tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11620750426212158942024-03-12T17:23:19.842-07:00Checking the Did-It BoxShort-short stories about accomplishing the items on my Lifetime To-Do List.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-6632816850085596812011-07-11T22:21:00.000-07:002012-03-06T19:16:08.935-08:00Make Baked Alaska - DID-IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q4eeNveC7ps/ThvZCWXGh2I/AAAAAAAAASY/kajDPOy7eI4/s1600/bakedalaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="41" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q4eeNveC7ps/ThvZCWXGh2I/AAAAAAAAASY/kajDPOy7eI4/s320/bakedalaska.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fcheckthediditbox.blogspot.com%2F&media=%3Ca%20href%3D%22http%3A%2F%2Fpinterest.com%2Fkatglea%2F%22%3E%3Cimg%20src%3D%22http%3A%2F%2Fpassets-cdn.pinterest.com%2Fimages%2Fsmall-p-button.png%22%20width%3D%2216%22%20height%3D%2216%22%20alt%3D%22Follow%20Me%20on%20Pinterest%22%20%2F%3E%3C%2Fa%3E&description=Checking%20the%20Did-It%20Box" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a>
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Baked Alaska is a simple dessert compared to some of the flaming ones we talked about in an earlier blog posting. It consists of a layer of cake (I used a brownie), and a layer of ice cream, all covered with meringue, then browned under a broiler or with a torch so it resembles the mountains of Alaska - I guess.<br />
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My first attempt was a yummy failure! I mixed the ice cream with Grande Marnier for a little extra kick, then put it into the mold and into the freezer, the next day when I went to unmold my frozen concoction, I realized that alcohol doesn't freeze!!! I had a soft mushy scoop of incredibly good ice cream which I served over the brownie with whipped cream and my guests were none the wiser that their dessert was a failure!!<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j-twp_nbZ5k/ThvZGJ2sWSI/AAAAAAAAASc/oQpQGi2ECfI/s1600/bakedalaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j-twp_nbZ5k/ThvZGJ2sWSI/AAAAAAAAASc/oQpQGi2ECfI/s200/bakedalaska.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
For my second attempt, I left out the alcohol. I cut a round brownie with a biscuit cutter, and placed it on a dessert plate. Earlier, I had softened the ice cream and pressed it into a half-round mold and returned it to the freezer. When my guests were ready for dessert, I removed the ice cream from the mold and placed it on top of the brownie. I had a nice bowl of egg white meringue all ready to go, and spread it over the ice cream/brownie stack sealing the edges to the ovenproof plate and making fun peaks on the top of the mound of meringue. Then I popped it under the broiler for a short minute until the meringue was dry and the peaks were nicely browned and getting dark on the tips. The ice cream was barely starting to melt at that point, which is just right! I've seen people use a propane torch to brown the meringue, but I'm much too chicken to try it!<br />
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Serve it quickly so the combination of hot meringue and cold ice cream is still there. It's fun to make and really fast and easy, but so impressive!!! You can make one big one, or individual servings. The only problem with the individual servings is that the smaller volume tends to melt faster than a single, large one.<br />Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-76698396063507775112011-06-26T15:20:00.000-07:002012-03-06T17:10:30.002-08:00Visit the Highest Point in the City - DID-IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I2Y0CmqDDfU/TfwfxfseK1I/AAAAAAAAARQ/mjqrCmC-Bmo/s1600/highest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="33" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I2Y0CmqDDfU/TfwfxfseK1I/AAAAAAAAARQ/mjqrCmC-Bmo/s320/highest.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> At first I just meant the highest point in Seattle, but it turns out, I've visited the highest point in lots of cities. I love visiting a city at street level - window shopping, smelling (and eating) the food, listening to the voices whether I understand the language or not, checking out the fashions and just feeling the pulse of the place. But when I get tired of the jostling immediacy of the street, I like to find the highest place and just watch the city from the quiet serenity of its loftiest peak.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9RnmeBWToJk/TgevzFkXxYI/AAAAAAAAAR8/fww3sYj4NEc/s1600/seattlefromColTow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9RnmeBWToJk/TgevzFkXxYI/AAAAAAAAAR8/fww3sYj4NEc/s200/seattlefromColTow.jpg" width="200" /><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fcheckthediditbox.blogspot.com%2F&media=%3Ca%20href%3D%22http%3A%2F%2Fpinterest.com%2Fkatglea%2F%22%3E%3Cimg%20src%3D%22http%3A%2F%2Fpassets-cdn.pinterest.com%2Fimages%2Fsmall-p-button.png%22%20width%3D%2216%22%20height%3D%2216%22%20alt%3D%22Follow%20Me%20on%20Pinterest%22%20%2F%3E%3C%2Fa%3E&description=Checking%20the%20Did-It%20Box" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal">Pin It</a>
<script type="text/javascript" src="http://assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script></a>In Seattle, the 75th floor of the Columbia Town offers a dizzying view. When the Blue Angels precision flying team is in town practicing for their annual show, the 75th floor puts you at eye-level with the pilots. The women's restroom in the Columbia Tower is famous for having the most incredible view from the throne of any bathroom in the world. Each private stall has an uncurtained, ceiling-to-floor window offering a unique view while seated. Those with a fear of heights or bashful kidneys should skip this one!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PS5giQJx3K4/Tfwz_D60Z4I/AAAAAAAAARk/2q2bIcT6eLo/s1600/View+from+Notre+Dame+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PS5giQJx3K4/Tfwz_D60Z4I/AAAAAAAAARk/2q2bIcT6eLo/s200/View+from+Notre+Dame+2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>In Paris the Eiffel Tower offers the quintessential birds-eye view of the city, but the view from the tower in Notre Dame is pretty impressive as well. I prefer Notre Dame because you get to share the view with the gargoyles! <i> </i>Neither is actually the highest point - Sacre Coeur is officially the highest altitude, but I don't think the view is a good as it is from the other two. So while I strive to find the highest point in a city, it only counts if that point affords an amazing view.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9xALts6rV1s/Tfwz9xON6dI/AAAAAAAAARc/XS3DGlqQPw8/s1600/fromchateaulabaux.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9xALts6rV1s/Tfwz9xON6dI/AAAAAAAAARc/XS3DGlqQPw8/s200/fromchateaulabaux.jpg" width="200" /></a>In Provence, we went up the tower in the medieval Cathedral de le Baux and looked over the entire South of France... okay, not all of it, but you can see a long way. They have a trebuchet (catapult) that used to fire cannonballs at invaders from the top of the hill.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2qc6koqCLKk/Tfw0MDlXgtI/AAAAAAAAARs/NNSHSnvgm7I/s1600/stvktyvatican.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2qc6koqCLKk/Tfw0MDlXgtI/AAAAAAAAARs/NNSHSnvgm7I/s200/stvktyvatican.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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The rooftop of Sant'Angelo Church in Rome looks down on the mighty St. Peters Basilica and the Vatican.The high view helps you orient yourself in a new city giving you a better idea of how it is laid out than trying to figure it out at street level.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wyQ73aYMgLc/TfxHWlwZzvI/AAAAAAAAAR4/czPHbC65c_Y/s1600/viewfromneuschwan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wyQ73aYMgLc/TfxHWlwZzvI/AAAAAAAAAR4/czPHbC65c_Y/s200/viewfromneuschwan.jpg" width="146" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O6zyJd9uvMA/TfxHVgn_cTI/AAAAAAAAAR0/EEJy8O0n2Qs/s1600/fromhohenschwangau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O6zyJd9uvMA/TfxHVgn_cTI/AAAAAAAAAR0/EEJy8O0n2Qs/s200/fromhohenschwangau.jpg" width="144" /></a>Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, also known as Mad King Ludwig's castle, has a fabulous view over the Bavarian Alps and down onto his parents castle below him - <i>Picture on the left is from Neuschwanstein. Picture on the left is from Hohenschwangau - the folk's place.</i> The mountains are higher than the castles, but I can't climb them, so the view from the tower will have to do! <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BRF1jldWUeU/Tfwz83EgDzI/AAAAAAAAARY/zuIveBTA9ow/s1600/brazilfromcorcovado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BRF1jldWUeU/Tfwz83EgDzI/AAAAAAAAARY/zuIveBTA9ow/s200/brazilfromcorcovado.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtJStIKFfM0/Tfw0NNDsljI/AAAAAAAAARw/sct8RtpSRkU/s1600/topofsugarloaf2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xtJStIKFfM0/Tfw0NNDsljI/AAAAAAAAARw/sct8RtpSRkU/s200/topofsugarloaf2.jpg" width="200" /></a>In Brazil, you have a couple options vying for highest point - the hill where the Corcovado (the giant statue of Christ) stands, or the top of Sugarloaf. Both are impressive. It was raining on Corcovado (left), so the picture is kinda drab. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z7pONPyLPIs/Tfwf_-PA_FI/AAAAAAAAARU/XKN7etucwMY/s1600/warwick+castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z7pONPyLPIs/Tfwf_-PA_FI/AAAAAAAAARU/XKN7etucwMY/s200/warwick+castle.jpg" width="141" /></a>The tower in Warwickshire Castle in England, although relative to some of the other locations, isn't all that high, it is the highest point in the village. You can see sufficiently far enough to spot an invading horde of Norman conquerors headed your way. I included it because I just love the look of the castle battlements and crenelations along their peak.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-12244241663014761922011-06-18T12:47:00.000-07:002011-06-18T12:47:59.390-07:00Visit Sitka Alaska Raptor Center - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h5k-RFk7_hc/TfwFK74UqvI/AAAAAAAAAQc/XPvdIwIRW44/s1600/raptorcenter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h5k-RFk7_hc/TfwFK74UqvI/AAAAAAAAAQc/XPvdIwIRW44/s320/raptorcenter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7nK3uFgMhu0/TfwVPIanZcI/AAAAAAAAAQs/M8VzHCgl2aU/s1600/cruiseship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7nK3uFgMhu0/TfwVPIanZcI/AAAAAAAAAQs/M8VzHCgl2aU/s200/cruiseship.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ek8vzNZtD1Q/TfwFuRp64TI/AAAAAAAAAQk/p4Bb7WmCTCA/s1600/sitkamarina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ek8vzNZtD1Q/TfwFuRp64TI/AAAAAAAAAQk/p4Bb7WmCTCA/s200/sitkamarina.jpg" width="133" /></a>Sitka, Alaska, is a tiny town on Baranof Island in the area known as Southeast Alaska. It has one stoplight and four stop signs scattered along its 14 miles of road, that's probably counting the main road, all of the side streets, the driveways, and maybe the airport runway! It's small. The local newspaper prints the cruise ship schedule so locals can avoid town during the crush of visitors swarming the streets. Here you can see a cruise ship trying to sneak into town! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b-ahU896EfI/TfwVSqdetsI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/PLop9GBO8RQ/s1600/eagle2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b-ahU896EfI/TfwVSqdetsI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/PLop9GBO8RQ/s200/eagle2.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LBSDAwJOF4k/TfwFs1QuHjI/AAAAAAAAAQg/JgRpfqDrOgs/s1600/KTNeagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LBSDAwJOF4k/TfwFs1QuHjI/AAAAAAAAAQg/JgRpfqDrOgs/s200/KTNeagle.jpg" width="200" /></a> If you follow the one and only road out of town, you end up at the Raptor Center. A rehab facility for injured birds of prey. Their most impressive patients are the eagles, of course, but they have an amazing array of owls and hawks as well. The birds there for rehab are generally kept a distance from visitors so they don't acclimate to humans, but a few residents will never fly again and are permanent goodwill ambassadors to the adoring public. This is by far the most popular tour for the cruise ship passengers.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B-YggAysCJI/TfwVTkuz4cI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/-6CXzv4MTLs/s1600/morgdustjakesitka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B-YggAysCJI/TfwVTkuz4cI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/-6CXzv4MTLs/s200/morgdustjakesitka.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pNLFL0X2xeo/Tfwa0YmD4DI/AAAAAAAAARM/xS4IvHyOXz8/s1600/toteminwoods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pNLFL0X2xeo/Tfwa0YmD4DI/AAAAAAAAARM/xS4IvHyOXz8/s200/toteminwoods.jpg" width="133" /></a>If you venture to the end of the road, you'll find the Totem Park, a tiny National Park filled with incredible, native-carved totem poles. It's such a unique setting to wander through the dense forest, turn a corner and be face to face with a huge totem nestled among the towering trees. In the visitor's center you can watch local natives carving masks and other native crafts.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OLGXleeRJIQ/TfwaxSGeqmI/AAAAAAAAARE/AS5_P3N-dGE/s1600/bearsign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OLGXleeRJIQ/TfwaxSGeqmI/AAAAAAAAARE/AS5_P3N-dGE/s200/bearsign.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bz-ATnefGuw/TfwayQyIZOI/AAAAAAAAARI/nprmwePn9gM/s1600/boyswithfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bz-ATnefGuw/TfwayQyIZOI/AAAAAAAAARI/nprmwePn9gM/s200/boyswithfish.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>There's bear. There is a bear alert system in town. When the alarms ring, kids outdoors dash for the nearest house - any house, then they call home to tell their parents where they are, and they are safely harbored inside the house until the bear wanders back into the woods. I mentioned it's a small town, right? And there's fish - really, really big fish. The boys went out for a couple hours and reeled these in.<br />
