The Kids' Edition

"Daddy loves Gavin and Rebekah and Mommy. Daddy loves his birthday. Daddy loves his son. Daddy loves his daughter." When asked what they wanted to have written on the blog today, the latter was their addition.

Tomorrow is Canada Day but, more importantly in our household, it is Jeff's birthday. Rebekah wants to make Daddy a giraffe cake and Gavin thinks he needs a map. (Since Jeff doesn't read my blogs I am pretty sure no surprise will be ruined! Unlike last year's "surprise birthday party" that I mass emailed to a list on which he was on...he claims a horrified look crossed my face when he arrived home from work to my sudden realization.)

"The doctor is closed," states Gavin definitively with regards to tomorrow (he has a sore throat and after spending the day with a friend who now has strep throat I warned him of a possible doctor's visit today). (He wanted to be sure the blog readers knew this info!)

We are off to gather more rocks from the farmer's pile and then to ready ourselves for a visit to my sister's (the kids and Jeff - I have a party up near her place tonight).

HAPPY CANADA/BIRTHDAY DAY!!!!

Today's Visitor

My mom rescued a dessert-plate-sized painter's turtle from the midpoint of a busy paved road this morning, and knowing our kids' adoration of any creature that moves (and many that don't, such as the egg-filled-belly and maggot-filled-head of the snapping turtle near Dad's firepit), she sent it home for a temporary viewing, before allowing tenancy in their pond. Having researched how much these turtles love sunbathing on wood her next project on the "Honey Do" list is relocation of old logs to pond edge.

Housed in a large Canada Post bin, with chewy new grass, a few small stones, and an inch of water, this brightly coloured terrapin (yes, a new entry into my vocabulary!) visited Gavin's class and many of our toddler-sized friends' homes. When asked his name I jokingly offered "Trapped" though even some of the adults looked momentarily confused before groaning. [Please let me clarify, for Trapped's agent, that the image above is not the turtle in question - and that hopefully none were harmed in the taking of the said photo.]

Catch-and-release occured later in the afternoon: rapid crawling from waterside to rock and then a speedy plunge into watery shallows and our little friend disappeared into murky-ness.

I understand that us "countryfolk" discuss animals quite frequently...perhaps the antics of "Dumb" and "Dumber" - cockatiels belonging to a Holsteinian - will be discussed one of these days. ("How can you tell which one is Dumb and which one is Dumber?" asked someone of the owner, as they peered at a wallet photo. "Well," she responded frankly with an almost-cackle, "The one we have still has got to be Dumb since the other one died!")

The only other "creature report" for today involves our cat, Addy, interrupting, as he followed Jeff and the kids on their walk (a usual dog-like habit of his), the lawn bowlers game as he streaked across the playing area(as in ran fast not as in naked, though tehnically without a collar I guess he was just that as well).

Rescues and streaking...our lives are undoubtedly filled with great excitement!?!

Purpose???

Purpose? What's my purpose?

I've been asking so many areas of my life: Why do I do it this way? How could we change it? Do we need to do it at all? I ask this of: unit meetings, church, placement of objects, do-ability of evening outings, habits...

"It's easy to say no when you've said yes to something better" I have read (and can't give proper credit to since I can't recall where I read/saw it), as well as "if it doesn't fit your purpose, why are you doing it?"

So why this blog? As I scan other blogs I uncover "themes": cooking, "free range kids" (an amazing treasure of a find http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/!), travel...although my title would indicate constructive reformation of me and my life, does it acually reflect that through/in my recordings? Originally an outlet for the writing I love to do...but this is purely selfish. It shouldn't be just for me. Audience - who is my audience? Or so they would ask in high school language class (and recently when I asked a friend to review a proposed speech I had penned, she asked that very question). Who is the audience? WHat do they want and how can you give it to them? My blog (and everything I do) needs a higher purpose...less OF me, less FOR me...


Too often the world, media, our culture makes it all about ME. How does it benefit ME? Serve yourself first and others second...moms need time for their own interests so they can "feed" and nurture spouse and children...figure YOURSELF out...make YOUR dreams come true.

Hooey!

When the focus is on me it is off of God. When it's on me it's off of others. And Jesus shared that the 2 greatest commandements are Love the Lord and Love your Neighbour as Yourself (Matthew 22:36-38).

So it shouldn't be about me me me...it's supposed to be about and for you, the reader. What can I do? How can I do this? Do I need a "theme"? Have I even figured out its purpose, my calling, or have I just rambled on some more?

