Wordless Wednesday: Buildings with character

“Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say? As for everyone who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice, I will show you what they are like. They are like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built. But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete.”

I've never seen anything remotely like this.

Have you?

Basil Balsamic Pasta

A few days ago, I tried this recipe from the website "Meatless Monday". To give you a little background, I've been working on changing my lifestyle: eating healthier and exercising more. Neither of these things come naturally to me. Same goes for my husband, but a bit more so. The idea of having a meal where meat, fish, or seafood isn't a central feature is totally against his religion. But I decided that during this Lenten season, I would have "vegetarian Fridays". No meat. No fish. No seafood.


The question then becomes, is it possible to do this without winding up with no husband as well? And so I thought this recipe might be worth a try. I'll share it first "as is", directly from the website, and then add a few comments and suggestions that we found helpful based on our tastes. I think the recipe lends itself to some interpretation.

Basil Balsamic Pasta
 Corkscrew pasta is tossed together with spinach, reduced balsamic, and a healthy dose of fresh herbs. This recipe comes to us from Julieanna Hever, The Plant Based Dietician.

Serves 4

1 12-ounce package pasta, uncooked
1 1/2 cups fresh basil, chopped
1 Tbsp fresh oregano or 1 tsp dried oregano
1 Tbsp fresh rosemary or 1 tsp dried rosemary
A pinch salt
A few grindings black pepper
1/2 cup reduced balsamic vinegar *
2 cups fresh spinach, chopped

* Balsamic vinegar is sold pre-reduced in some grocery stores next in the oil and vinegar section, but is easy to make at home. Simply 1 cup balsamic vinegar in a pot and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. When vinegar boils reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for 2-4 minutes, or until the mixture has been reduced by half.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat. Add the dried pasta and begin cooking according to package directions.

Place basil, rosemary, reduced balsamic, salt and pepper in a large bowl.

When pasta is 1-2 minutes from being cooked add the spinach to the boiling water. Stir until just combined. Strain the pasta and spinach when the pasta is cooked to preference.

Pour the pasta and spinach into the bowl with the herb balsamic mixture. Stir until well combined and enjoy!

Now for a few comments...

First of all, for two of us, this was W-A-Y too much as it doesn't rewarm as well as I'd hope. So I'd suggest using a bit of math to ensure the number of servings comes closer to the number of people to be served.

I think there are a number of herbs that would be good in this. Next time, I may begin to experiment a bit. I think I'll also try to time the pasta and the balsamic reduction to finish at about the same time so the dish will remain hot longer. Also, next time I will add more spinach, because we love it. And maybe some sundried tomatoes? So many creative ways to vary this recipe, don't you think?

In addition, my husband sprinkled some mozzarella cheese on top of his serving, which he enjoyed.

I hope you'll enjoy it, too!

Daniel's Gloves

I received this in my inbox yesterday, and it touched my heart. I have no idea whether the story is true, but it's very meaningful to me. I hope you, too, will find meaning in its message.

 

I sat with two friends in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day.

As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, “I will work for food.” My heart sank.

I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car.

Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: “Don’t go back to the office until you’ve at least driven once more around the square.”

Then with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square’s third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the store front church, going through his sack.

I stopped and looked; feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town’s newest visitor.

“Looking for the pastor?” I asked.
“Not really,” he replied, “just resting.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“Oh, I ate something early this morning.”
“Would you like to have lunch with me?”
“Do you have some work I could do for you?”
“No work,” I replied “I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch.”
“Sure,” he replied with a smile.

As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions.

“Where you headed?”
“St.. Louis “
“Where you from?”
“Oh, all over; mostly Florida ..”
“How long you been walking?”
“Fourteen years,” came the reply.

I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, “Jesus is The Never Ending Story.”

Then Daniel’s story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He’d made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences.. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought.

He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God. “Nothing’s been the same since,” he said, “I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now.”

“Ever think of stopping?” I asked.

“Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me but God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That’s what’s in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads.”

I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: “What’s it like?”

“What?”

“To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?”

“Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn’t make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people’s concepts of other folks like me.”

My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused He turned to me and said, “Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I”ve prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in.”

I felt as if we were on holy ground. “Could you use another Bible?” I asked.

He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite. “I’ve read through it 14 times,” he said.

“I’m not sure we’ve got one of those, but let’s stop by our church and see” I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.

“Where are you headed from here?” I asked.

“Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon.”

“Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?”

“No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so tha’s where I’m going next.”

He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town-square where we’d met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.

“Would you sign my autograph book?” he asked. “I like to keep messages from folks I meet.”

I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, “I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you; Plans to give you a future and a hope.”

“Thanks, man,” he said. “I know we just met and we’re really just strangers, but I love you.”
“I know,” I said, “I love you, too.”

“The Lord is good!”
“Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?” I asked.
“A long time,” he replied

And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.. He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, “See you in the New Jerusalem .”

“I’ll be there!” was my reply.

He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, “When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?”

“You bet,” I shouted back, “God bless.”