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While Sitka is a fun 3-hour stop on your cruise, it's so much more interesting if you hang around awhile. I spent a lot of time on layovers there when I flew for Alaska Airlines and my cousin lived there for about 15 years.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-49677386643100271732011-06-15T20:53:00.000-07:002011-06-17T18:48:04.525-07:00Have a Compost Bin - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kNoVLafgrdo/TflkCNcTCZI/AAAAAAAAAQU/9KUc3Dqgqjw/s1600/compost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="37" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kNoVLafgrdo/TflkCNcTCZI/AAAAAAAAAQU/9KUc3Dqgqjw/s320/compost.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A compost bin is a weird thing to have on your personal wish list, but there you go. I don't know what I was thinking when I put it there, but I'm happy to report that today I have a very productive compost/worm bin. I really have fun playing in it. It's amazing to me that you can put all the yucky stuff from your sink strainer and lawn mower bag into a black bin and the next season you are mixing this fabulous rich soil into your garden.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M45eXsN9jkQ/Tflj6nUQUVI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/DkRBOAWicAk/s1600/compoststart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M45eXsN9jkQ/Tflj6nUQUVI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/DkRBOAWicAk/s200/compoststart.jpg" width="167" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From this...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My first experience with compost was when I was a kid. Every fall my Uncle Louis would dump a mountain of hay/straw/manure from his barns at the corner of the 1-acre garden plot my dad kept on our farm. We didn't have any animals on our farm by then, just a hay field. My dad would let it "cook" for the winter, then spread it over the garden - it worked magic, our garden was a jungle!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C0ZkYGokzlM/TfljwDmm3EI/AAAAAAAAAQM/2RSs7gmYPBI/s1600/compostdone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C0ZkYGokzlM/TfljwDmm3EI/AAAAAAAAAQM/2RSs7gmYPBI/s200/compostdone.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...to this.</td></tr>
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One year my brother, sister and I decided to play "King of the Mountain" on the 7-foot high, steaming pile of barn scrapings. I was the oldest so I could generally hold the top spot by pushing my younger siblings until they tumbled down the mountain, although sometimes they ganged up on me and I went rolling down the hill. We didn't mind, though, because it was soft and really warm (as decomposing manure and hay can be).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zvfRPDs2OXw/Tfl9JUo-OOI/AAAAAAAAAQY/wN-Ig3Qn-2M/s1600/kathy+1958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="194" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zvfRPDs2OXw/Tfl9JUo-OOI/AAAAAAAAAQY/wN-Ig3Qn-2M/s200/kathy+1958.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I survived!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We were having a great time until my mom spotted us and had one of those typical "mom when they find their kids playing in horse manure" moments. Let's just say she wasn't happy. We were ordered to strip out of our slightly soiled clothing on the porch, where we and our clothes got a hose-down before we were all dunked in the bathtub - not the clothes, just the kids went into the tub. <br />
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I don't know why there isn't a steaming pile of manure and straw on every playground in the country, they are so much fun, and you can't get hurt! I was bummed that we weren't allowed to play on the manure pile after that incident - seemed like such a waste. To this day, I still love the smell of cow and horse manure mixed with decomposing hay - yup, you read that right!Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-14993856920685310162011-06-11T22:24:00.000-07:002011-06-11T22:36:23.071-07:00Go Snorkeling - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pi5BKdFMVCc/TfRJHakMhcI/AAAAAAAAAP4/B1MxsIE4Xlw/s1600/snorkle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="23" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pi5BKdFMVCc/TfRJHakMhcI/AAAAAAAAAP4/B1MxsIE4Xlw/s320/snorkle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3HOzDOB94v4/TfRLsxvM0xI/AAAAAAAAAQI/4OeCuLgCAcA/s1600/snorkel+dork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="147" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3HOzDOB94v4/TfRLsxvM0xI/AAAAAAAAAQI/4OeCuLgCAcA/s200/snorkel+dork.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SNORKEL DORK</td></tr>
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Snorkeling is not for the claustrophobic and I'm a bit claustrophobic. Nothing puts me over the edge faster than the thought of being underwater and breathing. Just thinking about it gives me the "willies." It's true, just now a big shiver went up my back. So planning snorkeling trips in Hawaii, later in the Caribbean, back again to Hawaii, again in Mexico kind of creeps me out thinking about it, even though I love doing it.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v5GW25K5rvs/TfRLrV07xHI/AAAAAAAAAQA/PL220iaDtgs/s1600/snorkel+caribbean2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v5GW25K5rvs/TfRLrV07xHI/AAAAAAAAAQA/PL220iaDtgs/s200/snorkel+caribbean2.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Before my first trip I donned gear and tried it in a pool. I couldn't do it. I tried just walking around out of the water breathing through the tube and other than hyperventilating until I was dizzy, I was fine. Put my face in the water and I was lost - choking, gasping, panicking.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DR5Nj_ha9k0/TfRLsIlFoAI/AAAAAAAAAQE/wq8OXQv88hc/s1600/snorkel+caribbean3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DR5Nj_ha9k0/TfRLsIlFoAI/AAAAAAAAAQE/wq8OXQv88hc/s200/snorkel+caribbean3.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
So I wasn't terribly hopeful that it was going to work out when I actually got to the big, wide ocean where I couldn't touch and there was nothing to grab onto... it gave me more than a few nightmares. I waded in waist deep, put my face in, gulped frantic breaths of air, panicked - but I kept trying and then, out of nowhere a huge "flock" of fish swirled around me, then swam slowly away and I followed them. They were so beautiful and serene and I couldn't stop watching them... three hours later I was getting hungry!<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tgmbBfqDwwI/TfRLqaA3CVI/AAAAAAAAAP8/tGiK44GFZWU/s1600/snorkel+caribbean1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tgmbBfqDwwI/TfRLqaA3CVI/AAAAAAAAAP8/tGiK44GFZWU/s200/snorkel+caribbean1.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Once I started fish-watching, I never thought about how scared I was, never thought about breathing through the tube, nothing! It was just an incredible world under there.<br />
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I've snorkeled St. Martin island, Maui several times, Mexico several times and every time I get nervous thinking about it, but once I'm in that quiet, amazing world following tangs, angels, parrot fish, puffers, sea turtles, I'm completely relaxed. You should try it some time.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-10690391571974932602011-06-03T21:54:00.000-07:002011-06-04T15:44:53.418-07:00See an Opera - DID-IT<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wN38HDkYnRU/Tem3V1y5LwI/AAAAAAAAAPg/74BMQE0zEX8/s1600/opera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="23" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wN38HDkYnRU/Tem3V1y5LwI/AAAAAAAAAPg/74BMQE0zEX8/s320/opera.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Listening to an opera recording or watching it on TV never held much interest to me, but I'd heard that seeing it in person in one of the world's great opera houses is a completely different effect. Whoever said that was right! <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ss1e-4UKpw4/Tem36-gZaoI/AAAAAAAAAPw/PPaUk5zG1T0/s1600/opera-prague.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ss1e-4UKpw4/Tem36-gZaoI/AAAAAAAAAPw/PPaUk5zG1T0/s200/opera-prague.jpg" t8="true" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PbK5nUYaDLY/Tem3i3_KAyI/AAAAAAAAAPk/UFh2Es9rq5I/s1600/state+theater+prague.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PbK5nUYaDLY/Tem3i3_KAyI/AAAAAAAAAPk/UFh2Es9rq5I/s200/state+theater+prague.jpg" t8="true" width="200" /></a>We visited Prague, Czech Republic at Christmas time and wanted to see a performance at the National Theater. The opera Aida was playing - okay, opera it is!<br />
