tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57451729501398172232024-02-19T04:16:31.140-07:00Sheep Dog's TaleRachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-4092287630837860342012-05-21T10:26:00.000-06:002012-05-23T21:43:15.645-06:00The Blah Iris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-lnws9HDiaCGHsvyFht0CTzX236ijHr3uy493a9CkCm_Ruc8XQbeN4sDxh4wGaw4jRHSCWtG8Y_fRUmpI0sAjJHe6rlRgpecifs3sMmUkOSLRCRcC4Cnz1ITxxGcwcr0U_i7BKFZBtAL/s1600/irisbronze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-lnws9HDiaCGHsvyFht0CTzX236ijHr3uy493a9CkCm_Ruc8XQbeN4sDxh4wGaw4jRHSCWtG8Y_fRUmpI0sAjJHe6rlRgpecifs3sMmUkOSLRCRcC4Cnz1ITxxGcwcr0U_i7BKFZBtAL/s320/irisbronze.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Early this spring I went to a plant-swap and received several bags of iris bulbs. They told me the varieties, but in the commotion everything got mixed up. I planted them with no idea what colors I had.
These are the first to bloom. Aren't they disappointing. I was expecting a glowing purple, a pristine white, or even a bright yellow. Instead I got these. They seem to be in flux. They can't decide whether to be brown or yellow so they are an icky color in between. I want to like them. I really want to like them. However, I'm struggling. What do you think? Here's a close-up:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMaa-0qDpwMdF_LLFVy9l781OoePG7zIxPmmJY58yyY1vhX1okVAI4gVX1fyaKBSzqGAQkywRlBpvywJh_Fz9rlcm5zjxSjpLFQMCd-q0THHjYnidKQgWhoL97AB4M3qE1qEd05ulU3qD/s1600/irisbronzeclose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMaa-0qDpwMdF_LLFVy9l781OoePG7zIxPmmJY58yyY1vhX1okVAI4gVX1fyaKBSzqGAQkywRlBpvywJh_Fz9rlcm5zjxSjpLFQMCd-q0THHjYnidKQgWhoL97AB4M3qE1qEd05ulU3qD/s320/irisbronzeclose.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Maybe I have changed too many diapers to like the yellow brown combo. On a brighter note another is starting to bloom and it looks like it might be purple; I'm hoping it doesn't change it's mind and aim for the colors of a bruise.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-52347925516876946162012-04-29T18:36:00.000-06:002012-05-23T21:42:56.377-06:00Aquascaping<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWXjv7s9ymcbhwtljn_2xWJSLGtXiIj43wXUf-kZowrXnRG5Gx_Dho0TSNMuxW1BaUYZeZEsBzOfzxCj77FZm6KwWhxM75U5fGffRmVSu8AujIIE39JlB3vbhS3F4-LiE3qsSbKVMI1fJ/s1600/nurserytank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWXjv7s9ymcbhwtljn_2xWJSLGtXiIj43wXUf-kZowrXnRG5Gx_Dho0TSNMuxW1BaUYZeZEsBzOfzxCj77FZm6KwWhxM75U5fGffRmVSu8AujIIE39JlB3vbhS3F4-LiE3qsSbKVMI1fJ/s320/nurserytank.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A few months ago I got interested in water plants. I had a fake plant aquarium. One day a light bulb went off in my head. I thought, "<a href="http://sheepdogstale.blogspot.com/2011/03/shamrocks.html">I love plants</a>, why don't I have plants in my aquarium?" So I did a little web surfing and found the beautiful hobby of <a href="http://theaquaticgazette.com/2011/05/">aquascaping</a>.<br />
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I planted a few plants in my tank. Then I discovered my run of the mill goldfish wouldn't work with plants (they eat plants or if they don't manage to eat them they will uproot them over and over again). Now at this point I could have decide to remain the way I was, sans plants. Unfortunately, I had seen many videos and photos of beautiful aquascaped aquariums. I wanted to have plants in my aquarium, and by golly I was going to get some. <br />
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I got a cheap, old, crude covered big aquarium and cleaned it up. Then I filled it with plants and a few cheap, plant safe fish. Then one of those fish (a guppy) had babies. I wanted to save them from being eaten so I got another used tank. Now I have three aquariums.<br />
