; the elevators did not have any accessible features; and once off the elevators, there were doors that didn't even have non-working "push me" buttons. So every day, I would call as I was getting close, and one of three friends would meet me in the front of the building - where I parked in a fire zone for months until a policeman one day wanted to give me a ticket and I noted that there were zero handicapped spots available and there was no loading zone; he called on the spot and within a week, the problem was remedied. (This policeman still works downtown, and I still think he is the greatest thing since sliced bread.) Once Randy and his wheelchair were unloaded, the friends took over and brought him through the obstacles into the building so he could continue working.

After work, we did the reverse.

Every day, during my lunch break, I would go to his building to feed him lunch, prepare his drink, and help him use the bathroom, which could only happen once per day while I was there. On nice days, I would walk over. In inclement weather, I drove. After he couldn't stay in the office for a full day any longer, I would pick him up from work, bring him home, feed him, help him with any personal hygiene needs, sometimes change his clothes, and always get him set up at the computer so he could do his afternoon work hours from home. 

(Thank heavens for voice technology! It allowed Randy to work and keep his identity and dignity.)

At night, of course, there was more of the same, and on weekends. Holidays were a challenge. But we continued to travel! After diagnosis, we went to Orange Beach, Alabama; tent camping in Georgia and northern Alabama; and on a road trip up the western side of the Rockies all the way to Yellowstone National Park and then back down the eastern side of the mountains. Each of those trips could be an essay on its own, and I won't bore you with the details here.

And please keep in mind that I had the easy part: I was just the care giver. I was not occupying a body that was failing me. I wasn't living under a death sentence.

We had scores of volunteers in our "circle of care." My mom and siblings were of innumerable and unmeasurable help. Friend Susan came over every other week to clean the house, and friend Stella came on the alternate weeks; they just did whatever needed to be done - laundry, dishes, sweeping, changing the sheets, whatever. Friends Gay & Debbie came on the first Thursday of every month, and I swear they were like magical beings who even cleaned the baseboards; if I ever had any doubt whether they loved me, knowing that they changed the cat's litter box was a pretty good indicator! Friend Lisa brought my son to tae kwon do, took out the trash, and had kind words and a friendly shoulder at all times. Friends Christie & Paul cooked, carted my son around, and continued to vacation with us, despite the challenges of tent-camping in a motorized wheel chair with a breathing machine. (Yes, that really happened!) The guys from the hiking club built the wheel chair landing by the carport, made one bathroom more accessible, painted after a contractor made the other bathroom accessible. Friend Eric built a fence for the dog; friend Joe helped with physical therapy every single week; friend Mack Randy-sat when I needed to be somewhere. My neighbors would help pick Randy up when he fell, or bring over goodies when needed, or take care of Drew when Randy was taken away by ambulance time and again. Friends Gale and Kelly prepared wheat-free, gluten-free meals on a very regular basis. 

Principal Carla and the Country Day School teachers supported Drew in his fundraising efforts, and they and most of his class joined our team for many ALS walks. 

CDS friends Noah & Weston, left, and cousin Christopher, right, join Drew and Team HIKE at the 2006 Walk to Defeat ALS.  Principal Carla and other CDS friends follow.

Friends Stafford, Tim, and Bea enabled Randy to work, and Ray and Hugh allowed it to happen. Son Brian and son-in-law Brock built a ramp and installed remote-controlled ceiling fans; daughter Emily was a constant support and did anything & everything without being asked whenever she was in town; daughter Bonnie came every Saturday to visit, cut fingernails and toenails, and to give me time to grocery shop and bring Drew to tae kwon do. My sweet son helped all the time, with everything, and without ever uttering a single complaint. 

They say it takes a village to raise a child. It took a loving community to provide for Randy, and for me. I am eternally indebted and will be replenishing my karma for many lifetimes.

So quickly, Randy's health declined, and 17 months after diagnosis, nearly 2-1/2 years after the onset of symptoms, Randy had no more fight. He died the Saturday before Thanksgiving in 2006. There was much sadness among all who loved him. On that day, I lost my soul mate, the love of my life, and my dearest and best friend. But he was ready, and it was time to go.

It has been nearly four years. Those who have known me long know that I have a happy-go-lucky side, which I have finally found again. I tried to find balance between working full-time, and being a mom, and caring for a dying man, and I think I had it; now I try to find balance between working full-time, being a mom, and caring for myself. My soul is still pretty fragile, as are most souls I guess, and I appreciate all the life lessons I learned along the way. 

Would I go back & change it if I could? In a heartbeat. But if I had to have that life experience, I am so glad to have my crew along with me for the ride. If I haven't said it before, thank you. You know who you are.

On Turning 40

Oh no.  Not me.   I've still got 14 months and 11 days till I turn 40.

Not that I'm counting or anything.