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We sat in a box seat with a terrific view of the audience... oh, and the stage as well. Everyone was outfitted in furs, hats, and elegant dresses, and the curtains hadn't even opened yet! </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7PSrMsFFIV4/Tem3u5IyKsI/AAAAAAAAAPo/JWSeDJ7ZtvQ/s1600/opera+house+stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7PSrMsFFIV4/Tem3u5IyKsI/AAAAAAAAAPo/JWSeDJ7ZtvQ/s200/opera+house+stairs.jpg" t8="true" width="189" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HBb8wwxS81M/Tem3ztaG1NI/AAAAAAAAAPs/7HWlhSvA2yg/s1600/chandelier+theater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HBb8wwxS81M/Tem3ztaG1NI/AAAAAAAAAPs/7HWlhSvA2yg/s200/chandelier+theater.jpg" t8="true" width="200" /></a>The National Theater is incredible - gold gilding, crystal chandeliers, velvet upholstery and curtains, and champagne served in Bohemian Crystal stemware during intermission. It was beautifully decorated for Christmas when we were there.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8QNzgA-vUKc/Tem4ijpCn5I/AAAAAAAAAP0/LyXzwu1w33w/s1600/aida-prague.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8QNzgA-vUKc/Tem4ijpCn5I/AAAAAAAAAP0/LyXzwu1w33w/s200/aida-prague.jpg" t8="true" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was funny to sit in a Czech theater, listening to an Italian opera about Egyptian Royalty with readerboard subtitles in English, German and Czech. The plot was complicated - there was drama, love, betrayal, deception, death.... wait, isn't that the plot of almost every opera?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was fun, but it didn't make me a lifetime opera fanatic. If it came up, I'd probably go to another one, but it's not something I'm seeking out with any regularity. I still have "See Wagner's Ring series," on my list, but that means sitting through 14.5 hours of opera - Norse style! I'll get to it, sooner or later.</div>Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-50258084006283771172011-05-28T19:04:00.000-07:002011-05-28T19:06:42.336-07:00Visit Tillicum Indian Village - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dn9A9ATLbXU/TdB5xs_ALmI/AAAAAAAAANk/MPpZFpuWiNk/s1600/tillicumvillage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="28" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dn9A9ATLbXU/TdB5xs_ALmI/AAAAAAAAANk/MPpZFpuWiNk/s320/tillicumvillage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W31kVxov0Xo/TdB6IerFJEI/AAAAAAAAANw/dZGRcK9Lx7I/s1600/villagesign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W31kVxov0Xo/TdB6IerFJEI/AAAAAAAAANw/dZGRcK9Lx7I/s200/villagesign.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Tillicum Village on Blake Island in the middle of Puget Sound isn't a real Indian Village, it's more of a reenactment of an Indian Village. Tillicum isn't a tribe, apparently it means "Welcome" in one of the tribal languages in the area. It is, however, a very popular destination that employs a number of Native Americans and does a thriving business on the Native-owned island.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sr70VuVyPPg/TdQsUmF77AI/AAAAAAAAAPU/h619aLGymMY/s1600/seattle+skyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sr70VuVyPPg/TdQsUmF77AI/AAAAAAAAAPU/h619aLGymMY/s200/seattle+skyline.jpg" width="171" /></a>To get there, you hop aboard an Argosy Cruise boat in Seattle at Pier 55. The boat cruises the waterfront with your native guide for a short tour, then heads across Elliott Bay.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CQ9eePODUtA/TdQqQr6ByVI/AAAAAAAAAPA/t2c17ZNde_0/s1600/blanket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CQ9eePODUtA/TdQqQr6ByVI/AAAAAAAAAPA/t2c17ZNde_0/s200/blanket.jpg" width="111" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-48fe-TAD5fU/TdQqU0mdmoI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/sdvGi2kQSHY/s1600/welcome+song.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-48fe-TAD5fU/TdQqU0mdmoI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/sdvGi2kQSHY/s200/welcome+song.jpg" width="150" /></a>When you arrive on the forested island, there is a fire burning to show you the way, plus a welcome song-and-drum serenade on the beach where you are served a steaming cup of clam nectar. You pick the tiny rock clams from the nectar, slurp them from their shells, then toss the shells onto the path where they are crushed underfoot forming a crunchy trail to the longhouse.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F0fFpnVUFXA/TdB57oJ7KPI/AAAAAAAAANo/9OE6M3s5fXQ/s1600/aldersalmon4-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F0fFpnVUFXA/TdB57oJ7KPI/AAAAAAAAANo/9OE6M3s5fXQ/s200/aldersalmon4-10.jpg" width="200" /></a>In the lodge you can watch your salmon cooking over the alder wood fire. Eventually the doors to the dining room open and after following a circuitous route through the gift shop, of course, you are treated to a fabulous buffet of bread, salads, seasonal roasted vegies - including fire-roasted corn, and the salmon you watched cooking earlier. Dessert is a fruit cobbler made with local berries. In keeping with native tribal customs, you eat in a longhouse-shaped building sharing your table with other guests, but that's where any similarity to an actual Native feast ends. Tables are set with linen cloths and very nice dinnerware, stemmed wine glasses and candles.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WUW_z-FDHFI/TdQqSzTtyaI/AAAAAAAAAPI/RwLxLxFp6jA/s1600/mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WUW_z-FDHFI/TdQqSzTtyaI/AAAAAAAAAPI/RwLxLxFp6jA/s200/mask.jpg" width="115" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Odp4JcKJp7g/TdQqTjyvRGI/AAAAAAAAAPM/Bzhc98eQZVM/s1600/stage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Odp4JcKJp7g/TdQqTjyvRGI/AAAAAAAAAPM/Bzhc98eQZVM/s200/stage.jpg" width="200" /></a> There is a professional caliber stage show that is more "Disney" than "Indian", but it's enjoyable for what it is. And, again, it employs a number of Native kids who seem to be enjoying their job. When the show is over, you will have a brief opportunity to wander around the island before your boat whisks you back to civilization as the sun sets. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ARzuOeIpBzE/TdQqPsMwhjI/AAAAAAAAAO8/p7Zy2LN4JwE/s1600/blakeislandsign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ARzuOeIpBzE/TdQqPsMwhjI/AAAAAAAAAO8/p7Zy2LN4JwE/s200/blakeislandsign.jpg" width="148" /></a>While some locals might view the whole thing as a bit touristy, it's a Must-Do for visitors to Seattle and a great way to entertain out-of-town guests. Plus it's nice to have a classy, Native American revenue-producing venue that does not involve slot machines and blackjack tables! Tillicum Village is a much more organic experience. I'm not advertising it, but you can check out their website if you are interested in seeing it yourself - <a href="http://www.tillicumvillage.com/">http://www.tillicumvillage.com/</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-20959372214747111382011-05-25T10:25:00.000-07:002011-05-25T10:42:28.482-07:00Drink Limoncello - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MHqeJzzYghg/TdCN02259PI/AAAAAAAAAOE/Mk7Ybm8hCyg/s1600/lemoncello.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="23" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MHqeJzzYghg/TdCN02259PI/AAAAAAAAAOE/Mk7Ybm8hCyg/s320/lemoncello.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xsgKxGRfRyY/TdCN6gC-SVI/AAAAAAAAAOI/paENRgw1BO0/s1600/biglemonPOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xsgKxGRfRyY/TdCN6gC-SVI/AAAAAAAAAOI/paENRgw1BO0/s200/biglemonPOS.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1RVMqUEvyI/TdCOCvpsepI/AAAAAAAAAOY/E6E9hsNB3Tw/s1600/limoncelloSOR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1RVMqUEvyI/TdCOCvpsepI/AAAAAAAAAOY/E6E9hsNB3Tw/s200/limoncelloSOR.jpg" width="153" /></a> Limoncello is an intense lemon liqueur made famous on the fabulous Amalfi Coast where the millions of lemon trees supply a sufficient amount zest (the outer skin of the lemon) to keep the vats full. To ensure there is enough, they grow really fat lemons with lost of peel. Oddly enough, the fruit inside that giant lemon is about the same size an any normal lemon, it's just the rind that's big. There are dozen of different kinds of lemons and each Limoncello connoisseur has their favorite. Don't worry, the fruit doesn't go to waste, it is used to make the most amazing gelato and Italian ices - a sort of slushy/slurpy/snowcone. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5TW2QkuE84/TdmuU78KV1I/AAAAAAAAAPY/VJWbTQDubE0/s1600/orangesSOR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5TW2QkuE84/TdmuU78KV1I/AAAAAAAAAPY/VJWbTQDubE0/s200/orangesSOR.jpg" width="200" /></a>This orchard is in the heart of downtown Sorrento, a beautiful Italian resort town on the Amalfi Coast just across the Bay from Naples. The 300-yr-old lemon-orange-mandarin orchard is open to the public and you can wander through the 10-acre garden enveloped in the amazing fragrance.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d7MzzN-wgas/TdCOBZGNX-I/AAAAAAAAAOU/rOT-8c27n-s/s1600/lemontreesSOR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d7MzzN-wgas/TdCOBZGNX-I/AAAAAAAAAOU/rOT-8c27n-s/s200/lemontreesSOR.jpg" width="200" /></a>There is nothing quite like sipping tiny samples of the best Limoncello in the world right in the orchard where it grew. Although they are all referred to as Limoncello, there are lots of flavors; Lemon, Lime, Orange, Mandarin, Anise, Hazelnut, Licorice, Basil and more. I love Basil in cooking, but the thought of it as a liqueur didn't really appeal to me, until I tried a tiny sip and it is WONDERFUL! I think my favorite is the orange/lemon mix. <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8r0qVsvErN4/TdCN_pYoMuI/AAAAAAAAAOM/NHPeh8zJ0As/s1600/everythinglemonSOR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8r0qVsvErN4/TdCN_pYoMuI/AAAAAAAAAOM/NHPeh8zJ0As/s200/everythinglemonSOR.jpg" width="200" /></a>Local recipes are closely guarded family secrets, but the basics are this: Peel only the zest of the lemon, none of the white pith or your liqueur will be bitter (I use a potato peeler). Soak those peels in a potent, flavorless alcohol such as 100 proof vodka or Everclear. Let it soak for a few weeks, strain out the peels, then stir in a simple sugar syrup, cork it and let it sit for a few more weeks. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zXbP8EILjfM/TdCOAKjRGFI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/b7AKXCz4-eA/s1600/knobbylemonSOR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zXbP8EILjfM/TdCOAKjRGFI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/b7AKXCz4-eA/s200/knobbylemonSOR.jpg" width="200" /></a> Then put it in the freezer until it's slushy. Put your liqueur glasses in the freezer as well - everything has to be cold to be at its best. I've made several batches already and I'm not sure what happened, but they're gone! Time to start another batch.</div>Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-14532617888307993922011-05-20T20:36:00.000-07:002011-05-22T17:34:55.695-07:00Wear a Vintage Dress to a Party - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OwyYZVaTZNE/TdCAEm8taiI/AAAAAAAAAOA/BBUfN5Ok6vg/s1600/vintagedress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="19" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OwyYZVaTZNE/TdCAEm8taiI/AAAAAAAAAOA/BBUfN5Ok6vg/s320/vintagedress.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zTktLH9PRkA/TdB_9PRP7QI/AAAAAAAAAN8/Ql7heUYWK30/s1600/my+dress+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zTktLH9PRkA/TdB_9PRP7QI/AAAAAAAAAN8/Ql7heUYWK30/s200/my+dress+2.jpg" width="94" /></a><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wSdGDdDoLU4/TdB_2pZXKYI/AAAAAAAAAN0/7mdlWyStEEU/s1600/dress+and+fur+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wSdGDdDoLU4/TdB_2pZXKYI/AAAAAAAAAN0/7mdlWyStEEU/s200/dress+and+fur+2.jpg" width="98" /></a>I had always wanted to wear my vintage 1940 couture mink coat and muff somewhere. I had a great hat to go with it, but I just didn't have the right dress or shoes until a friend, Dawn C., loaned me something from her amazing collection of vintage wear. Trying on dozens of wonderful outfits from her closet was almost as much fun as the party I wore the outfit to. Sure the shoes were so uncomfortable that I ended up walking back to the car barefoot at the end of the evening and spent the next day nursing my bruised feet, but it was worth it. It was incredibly fun. I even drew lines up the backs of my calves to look like seamed stockings. <br />
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The occasion was Alaska Airlines' 75th anniversary party where guests were encouraged to wear attire from any one of Alaska's eight decades. I chose the 40's and even managed a rolled bun in a hair net hair style.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--sv408pr0B4/TdB_8MCj0GI/AAAAAAAAAN4/FahtfDJWxVc/s1600/me+and+red+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--sv408pr0B4/TdB_8MCj0GI/AAAAAAAAAN4/FahtfDJWxVc/s200/me+and+red+lady.jpg" width="200" /></a>The lady in red was the grand prize winner of the costume contest and she deserved it, everything about her outfit right down to the hat, pearls, and glasses were picture perfect for a matron in the 1950's. Everyone was so into it, the outfits were incredible. Here's a few of the classics.</div><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1JR7CKyO04Q/TdQd4xyi-mI/AAAAAAAAAO0/FvENLIp20C8/s1600/luci+%2526+john.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1JR7CKyO04Q/TdQd4xyi-mI/AAAAAAAAAO0/FvENLIp20C8/s200/luci+%2526+john.jpg" width="114" /></a>My buddy Luci and her ever-so-good-sport date, John, completely destroyed any chance of a "come-back" for the disco era with a blue polyester double-knit leisurewear on him and God-only-knows what she's wearing! John saw her in this outfit and later married her anyway - that's true love! These are two of the funnest and funniest people I know.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">Cheryl and her pals rocked the 70's Motown look.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N3r0Vo7JonM/TdQd2rSL5MI/AAAAAAAAAOs/z2GGO6QixVg/s1600/cheryl+%2526+friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N3r0Vo7JonM/TdQd2rSL5MI/AAAAAAAAAOs/z2GGO6QixVg/s200/cheryl+%2526+friends.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wde_uNNOktQ/TdQd3wt7PcI/AAAAAAAAAOw/q2uYRd0zSAY/s1600/faye+%2526+dennis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wde_uNNOktQ/TdQd3wt7PcI/AAAAAAAAAOw/q2uYRd0zSAY/s200/faye+%2526+dennis.jpg" width="193" /></a> Elegant friends Denise and Fay time-traveled from the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers era. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PLFSYxgU-3s/TdQd5sQUktI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ztAeuxPy6SA/s1600/sonny+%2526+cher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PLFSYxgU-3s/TdQd5sQUktI/AAAAAAAAAO4/ztAeuxPy6SA/s200/sonny+%2526+cher.jpg" width="113" /></a></div><br />