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My husband has decided to name them. He calls them: the infirmary, the nursery, and the habitat. The picture above is the nursery (the original tank that started it all). It has ten baby fish in it. The goldfish live in the infirmary and get occasional doses of medicine because I also put the sick fish in there with them until they are well enough to go back to the habitat.<br />
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SO…long story short…When you have a light bulb go off in your head, remember it could end up more complicated than turning off the light.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-23600113440566991692012-04-10T21:38:00.000-06:002012-05-23T21:42:38.568-06:00Killdeer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Killdeer">Killdeer</a> are great at disguises. It starts when they are still in their eggs; they look like stones. The parent killdeer protect their eggs by pretending they have a broken wing and they slowly lead you away from the nest. Just when you think you might catch them they fly off, screeching at you. They will repeat the performance for as long as it takes until you leave completely. Killdeer are one of nature's great con-artists.<br />
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I took this picture last summer of a nest of killdeer eggs. The silly bird had laid her eggs on the shore of a busy lake. It was near the parking spaces so people kept disturbing her on their way to and from the cars. All along the lake perimeter I could have picked dozens of better places for a nest. Too bad her cleverness didn't help her pick one.<br />
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People often do the same thing, myself included. We protect ourselves from small dangers while missing the big picture. Writers use this big-picture blindness all the time. Often the reader can see what the character needs to do to solve all of their problems, but the hero is entirely blind to using the obvious solution. This holds true for villains as well. The YouTube channel <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/HISHEdotcom/videos">How it should have ended</a> is full of examples of how seeing the whole picture changes on ending. Here is a simple ending to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yqVD0swvWU&feature=plcp&context=C4adeb2bVDvjVQa1PpcFObEW7rocS4mkyDOAsJJbcZgbvMKHLYX3M%3D">Lord of the Rings</a>. It's funny how if you make the characters a little smarter the whole story disappears.<br />
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Someone could write a desperate story about a killdeer nest in between a beach and a parking lot and all the near crisis moments. It would certainly be more interesting than the killdeer nest safe on the other side of the lake. Maybe we like to feel a little smarter than the people we read about. What do you think?Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-40358809983426709802011-09-13T10:10:00.001-06:002011-09-13T10:19:34.300-06:00Color Coded Books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzwp6H9Bfp85OGs_3VwhumJQiOYDbn9JMJDoZZzCNhHrqIDl4zrp1PnySTpTyru5o0XxurthmDnt9Hf_PGEvhSjSxsxjlObFZLiNUV7rDTmgZs71cOmRcExLKE1V_BolFiuWpv37gmXBy/s1600/colorcordbookcase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzwp6H9Bfp85OGs_3VwhumJQiOYDbn9JMJDoZZzCNhHrqIDl4zrp1PnySTpTyru5o0XxurthmDnt9Hf_PGEvhSjSxsxjlObFZLiNUV7rDTmgZs71cOmRcExLKE1V_BolFiuWpv37gmXBy/s320/colorcordbookcase.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I have a wall-mounted bookcase in my bedroom and this week for fun I reorganized the books by color. I love it, though it will be harder to find my books for a time.<br />