“God bless.” And that was the last I saw of him.

Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them.... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them.

Then I remembered his words: “If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?”

Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. “See you in the New Jerusalem ,” he said. Yes, Daniel, I know I will...

“I shall pass this way but once.. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again.”

The butterfly

One day a small opening appeared on a cocoon. A man sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could go no further.

So the man decided to help the butterfly, he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings.

The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time. Neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings.

It never was able to fly.

What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.

Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If God allowed us to go through our life without any obstacles, it would cripple us.

We would not be as strong as what we could have been. We could never fly.

I asked for strength......... And God gave me difficulties to make me

strong.

I asked for wisdom......... And God gave me problems to solve.

I asked for prosperity......... And God gave me a brain and brawn to work.

I asked for courage......... And God gave me danger to overcome.

I asked for love......... And God gave me troubled people to help.

I asked for favors......... And God gave me opportunities.

I received nothing I wanted-- I received everything I needed

Wordless (almost) Wednesday... again!

The last island we visited on our cruise was Aruba... "one happy island". It was truly beautiful!

Such talent!

Sometimes I can barely walk and chew gum without demonstrating my lack of coordination. So this video amazes me.

Enjoy!

Another "course in miracles"

Yesterday in church, the sermon focused on forgiveness. Our priest talked about a few instances where forgiveness is, perhaps, easier for us to grant. When someone acknowledges the wrong they've done, it's much easier to be forgiving. When someone has made amends for the harm they've caused, it may make sense for us to forgive. When someone has been accepted just punishment for their wrongs, forgiveness may be possible.

But when someone has done nothing at all to merit forgiveness... that is a whole different matter.

As I listened, I was again struck by the the truth of a thought someone once expressed with far more eloquence than I ever could. I wish I could find the exact quote and credit its author. But the sense of it is this:

Most of us want mercy and forgiveness for ourselves. And for those who have wronged us, most of us want justice.

Jesus' incarnation was a miracle, and throughout his earthly life he performed many more. His willingness to undergo the pain and humiliation of crucifixion was a miracle, as was his resurrection.

But perhaps the greatest miracle of all is God's extravagant forgiveness... something that we can never deserve.

May we follow his example in performing the miracle of forgiveness!

Life IS good.

4 years ago, after 30 years working as a nurse at Duke University Health System, I decided to take early retirement. Health concerns of family members living in a different state influenced me, as I wound up being a caregiver in each instance. And the sudden unexpected death of my sister and a friend - both before their 50th birthdays - was another reason I made that decision. I wanted to live in a way that showed there were many options and opportunities outside of work.

I knew I'd have to work part-time to maintain my standard of living. But the part-time opportunities were somewhat erratic, meaning that sometimes I worked 40+ hours a week, and other times there were no shifts available. And things got more complicated when the economy tanked shortly after I retired.

Now that I am no longer needed as a caregiver for distant family members, I've decided to return to fulltime employment, doing something I truly love. I've returned to Duke as a nurse in the adult bone marrow transplant clinic.

Most of our patients have cancer that hasn't responded to conventional treatment, or which has returned with a vengeance after obtaining a remission. I'm estimating that at least 75% of the patients I care for are younger than I. These folks have young spouses, young kids, and a whole lifetime ahead of them.

Maybe.

 Many of them get into a lengthy or lifelong remission. And many don't. So friends have often said to me, "Don't you find your work to be depressing?" And I answer with a loud, resounding "No".

To see folks who are willing to undergo a truly tough treatment regimen in hopes of getting well is a profound reminder of how precious our lives really are. And to see these folks face uncertain futures with a sense of commitment and optimism is a tremendous inspiration. I've seen people who seem to be losing the battle continue to be selflessly supportive of other patients going through treatment.And I've seen caregivers who have put their lives on hold in order to be there for their friend or family member.

I've never worked in a place where there is so much laughter and so much love. And I've never worked in an environment that offers greater proof of the value and worth of the gift of life.

Treasure it, people.

We have been greatly blessed.

Competitive eating?

A few weeks ago, I went on a cruise with several gals from work. And if you've ever been on a cruise, you'll know that one thing you have the opportunity to do is to eat yourself stupid. Food is available 24/7, and the selections offered at regular mealtimes are a bit mind-boggling.

But if you really want to boggle your mind, read this article about a contest in which the objective is to cram as many chicken wings as possible down your gullet in 30 minutes.

The previous record was 255 wings which, to me, is astonishing. But this year's undisputed champion... a Japanese man named Takeru Kobayashi... downed 337 wings in a half-hour.

That statistic is really hard to swallow!

Not quite wordless in Curacao

For the past few weeks, I've been sharing photos of our cruise. The one place where we had bad weather, unfortunately, was Curacao... which was a shame, because I'd have loved to explore it further. But the clouds we saw as we approached the island didn't lie!

The one place where we were free of rain was when we were in the water with the dolphins at the aquarium. THAT'S when  the downpour decided to take a break!

And as we got ready to leave, the rainbow promised better weather to come:

Sewage for my sweetie?