Anna and her husband brought Sonny and Cher to a whole new level (I'm not saying raised or lowered, just a NEW level!) There were hundreds of amazing outfits that I didn't get pictures of, much to my regret.<br />
<br />
Why doesn't the world encourage grown-ups to play dress up more often? I think it would be a kinder, gentler - and very fun - world if we did. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-78420405518078867732011-05-15T17:56:00.000-07:002011-05-15T20:12:19.403-07:00Fancy Dinner with Wine Pairings - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M9M236v1cjw/Tb9ijZeZpVI/AAAAAAAAAMk/wxhIf2ro6sk/s1600/multicoursedinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="24" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M9M236v1cjw/Tb9ijZeZpVI/AAAAAAAAAMk/wxhIf2ro6sk/s320/multicoursedinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We were on a mission to find my grandmother's village deep in the hill country of the Appenine Mountains in Central Italy. We just needed a place to spend the night, and Perbacco in the village of Sant'Angelo Limosano, population 400, was the only one mentioned on the internet. We booked it, expecting a simple bed and, hopefully, a simple meal somewhere in town, but what we found in this ancient village was a meal like no meal we have eaten before or since.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CVRN2SVcq4g/TdCVUMcTPdI/AAAAAAAAAOo/Q9LjJnVRHhU/s1600/wineguySAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CVRN2SVcq4g/TdCVUMcTPdI/AAAAAAAAAOo/Q9LjJnVRHhU/s200/wineguySAL.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mn_AHSO5Eq4/Tb9jw0AgV0I/AAAAAAAAAM4/dAMNQLOfB6s/s1600/perbdiningleftSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mn_AHSO5Eq4/Tb9jw0AgV0I/AAAAAAAAAM4/dAMNQLOfB6s/s200/perbdiningleftSAL.jpg" width="149" /></a>The <i>albergo</i> (Italian for small hotel) has only 5 rooms in the top floors of a 400-year-old barn. The original stable area is now a restaurant with optimistic seating for 30. You will need a GPS, a smattering of Italian and lots of patience to find the place, fortunately, we had all three. The hotel's restaurant was closed to the public the night we were there as the owner was hosting a private party, but he quickly added us to the invite list. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PdmXrezhTu4/TdCVRZsN3fI/AAAAAAAAAOc/fIpykobm2po/s1600/stacyperbSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PdmXrezhTu4/TdCVRZsN3fI/AAAAAAAAAOc/fIpykobm2po/s200/stacyperbSAL.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R4gDunPX1Ac/TdCVTI_Si7I/AAAAAAAAAOk/h6JQcPF-SoE/s1600/winegroupSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R4gDunPX1Ac/TdCVTI_Si7I/AAAAAAAAAOk/h6JQcPF-SoE/s200/winegroupSAL.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dCF-nHTHu5Q/Tb9is5d4ZSI/AAAAAAAAAMo/EWJUzqaYZ-A/s1600/antipastoSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dCF-nHTHu5Q/Tb9is5d4ZSI/AAAAAAAAAMo/EWJUzqaYZ-A/s200/antipastoSAL.jpg" width="145" /></a> Twenty-plus partiers, all members of a wine-tasting class conducted over the last three months gathered to celebrate the completion of their studies. They were restaurant owners, celebrated chefs, magazine food and wine writers, and newspaper restaurant reviewers - and they traveled from as far away as Naples, Campobasso, Pescara, Termoli, and Rome to celebrate their new-found knowledge of wine with a fabulous dinner and, what else, more wine!<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c_rc6GfKMaA/Tb9ivrDJMSI/AAAAAAAAAM0/yMjvexcWVy0/s1600/pastaSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c_rc6GfKMaA/Tb9ivrDJMSI/AAAAAAAAAM0/yMjvexcWVy0/s200/pastaSAL.jpg" width="147" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UqFX1iUYcuM/Tb9iuQ_ujOI/AAAAAAAAAMw/cKm5WiUS-VM/s1600/meatdishSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UqFX1iUYcuM/Tb9iuQ_ujOI/AAAAAAAAAMw/cKm5WiUS-VM/s200/meatdishSAL.jpg" width="162" /></a>The evening started with tiny handmade crackers hot from the oven with a bubbly Prosecco-style apperatif. Dinner started at 8:00 with an antipasto plate followed by two separate appetizer plates, each with a different wine, of course. Next the Primo Piatto (first - or pasta - course), a creamy pasta dish paired with a mild rose'. Rich reds followed for the Secondo Piatto (second - or main - course)- thin strips of tenderloin in a rich, beefy/onion wine sauce nestled next to a shell formed from a paper-thin slice of bread and accompanied by potato strips that may look like "french fries" but put the term to shame.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JYfq_Vl6fsg/Tb9itvzG8RI/AAAAAAAAAMs/uOX4uJZrz-g/s1600/champagneSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JYfq_Vl6fsg/Tb9itvzG8RI/AAAAAAAAAMs/uOX4uJZrz-g/s200/champagneSAL.jpg" width="146" /></a>Dessert followed with sweet port-style wine, then our pallet was cleansed with another sparkling wine... the kicker to all of this was that those pouring the wine spoke very little English and we didn't speak enough Italian to understand a thing about what we were drinking. Those pouring did understand that we liked it, so they kept it coming. It was a happy relationship! Our "Tasting" sample glasses were refilled over and over. Wine far outside my normal price range (most were in the $100+ price range) was flowing like water, and no one at our table could say no, it was just too delicious. The party was still going strong when we struggled off to bed after midnight.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-etDySII69AI/TdCVSN3qqhI/AAAAAAAAAOg/9Jfwv7-mqQA/s1600/tomuchwineSAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-etDySII69AI/TdCVSN3qqhI/AAAAAAAAAOg/9Jfwv7-mqQA/s200/tomuchwineSAL.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The next morning as we attempted to pay our bill, our host scratched his head with uncertainty. We hadn't actually been restaurant patrons, we didn't peruse a menu and select our meal - we had been party guests. He apologetically charged us 25 Euro.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-19081732444836546412011-05-08T18:56:00.000-07:002011-05-08T18:56:20.138-07:00Get Caribbean Cornrow Braids - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RhNrZ_yfnys/TcRCjF9VWPI/AAAAAAAAANU/aWH-Ulp-BYg/s1600/cornrowbraids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="27" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RhNrZ_yfnys/TcRCjF9VWPI/AAAAAAAAANU/aWH-Ulp-BYg/s320/cornrowbraids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cornrow Braids: Bo Derek had them in the iconic movie "10". She looked interesting in them, but with that one possible exception, white women are just not meant to have cornrows. Their pink flesh peeking out between the rows is just not right. Traveling through the Caribbean, it seemed that my long hair served as an open invitation to every hair-braiding street hawker in the islands. "Braid your hair, Missy? Make you look beautiful." (It should be noted that if your hair is already braided, the sales pitch changes to "Braid your hair? Do GOOD job for you, half price.") I resisted. Hubby was not as strong. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pTmAWcSWOS0/TcRE4FWV06I/AAAAAAAAANc/DxS4FLqtjDE/s1600/panarama+Bahamas2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pTmAWcSWOS0/TcRE4FWV06I/AAAAAAAAANc/DxS4FLqtjDE/s320/panarama+Bahamas2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We spent one lazy afternoon on the beach of this cruiseline owned atoll sipping tropical drinks in the sun until bad ideas seemed plausible. Hubby impulsively handed a wad of bills to a wall-eyed woman with a bucket o' beads, pointed to me and said, "Here's your next customer." She snatched the money out of his hands and quickly sat me on her overturned milk crate - not all that comfortable when you have a slight sunburn on your backside. But as she sliced my scalp with her rat-tail comb, I discovered that reflexology really works. I was no longer aware of the plastic grid biting into my bum!<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both;">She handed me the bucket of plastic blobs and said, "Pick da beads you want." I started selecting some subtle colors, and she said, "Not dat one... not dat one. No, not dat one..." later when I looked in the mirror at the vibrant collection of hot pink and lime green beads woven into my hair I said, "Wow, that's really bright..." she said, "T'is, but dat's what you pick." </div><div class="" style="clear: both;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gTkq2xur2JY/TcRJenuJ5xI/AAAAAAAAANg/RzAjUlGKbyo/s1600/Cornrows+braiding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gTkq2xur2JY/TcRJenuJ5xI/AAAAAAAAANg/RzAjUlGKbyo/s200/Cornrows+braiding.jpg" width="118" /></a><br />
As we got started, I asked her how long it would take, she replied, "Depends how many questions you got." Where did that sweet smiling salesgirl go? As soon as she had our money, she turned into the mistress of torture - slicing and yanking. If I complained, she dropped the strand of hair and said, "Now I start over." Well, you don't have to tell me twice - well, maybe twice, but certainly no more than that! I shut up. I have to mention, during the entire time she was braiding my hair, I don't believe she looked at me even once. She braided while yelling at her kids, dogs, friends, ex-boyfriends, people who owed her money - although I think that might have been the same as the ex-boyfriend - and then sweetly cajoling her future victims. <br />
<br />
The experience proved useful on two fronts. One - I could see what a good facelift would do for me, the braids were pulled so tight my eyes wouldn't shut. Two - I understood Bo's seductively slow movements in the movie - it was to keep the beads from whipping around and putting out an eye!</div><div class="" style="clear: both;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Like almost everything on my list, I'm glad I did it, but I'm in no hurry for a repeat. I'm practicing my "steely-eyed stare" in case I'm ever back in the Caribbean facing the street braiders again - or maybe I'll just shave my head.</div>Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-77280233729692949602011-05-05T19:24:00.000-07:002011-05-05T19:34:30.878-07:00Kiss the Blarney Stone - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fYrWk8JtGEI/TcCVJVUWbFI/AAAAAAAAANE/XZSoLhWlrd8/s1600/blarneystone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fYrWk8JtGEI/TcCVJVUWbFI/AAAAAAAAANE/XZSoLhWlrd8/s320/blarneystone.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Yes, kissing the Blarney Stone is totally touristy, but if you are standing next to the famed slab of bluestone high in the tower at Blarney Castle and someone says, "Would like to kiss it and be given the gift of gab?" I dare you to say, "No, that's too passe' for this worldly traveler." You'd do it, you know you would. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pNEFRIsQYuw/TcNaDZnJmfI/AAAAAAAAANM/RDF0uYOgEzg/s1600/blarney+stone+steve+kissing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pNEFRIsQYuw/TcNaDZnJmfI/AAAAAAAAANM/RDF0uYOgEzg/s200/blarney+stone+steve+kissing.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>There is someone there to help you as you lay backwards and lean your shoulders and head out over a open expanse over 90 feet above the ground and stretch your pucker to place your lips where millions of germy lips have been before you. (The photo here is hubby, my photo was mostly me clawing at the guard's arm... I'm a bit phobic about heights... and germs!) Someone snaps your photos and is willing to charge you a lot of money for a copy... but since they aren't officially part of the Castle staff, they are just locals from Cork looking to pick up a bit of pocket change, they are pretty quiet about it. For a buck, they will take the picture with your camera instead of theirs. I expect they earn enough to pay for their pints at the Old Mill Pub just down the road a wee bit.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TE_I3qcd8gY/TcNaEZ1cyEI/AAAAAAAAANQ/dLSOewUDW-g/s1600/blarney+tower+garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TE_I3qcd8gY/TcNaEZ1cyEI/AAAAAAAAANQ/dLSOewUDW-g/s200/blarney+tower+garden.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-at1jXwyzvJ8/TcNaCTZjQvI/AAAAAAAAANI/xXRkA4Ez9yY/s1600/blarney+castle+rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-at1jXwyzvJ8/TcNaCTZjQvI/AAAAAAAAANI/xXRkA4Ez9yY/s200/blarney+castle+rose.jpg" width="151" /></a>The grounds surrounding the castle are beautiful and practically deserted when we were there. It was entirely possible to wander the grounds and the ancient stone buildings pretending you are the princess who lives there. Not that I, a responsible mature adult, would take to pretending I was royalty. I'm just saying it's possible to do that without people rushing to have you restrained and removed from the premises (as happens in other places!)<br />