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BTW: the quote in the middle is from Roald Dahl's <i>Charlie and the Chocolate Factor</i>y and it reads, "So please, oh PLEASE, we beg, we pray, go throw your TV set away, and in its place you can install a lovely bookshelf on the wall."Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-39535263868018482282011-08-23T22:06:00.000-06:002011-08-23T22:06:18.931-06:00A Full Day of Editing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0UzjkV0IRtx_bc8J7tQYvzfekshcNX94tYBzkyCeS2dXryPOyaFNRYMnkLKDoqEtXNjfNC5i3Pf0fQ6Q17fQUKk__ddd_eS9Agu-o18NOVqOFbFdZFmnS8JRbB_q-eQlWNo7tvN7Cxmb2/s1600/contemplation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="317" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0UzjkV0IRtx_bc8J7tQYvzfekshcNX94tYBzkyCeS2dXryPOyaFNRYMnkLKDoqEtXNjfNC5i3Pf0fQ6Q17fQUKk__ddd_eS9Agu-o18NOVqOFbFdZFmnS8JRbB_q-eQlWNo7tvN7Cxmb2/s320/contemplation.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I had the blissful chance to spend a full day editing today. Usually I only get a few hours at night at the most. Today my husband let me shut the door and shut the world away while I worked. It was so nice to have uninterrupted time.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-58431958287887391652011-07-22T16:18:00.000-06:002011-07-22T16:18:54.653-06:00"I am sure the grapes are sour,"said the fox.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkZ5Q5yOhlS_9JVECVYHE1Cf5ajvQ77SZDd2IbJ8BsxmRmD-pKg43pgkYCk5FEx2750Xdh64niAbcoJ9vgC5InUI67IT3NLSH2-eaq4tQD6DBBdM1KqG2c858dlZZfpkGcRZOa37w3Pl9/s1600/grapes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkZ5Q5yOhlS_9JVECVYHE1Cf5ajvQ77SZDd2IbJ8BsxmRmD-pKg43pgkYCk5FEx2750Xdh64niAbcoJ9vgC5InUI67IT3NLSH2-eaq4tQD6DBBdM1KqG2c858dlZZfpkGcRZOa37w3Pl9/s320/grapes.jpg" /></a></div><br />
We planted grapes a few years ago. The first year they hardly grew. Last year they did a little better. This year...grapes!<br />
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I find myself out near the vines fairly often watching them becoming plumper and plumper. The pessimist in me thinks they will be sour. Oh but I hope they will be sweet...Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-74653664624592703142011-07-04T17:15:00.000-06:002011-07-04T17:15:18.094-06:00Chasing Down the Ripples<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZg6c9tEzNAvYJ9zs1rrzXR7CP6GeFsrrdRgmwzDY4UEEHW81iXbtTiVAO0J1_GUfBKjebB3Tx7d7wvEiW8MwzDdDQyiEqnZAYrExP_-KPv4RhSMhs7cL4vBj4S93Hd5nB6TI9plJRA_2f/s1600/ripples.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="231" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZg6c9tEzNAvYJ9zs1rrzXR7CP6GeFsrrdRgmwzDY4UEEHW81iXbtTiVAO0J1_GUfBKjebB3Tx7d7wvEiW8MwzDdDQyiEqnZAYrExP_-KPv4RhSMhs7cL4vBj4S93Hd5nB6TI9plJRA_2f/s320/ripples.jpg" /></a></div><br />
The writing and editing process is full of cause and effect. By changing something early in a draft it often affects the later text. Lately I am trying to chase down all of the ripples resulting from disturbing the textual waters.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-13856217956758812052011-06-19T20:50:00.002-06:002011-06-19T20:51:59.599-06:00Over the Moon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBJPDvgUoJHx72MqXoUDAxmgszhQDVm8FsubK6j5xtgd05ivSwbINE6ydx6GY7CvsI39wY0gJ1I_45c34_fwk5LNJJUQs7FegMh9c2ZYoST3Hk4PKfuTct3c1o3X8aOtbQM9e_qxU81Ce/s1600/moonintrees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBJPDvgUoJHx72MqXoUDAxmgszhQDVm8FsubK6j5xtgd05ivSwbINE6ydx6GY7CvsI39wY0gJ1I_45c34_fwk5LNJJUQs7FegMh9c2ZYoST3Hk4PKfuTct3c1o3X8aOtbQM9e_qxU81Ce/s320/moonintrees.jpg" /></a></div><br />