Quote of the Day

At "The Mall"...quote of the day (though not voiced today as the person who shared this thought, the local mayor, is en route from Australia - but shared today by the afore-mentioned styrofoam cup farmer who used to actually pen ideas and quotes from the coffee club's gab sessions on to his faux "mugs"):

"'When poverty comes in the front door, love goes out the back door'"

Ever thought of yourself as a rock?

Anyone who has been in my kitchen and viewed, most likely in peripheral vision, the rocks lining the windowsill above our sink, or who has meandered into the depths of the basement and noticed the stones chunking up the gas fireplace mantel, is likely to guess my infinity, passion, and somewhat peculiar perhaps habit of bringing rocks from wherever I have traveled.

When I backpacked through Eastern Europe long ago - 6 weeks with a fellow teacher friend, after my first year of actually making money in the profession, he laughed continually at my penchant for eyeing up, and then tucking into backpack pockets, stones of various shades and sizes. "No wonder your pack is so heavy," he would sigh as though I was the most obscure individual he had ever met (and yet still he kindly, and gentleman-like, helped out whenever an attempt to squeeze my MEC hunchback through some skinny spot seemed impossible).



A stonemason living near Holstein who frequents the store whenever in need of conversation to go with his refreshment, deduces that humans have such almost-obsessive kinship (see, it's not just me!) with rocks because we are made up of the same trace minerals.

So, alas, the mystery of my "rockbed" in the front yard has been solved!? I need merely to lie down on top of them, rub my face amongst their crag-gy spots and feel at home...



While Rebekah napped (now an infrequent practice that seems only to occur when a vehicle and hot weather is involved), Gavin and I created the front step design below (thanks to mom and dad's woodpile, an old washtub once belonging to Jeff's great aunt, and hostas salvaged from the rental). Our front yard garden will have a forest-y theme, so I wanted something to fit in. As we were almost done, and placing stones beside the old washtub, Gavin introspectively eyed up our creation, looked over at me, back at the tub, and exuberantly said, "you know, Mom, it's not quite right...we need one more stone!" (the one on the far right). Ah, his mother's child!

It's raining, it's pouring: can I be the old man snoring???

Have I been so overwhelmed with it all that I have missed that many days of blogging? How negligent of me...do I apologize? Or would that seem egotistical in that I am assuming my oh-so-many fans can't live without my entries? Or do I just pretend I am sending these out to the universe of cyberspace...

Jeff is home for lunch, allowing some sanity time for me (much needed for some reason - does rain have that much negative power over me?) - all I hear are the chucking of bean bags and counting of points from the other room, brief squeel-y cheers and incessant "Daddy...Daddy...Daddy" as I imagine she pulls at his pant leg or shirt collar. Oops: there is the clomping sounds of toddler heads colliding and now the tears I can almost feel from here.

Construction of my front yard garden is on hold - the white-lidded engineers were about this morning staking, leaving me wondering if my new "burm" (or "bunker" as Jeff calls it) is about to be shredded by excavators. Did I just waste a lot of time and muscle? Alas...backyard gardens will now have to be the focus...which will be welcome relief to our family who, though enticed by the cow skulls at the rock pile, are fatiguing of the twice-daily chuck-stones-like-mad-and-pray-the-clunker-of-a-van-will-make-it-up-and-out-of-the-pit "adventure".

Hmmm...deep sigh. Goodbye moments of peace. Maybe I'll let the kids paint their own little mural on the living room walls???

Back to Holstein

“You know,” he said between sips from his styrofoam cup (because “it keeps warmer than one of those normal mugs” and so he dutifully writes his name on the cup and sets it aside, using it daily for a week or so), “it sure costs a lot these days to be dead.”

I couldn’t see him from where I stood behind the counter, having just scooped out 81 cents worth of penny candy for some acned tween who was trying desperately to calculate how many coins he had in his grimy paw.

I couldn’t even remember if this local coffee-drinking farmer, maybe ten years my senior, still had a wiry mustache that tickled that afore-mentioned Styrofoam cup each time he raised it to quietly slurp, or whether he’d shaved it off. Months ago, after he had joked about having cheek and chin stubble due to lack of finances available for purchase of a razor, some Mall regular had cockily placed a cup with a few "coppers" and a note attached stated, “money for the poor: help ______ buy a razor”

It costs a lot these days to be dead?

Intriguing… much like many of the conversations the morning “coffee club” regulars have off in the corner of this general store. A group of mainly men with impressive, usually sage, advice from all and any (even when not requested or desired), and the copious tales of delight, horror, sadness, humour, and life in general.