<br />
I have no idea if I'm any gabbier than I was before, not sure if that is even possible, but it was certainly something to cross of The List.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-4274663115127386772011-04-30T11:30:00.000-07:002011-04-30T11:30:39.051-07:00March in a Parade - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7MuSdmeq6E/TbxTXiu4BnI/AAAAAAAAAMg/7SVGSLovUm0/s1600/parade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="34" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7MuSdmeq6E/TbxTXiu4BnI/AAAAAAAAAMg/7SVGSLovUm0/s320/parade.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It always seemed like so much fun to be in a parade, at least it looks like it when you are standing on the sidelines. The colorful floats, throwing candy to kids lining the route, the music, balloons, clowns, funny cars, fire engines, marching bands; it's just all so exciting and every minute there is something new - unless you happen to be IN the parade! <br />
<br />
When you are one of the entries IN the parade, you don't see anything but the entry in front of you. Like the old saying about sled dogs goes, "Unless you are the lead dog, the view never changes."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YUOPoHjmMOw/TbxTSuMRr1I/AAAAAAAAAMc/VDs_qkco08k/s1600/parade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YUOPoHjmMOw/TbxTSuMRr1I/AAAAAAAAAMc/VDs_qkco08k/s200/parade.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> We decided to enter our 4-H Obedience Dog club drill team in the local parade. Oh, the crowd loved us, a motley collection of mismatched dogs (Club Name = Muttley Crew), doing synchronized turns, sits and comes. It was really cute. The route was about 3 miles long, it was blistering hot on the asphalt and there was a group of horses in front of us that insisted on pooping every 100 feet. Sure they scooped it up, but the smell drove the dogs insane! At times we were more like a synchronized sniffing group. Directly in front of us was a marching band with a one-song repertoire. I'm no longer a Sousa fan! But it was memorable, that's for sure - just one of the many mis-adventures my friend and club co-leader and I got ourselves into during our Luci and Ethyl / Laverne and Shirley phase!Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-78029598685991496862011-04-21T20:19:00.000-07:002011-04-28T19:04:36.779-07:00Play Catch with a Dolphin - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7vuRT8fUb6U/TbDyTbWIBiI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/Qy_JJCh9hJw/s1600/dophinrideplaypet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="40" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7vuRT8fUb6U/TbDyTbWIBiI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/Qy_JJCh9hJw/s320/dophinrideplaypet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rM72zplbJ64/TbDyXDK30oI/AAAAAAAAAMU/8JBLSjeieQ8/s1600/dolphin+playing+ball1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rM72zplbJ64/TbDyXDK30oI/AAAAAAAAAMU/8JBLSjeieQ8/s200/dolphin+playing+ball1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I had two dolphin related items on my list, Ride a Dolphin and Pet a Dolphin. I've pet one, but never ridden one, but I did have a chance to play with one once. We were at an aquatic park in Florida and went to see the Dolphin Show. When we got to the pool, we discovered we had read the program wrong and the grandstand was empty. We stood at edge of the pool for a few minutes watching the trainers feeding one of the Dolphins, but the place was really quiet. We'd been walking around in the sun and it was cool and shady there, so we hung around a bit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oRNseYqwny0/TbDyYIi-MjI/AAAAAAAAAMY/3UyJau3wT_w/s1600/dolphin+playing+ball2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oRNseYqwny0/TbDyYIi-MjI/AAAAAAAAAMY/3UyJau3wT_w/s200/dolphin+playing+ball2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The trainers went inside and one of the Dolphins swam over to where we were standing and poked his head out of the water to look at us. It was cute and we laughed. He laughed back at us, then disappeared returning in a few seconds with a rubber ball balanced on his nose. He was putting on a show just for us. Then he gently tossed the ball right to me. I tried to catch it, but I missed and it fell back into the water. He tossed it again. When I missed the ball for the third time, he dove under the water, shot back to the surface and whacked the ball hard with his tail. It went tearing into the grandstand like a missile. I climbed the steps and retrieved the ball and tossed it back to him and we had a nice game of catch. We tossed the ball back and forth several times. But, if I missed it more than twice, I got the tail whack treatment that had me climbing the steps to retrieve the ball. He trained me really fast, I didn't miss after the second punishment!<br />
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It was an amazing moment standing there alone just tossing a ball around with a Dolphin much like I would do with our dog in the backyard. He looked at me, talked to me and played with me just for the fun of it. I had no fish or other rewards - we were just playing. It was one of those surreal moments that when we walked away we started to wonder, "Did that really happen?" Glad Steve was snapping photos! Unforgettable.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-84783685058381795172011-04-15T18:32:00.000-07:002011-04-15T18:37:21.067-07:00Make Pizelle - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-9rr0ydPvlUs/TYOlLI49wDI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/QbFACvUenjQ/s1600/pizelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="24" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-9rr0ydPvlUs/TYOlLI49wDI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/QbFACvUenjQ/s320/pizelle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Pizelle is an Italian, anise-flavored, waffle-patterned cookie. Nana, my Italian grandmother, always had a tin of these for us kids. When we got older and wanted to make them for our kids, we asked her for the recipe. Here is the recipe as given to my cousin:<br />
<br />
<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--5XI3-M2sbI/TYOk7DtEtdI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/6uvD0-Bg6EE/s1600/10-pizelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--5XI3-M2sbI/TYOk7DtEtdI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/6uvD0-Bg6EE/s200/10-pizelle.jpg" width="150" /></a><i>"Take all the eggs the chickens laid today.</i><br />
<i>Stir in enough flour that it isn't sticky.</i><br />
<i>Add some sugar until it's sweet enough.</i><br />
<i>Stir in some crushed Anise until it smells right.</i><br />
<i>Cook until they are done."</i><br />
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Sounds easy enough! My cousins Susie and Mary Lou worked with this until they got an actual recipe that comes close, although we all admit, it still isn't quite perfect yet, but no one can figure out how to get it exactly the way we remember. <br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eNlJoYvPPxA/Tad4rUkVoLI/AAAAAAAAAMI/JfmqCy9bjpo/s1600/pizelle+iron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eNlJoYvPPxA/Tad4rUkVoLI/AAAAAAAAAMI/JfmqCy9bjpo/s200/pizelle+iron.jpg" width="200" /></a>Cooking the Pizelle is a labor of love, for sure. You have to cook them one at a time over a burner or flame using an ancient, long-handled Pizelle Iron. These irons were made by blacksmiths with the center of the waffle iron bearing the initials of the owner on one side and the date the iron was made on the other. The waffle plates are attached to two, long, scissor-jointed handles to keep the baker far from the heat of the fire. My cousin has our family iron, but I stumbled across one at a flea market a couple decades ago, so we nibble someone else's initials. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yThho6HLdxI/TajxfhkDW9I/AAAAAAAAAMM/7ezrnYfOoGw/s1600/pizelle+dough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yThho6HLdxI/TajxfhkDW9I/AAAAAAAAAMM/7ezrnYfOoGw/s200/pizelle+dough.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
To cook, you form the "not sticky, sweet enough, anise scented" dough into finger-size logs, place one in the center of the iron, and clamp it closed to squish the dough into the crevices of the iron. Then hold it over a burner or gas flame for a couple minutes, flip it over and toast the other side "until it's done."<br />
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For those not raised with these hard, crunchy little treats, they have the same culinary appeal as a communion wafer - dry and sort of tasteless. But for those of us with happy childhood memories of nibbling off the rows, breaking them in half and eating the flat center first, of crunching an anise seed, and of pestering Nana until she opened the tin allowing that wonderful spicy-licorice smell to escape, Pizelle is our favorite cookie.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-63397589197672009362011-04-10T10:41:00.000-07:002011-05-08T18:49:20.599-07:00Ride on a Police Boat - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3dDo-OrciC4/TZvJTaLZUMI/AAAAAAAAAMA/RectW_DyqVY/s1600/policeboat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="27" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3dDo-OrciC4/TZvJTaLZUMI/AAAAAAAAAMA/RectW_DyqVY/s320/policeboat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MGM4eefO9lg/TZvMl8FcCkI/AAAAAAAAAME/kTmaVC12KgU/s1600/twodivers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MGM4eefO9lg/TZvMl8FcCkI/AAAAAAAAAME/kTmaVC12KgU/s200/twodivers.jpg" width="200" /></a>Not all Police Departments have boats, but if you have jurisdiction over a marine environment, it's a must. Our Police boat wasn't built for comfort. It was built for speed, maneuverability, and space for equipment. In addition to the normal Law Enforcement Officer gear, it also carries several members of the Police Dive Team and all of their gear. It gets crowded.<br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mATRcahrJ5Y/TZu9e9-ezOI/AAAAAAAAALo/pdxOJ0x55dM/s1600/police+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mATRcahrJ5Y/TZu9e9-ezOI/AAAAAAAAALo/pdxOJ0x55dM/s200/police+boat.jpg" width="178" /></a>Our little boat has some limited capabilities to squirt a bit of water on a fire, but only enough to hold it down until the fire boats can get there with their big water cannons (see blog "Ride on a Fire Boat" <a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://checkthediditbox.blogspot.com/2011/01/ride-on-fire-boat-and-truck-did-it.html%20">http://checkthediditbox.blogspot.com/2011/01/ride-on-fire-boat-and-truck-did-it.html </a>). Here we are on a summertime, Police Boat ride-along - oops, we seem to have gotten the wrong life vests - AMATEURS!<br />
