Monday, September 15, 2014

Off and On the Hook

Off the hook.
If Baby NoName is a girl:

This block pattern was simple to crank out, so the blankie came together quickly.  

One would think it's winter already, as I sit ensconced in skeins.  Just practicing; not warming up, but cooling off.  If the view through the windows wasn't so verdant, I might even be able to imagine a blizzard.  Cloudy skies and leafy branches swaying in the breeze will serve, for it isn't a dress rehearsal, and I'm simply enjoying the script.

My fellows went fishing today, and I sent them off with a request they bring home some whales.  They aimed to please and hit the mark.  On the hook:

Girl hooks and guy hooks: crankin' 'em out and reelin' 'em in.  It works.

Blessed be the name of God for ever and ever: for wisdom and might are his: And he changeth the times and the seasons: he removeth kings, and setteth up kings: he giveth wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge to them that know understanding: He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with him.  -Daniel 2:20-22 

Friday, September 12, 2014

Man Compliment

Charles noticed the stack of 42 (forty-two) crocheted blocks on my table and asked, "What are you going to do with those?"

Mastering a block pattern new to me, when I finished the blanket for "Baby NoName" (Charles' current name for one-on-the-way), I didn't feel finished with cranking out the blocks.  So I planned an afghan to replace the tired quilt on the rack in the living room.  The quilt wasn't nearly as tired as I was tired of looking at it, but now I had cause to replace it.  So to answer Charles' question, I said, "I'll make an afghan.  There, look at the baby blanket, and you'll understand what I'm going to do with them," and I pointed to the folded bundle on the corner of the table.

In order for you to better understand, or fully appreciate, his "compliment," I'll show you a section of the afghan which came together from the stack of blocks that first caught his eye:

"Wow, that's really awesome!" he said of the white and yellow baby blanket.

"Is it really?" I asked, for I hadn't been entirely satisfied with it.  I'd begun making blocks with a white yarn I must have inherited from my mother, for when I came to the end of the skein and needed more blocks, I discovered the yarn is no longer available to purchase.  A long and tedious search for it had resulted in at least being able to buy on eBay someone's skein of "banana."  With a sigh, the envisioned, lovely, white baby blanket became a patchwork of yellow and white.  I couldn't help but be disappointed.  Yet, Charles thought it was "awesome."  I could go with awesome.  But next, he delivered the compliment extraordinaire.  Remember, I'd asked, "Is it really?"

"Yeah, spiders couldn't even do that!"

Oh.  Thank you.

Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.  - Hebrews 11:3

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Diabetes and Okra

This article -- What Are the Benefits of Okra for People with Diabetes? -- seems to provide a reasoned and reasonable treatment of the topic.

I noticed a meme recommending the daily ingestion of “okra water” as treatment for diabetes: nip the okra ends, pierce the sides, and leave in water overnight.  Drink the resulting swill in the morning.   Every morning.  Okra sorely offends me, but moreso would diabetes.

Interested, I grabbed the meme-fashioned tutorial and tucked it away in my Health folder.  When I had time, I sought to vet the claim.  Snopes -- who I trust as much as I trust fat cat Purrle to not dump the wastebasket in the night if there are chicken bones in it --  to my surprise, was not able to entirely dash the claimed benefits of leaving okra overnight in a glass of water and ingesting the resulting liquid.

I found this particular snippet in the Snopes article, quoted from Bioactive Food as Dietary Interventions for Diabetes (2012),  noteworthy:

“There is anecdotal evidence for the amelioration of diabetes by dietary consumption of okra but what are lacking are controlled clinical trials. There are constituents of okra such as polyphenolic molucules [sic] that provide encouragement for such studies in the future.”  Snopes Article  
You don’t say.  It’s a positive admission I wasn’t expecting to find.  Which august body, though, would deign to conduct such trials?  The FDA?  The pharmaceutical industry?  Heh.  I daresay this will be one left to the general public, with only anecdotal evidences from which to draw knowledge.

Information garnered from the Internet is as trustworthy as is the stranger who posted it.  Perhaps okra water (or daily eating the slimy vegetable) should be filed in everyone’s Health folder, so it can be tried by those we know who might benefit from it.

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.  -Matthew 10:29-31

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

I Found the Lost Tomatoes

And the 265 other photos.

This is a shadow one doesn't want cast upon her curtains.