There is something gothic about the moon shown near bare branches; even when the picture is taken during the day. It conjures images of graveyards and zombies.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-81583750911012137062011-05-24T10:15:00.000-06:002011-05-24T10:15:19.159-06:00The Need to Share<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESpKzgF0dg7daL6GhrP7YUlxvmtiZ_Ky8X7_nMLwvm158TiV4x1FsnjZPXS3qq5kaTl08dI7wiv79xLK9dYG6VtQE0IePbLyegRQK6fJ16O-hR2Y6J4dVHf6jUgnJHNp2lMiDYqgl1FhI/s1600/quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="142" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESpKzgF0dg7daL6GhrP7YUlxvmtiZ_Ky8X7_nMLwvm158TiV4x1FsnjZPXS3qq5kaTl08dI7wiv79xLK9dYG6VtQE0IePbLyegRQK6fJ16O-hR2Y6J4dVHf6jUgnJHNp2lMiDYqgl1FhI/s320/quote.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This is how I feel about my book. I wish, wish, wish I could share it and yet it lies in wait. It sits unseen, like a painting shoved in a closet, and not enjoyed by anyone. Someday.....Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-25719414152020806772011-05-13T20:49:00.000-06:002011-05-13T20:49:19.074-06:00The Decay of Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QIl4FiMfkxJMRFaNIqoivxRkiq76BeKHsxECz-5Ya18W6t8XS5waF59dK2YsIYeGQKuBl8m13mr6PDCJxocEQWjBh7AQ7SC17n3JMLMOOpmqgwD88IidhGY8CoLa4P5zdkGLXew74i9E/s1600/decay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QIl4FiMfkxJMRFaNIqoivxRkiq76BeKHsxECz-5Ya18W6t8XS5waF59dK2YsIYeGQKuBl8m13mr6PDCJxocEQWjBh7AQ7SC17n3JMLMOOpmqgwD88IidhGY8CoLa4P5zdkGLXew74i9E/s320/decay.jpg" /></a></div><br />
A few years ago I read a rather haunting book about abandoned buildings decaying and being destroyed by time. The photographs and stories behind the images have stuck with me. Today we went to visit an overlook and a beautiful waterfall near our home and while there I noticed a boarded up abandoned walkway around the canyon. <br />
My husband remarked how precarious it looked and we could recognize footsteps in the mud near it. The steps are overgrown with weeds and the guard rail hangs above the chasm. Yet I felt a strange yearning to find a way to follow those footsteps and see a glimpse of the past. The fence and the DO NOT ENTER sign stopped me. I guess I will live vicariously through the beautiful images of Harry Skrdla's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ghostly-Ruins-Americas-Forgotten-Architecture/dp/1568986157/ref=sr_1_11?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1305172541&sr=1-11">book</a>, Ghostly Ruins: America's Forgotten Architecture.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-24203981808049343562011-05-03T15:21:00.000-06:002011-05-03T15:21:19.571-06:00Historical PaintCan a paint have a history? People talk with fondness about homes they once lived in or schools they went too. Do people ever remember paint color with fondness. I painted a room with a historical color this last week. It is used by a historical preservation society for some wonderful period home somewhere. Now it is in one of our bedrooms. Am I demeaning its historical value by putting it on the walls of a child's bedroom? Or will my child someday visit the historical location it came from and remember with fondness the room of his childhood?<br />
My mind has been searching for memories of paint from my past. I think we had a pink painted basement once my mother hated and yet I don't think I would have flashback memories if presented with a swatch of the color. Now if I got a whiff of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, I would be inundated with memories. Is smell stronger via memory than sight?Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-31744789073069566882011-04-19T21:48:00.001-06:002011-04-20T08:37:36.135-06:00Pandora's BandageMy wrist is wrapped in bandages right now and it is funny how my children keep looking at it with concerned expressions. “Mom what did you do to your arm?”<br />
“I burned it right here,” I tell them, showing them the spot with my finger.<br />
“Does it hurt?”<br />
“Only when I brush it against something. That is why I am wearing this bandage,” I say.<br />
“Oh, is it big?”<br />
“No not really but the bandage is, huh?”<br />
“Yes. How long will you have to wear it?”<br />
“Till it feels better?” I tell them.<br />
“How long will that take?”<br />