<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZntpD1cPH_s/TZvC_hhY_gI/AAAAAAAAALw/kHtiDBju4vs/s1600/twopoliceboats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="115" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZntpD1cPH_s/TZvC_hhY_gI/AAAAAAAAALw/kHtiDBju4vs/s200/twopoliceboats.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-32U2RSR9DP0/TZvC8YKK9dI/AAAAAAAAALs/0UdT3ZYHYM0/s1600/posrccl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-32U2RSR9DP0/TZvC8YKK9dI/AAAAAAAAALs/0UdT3ZYHYM0/s200/posrccl.jpg" width="148" /></a><br />
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One of the primary duties for Harbor One is to provide a protective surveillance shield around the docks when the big cruise liners are in port to swap passengers headed to and from their Alaska cruises. Sometimes it looks like a little gnat buzzing around a hippo when you compare the PD boat to the cruise ships. <br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0nBUSzKCoLA/TZvIekjP8MI/AAAAAAAAAL8/gC-rejx4AHk/s1600/grainship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0nBUSzKCoLA/TZvIekjP8MI/AAAAAAAAAL8/gC-rejx4AHk/s200/grainship.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
The Boat Team also performs law enforcement duties on the water, helps with water searches, and provides protection for all the ships in port. <br />
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On the left is a grain ship being loaded.<br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yEviH9Dy_6s/TZvIeOK372I/AAAAAAAAAL4/uFwctAP41FE/s1600/cargoshipfromwater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="169" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yEviH9Dy_6s/TZvIeOK372I/AAAAAAAAAL4/uFwctAP41FE/s200/cargoshipfromwater.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
On the right one is the big (8400 TEU) ZIM Los Angeles container ship about to be off-loaded.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-18922367710533887412011-04-04T22:52:00.000-07:002011-04-06T17:56:31.906-07:00Visit Transylvania at Halloween - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tcZwgEh1lV8/TY6q7i6CxAI/AAAAAAAAALI/rt1NhPaziTE/s1600/transylvania.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="25" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tcZwgEh1lV8/TY6q7i6CxAI/AAAAAAAAALI/rt1NhPaziTE/s320/transylvania.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-m0NEhSlI7uw/TY6puBbJSkI/AAAAAAAAAK4/KIHn9sxdfig/s1600/castle+bran.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-m0NEhSlI7uw/TY6puBbJSkI/AAAAAAAAAK4/KIHn9sxdfig/s200/castle+bran.jpg" width="137" /></a><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7cbE8q9Ke9k/TY6pqscG1tI/AAAAAAAAAKw/LHyayNVJtrU/s1600/castle+bran+silouette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7cbE8q9Ke9k/TY6pqscG1tI/AAAAAAAAAKw/LHyayNVJtrU/s200/castle+bran+silouette.jpg" width="145" /></a></div> I didn't plan it that way, but our trip through Romania landed us in Transylvania on October 31st at the legendary castle of Dracula. That is an unbeatable combination, one I couldn't even have envisioned for my list. I suspect, if I had tried to plan such a trip, it wouldn't have happened, it's just too improbable. <br />
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Of course, Dracula is a figment of Hollywood's imagination. No one in Romania knew anything about vampires or Dracula, in fact, although the castle is a museum, it was closed to visitors that day, no reason, it just was. Our guide pleaded with the caretaker, even offered him a bribe, but it was no use - the museum wasn't open.<br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-obPl5GAuvOA/TY6yMHPKNPI/AAAAAAAAALY/annK3-Tv1p8/s1600/castle+bran2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-obPl5GAuvOA/TY6yMHPKNPI/AAAAAAAAALY/annK3-Tv1p8/s200/castle+bran2.jpg" width="151" /></a><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hq-O-PIuuPM/TY6yIy8I82I/AAAAAAAAALQ/TN1CjkFwQPQ/s1600/castle+bran+entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hq-O-PIuuPM/TY6yIy8I82I/AAAAAAAAALQ/TN1CjkFwQPQ/s200/castle+bran+entrance.jpg" width="153" /></a> Today you can book Vampire Tours, but in '94, no one had thought of it yet. The castle was where a real-life ruler of Transylvania, Vlad Drakul, was temporarily imprisoned. Vlad didn't think too highly of the Ottomans and worked to stop their expansion into his homeland in the 1400's. After his death, he was renamed Vlad Tepes, which translates to Vlad the Impaler because of a rather nasty habit he had of skewering his enemies on long poles and displaying them along the route into town to discourage future invaders. Seems pretty effective to me!<br />
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We visited Romania in 1994, less than five years after their dictator, Nicolae Ceausescu, was overthrown and executed on live TV. It seems this part of the world has a long and bloody history of deposing and disposing of their leaders.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qsdMBg9znKY/TY6x_3X9kHI/AAAAAAAAALM/rXWd3xGWIDg/s1600/oxen+haycart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qsdMBg9znKY/TY6x_3X9kHI/AAAAAAAAALM/rXWd3xGWIDg/s200/oxen+haycart.jpg" width="178" /></a><br />
<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-hat_Pxb3TYI/TY6qeUXlSlI/AAAAAAAAALE/AgTt6vacmQY/s1600/ponycart2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-hat_Pxb3TYI/TY6qeUXlSlI/AAAAAAAAALE/AgTt6vacmQY/s200/ponycart2.jpg" width="200" /></a>Transylvania is located in the Carpathian Mountains and is a really beautiful part of the world. Although it has moved quickly into the modern era, when we were there, there were more animal powered vehicles on the roads than gas engines. Life in rural Transylvania was something out of an earlier century. Farming was all done by hand, grandmothers led the cows down the road to the pastures in the early mornings, and indoor plumbing was practically unheard of. Occasionally I could envision the peasants chasing Frankenstein through the forest with torches and pitchforks.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ssFCV642o8Q/TY6yK1kL3PI/AAAAAAAAALU/vrjeyry6yyI/s1600/castle+bran+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ssFCV642o8Q/TY6yK1kL3PI/AAAAAAAAALU/vrjeyry6yyI/s200/castle+bran+view.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>At the foot of the castle, local women were selling handmade sweaters and needlework-embellished linens. The yarn in the sweater was hand spun from local sheep and very rustic - it still had bits of moss in it. The sweater was beautiful, but I couldn't wear it without sneezing and itching. However, I still use the tablecloths I bought for less than $2 each. I was obliged to buy something from each of the 5 or 6 women selling in the square that day, just to be fair. Our guide said that my purchases would feed their families for a week.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-83542762053468065382011-03-30T19:03:00.000-07:002011-03-30T19:03:26.539-07:00Have a Greenhouse - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-I9O_OG1CLzY/TYa08C0FzsI/AAAAAAAAAKc/NMqHKoYUHNs/s1600/greenhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="21" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-I9O_OG1CLzY/TYa08C0FzsI/AAAAAAAAAKc/NMqHKoYUHNs/s320/greenhouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IRsIit3II9M/TZPgeEactWI/AAAAAAAAALk/NxLja0JcoJM/s1600/greenhouse+in+snow2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IRsIit3II9M/TZPgeEactWI/AAAAAAAAALk/NxLja0JcoJM/s200/greenhouse+in+snow2011.jpg" width="200" /></a>The ultimate gardening tool is the greenhouse. I love puttering around in mine in the late winter when it's cold outside, but inside is warm and humid. It feels like I'm visiting a jungle oasis. It smells like damp dirt and if I'm lucky, plants and seedlings are sprouting everywhere. I grow lettuce in there almost year-round. It is probably the most expensive lettuce ever eaten if you consider the cost of electricity to keep the place warm, but it is delicious.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-XO7zK5wyHqY/TYa1MT7ptGI/AAAAAAAAAKg/-h6mGhJ8eug/s1600/greenhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-XO7zK5wyHqY/TYa1MT7ptGI/AAAAAAAAAKg/-h6mGhJ8eug/s200/greenhouse.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--LNQP59VFKI/TYa1PK257MI/AAAAAAAAAKo/9CrPDXcLWYA/s1600/greenhousepots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--LNQP59VFKI/TYa1PK257MI/AAAAAAAAAKo/9CrPDXcLWYA/s200/greenhousepots.jpg" width="180" /></a>This year I started heirloom tomatoes and tri-colored cherry tomatoes, lemon cucumbers, basil, cilantro, dwarf dahlias, miniature zinnias, sunflowers, and cantaloupe. I try cantaloupe every year, but have never coaxed one to an edible state - not for lack of trying.<br />
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Miniature roses, begonia bulbs, and fuchsia baskets fill the rows of shelves along with containers filled with mixed plantings of colorful annuals. The large pots of basil are usually the last greenhouse resident to get moved outside, they love the heat and are not fond of cool evenings.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-HE4VRmLkACQ/TYa1ONhFhdI/AAAAAAAAAKk/MyFRHunQ2TY/s1600/greenhouseladybug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-HE4VRmLkACQ/TYa1ONhFhdI/AAAAAAAAAKk/MyFRHunQ2TY/s200/greenhouseladybug.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> Years ago I had a small business selling vegie seedlings at the local farmer's market. My greenhouse was called The Fern Factory. One day I got a letter from Publisher's Clearinghouse informing Ms. Fern Factory that she could be a winner. "Yes, Fern, you could be our next millionaire." It never happened for poor Fern!Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-10514411226755408732011-03-27T19:45:00.000-07:002011-03-27T19:45:25.651-07:00Hike a Glacier - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-KlH-dE01C1M/TYawAITWo0I/AAAAAAAAAKI/dztmBJ2d_A8/s1600/glacierhike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="16" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-KlH-dE01C1M/TYawAITWo0I/AAAAAAAAAKI/dztmBJ2d_A8/s320/glacierhike.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-iY3t7OerxXM/TYawRCEJ-OI/AAAAAAAAAKY/bzWiB-Mfzq4/s1600/meonglacier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-iY3t7OerxXM/TYawRCEJ-OI/AAAAAAAAAKY/bzWiB-Mfzq4/s200/meonglacier.jpg" width="146" /></a>There are professional glaciers and there are tourist glaciers. I'm going to pretend I was on a professional glacier worthy of National Geographic, but in truth Mendenhall is kind of a tourist glacier. It was a blast, nevertheless.</div><br />
At the heliport in Juneau, we geared up with arctic pants and coats, helmets, heavy boots with spikes in the toes, thick gloves and an ice axe/pick. Oh yeah, I was lookin' cool!<br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7d7NEVQCEX0/TYawKlfeeMI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/D3qzDpVjMcI/s1600/chopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7d7NEVQCEX0/TYawKlfeeMI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/D3qzDpVjMcI/s200/chopper.jpg" width="200" /></a>We rode the "hee-low to base" (helicopter to the flat landing spot) and struggled to figure out how to walk in this strange environment. It was a bit like marching in Herman Munster boots. The weather was sunny and gorgeous the day we were there. The white frozen surface of the glacier was dotted with bright blue pools. We learned how to side-step down the steep hills and dig the toe-picks into the hill on the way up. The ice axe became my best friend as it provided leverage, stability and a crutch. We jumped over a wide, gaping crevasse... okay, maybe it was only 12 inches wide or so, but it was slippery and you couldn't see to the bottom of the crack! <br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-uQg1OYb_z0I/TYawNzTgzCI/AAAAAAAAAKU/hRkwuCtEpms/s1600/glacierclimb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-uQg1OYb_z0I/TYawNzTgzCI/AAAAAAAAAKU/hRkwuCtEpms/s200/glacierclimb.jpg" width="200" /></a>I was trying to protect my new camera from too much banging around when hubby offered to carry it for me. He put it around his neck and promptly lost his footing and went sliding toward Lake Tidy-Bowl like a turtle on his back. In true amateur style, I reached out to grab him (he's 250#, I'm 110#). Fortunately, I missed or we would have both been headed for the drink. He managed to stop himself after about a 15-foot slide and well before he went over the ledge and into the lake. My camera has never forgiven us and the auto-focus motor still sticks sometimes.<br />