This talk of death and the cost of coffins, burial plots, death taxes (such a happy note at the day’s beginning!) lead into another fellow present’s sharing of his ongoing jocular threat to his very elderly father. “Careful what you say and do to us, Dad – or we’ll bury you on top of your dad and you’ll be there forever”. (Apparently he and his dad were in all-out war most of the time.)

UNfortunately I rarely hear more than a murmur, the odd comment audible between customer purchases, phone calls, morning routines. Not wishing to appear too nosy I only infrequently amble over to fill my own "mug of murk" (so some short order cooks call it? Uncle John's Bathroom Reader says it so it must be true...), though fascinating is usually an adjective that could be chosen to represent the coffee club's a.m. banter...

Monoculture

I have known for while about the evils of lawn (herbicides, insecticides, etc of course that were originally created to kill ALL lifeforms for war purposes, but also the vast amounts of water needed to keep these non-native plants alive and lush) and especially the evils of mowers that then murder the poor blades, spewing gas and sweat into the ozone. I have also spent many hours dreaming of what will fill my front yard once I have back-breakingly lacerated all evidence of grass. But I didn't know before reading Liz Primeau's intro on lawn history that WE have, by eliminating all types of plants/bushes/flowers other than grass, CREATED a monoculture (and therefore our very own problem). No longer does the ecosystem with multiple varieties of bugs feeding off of one another exist, meaning that certain bug levels get out-of-hand... With only grass and little else there is no "balance" and so certain types of insects, bugs, fungi greedily create their own nasty, destructive empires.

Yes, so guess what I did today? (And am already paying for shoulder-wise.) I'll have to take a pic of my half-shredded lawn. My loving husband has already brought back a load of rocks (our kids have become experts & adore chucking stones into the van's open back - not to mention uncovering millipedes and worms and, more frighteningly, cattle skulls, teeth intact).

The goals is FREE. Rocks from farmer field piles, bushes and perennials from others overloaded gardenscapes...there IS one "statue" I have my eye on (which is odd for me - a non-collector who rarely covets material items)but otherwise FREE free free....

And yes, this lawn commotion ("turf under construction") has me temporarily skipping the Holstein mini-series (suspended pro tem?)...

As Liz Primeau penned: "I realized I wanted to save the world. Then I realized I couldn't save the world, but I could change my own garden. Then I thought that maybe, just maybe, my neighbours and all their friends might take up the cause. Maybe, just maybe, we could weave together a network of poison-free, biodiverse, nature-friendly garden that would, in the end, make a difference. And this has become my quest." (p.24, Front Yard Gardens).

My "Letter of the Day"?

You know someone is an amazing friend and person when not only do they send you a letter, but they include a bag of tea for you to drink while reading it! (Written on May 28, 2001 – in an ongoing journal of a very transitional period of my life. Can I even recall who blessed me with such a letter and pekoe treat? Not exactly though I hazard a guess…a blonde dynamite of a friend, encountered in Kamloops during my Bachelor of Ed training?)

Traditional letter-writing has, unfortunately for many, disappeared. The physical unfolding of paper and excitement as you strain to see what has been happening in someone else’s life…I momentarily considered, “what would I write in a letter to someone at this point in my life?” and then it dawned on me, almost as though I was a 300 year old woman who had never before seen a dial phone let alone a computer keyboard, that letter writing is what I am doing this very second. Each time I press the “submit” button on the blog site my little ‘letter of the day’ has been created…

Campbell Cork, the History of Holstein’s editor, penned with great pride in its introduction: “No longer must all this information be stored in heads, attics, and photo albums”. I adore that deduction. And it wasn’t really all that long ago that “the people’s history” was even considered history at all. What happened behind closed doors, or in women’s quarters, worthy to be classified as history? My B.A. in Women’s Studies sure ingrained the switch of the anthropological take on history (or “herstory”) from political arena to private domain as fresh, genuine, and necessary.

So I am apt to assume that Holstein must be then of importance at this point in my life as it lingers (explodes? ha ha) into a "mini-series" in this blog...

What did you look like, Hols-a-Wood?

According to the History of Holstein 1850-1996 book (available at the General Store – from which the one situated beside my computer is currently on loan), settlement of Egremont farmland began in the early 1850s. Originally known as Hols-a-Wood, in 1905 Grey County designated this hamlet the “Police Village of Holstein” (an odd-sounding ring to that name?).