But a number of my friends are in the process of turning 40 this year, and a lot more will turn 40 next year (why do I keep typing 30 instead of 40?!), so let me take this opportunity to tell you what I really think of turning 40.

My friends who are 40 or nearly there have pretty much got their lives together.  Are their lives perfect?  I doubt it.  Whose is?  But yeah, they are generally professionals of some sort with decent jobs, pretty good kids, and the good sense not to stay out all night drinking in bars.  Usually.

My friends who are 40 or nearly there have generally become more attractive with age.  Sure, there are a few gray strands mixed in, a little less hair for some, a couple of laugh lines, but I find that the women have grown into their beauty and the men are getting more handsome  - regardless of how cute they were when we were all kids.  And I thought we'd all look older by now, but for the most part, we all still look youngish.  How nice!

My friends who are 40 or nearly there are so much more confident than they were as kids.  Of course, most people gain confidence as they gain life experience and wisdom, but I see my friends as confident in their bodies, their accomplishments, their souls.  It's a pretty amazing sight.

My friends who are 40 or nearly there are still cool.  When I was a kid, I thought 40 was ancient!  I didn't think 40-year-olds did anything fun.  But now I've discovered that it's okay to be age 40 (or nearly so) and still have a life.  Maybe we like a few different things now than 20 years ago, maybe our wines are a little nicer or our hobbies are a little more expensive, but I love seeing my friends with full, vibrant lives, whatever those lives entail.

I always say that the older I get, the more fun I have.  As I see so many friends turn 40 and witness the great joy with which they still experience life, I am confident that my adage is right.

I Touch Roses

I've never met a rose I didn't like.

From the first rose I received from a "secret admirer" back at Jackson High to the several dozen I've received over the years, I have loved them all. Sure, tulips are great, peonies are a wonder, and magnolias are simply magnificent.

But roses ... ahhhhh, they are my favorite.



And yes, I have roses in my yard: mutabilis and old blush and double pink knockouts and even a floribunda. But Portland, yes, Portland is the place to be if you love roses, like me.

On the first night of my recent trip to Portland, I walked down the neighborhood street to check out the area. I passed a yard with so many magnificent roses. They were huge! Bigger than anything I've seen growing in south Louisiana, and just, well, magnificent. I was in awe. So I passed another yard with more roses, and another, and another. It was amazing! There were all these fabulous roses, everywhere I looked!



To top it off, my dear friend Dawn had recommended a visit to Portland's International Rose Test Garden. I did some research and learned that it's next to what purports to be a mighty fine Japanese garden and in the same park with the zoo and an arboretum. I did more research to figure out the Portland public transportation system, about which I've heard nothing but good things, and figured out how to get to the rose garden sans car.



Upon arrival, I was amazed. There were just rows upon rows and gardens upon gardens of roses. The garden has over 10,000 plantings of 550 varieties of roses. It almost goes without saying that I spent quite a bit of time smelling the loveliness, but there were too many to sniff each variety.



It was absolutely incredible. One rose even smelled like a freshly sliced apple! And yes, even Drew seemed intrigued by the sights, textures, and of course smells of the garden.



There were so many colors: red, yellow, white, and purple! No one had ever created a true blue rose, but I hear there are attempts on-going. The purple, though ... I could think of a few yards around here that might like a few purple and gold roses!

And some were just HUGE!



And of course, there were pink roses. Pink roses are my absolute favorite, and that says a lot, considering how much I love roses! All the roses in my yard are pink. And a dozen pink long-stemmed roses on my desk is nearly enough to make me melt!

Of course, there were some stunning pink selections at the rose garden. Alas, my favorite is not yet on the market and - fortunately, since I am out of room - cannot become a member of my home garden just yet.



Mmmmmmm, roses.

If you think I'm magical
Cause roses bloom at my touch ...

I touch roses.

Why I never listen to conventional wisdom

I can grow a lot of things. I have hibiscus flowers that are 12" across, angel trumpets that are outstanding, and bird of paradise that Louisiana Nursery told me would never survive in the ground. I have grown heirloom tomatoes and even babied them through record snowfall! But I cannot grow zucchini.

Everybody and their far-distant-uncle can grow zucchini. I know this because everyone tells me how easy it is and how they have so much zucchini that their neighbors hide when they start harvesting. It's the recommended plant for beginning gardeners, even, because it is so darn easy to grow!

For everyone, that is, but me.

This year is my third attempt at zucchini. The first year, I tried to grow them in pots, but one must be a diligent waterer to grow veggies in pots in Louisiana, and I traveled far too much for success. The second year, they grew, but were quickly afflicted with yellow mosaic virus or something ... the fruit was nice and colorful, but this is a terminal virus. Again, no neighbors hiding from me.

So this is my third attempt. These attempts have not been in consecutive years, mind you, because I find my failure at growing the easiest and most prolific vegetable too discouraging. This year, I got a new variety - Raven Zucchini. It's a space-saver, allegedly delicious, and indeed spineless.