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At first I was disappointed that the excursion was only 4 hours long including the suit-up, safety training and helicopter ride, but 90-minutes on the ice was more than enough. We were spent. Thank goodness there was a well-stocked bar back on the cruise ship! There's nothing like a soak in the hot tub and a sour-apple martini to take the sting out of blisters, sore muscles, sunburn and frostbite.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-13445808305244850062011-03-24T18:52:00.000-07:002011-03-25T18:16:50.496-07:00Jump Down an Airplane Slide - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-YK_tovpN83E/TYamCNgbjWI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/3XxJHRtILCI/s1600/airplaneslide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="28" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-YK_tovpN83E/TYamCNgbjWI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/3XxJHRtILCI/s320/airplaneslide.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Commercial passenger airplanes have self-inflating emergency slides at each door. So if there is an emergency, the flight crew opens the "armed" doors, the slide inflates in seconds and the crew can quickly funnel people out of a burning aircraft to safety. Jumping down the slide can be intimidating - it's a long way down when viewed from inside the plane. For flight crews, the only way to be good at it is to practice jumping. You would be surprised how many potential Flight Attendants wash out of the training program when faced with jumping and they can't.<br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7ARKBYR-RVY/TYamOI79S1I/AAAAAAAAAKE/61J78bYIe-4/s1600/airplaneslide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7ARKBYR-RVY/TYamOI79S1I/AAAAAAAAAKE/61J78bYIe-4/s200/airplaneslide.jpg" width="151" /></a>I was a flight crew instructor in the early 2000's. As part of my training, I attended the FAA's Civil Aeromedical Institute (CAMI) in Oklahoma City. It was a rigorous week of emergency procedures Train-the-Trainers that included escaping from a dark, smoke-filled cabin and jumping down the slide. It also included water survival and exposure to<i> hypoxia </i>(lack of oxygen).<br />
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I was amazed at how fast the training cabin filled with pretend smoke - I LITERALLY could not see my hand in front of my face in seconds. We felt our way out of the plane to the door (those little floor lights really do work), and jumped, hoping the slide was there! Although it was a long way off the ground, it was a fast ride down, and for some, a hard landing.<br />
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Later in the week, we jumped in the pool wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, shoes and a bulky inflatable life vest. We had to work as a team to inflate an emergency raft and help each other climb aboard. Then we had to attach the foul-weather cover. As soon as we were in the raft with the canopy roof almost up, our instructors turned off the lights and began spinning the raft and making waves in the pool that tossed us around in the dark. Wherever the cover wasn't sealed tight, they sprayed ice cold water into the raft. It was a long 15-minute ride that was none too amusing! Later, while kept afloat with our life vest, we had to wrestle an "injured" person - also wearing a life vest - into a helicopter rescue basket that was winched to the ceiling, spinning all the way up - another ride that seemed like fun until you were in the basket!<br />
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The big day was the Decompression Chamber. We donned oxygen masks and began a series of experiments designed to acquaint us with the symptoms of oxygen deprivation. Our vital signs and reactions were carefully monitored for safety. Comfortably seated in the tank, we removed our masks and began performing a series of tasks. First there were math problems. I carefully added, subtracted and divided and came up with 0 for every equation (zero was not the correct answer, but I was very proud of my math skills!) At 60 seconds on the timer, I was asked to write my name. I got Kathleen just fine, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember my last name - something my husband of 25+ years wasn't too happy about! I kept thinking, "I should know this." At about the 75-second point my fingertips were tingling and tunnel-vision was setting in. It was time to put the mask back on and suck some O2. We were handed a painter's color wheel that had only black, white and grey colors. Watching the wheel as I breathed into my mask, it slowly changed to full color. It was like magic! Your brain cannot distinguish colors when deprived of oxygen. (Or, apparently, remember your married name!)<br />
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CAMI is an amazing facility. It gave me some incredible insights and stories to share with my students. And it was one of many trips I've taken down the emergency slide. It's so much fun, I can't get enough of it.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-20342369275415731252011-03-18T11:02:00.000-07:002011-04-11T14:05:17.342-07:00Go Skinny-Dipping - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-fIKgO4Dzt-s/TXfIOZu1JhI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/WfqdwnjCBHg/s1600/skinnydip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="25" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-fIKgO4Dzt-s/TXfIOZu1JhI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/WfqdwnjCBHg/s200/skinnydip.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>This is one of those things I probably wouldn't have done if it wasn't on the list. My best friend in school lived on a quiet suburban lake. On summer evenings after the sun went down, the lake seemed extra warm and inviting. We would sneak out and go for a swim in the moonlight sans bathing suits. Her mother disapproved and said that it was immoral for girls to be outdoors without clothing. So we went to the Goodwill and bought HATS! We foo-fooed our hats with elaborate decorations. Hers was a fedora with a cluster of red cherries and a polka dot bow. Mine was a wide-brimmed, Greta Garbo style picture-frame hat with a large fabric rose and a 15-inch long Ostrich plume (the Queen of England wishes she had a hat this cool!) I'm sure it won't surprise anyone to know I still have the hat!<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-CV9v6EP4cu0/TXfH5MWo1GI/AAAAAAAAAJM/VYN34mRO3ws/s1600/hat3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="101" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-CV9v6EP4cu0/TXfH5MWo1GI/AAAAAAAAAJM/VYN34mRO3ws/s200/hat3.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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We thought we were so brave and daring. Then one night a blinding spotlight caught us in its beam, pinning us in the water. A neighbor kid had discovered our little adventure and I guess was hoping for a better look. It got really cold stuck in the water for nearly an hour before he gave up and switched the light off. We couldn't yell at him for fear of attracting the attention of all of the neighbors, so we were stuck making threatening gestures in the spotlight - not very effective when you are also trying to remain submerged up to your neck. You know who you are, Tim K.!!!<br />
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My sister has a vacation spot on a secluded lake in Oregon. Guests there are known to take a suitless swim after dark (and after a couple jugs of homemade Yucka - stay tuned for more on the magic of Yucka in a later post!), but they no longer refer to it as "skinny dipping." These days they call it "chunky dunking" - for obvious reasons!Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-13720537585947247422011-03-13T16:12:00.000-07:002011-04-11T14:08:00.558-07:00Find Nana's Village in Italy - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-pqptxdVowvQ/TXpxJU7JqXI/AAAAAAAAAJU/jb-pZF2xpGU/s1600/grandparentsvillages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="20" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-pqptxdVowvQ/TXpxJU7JqXI/AAAAAAAAAJU/jb-pZF2xpGU/s200/grandparentsvillages.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>My Nana's (grandmother) family immigrated to the United States from a small village in eastern Italy when she was seven years old. She traveled across the width of Italy to the port city of Naples presumably in a animal powered cart as only well-to-do people owned automobiles in 1911. She rode steerage class across the Atlantic through Ellis Island where her beautiful Italian name Maria Giuseppina Iorio, was Americanized into Josephine Yorio. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-zOrvkDOx71E/TXpxd_wTUqI/AAAAAAAAAJo/zZjkZUSMa3U/s1600/morronedelsannio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-zOrvkDOx71E/TXpxd_wTUqI/AAAAAAAAAJo/zZjkZUSMa3U/s200/morronedelsannio.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Df_CwEH5-Vo/TXpxc68jvdI/AAAAAAAAAJk/L0dRL30PsVs/s1600/MDSsign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Df_CwEH5-Vo/TXpxc68jvdI/AAAAAAAAAJk/L0dRL30PsVs/s200/MDSsign.jpg" width="200" /></a>We traced her likely path from Naples, around the Appennine Mountains and into the hill country. Thank goodness for GPS, or we would never have found her remote village balanced on the top of an unnamed hill. The village had 1100 inhabitants when she left, today its population is just over 600. These rural hill villages are dying as so many young people leave for the excitement and jobs of the bigger cities. In spite of that, it was a charming tidy village. The church where my great-grandparents, Angelantonia Mastrogiacomo and Dominco Iorio, were married and where my grandmother and her sister were baptized, was closed due to damage from the 2009 L'Aquilla earthquake 100 miles away.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-jgG-sEQlxS0/TXpxfPy9_SI/AAAAAAAAAJs/fmoZHQ_Qq_c/s1600/nanasalley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-jgG-sEQlxS0/TXpxfPy9_SI/AAAAAAAAAJs/fmoZHQ_Qq_c/s200/nanasalley.jpg" width="140" /></a></div>We wandered through the quiet streets hoping to locate City Hall where we might find some information on her family. Along the way I photographed this narrow alley with several doorways opening onto it. I couldn't imagine how anyone could live in such a confined space.<br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-xgKnDcvFoqw/TXpxY4pUqoI/AAAAAAAAAJY/sD_-qyVd9Qs/s1600/birthrecordsMDS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-xgKnDcvFoqw/TXpxY4pUqoI/AAAAAAAAAJY/sD_-qyVd9Qs/s200/birthrecordsMDS.jpg" width="200" /></a> The wonderful people at the Municipal records office were very helpful. They found my grandmother's birth records which noted her home address. The gentleman, Tomaso, in the office guided us straight back to the location I had photographed an hour earlier. <br />
My grandmother's house was on that very alley. Of all the streets and alleys in the village, why was I so drawn to that one before I even knew it was my grandmother's house? I will always wonder about that.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Fxcd2zmkG9A/TXpxbuPqa3I/AAAAAAAAAJc/MgaAEOGspyY/s1600/kathyinalleyMDS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Fxcd2zmkG9A/TXpxbuPqa3I/AAAAAAAAAJc/MgaAEOGspyY/s200/kathyinalleyMDS.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I stood in the doorway of 3 Vica Arnaldo, and finally understood why Nana occasionally referred to me as "The Tall One," although at 5'-3" I would hardly be considered tall unless I was standing next to her. The house had two small rooms, one on top of the other. One door downstairs and one window upstairs were the only sources of light and ventilation. No wonder taking their chances on the unknown in America seemed like a better option - it couldn't be any worse.<br />
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The home had obviously been abandoned and locked up many years ago. A small hole in the door allowed us to poke a camera inside and blindly photograph the interior. It wasn't just that my grandmother lived there, it was that she and her younger sister were born in that room. <br />
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My dad actually said it best. After seeing the dozens of photos we brought back, he said, "It sure helps to explain their lives over here."<br />