SugarPlum made magazine art when she was last here for a visit.

I caught Son4 before the mirror in the kitchen,
admiring his harvest earrings.

Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD.  Praise ye the LORD.  -Psalm 150:6

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

A Dinner Party

Yesterday, I had a lovely conversation with a dear friend.  Reflecting upon it now, the story of this dinner party comes to mind:

And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him.  And he went into the Pharisee's house, and sat down to meat.  And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment.

Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, "This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner." 

And Jesus answering said unto him, "Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee."

And he saith, "Master, say on."

"There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty.  And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both.  Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?"

Simon answered and said, "I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most."

And he said unto him, "Thou hast rightly judged."

And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, "Seest thou this woman?  I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head.  Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet.  My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment.  Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little."

And he said unto her, "Thy sins are forgiven."

Luke 7:36-48

But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear.  1 Peter 3:15 || And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.  Revelation 22:17

Tuesday, August 12, 2014


Son4 told his dad last night he has PTTD:  Post Traumatic Tomato Disorder.

As he helped me scald nearly 100 tomatoes, he asked, "Have I told you how much I like tomatoes?"

"This isn't a labor of love for you, is it?" I responded, long aware of Son4's distaste for tomatoes.

"It's a labor of loathing," he muttered.

Bathed and cooled, I arranged the tomatoes just-so on trays on the table, so I could memorialize them via photography before we dispatched them.  Years ago, when I was smitten with blogging, the camera was my near-constant companion, providing images to illustrate most blog posts.  Maybe I could restart that engine, and an image of one hundred tomatoes on the table seemed fitted to the post forming in my head. 

When I inserted the camera card into my computer this morning, I noticed it contained over 250 photos.  Drat, I'd never erased those early July photos.  I'd do that with this upload.  Then something went wonky with the process, the card contents were erased, and the photo destination folder was also empty.  Oopsie. 

I made salsa with the bulk of yesterday's portion of the harvest.  Some of those tomatoes were peeled, seeded, and refrigerated for making tomato butter today, a favorite of Charles'.  The recipe is here, if that piques your interest, and you're overrun with tomatoes.  And I can steal the recipe's illustrative image for this post.  Heh.

Charles brought in a bag of another 25-30 last evening and was met by 2 silenced mouths and 4 widened eyes.  In addition to yesterday's canned salsa, we already had fresh tomato juice, fresh salsa, and ketchup.  That tomato-butter-to-be is waiting in the wings (and clearly, I'm ignoring it).  What next?

Poor Son4 will be suffering RTTD -- Recurring Traumatic Tomato Disorder -- for some time to come.  Into each life a few tomatoes must fall.  And to some, a bit more than others.

Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.  Colossians 3:2

Sunday, August 10, 2014


Among other things, Kevin's growing cantaloupes this year.  As we were paring and cutting another this morning, and Kevin sampled a piece, I asked if it was sweeter than previous ones have been.  He said maybe a little bit, but he's liked them better -- at my suggestion -- with some sugar added.  "Well you didn't add sugar to that last bowlful, did you, because I did."

"Yes," he said, "I did.  But I only used about a teaspoon.  How much did you add to it?"

"Two or three tablespoons."

Candy.  We have cantaloupe candy.

It's delicious!  

How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!  Psalm 119:103

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Facebook ID Photo Tutorial

Not really.
But I updated my ID photo today, and the gyrations were mildly interesting.

One can access a real tutorial here, which is where I began to understand the magicNot which occurs with photos uploaded to Facebook.  And it was through the counsel on that website that I learned an ID photo should be 160 pixels by 160 pixels.  To preserve clarity, uploading double that size, 320 pixels x 320 pixels, is advised.  I assume the web page author has tested this with good results.

Do I want good resolution at my age?  Prettymuch not.  However, my own past experience has taught me the ID photo size is increased in the photo album, itself, and if I’m going to be blown up, I’d prefer to not also be terribly pixelated, for a pixel-raggedy face is about as uncomely as, and more bizarre than, one bearing the etchings of real time; a very long flood stream of real time.   So I chose 320 x 320 as my base photo size.  Yes, it needs to be a square, or Facebook will apply their own cropping tool, and one doesn’t want to become a blockhead or lose a limb.