I dutifully planted my seeds, watched them sprout and grow, eventually making flowers with baby zucchini. Yes! I was going to have success!! ME! I was growing zucchini!!

And yes, I watched the first one mature into a nice vegetable, as I watched the second wither away. I eagerly awaited more flowers, but saw only roly poly bugs. And spiders. And eventually, I discovered that squash borers had taken over the plants.

That was it: I could take care of the harmful insects with *gasp* chemicals. And I did! I sprinkled some granules that are supposed to be left on the surface for a day to kill the top-dwelling insect, and then soaked so that it kills the insects beneath the ground. It was a hard decision, but since these plants are far away from all other edibles in my yard, it was worth it.

And I succeeded! New growth, new flowers ... I was on my way.

Until I remembered that these zukes were space-savers and didn't really need that trellis support I'd placed. And my tomatoes (Big Rainbows) needed a little something extra, right? So I removed the support, and in the process, I ripped out both of my then-happily growing zucchini plants by the roots.

I love working in my yard. I really do. But I am eternally grateful that nobody relies on me for food production. One zucchini may be all the success I will ever have.

Alligators, Egrets, and Asininity

So there I was, minding my own business and watching the birds.

Yes, it's nesting season at Lake Martin again, and the wading birds are out in full force. Great egrets, snowy egrets, and all those other birds that we like to pretend we can identify, but really we just know that they're big and feathery.

Yes, they were all out today.

Nearby, these two were getting along famously, till an egocentric great egret decided that *he* wanted that branch!

Poor little other bird flew off to some other branch, where he may or may not have found better company.

Of course, there was an alligator floating just near the foray, ever hopeful that one of the birds would fall in the water, terribly injured but making a tasty snack!

Or perhaps he was trying to steal the fish from this hungry, hard-working fisher bird?

Whatever he was doing, he was nothing ... NOTHING! ... compared to what was waiting for me by my car. When I arrived at my car, it was absolutely terrifying ... horrifying, really! I didn't know if I could get by the beast, the fattest and craziest-looking alligator I'd ever seen.

But I lived to tell the tale so that you, too, may bear witness to my nightmares:

Spring is so nice!

I had heard that spring was nice, but living in south Louisiana, I haven't had much experience with it. This year, all that has changed. What a glorious season! The green onion seeds were so pretty, and the calendula bloomed long enough that the Victoria Blue salvia regenerated next to it.

Next came the amaryllis and the irises ... I can't ever remember which arrives first, but the eye-popping irises are spent while I still have a couple of showy amaryllis blooms gracing my yard. The irises have gotten so thick that they are choking an Old Blush rose bush ... I am hoping that it's not too late to save the rose, but I couldn't resist letting the irises run their magnificent purple course this fantastic spring.

Now it's back to the voodoo gardening ... 11 p.m. and time to water the flowers!

Back to Blogging, or how I am stealing time from facebook

Apparently there is a time limit on blogs.  I hadn't posted to my old blog in about a year and, well, now it's gone.  I had good intentions, mind you, but I just couldn't ever seem to find the time ... I'm afraid that facebook had hidden it away!

Don't get me wrong: I still love facebook.  I can see what my friends around the country (and the world!) are up to.  I can see photos of my friends' kids growing up, rather than seeing them once as babies and then discovering that somehow seven years have passed and that they no longer wear a size 2T.  I can play Scrabble with people who quite frequently beat me.

But I don't do the Farmville thing or the Mafia Wars thing or the Bejeweled Blitz thing.  I have no idea what my friends are talking about when they refer to people on t.v. shows like Glee or American Idol.  I admit that I've never seen either.   Will my friends still be my friends tomorrow?

I don't mind when my friends post Bible verses, or articles supporting gay, lesbian, and/or transgender marriage, or how much they hate this political idea or think that one is the bees' knees.  But seriously, now ... do my friends really think they will change even one mind because of a facebook post?  Or even a series of facebook posts?

The good news for me is that I can generally entertain a thought without accepting it, and so can most of my friends.  Aristotle would be proud.  Any little extra piece of information that I (or my friends) can garner makes for a more well-rounded mind, and I love reading news or other info that might have otherwise escaped me.  In fact, without facebook, I wouldn't have nearly so many thoughts to entertain!    

So thank you, Jenniffer and Nae, for kindly explaining who modern figures like Miranda Lambert and Madame Sonya are.  Thank you, Adam, for your snarky comments and making me *think* about my grammar all of the time.  Thank you, thank you, all my facebook friends, for entertaining and educating me on a daily basis.

And thank you, facebook, for allowing me to continually expand my horizons, even if you do steal time away from things like washing dishes and sweeping the floors.  I mean, really, who needs a clean house when there are random thoughts to be entertained?