I often wonder about the appearance of this country originally – before the nestling instinct of westerners scratched a new template from the wilderness. I’ve observed the endless prairies (absolutely breathtaking normally and even more so when lightning storms hit) – were the trees in this part of Canada as endless as the prairies? Instead of golden wheat field after wheat field shimmering into the horizon did the forests seem to go on and on and on? Was it terrifying - manufacturing sentiments of disparagement and that almost belittling sense you feel when standing in a place like the Grand Canyon and realizing just how little, and unimportant, you really are? Or was it jaw-droppingly stunning – an environment to embrace despite its untamed ferocity?

What did Holstein really look like when Europeans arrived? What did it smell like? Wouldn’t a time machine come in handy? (Especially when your husband has no desire whatsoever to aid in your living-life-like-a-pioneer vision. No blame – toilets can be particularly and luxuriously helpful, as can running water, gas heat, and those funny things called automobiles.)

The Mall's "Women's Department"

A woman tosses a bag of maxi pads on the counter. Dressed in a wonderfully flattering, skimpy mini-skirt she is barely recognizable as the 50ish woman who used to clean my mom's home.

"Yes," she says vibrantly giggling. "Yes, I still menstruate."

She winks at an older woman in the store and just as I sense a private joke is being shared, they decide to let me in on it. The older woman swipes her hand through curly silver locks and spryly approaches the counter.

"Well..." I have grown to like this mature "granny" who at first seemed standoffish and grouchy. She raises puppies and she can laugh at herself - how can she be all that bad?!

"Well..." she repeated and gave a full explanation of the adventure her ovaries have been having. When she went, years ago, for a scheduled hysterectomy the specialist informed her that, after much search, her "female parts" were nowhere to be found.

"They've been taken out," the doctor assured her. When, she had wondered, had they been robbed? The only deduction seemed to be that while she was in the hospital after suffering a miscarriage her entire feminine innards must have been purged. Then, last year during some testing for cancer, two very distinctive "blobs" turned up on the xrays. "One is an ovary," she was told, "and the other its shadow."

"Can you just imagine?" she wondered aloud, a lilt of mirth peppering her tale. "So," she stated in finality as she gathered her newly purchased goods and stepped toward the door, "so I asked him, 'Hey Doc, how are those ovaries of mine?' and he told me, "wrinkled and shrivelled up just like they should be!'" With a gleeful chuckle she was gone, holding the door for the maxipad-hugging woman behind her.

The Start of the Holstein Mini-Series

Photo from "Seasonal Ontario Food" Blogspot

Affectionately known as "The Mall" by locals, the Holstein General Store, built and began in 1890 by Neil D. McKenzie, located on Lot 22 in the hamlet of Holstein, Ontario (about 200 people reside here) is the hub of life in this rural area. My parents bought the business in Nov 30 1999, on the cusp of the millennium (though sometimes by the feel of it you may think as you step inside that it was 1899 rather than a century later).

Dad's motto is "if we don't have it, you don't need it" and if, on the rare occasion that something isn't to be found in the store, we will try to uncover it from somewhere (a neighbour's barn? mom's garage?). Once, at about 2 am, a local telephoned mom and dad desperately seeking a sump pump as theirs had just exploded and gushing water was frantically filling their cellar. They didn't know who else to call??? Dad found him one, took it over, and installed it.

On Saturday mornings, at 7:45am, I roll into the store for a morning of work. Brushing aside the newspapers chucked around 3am on the front step so I can yank open the new steel door, I enter and angle towards first, the coffee maker (water dumped, button pushed, customers soon to arrive for bubbling hot liquid), second the light switch, and third the antiquated safe with whom I have a tumultuous relationship. Some days the sucker withstands kicks and unkind rebuffs before allowing access. (What was that film in which two kooky, suicidal dudes created a business where you could be videoed hurling your technological arch enemy over a cliff, and for a larger fee, see it explode and burn??? The safe, and our computer printer - who lovingly completes any job my husband gives it but jams up whenever I am near, for me, these two would be the disdainful objects I would gleefully launch.)

You may think I am merely a "clerk" (supposed to dust and vacuum and check out customers) but no, no, no....there are many more roles than just this that I play at The Mall. I am: source of information (though limited as we are a post office and so can not legally give specific details, such as home addresses or directions), police officer (or so the not-so-young man I caught stealing this morning would acknowledge), psychologist, lock-mouthed gossip-catcher (especially from the regular morning "coffee club" that knows all), and oh so many more...

Follow along with me on my "Holstein Mini-Series"...