“I don’t know,” I admit.<br />
“Can you get it wet?”<br />
“Yes, but I would prefer not to.”<br />
“Oh.” Then they look at it really close and shrug their shoulders and go away to play.<br />
My bandage is like Pandora’s Box. It hides something and they want so badly to see what is under it. They can imagine it is horrible and they feel very bad for me but at the same time they wish to see what lies beneath.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-65227488699074729392011-04-13T22:14:00.000-06:002011-04-13T22:14:27.647-06:00Lines and laundry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBvA8otspbHT__fxBmFJnmhXxO1liX_PA9niYhIhcuSRMIjL-pG3yEfhe-zOppjx0rNkT_8rY7y2vKnGVL7zD4qolWy444QGJ81LgFhtAsngEpODUWn_gMZavwYnmPEqKZxfMleUQTrdi/s1600/laundry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBvA8otspbHT__fxBmFJnmhXxO1liX_PA9niYhIhcuSRMIjL-pG3yEfhe-zOppjx0rNkT_8rY7y2vKnGVL7zD4qolWy444QGJ81LgFhtAsngEpODUWn_gMZavwYnmPEqKZxfMleUQTrdi/s320/laundry.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I have been doing laundry and lines all day. Words flee from my fingertips and laundry baskets empty. Productive days are the best; unlike yesterday. Yesterday was a do-nothing-mope-day. Do-nothing-mope-days should always be followed by productive days. It helps.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-29310888330128353582011-04-06T20:31:00.001-06:002011-04-06T20:32:42.393-06:00Between the Aisles and the SalmonellaGrocery shopping always has a little risk inherent in it. First, there is the threat of microbes lurking on the carts themselves, ready to infect your body. Then as you are walking the aisles piled high with heavy cans there is the danger of one falling upon you. Believe me it happens. And as if you haven't put your future on the line enough there is the danger within the products you purchase. You read the labels furtively watching out for high fructose corn syrup and trans fat. And if you have an allergy you have to watch to see if it was manufactured in a facility that uses peanuts.<br />
I hate grocery shopping but each week I look at my nearly empty shelves and either convince Bradley to do it or lose paper, scissors, rock. Today I lost. With my son by my side I walked the produce aisle picking out fruit and veggies and thinking about salmonella. Suddenly the noise volume increased significantly. I looked up to discover a wall of people filing into the store. They were coming towards the produce section and I started to look around for a quick exit.<br />
Then a nice gentlemen turned to me and told me they had come to check out the local college. I wasn't trampled. They even moved out of my way as I pushed my cart out of the produce and into the cereal aisle.<br />
I survived this trip to get my fix of spinach and honey dew. However I am going to ask Bradley to take his turn next time.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-43674329871176058522011-04-05T20:44:00.001-06:002011-04-05T20:50:47.946-06:00The CemeteryYesterday, our pet lizard Sherbet died. After dinner we had a solemn tear-filled burial in the backyard. It made me think of the many pets I buried as a child on the hill behind my parents’ home. Sometimes when we visit and I am outside I walk back to my pet cemetery and think about the tiny bodies beneath the ground. The headstones I drew painstakingly with marker on rounded stones and placed with great care have been erased by time. Now beneath the trees that mark the spot there is a covering of moss and only a few headstones remain in view. I see a scattered vestige of what it was and know it bears significance to only me. No random traveler walking passed the spot would recognize it for what it is; a place of reverence and memory.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-25306417509386180362011-04-01T10:26:00.003-06:002011-04-01T10:41:24.256-06:00Walking the Sheep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5Ep1sOSgiLiavegVIpYwST1UKkFNNlrNFH0Uyn7qaTg1aghCX6P9ejVteo53Ng3NaKDKzmP9SdP-G7bcAuanywhTJqIfhdcYf8eNznkGPRdsU3FrjYZFzpkjIWpDoH-wcgAGPtZ-2xkJ/s1600/walkingthesheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="244" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5Ep1sOSgiLiavegVIpYwST1UKkFNNlrNFH0Uyn7qaTg1aghCX6P9ejVteo53Ng3NaKDKzmP9SdP-G7bcAuanywhTJqIfhdcYf8eNznkGPRdsU3FrjYZFzpkjIWpDoH-wcgAGPtZ-2xkJ/s320/walkingthesheep.jpg" /></a></div><br />