Now, I didn’t want my whole, old selfingness tattooed on the Internet.  My face would be humbling enough.  Neither, though, did I want that in size SCARE-US.  So I measured Facebook’s album presentation of my last ID photo.  The thing measured more in the neighborhood of 365 x 380, so I‘m not sure where Mr. Tutorial got his figures, and that’s way too much of my face in yours 

“I can beat this thing.”

I put a gray border around my me-photo.  I was getting smaller.  Then a put a white picture frame around the gray, said frame actually being a blotchy white edging.  Next, I put a blue picture frame inside the white one, this comprised only of some thin, faint lines, tying it to the trim color in the page header and hopefully having the effect of drawing others‘ attention from MY FACE: “Oh look, how did she get those blue lines on there?”  *snort*

Now I totaled 380 x 380, further diminishing my SCARE-US factor, for a goodly bit of ME was framing.  How accomplished did I feel?  A bit.

The worst element in the process, though, is uploading the photo, for no matter how quickly one reloads the page and deletes the resulting post from her timeline, it stinkin’ hits the News Feeds.  NO!  STOP IT!  Don’t make people try to think of nice things to say to me about that photo!  For cryin’ in a bucket, I did all that maneuvering in an effort to be small and unnoticeable, and you slammed a report in the evening news.  Cruel. 

I’d only changed the photo because the last one had a shadow cast on my forehead which looked like I was wearing Buster Brown bangs.  I bore that shame for several months, actually preferring it over the News Feed’s mouthy LOOK AT HER! which would result from switching out the photo.  Where’s a rock?  …Are you kidding me?  I wouldn’t fit under that thing.  Just look at me.  NO, I DIDN’T MEAN THAT.  DON’T LOOK AT ME! 

When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, LORD, will I seek.  Psalm 27:8

Thursday, July 31, 2014

A Spade

It’s about lies, but put that on hold.

Call a spade a spade.  That came to mind, so I decided to research the origin of the phrase.  Not often do I want to mire myself in lengthy articles, so I didn’t read the Wikipedia entry word-for-word, but I found some interesting bits.
“To 'call a spade a spade' is a figure of speech which explicitly calls out something as it is, by its right name.  The implication is not to lie about what something is and instead to speak honestly and directly about a topic, specifically topics that others may avoid speaking about due to their sensitivity, unpleasant, or embarrassing nature.”  [Emphasis added on account of that lie-thing, but we‘re still holding that at bay.  At bay - what‘s that mean?  I‘ll think about that tomorrow.  Or not.] Source 
In case you’re not interested in visiting Wikipedia, I have to include this slam by author Joseph Devlin, as he criticized writers wishing to portray linguistic superiority:
"For instance, you may not want to call a spade a spade.  You may prefer to call it a spatulous device for abrading the surface of the soil.  Better, however, to stick to the old familiar, simple name that your grandfather called it."
In a sense,  Devlin’s observation is useful in addressing that lie-thing.
Now we’ll do the lie.

“…[A]nd some reporters have told outright untruths.”

I’ve heard the word “unthruths” on television news.  I’ve heard it in a courtroom.  I’ve read it in print, even from Christian ministries.

Hold on while I check the dictionary . . .
It’s there.
Well, the archaic meaning is “unfaithfulness or disloyalty.”  That’s interesting.  In the current definition, though, we find the word LIE.  Surprise!

Is there anything wrong with an untruth?

The word “lie” is in the Bible, sometimes referencing a reclining position, but when referencing an untruth, the Bible says “lie.”  It also says liars will suffer a horrible fate.  Since God hates lying and addresses it most seriously, perhaps we do ill to mask the sin with prettier terms or ones not found in God‘s word.  God calls untruths “lies.”

A spatulous device for abrading the surface of the soil is a spade.
An untruth is a lie.

These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren. 

Wednesday, July 30, 2014


I’ve noticed on the Internet a recent spate of memes urging people to eliminate from their lives those who create, or bring with them, DRAMA.  Yes, eliminate those people from your life.


drama - (4) any situation or series of events having vivid, emotional, conflicting, or striking interest or results: the drama of a murder trial.  [For other definitions, see here.]
Do I know anyone whose life is void of situations or events which are vivid, emotional, conflicting, or of striking interest? 
I’m to live in isolation, solitary confinement?