My Gratitude List for Today

I am thankful for:
-The Lord, of course, who must be thanked for everything from the intricately exquisite orange-eyed moth I stared at through the sliding door window last evening to the grace He daily gives for me to deal with the children I prayed for (and yet feel some days as though the strength on my behalf to fulfill their needs is absent)
-my ever-patient husband who is much zanier than most realize, who calms my spirit and forces me out of my egocentric bubble
-our children, who can scream like banshees and cuddle like koalas
-the two independent feline creatures we call ours (when in reality everyone knows a cat owns YOU versus the other way around)
-a non-leaking roof over our heads, food in our bellies and in our fridge, water to drink (that doesn't have to be hauled for miles) and somewhat clean air to breathe
-soil and seeds sprouting into "fresh eats" (I can taste those tangy, divine peas already...)
-days of rain and days of sun; weeks of snow and weeks of fire-coloured tree leaves
-family (on both sides) that gives and gives and gives some more - family that reaches out through tears and joy - family that is vulnerable and strong all at the right times
-a few moments right now of solitude and sanity - silence, save for the wind whispering then bellowing over the laundry on the clothesline

Spell Check????

Who can catch the error??? (What are you supposed to mix the scrub in?!?!) One of my customers pointed out my miss on the spell check for my newsletter and I am still laughing!

Sockeye Scrub
For use in the kitchen and bath, on tiles, counter tops, etc. The scrub is great for scouring, so it is not recommended for certain cook tops.
* cup baking soda
* cup borax
2 Tbsp liquid soap
1 Tbsp d-limonene
Instructions:
Using a metal or glass bowel, mix together baking soda, borax, and liquid soap. Add d-limonene with a metal spoon, mix well.
Note: D-limonene is a concentrated citrus extract that can be purchased locally from Voyager Soap and Candle.

Morning....Morning? Oh...Morning!

Lyn Andrews' "The Sisters of O'Donnell" under my belt, I dreamily sway through my day...okay, so that was overly romantic...half of the characters kicked the Victorian era bucket; I was up too late reading (well, midnight, so not horrifically late); Rebekah just shoved her hand down a ball-popping toy and had to be rescued; and Gavin's chauffeur to school needs soon to depart. Welcome to another day! Feeling rather chipper, though, I search for my galoshes amongst the footwear crowding the closet base, and get ready to take on the day!

Coffeeeeeeee....a recent study just "proved" that caffeine, though it wakes you up, doesn't actually give any sort of "jolt" like us addicts claim.....still I dream of that moment when the warm liquid meets tongue and all is right in the world....

Coffeeeeeeee....Did I mention coffee? Must locate children, who are bounding about the basement, flashlights in hand, searching for "a scary rooster with a mask on and a tractor" (because we have so many of those odd ball creatures meandering about our home!).

The Story of the New-to-Us Trampoline's Brief Life

We HAD a trampoline. Notice the past tense...for one whole wonderfully giggle-inducing hour we had a trampoline.

Somehow our son made a deal with "Pond Papa" (my dad) that the pieces of trampoline un-used for the last six years (taken down for our wedding, actually, and then forgotten in the depths of the spiderwebby, ramshackly-piled barn at my parents' place) should be resurrected in our yard. Dad uncovered all necessary parts, dumped them in the backyard, and thus began the set-up process; Jeff and my dad lovingly and painstakingly counted spring holes, allocated and re-allocated somewhat rusty four-inch long springs into mat hooks, and with great pride eventually announced the ready-ness of the trampoline. Only a couple of spring holds were missing. Immediately both kids, lifted on, bounced contentedly (though somewhat bone-jarringly - chiropractic issues came to mind).

Dumping buckets of water from the kiddie pool on to the mucky top I threw on some rags and the kids and I scrubbed and slid and bobbed about. Jeff decided that the safety and occupation of the trampoline meant lawn cutting time and so he zipped about on the riding mower as we chuckled and tickled and sang and held hands. "When are you going to start doing back flips?" joked my neighbour.

There's only so much movement a 2 and 4 year old can handle so secretly I was awaiting their bedtime when Jeff and I could have bounce wars, like we did before we were married, and like my siblings and I used to have (try to get the other person "down" without physically touching them). Gavin stepped close to one of the missing spring holds and generated a slight (half-foot?) rip that immediately caused him great grief - he shrieked, filled with this horrid, possessive angst surrounding the possibility of a broken new toy. "It's okay," I reassured him, "it's just a teeny rip - it should be fine." (Famous last words?)