We are absolutely loving the weather lately. No more shivering for the sheep.<br />
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BTW: Did you hear about the <a href="http://www.eitb.com/news/world/detail/626776/chinese-farmer-claims-his-sheep-gave-birth-dog/">real sheep dog</a>?Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-26612663101279371802011-03-31T14:55:00.000-06:002011-03-31T14:55:01.119-06:00Don't Touch the Fro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNO7TmXducsHfyPyaF4JXNDZIdP0cRkqUdB_BETH9JofPWgxvB_SsBfsKNQb7F0_bk-YegnlpPalMLxYDx-9uTBS7DlWqVDu97LilLUS7v7gIWAh8_DgCg3jFKJi3tXakJXMV2X29-tMua/s1600/hendricklookalike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNO7TmXducsHfyPyaF4JXNDZIdP0cRkqUdB_BETH9JofPWgxvB_SsBfsKNQb7F0_bk-YegnlpPalMLxYDx-9uTBS7DlWqVDu97LilLUS7v7gIWAh8_DgCg3jFKJi3tXakJXMV2X29-tMua/s320/hendricklookalike.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Yesterday Bradley got a new pillow. In the morning his hair was so happy it stood and clapped.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-1915376663413418562011-03-28T13:09:00.000-06:002011-03-28T13:09:57.216-06:00Fly, Bird, Fly!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo21D7d37qbemeWWFWJ3I8jO6FK9-MuWHWLfcpnkDsuXf2YGhEKYkE9q_yrKck5EGqZrt2taJkNzbnTK2emRjWMi5kxlWfkLsNF2_ioqyk3oqg72z2yrgf-k-MsHJos5fneMND9dz8xIbL/s1600/skating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="295" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo21D7d37qbemeWWFWJ3I8jO6FK9-MuWHWLfcpnkDsuXf2YGhEKYkE9q_yrKck5EGqZrt2taJkNzbnTK2emRjWMi5kxlWfkLsNF2_ioqyk3oqg72z2yrgf-k-MsHJos5fneMND9dz8xIbL/s320/skating.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Last week was spring break for us. We decided, amongst other things, to take the kids roller skating for the first time. Here is the scenario: four young kids, two parents and a bunch of wheeled shoes. Nothing could go wrong, right?<br />
They hated it. Yep, hated.<br />
Okay, Isaac said it was, “Not that fun” so maybe hate is a strong word. <br />
Now in hindsight I remember I hated skating the first time…and the second time… and maybe now I know why we don’t skate very often.<br />
We will probably take them a second time soon, and a third time after that, until they decide it is fun. We do things like this because as parents it is our job to push our kids a little out of their comfort zone. Have you ever heard what birds do to their young? This is much better than pushing them out of the nest.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-21296352444627858632011-03-28T09:24:00.003-06:002011-03-28T13:36:47.659-06:00I'm Not a Slave, I am a Daughter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQMgERvKAmtWLHzKFCdDLeyBRG41vDEr0L6slEO9SXW_mVCyLWu6pD7X1STURhlqAV_inle255tcI37q-rBqzAzuYj-vDS3W-hN-B6eNg8i88daqcmSgSkIkejZHf2wawXONYjDp-WIZs/s1600/girlatwindow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="314" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQMgERvKAmtWLHzKFCdDLeyBRG41vDEr0L6slEO9SXW_mVCyLWu6pD7X1STURhlqAV_inle255tcI37q-rBqzAzuYj-vDS3W-hN-B6eNg8i88daqcmSgSkIkejZHf2wawXONYjDp-WIZs/s320/girlatwindow.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Yesterday I read <i>The Good Earth</i> by Pearl S. Buck. It was gripping and moving and the most of all, grim. Today grim thoughts and images fill my mind. I don't often read grim books because it takes me days to get out of my melancholy over the depravity of man. Pearl S. Buck made me think about how grateful I am to live when I do and have such a wonderful husband and for my daughter to have such a wonderful father.