No one dare harsh my mellow.
Keep your problems to yourself; mine are important, but yours . . . notsomuch.
I don’t have any drama in my life.  What's wrong with you?
Don’t drag ME into your stuff.  If it’s unpleasant, I’m sure you deserve it, so deal with it.

You're messy.  Go away.
I just want to have fun!

That’s Christlike.  Not.

I wonder if those who eliminate from their lives people who experience or create drama (i.e., live in the world; breathe) spend money to entertain themselves with imaginary drama. 

Ah, that was great!  All that edge-of-my-seat drama, and I didn’t have to invest a single thought or breath to encourage, uplift, guide, or share a burden.
Perhaps the creators of the memes mean something other than what is being conveyed.  I hope so.  Ü

Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.  (Galatians 6:2)

But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear.  (I Peter 3:15)

Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.  For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.   (Ecclesiastes 4:9, 10)

This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come.  For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy,  without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.    (II Timothy 3:1-5)

Tuesday, July 29, 2014


I usually don't remember how I arrived where I am, and such was the case when I created a Twitter account on Sunday.  I'd never wanted a Twitter account.  I'd never needed a Twitter account.  All I remember is having accessed some news on the Israel-Gaza conflict, and the source had a Twitter account.  Source mentioned tweeting timely updates, and I wanted those, because mainstream news is slow and insanely -- yes, insanely -- biased in favor of the Arab terrorists.   
1. Unsound in mind or intellect; mad; deranged in mind; delirious; distracted.  
Creating the Twitter account was pretty straightforward.  I spent a little time familiarizing myself with the utilities and "followed" the news source and a pastor I like.  Then I went away.

I opened Twitter yesterday, Monday, to look for news and was met by a notification my account had been suspended:
"...Unfortunately, it looks like this account, @___, got caught up in one of these [automated sweep] spam groups by mistake."  (emphasis added)
Mistake.  Whose mistake?  Clearly, not my mistake, by Twitter's own admission.  Then I was cautioned to take care that I don't tweet anything that breaks the Twitter rules.  [For the record, the account stats show I have made 0 (zero) tweets, so even a hacker cannot have tweeted through my account.]  And the message concluded thusly:
"To continue using this account, please confirm below: 
"I understand that my account may be permanently suspended if I continue using Twitter in a way that violates the Twitter Rules."
There was a box to tick, making my false confession.

Turn down those lights.  May I have a drink of water?  Is that a one-way window in that wall behind me?  Could I stretch my legs, walk around a bit?

Okay, this just isn't worth it.  I'm going to delete the account.  The short of a vexingly long story is I cannot delete the account, unless I make the false confession.

This bird laid no eggs, tweeted no song, and has abandoned the nest to the buzzards.  I'll follow The Jewish Standard on Facebook.  Facebook.  That's a rant you won't want to hear.  But may. 

Twitter.  A big *pfft*!

Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice.  Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand.  Philippians 4:4-5

Friday, July 18, 2014

Orange Chicken - But Not Really

It's what's for dinner.

One of my daughters-in-law created a new blogplace and is affecting the migration of her old to the new.  Hmm, I'll have to ask her how that's done.  I might like to take up blogging again.  Then I was stricken with impatience or compulsiveness or a surge of not-entire-elderly brain power and did the deed on my own.  Immediately.

I semi-meticulously made my way through 700 posts -- dating back to 2007 -- to hunt for ones which, these seven years later, I might prefer to expunge.  I had a particular category in mind, and apparently I'd performed that task a few years ago (elderly brain had forgotten), for I found fewer than a handful to delete.  Of course, I was checking only one category, so who knows what other mindless blather may remain tattooed in the blogosphere?  Worse, I expect I'll be adding to it.

All the graphics in posts prior to 2010 are fitted with background colors to match the oldest blog.  It's not pretty.   

So orange chicken is for dinner.  And that's on my mind, because when I finished the migrating and editing chore, I glanced at the clock.  Oh, it's about time to add the carrots.  Moreover, I had to write something in order to begin to reacquaint myself with blogger composition tools, so I slapped dinner up there and began smacking the keys.

Wow, how do I get my signature on here?  Where's the post template I designed?  In 2010, and haven't accessed in more than a year.  Carrots are calling.  When I finish with carrots and find my stuff, I think I'll be a blogger again.

FancyNot CarolineNot

Update:  A new signature for a new season of blogging.

This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.  - Psalm 118:24