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Stay tuned for the story of finding my grandfather's village nearly destroyed by the L'Aquilla earthquake. See more photos on my Facebook page.Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-20575241325296462312011-03-08T20:49:00.000-08:002011-03-08T20:56:43.520-08:00Eat a Flaming Dessert - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-P12kIiw3DwU/TXWVRo7ru6I/AAAAAAAAAJA/zlJf8228qdE/s1600/cherriesjubilee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="28" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-P12kIiw3DwU/TXWVRo7ru6I/AAAAAAAAAJA/zlJf8228qdE/s320/cherriesjubilee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>What is it about lighting your dessert on fire that makes it so intriguing? My first experience with a flaming dessert was onboard our first cruise. It was one of those old-style cruiseliners where dinners were ridiculously formal. Someone at our table ordered Cherries Jubilee. It was a production worthy of Luci and Ethyl.<br />
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<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-oIdel57we1o/TXcF3ArsDXI/AAAAAAAAAJE/aVytlgRppls/s1600/chef+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-oIdel57we1o/TXcF3ArsDXI/AAAAAAAAAJE/aVytlgRppls/s320/chef+copy.jpg" width="112" /></a>First a tall, skinny solemn-faced gentleman wearing a tall skinny toque (chef's hat) goosestepped to our table. He looked down his long, skinny nose and gave a barely perceptible nod to us all. With his hat included, he looked to be about seven feet tall and maybe weighed about 120 pounds! Our waiter (seriously - greased back hair and a Boston Blacky pencil-thin mustache) in his white tuxedo followed immediately behind pushing a gleaming, stainless-steel cart. The chef stood and watched as the waiter assembled the plates and pans in a carefully choreographed production. I expected him to pull a rabbit out of his sleeve or something.<a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5xC1IunXR1c/TXcF5wkpghI/AAAAAAAAAJI/2g_FxSNGW_0/s1600/waiter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5xC1IunXR1c/TXcF5wkpghI/AAAAAAAAAJI/2g_FxSNGW_0/s200/waiter.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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The chef whisked some ingredients together then nodded to the waiter who produced a long, long, skinny match, turned the dial on the gas hotplate, struck the match a couple of times before it lit, then applied it to the burner. At which point we heard a muffled "Poof" and the entire cart was on fire, including the front of the waiter's white, quickly singeing, tuxedo. He turned off the gas, but to no avail. Apparently, there was a leak in the gas line and, judging by the flame pattern, gas had spilled all over the cart. The two of them pasted on strained, phony smiles and made a hasty but dignified retreat, pushing the flaming cart out of the dining room. The waiter kept patting at the flames on his jacket with a dinner napkin as they walked - not ran, from the room. They maintained their dignity the entire way out, but you could see a touch of panic in the waiter's eyes. The dining room had grown very quiet as everyone stopped eating and watched the spectacle.<br />
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About 15 minutes later, our waiter returned with a bandaid on his chin and a pristine white tux jacket about two sizes too big. He addressed the woman who ordered the cherries, "Madam, due to an unfortunate circumstance beyond our control, we will not be serving the Jubilee this evening. May I interest you in a Pineapple Upside Down Cake? (pronounced Pin - appleh). I got the giggles at that point, I just couldn't help it. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a bitly="BITLY_PROCESSED" href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RMLGTLuLe4w/TXWU64XT5wI/AAAAAAAAAI8/PO7heRFwj4o/s1600/bananasmatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RMLGTLuLe4w/TXWU64XT5wI/AAAAAAAAAI8/PO7heRFwj4o/s200/bananasmatch.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I finally got my flaming dessert a few years later in New Orleans where a frazzled, perspiring waiter whipped up Bananas Foster in a crowded and noisy Brennan Brothers restaurant on Bourbon Street. No pomp and circumstance here - the room temperature rose as orange flames leapt toward the ceiling. A huge bowl of ice cream and bananas soaked in rum was set in front of me still fully ablaze. I scooped out a spoonful still on fire! The waiter rolled his eyes and said, "Not yet." What fun.<br />
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Here's a photo of my attempt to make a flaming Bananas Foster at home. I couldn't get a really big flame on it, but it was delicious all the same! Anyway, why would I want to burn all of the alcohol out of the rum?Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-23169784131604063532011-03-03T08:35:00.000-08:002011-03-03T15:45:47.310-08:00Sew a Wedding Dress - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-byTpaCWVwmY/TWtJcn0ehgI/AAAAAAAAAIg/yzo-pOLM-9M/s1600/sewweddingdress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="33" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-byTpaCWVwmY/TWtJcn0ehgI/AAAAAAAAAIg/yzo-pOLM-9M/s320/sewweddingdress.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-mQbP83GDwlY/TWtJlckMlzI/AAAAAAAAAIk/rGxJkjZJ7YI/s1600/wedding2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-mQbP83GDwlY/TWtJlckMlzI/AAAAAAAAAIk/rGxJkjZJ7YI/s200/wedding2.jpg" width="125" /></a>Twice! First I sewed my daughter's dress. I had sewn theater costumes, and I had sewn her prom, homecoming, and beauty pageant gowns so she had a margin of faith in my abilities. The dress she wanted had a long train that was a single strip of fabric from her shoulder to the hem - I merged three different patterns to get the final design. We had to move all of the furniture out of the living room so I could lay out the fabric on the floor to cut it. It had 20 covered buttons up the back, an off-the-shoulder bodice covered in lace and tulle, and it had what my daughter referred to as the "butt bow" in the back. The project was not without a panic moment when the bodice didn't fit and I had to do a redesign or cut out a completely new dress. I solved the problem by adding a"V-shaped" insert to the back and making a Y of the covered buttons to hide the fact the insert was added later. It looked gorgeous and no one ever knew it wasn't designed that way. She was so beautiful in it, it still makes me cry to look at pictures. Her two little girls love the photos and truly believe their momma is a princess.<br />
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<a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-py9IWG50T2g/TWtJox6CrYI/AAAAAAAAAIo/ndo9wcdBqxA/s1600/tifdress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-py9IWG50T2g/TWtJox6CrYI/AAAAAAAAAIo/ndo9wcdBqxA/s200/tifdress.jpg" width="133" /></a>My second wedding dress was for my daughter-in-law to be. I'd never sewed anything for her before, so I have to give her a lot of credit for her confidence in her future mother-in-law. That took guts! I was really honored that she asked me. The dress was one-of-a-kind. It had a lace-up, bustier bodice trimmed with gold lame' and a gold lame' split skirt over the satin skirt. When it was done, the lame' wouldn't lay flat, so my sister and I spent a week sewing tiny beads and sequins in a border down the front and around the hem to give it enough weight to float just right.<br />
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<a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--STvxhgo0-E/TW0-2wffW0I/AAAAAAAAAIw/zht5CgTxNrU/s1600/myweddingdress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--STvxhgo0-E/TW0-2wffW0I/AAAAAAAAAIw/zht5CgTxNrU/s200/myweddingdress.jpg" width="128" /></a><br />
I come from a long line of wedding dress seamstresses and I'm including a couple of photos of our family heirloom gowns. The cream satin dress to the right was made by my grandmother for my mother and was also worn by my aunt, my sister and myself (that's me getting married at age 12 - okay, I was a bit older than that, but looking at the photo, I understand why everyone thought I was 12.) Family legend is that the lace on the edge of the veil was from my great-grandmother's petticoat, but that has never been confirmed. I'm pretty sure it's true because my grandmother was kind of embarrassed to talk about it. She was the Reuse-Recycling Queen before it became popular. The dress is carefully packed away waiting for one of our girls to wear it. <br />
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<a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Sb_E-VJK60U/TW_FKn5fxVI/AAAAAAAAAI4/75LM62EuHPk/s1600/grtgramweddingdress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Sb_E-VJK60U/TW_FKn5fxVI/AAAAAAAAAI4/75LM62EuHPk/s200/grtgramweddingdress.jpg" width="93" /></a>The navy blue one I'm modeling here was my great-grandmother's wedding dress worn in 1901. It was considered a traveling suit. The skirt is complete with horsehair lining, and the bodice is hand beaded with sequins and seed beads - she made it herself. It's a bit too big for me, we had to pin it up! The hat has an ostrich feather wrapped around the brim. The dress is in remarkable condition and could be worn today.<br />
<a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-tSkLNu-lODs/TW1KhzJ14_I/AAAAAAAAAI0/qgTNDUHWm8I/s1600/jenfairleywedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-tSkLNu-lODs/TW1KhzJ14_I/AAAAAAAAAI0/qgTNDUHWm8I/s200/jenfairleywedding.jpg" width="200" /></a>Here she is wearing it for her wedding portrait. She was a short, stout, no-nonsense woman! (Kinda looks like Great-Grandpa was related to Tom Seleck, doesn't it?!)Kathy Gleaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06186105512423102094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1162075042621215894.post-37126000779717587762011-02-27T22:43:00.000-08:002011-02-27T22:43:37.910-08:00Ride on a Submarine - DID IT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Xr022nydwB4/TWtC90aqf-I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/uNIqTc9z3mk/s1600/submarineride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="19" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Xr022nydwB4/TWtC90aqf-I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/uNIqTc9z3mk/s320/submarineride.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-2PIfPP65L1w/TWtDBrHCEmI/AAAAAAAAAIU/OLovoVHhVEI/s1600/depth-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-2PIfPP65L1w/TWtDBrHCEmI/AAAAAAAAAIU/OLovoVHhVEI/s200/depth-04.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">It was a recreational submarine - not a military one nor a Disneyland ride. This was on Grand Cayman Island. It was a real submarine and you can see by the depth gauge that we actually submerged. Once down there, we puttered around the reef and watched fish, some scuba divers, and a large turtle swim by. Everyone had a window seat. I am a bit claustrophic and the thought of being underwater in a tube made me very nervous, but I did it, eventually I relaxed and enjoyed it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_Kzxdvqrc2E/TWtDI0xc89I/AAAAAAAAAIY/xFDs0ERxUDE/s1600/submarine-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_Kzxdvqrc2E/TWtDI0xc89I/AAAAAAAAAIY/xFDs0ERxUDE/s200/submarine-04.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-0-vEezdFkiM/TWtDKMK1jpI/AAAAAAAAAIc/32e9GOWcSiM/s1600/underwater-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-0-vEezdFkiM/TWtDKMK1jpI/AAAAAAAAAIc/32e9GOWcSiM/s200/underwater-04.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Steve served onboard submarines in the US Navy and I had an opportunity to tour his sub when it came out of the yard and before it sailed for parts unknown. Even though it never submerged while I was aboard, I was still bothered by claustrophobia in the tight confines. His tours of duty lasted 3 months underwater without seeing dry land - well, actually without seeing anything but the inside of the sub. He did four tours while I waited onshore in Groton, Connecticut. He rated the recreational sub as little more than an amusement park ride, but it was enough for me to check it off my list.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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