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-54311725772476322292011-03-25T15:35:00.000-06:002011-03-25T15:35:11.048-06:00A New Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO7WbrVQ4-viw3zF12VSu1DRyi9U9cZ-kXVIUM5AerJSSe_cex1Q5ZLMcXNuC34GDpmck0L0BhUQNMB9EZU3N82QpWIE2KgD4ZvayaKqNWHECBbC-9p7TR_kYNhtw-293Gx9G5Bw4O284/s1600/sockson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO7WbrVQ4-viw3zF12VSu1DRyi9U9cZ-kXVIUM5AerJSSe_cex1Q5ZLMcXNuC34GDpmck0L0BhUQNMB9EZU3N82QpWIE2KgD4ZvayaKqNWHECBbC-9p7TR_kYNhtw-293Gx9G5Bw4O284/s320/sockson.jpg" /></a></div><br />
A new story is playing out in my mind lately. I love writing but sometimes it seems so much slower than my imagination. I know what is going to happen next but I have to get the characters there on paper. It is like getting all of my children into the car to go somewhere; full of tricky moments. First you have to find all of the socks and then the shoes. If it is winter you have the added steps of hat and coat. Finally, when they are dressed you have to physically lead each one to the car. Sometimes one will wander down the hall after a toy or downstairs to get something. The process is repeated every time but never gets easier.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-41123317918663079792011-03-20T20:35:00.000-06:002011-03-20T20:35:16.596-06:00Patience and Wonder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfhfXi1JAaoRciCKwgvABmk1r7kH8S4PA9EeCJgQaF3aZdff1uKRo456ezq_2nc5Zz-Uh60mHUQRSv5_Lop72Z9D5ifMBLjIXge1ewftwG4MNaxH1R5jndT3zQzWQ9Woj2kxp2_W29wL0h/s1600/patiencenandwonder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="206" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfhfXi1JAaoRciCKwgvABmk1r7kH8S4PA9EeCJgQaF3aZdff1uKRo456ezq_2nc5Zz-Uh60mHUQRSv5_Lop72Z9D5ifMBLjIXge1ewftwG4MNaxH1R5jndT3zQzWQ9Woj2kxp2_W29wL0h/s320/patiencenandwonder.jpg" /></a></div><br />
My child has returned to me. The <a href="http://sheepdogstale.blogspot.com/2011/03/changeling.html">changeling</a> has gone back to the trolls. The evidence has spoken. I needed to clean out my flower beds so I set the baby on the grass, expecting chaos and mayhem. Thirty blissful minutes passed of uninterrupted work as he patiently sat and watched the world around him in wonder. Only then did he crawl slowly around the grass without causing an ounce of trouble. How heavenly to have him back.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-18892962970340243372011-03-18T09:44:00.004-06:002011-03-18T11:26:41.274-06:00Shamrocks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHoiEiF4OVjJgyCXyeMV34bWOtlSNLKw8Ju3OacbzeQWVYNJz8sRHAQmwTJk88269_ld-WGBRVUs4-6of5TaFvQbG0QC__5uxlIMV_RTcmOmAkM1l7YQ6OO9UL9cH1Z_tBmHeXYUX65vgQ/s1600/closemysteryplant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHoiEiF4OVjJgyCXyeMV34bWOtlSNLKw8Ju3OacbzeQWVYNJz8sRHAQmwTJk88269_ld-WGBRVUs4-6of5TaFvQbG0QC__5uxlIMV_RTcmOmAkM1l7YQ6OO9UL9cH1Z_tBmHeXYUX65vgQ/s320/closemysteryplant.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBb_aQSLTV0OB68NyblDz4qeQcAlBjgNmoCebi8NcUi3r2HpJR9ktk0CkR4bgsh6YNJYADAaSJf95hWU9xYCIl45qckoxYcdzrGSOd5fsBgL8mq8TgtgHeJDKqUuy4wE2O4njdCTgHyRdX/s1600/mysteryplant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBb_aQSLTV0OB68NyblDz4qeQcAlBjgNmoCebi8NcUi3r2HpJR9ktk0CkR4bgsh6YNJYADAaSJf95hWU9xYCIl45qckoxYcdzrGSOd5fsBgL8mq8TgtgHeJDKqUuy4wE2O4njdCTgHyRdX/s320/mysteryplant.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I have a weakness. Some people like chocolate or collecting gravy boats. I like plants. I counted my plants the other day and I have thirty-two. One of my thirty-two wasn't doing very well. Slowly it was losing more and more leaves and sickening. I couldn't revive it so I stuck some random seeds in the pot with it since I was already watering it. Time passed, lots of time, and I forgot what seeds I stuck in the pot. <br />