According to news reports which you can read here and here, you can (if you wish) give your favorite valentine an unusual gift this year. You can give your darling a 2-hour tour of the Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant in Brooklyn, NY.

Just a word of advice for my husband: if you want to survive to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary in June, do NOT give me a tour of a sewage treatment facility for Valentines Day. If you dare, I may find another "off-label" use for Cupid's arrow.

Gazpacho

Filling, refreshing, low-cal, non-fat... What's not to like?

Ingredients
4 cups tomato juice
1 onion, minced
1 green bell pepper, minced
1 cucumber, chopped
2 cups chopped tomatoes
2 green onions, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon dried tarragon
1 teaspoon dried basil
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 teaspoon white sugar
Dash of cayenne (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions
In a blender or food processor, combine all ingredients and blend until well-combined but still slightly chunky. Chill at least 2 hours before serving.

The Room

I received this in my inbox the other day. I do not know if the story behind it is accurate. I can't confirm the name of the author. But this is worth reading.

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was What Heaven Was Like. "I wowed 'em, he later told his father, Bruce. It's a killer. It's the bomb It's the best thing I ever wrote."

It also was the last. Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of Heaven. Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teays Valley High School in Pickaway County .

Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them, notes from classmates and teachers, and his homework.

The Moore 's framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room.

"I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it", Mrs. Moore said of the essay.

She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. Here is Brian's essay entitled:

THE ROOM

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read Girls I Have Liked. I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named Friends was next to one marked Friends I Have Betrayed. The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. Books I Have Read, Lies I Have Told, Comfort I have Given, Jokes I Have Laughed At. Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: Things I've Yelled at My Brothers.

Others I couldn't laugh at: Things I Have Done in My Anger, Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.

I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked TV Shows I Have Watched, I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked Lustful Thoughts, I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me.

One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them! In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore People I Have Shared the Gospel With. The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.

I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was No, no, as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine.

It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

How to start a fight

One year I decided to buy my mother-in-law a cemetery plot as a Christmas gift...
 
The next  year, I didn't buy her a gift. When she asked me why, I replied,

"Well, you still haven't used the gift I bought you last year!"

And that's how the fight started.....

________________________________


My wife and I were watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire while we were in bed.
  
I turned to her and said, 'Do you want to have sex?'

'No,' she answered. I then said, 'Is that your final answer?'
 
She didn't even look at me this time, simply saying, 'Yes..'

So I said, "Then I'd like to phone a friend."

And that's when the fight started...

________________________________

 I took my wife to a restaurant. The waiter, for some reason, took my order first.

"I'll have  the rump steak, rare, please.."

He said,  "Aren't you worried about the mad cow?"

"Nah, she can order for herself."

And that's when the fight  started.....

         _______________________________

My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high  school reunion, and she kept staring at a  drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a nearby table. I asked her, "Do you know him?"

"Yes", she sighed, "He's my old boyfriend.  I understand he took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear he hasn't been sober since."

"My God!" I said, "Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?"

And then the fight started...

         ________________________________

When our lawn mower broke and wouldn't run, my wife kept hinting to me that I should get it fixed.  But, somehow I always had something else to take care of first, the shed, the boat, making beer.  Always something more important to me. Finally she thought of a clever way to make her point.

When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. I watched silently for a short time and then went into the house. I was gone only a minute, and when I came out again I handed her a toothbrush. I said, "When you finish cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway."

The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a  limp.

         ______________________________

My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels. She asked, "What's on TV?"

I said, "Dust."

And then the fight started...

         ________________________________

Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, and slipped quietly into the garage.  I hooked up the boat up to the van and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the weather would be bad all day.

I went back into the house, quietly undressed, and slipped back into bed.  I cuddled up to my wife's back; now with a different anticipation, and whispered, "The weather out there is terrible."

My loving wife of 5 years replied, "And, can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?"

And that's how the fight started...

         _______________________________

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary. She said, "I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds."

I bought her a bathroom scale.

And then the fight started......

 

Little Boy Blue

When I was a little girl, my grandmother had a book of poetry that I loved to browse through. One of the poems I found there has stuck with me through the years. It's one of the simplest... and saddest... poems I've ever read.

Little Boy Blue
By Eugene Field

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
     But sturdy and staunch he stands,
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
     And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
     And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
     Kissed them and put them there.


"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
     "And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle bed,
     He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
     Awakened our Little Boy Blue -
Oh! The years are many, the years are long,
     But the little toy friends are true!


Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
     Each in the same old place -
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
     The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
     In the dust of the little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
     Since he kissed them and put them there.

Oh. My. God.

Is she for real???

Not quite wordless in the Dominican Republic

When our ship pulled up to the Dominican Republic, we were welcomed by dancers on the dock:

We then went to Altos de Chavon, which is stunningly beautiful.

We then went to downtown La Romano's street market. Tourists can't walk more than a few feet without someone stepping in front of them and trying to get them to buy something. I enjoyed Altos de Chavon FAR more!