Then, well then, the happiness of it all was abruptly cut short (no loss of limbs, and no blood, so read on)...as Jeff rounded one side of the trampoline I decided to lift the ladder we had used a step stool up so he could continue his cut right close to the trampoline edge. As I lifted the ladder and shifted towards the other side to set it in a new position, half of the trampoline gave way - springs were launched as far as half way across our yard and I plummeted to the ground, scraping only my arm in the descent.

"ARE YOU OKAY???" the neighbour, with a look of terror, bellowed from her porch. The kids were wailing - high-pitched outbursts (not apparently due to my fall but because their new exercise regime had been cut short)...

We HAD a trampoline...for one whole wonderfully giggle-inducing hour we had a trampoline...

To Decaf or Not To Decaf?

Decaf that isn't decaf does funny things to you (and your sleep schedule)...Just in case you needed to know that!?! (At 1:30 in the morning...)

Dead Worms & Coffee Beans

It’s raining – pouring, in fact, so since gardening is dubious, I suppose writing will have to do (yes, yes, I should be making business calls….)

Is it symbolic, I wonder, that a crispy dead worm, curled almost into a perfect circle, and a flawless coffee bean abide on my bathroom counter top – or at least have for most of today? Both brought in by our 2 ½ year old, lovingly caressed before finding a home while she used the toilet (and then apparently, abruptly forgotten about)…the mocha nugget was given to her this morning at the local coffee shop – spied while she was sitting atop the ledge where I ordered my addiction, it was nestled amongst several others decoratively in a saucer. The young woman serving us allegedly recognized a longing and offered my daughter the bean with a strict “but don’t eat it!”. Which must be confusing when she knows I daily drink liquid made from this little brown treasure?

And the worm? Well, every dead worm (and alive, though those are usually returned to a garden bed or mucky lawn spot to “go find their mommy and daddy who will be worried”) is picked up by our budding scientist. She cradles them, holds them up to our faces, almost cooing “they’re soooooo cute!” And then most of them make their way into our household (later unearthed, pardon the pun, in the pockets of shorts, doll dresses, knapsacks). Last week we revived what she thought to be a deceased invertebrate – a few sprinkles of water, a cool spot beside the freshly-planted tomatoes, and the beefy creature was nowhere to be found half an hour later.

So what do they mean other than: 1) dead things make their way into our home and remain for unlimited amounts of time (which states quite clearly my standard of housecleaning abilities); 2) our life consists of poisonous caffeinated potions and crusty no-longer-wiggling “ornaments” and other such fondly clutched oddities that are on display in the most-used room in the house; 3) unlike her mother, our daughter is a collector (yikes!)? Here’s what I uncovered on the internet (“’googling’ doesn’t mean research” as Dan Brown would say and though I am in agreement, here are some entertaining “answers” to what worms and coffee beans just may be confessing about my/our life….)

According to http://www.dreamsleep.net/worms_dream_meaning.html
“Psychological Meaning: These may be phallic symbols. Associated with dirt and decay worms may indicate that you have negative attitude to sex. Alternatively, they may symbolise helplessness. If you feel downtrodden and oppressed, perhaps its time for the ‘worm to turn’.
Mystical Meaning: Dream books claim that worms are a danger of infectious diseases. If you dream of destroying worms, you will receive money.”

http://users.netnitco.net/~legend01/worm.htm “Worms are symbolic of death and the grave, yet they are also connected with rebirth, transformation, and transition.” [nope, not me at all?!?]

http://www.experienceproject.com/dream-dictionary/Coffee-dreams To dream of drinking coffee, denotes the disapproval of friends toward your marriage intentions. If married, disagreements and frequent quarrels are implied. To dream of dealing in coffee, portends business failures. If selling, sure loss. Buying it, you may with ease retain your credit. For a young woman to see or handle coffee she will be made a by-word if she is not discreet in her actions. To dream of roasting coffee, for a young woman it denotes escape from evil by luckily marrying a stranger. To see ground coffee, foretells successful struggles with adversity. Parched coffee, warns you of the evil attentions of strangers. Green coffee, denotes you have bold enemies who will show you no quarter, but will fight for your overthrow.

Hmmmmm…and I surmised a simple lack of cleanliness???

Gratitude

Our 2 1/2 year old daughter says thank you for everything. "Thank you, Mommmy, for taking me to the toilet", "thank you for helping me wash my hands", "thank you for taking me to the library, Mommy", "thank you for getting me a toad book"...do you think I am supposed to be learning something????