This is a picture of the plant now. It looks like clover seeds and something else (maybe clementines). I am excited to see what happens as it grows. You can see the sticks left over from the dead plant in amongst the new ones. Don't you love spring? I do and this week I will celebrate getting married to my husband,the birth of my father and the birth of my grandmother. All of these occasions represent a wonderful preview to the start of spring on Sunday: they are beginnings. May all beginnings end out as wonderful.<br />
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On another plant note: After two years, my Christmas Cactus is finally budding. So far there is only one bud. I hope it survives long enough to bloom.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-43208220015292243592011-03-12T09:24:00.001-07:002011-03-12T09:26:39.765-07:00Grocery Store MurderI saw a murder at the grocery store a few months back. A few weeks after it, I saw another. It has made me think about how it would make such an interesting scene for a dystopian book.<br />
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<i>Pregnancy cravings aside, Jim wished he didn’t have to go to the SuperMart right now. He pulled his Jetta into an available parking space and got out. His eyes took in the blackness of the sky and he found himself hunching in automatic reaction to the crows. They were spinning through the air, filling it with darkness. He couldn’t count them, but he guessed over a thousand strong were in this murder. Their loud voices were rending the air and the noise pierced his ears like a knife. Images of Alfred Hitchcock’s Birds filled his brain. Panic lent urgency to his feet and he ran to the doors of the store, but his feet must have been too swift for the sensor. He smashed into the automatic door and slid to the ground. After the impact, the door slid open jerkily. Gathering his scattered keys and wallet, Jim dashed inside. <br />
“Peggy better be grateful for her pickles,” he thought.</i>Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-960572060305598152011-03-11T15:22:00.003-07:002011-03-11T15:43:08.316-07:00The Changeling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKJoGB-VSFY_n7LdaWWme0I4vWGLJE8UtK60fOFEz3gNY5VqMZo_sdVI4yVkyHjOPfebmtk3T6eD_IQrn3nd4ExdcRjydYxqWnhDL8Mm90qqADlStJfjJODs0G_UzpqpqqayxHn5PAlKa/s1600/changeling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="222" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKJoGB-VSFY_n7LdaWWme0I4vWGLJE8UtK60fOFEz3gNY5VqMZo_sdVI4yVkyHjOPfebmtk3T6eD_IQrn3nd4ExdcRjydYxqWnhDL8Mm90qqADlStJfjJODs0G_UzpqpqqayxHn5PAlKa/s320/changeling.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The stories are true. I never thought much of them. Why would trolls replace babies in the night with changelings? <br />
The evidence is undeniable. First, I noticed the dog food. He must have placed it into the water and let it soak for awhile. When I found it, he had smeared it all over the kitchen floor, in a stinky, brown, gooey mess. Then there was the smashed and broken aloe vera plant. Whether it will ever recover is unlikely. Now, I have found crayon lines on the bathroom floor; hieroglyphics of his race. He is playing with said crayon in the toilet and the splash of water sounds so musical. What have they done with my calm and sweet baby and how do I exchange them back?Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745172950139817223.post-42851376305762756552011-03-10T09:15:00.002-07:002011-03-12T10:16:42.894-07:00Isn't Butter Divinity?Butter is interesting and confusing to children. It is a solid and like non-candy wrapped chocolate it melts in your mouth and in your hand. My children complain if I give them buttered toast that has unnoticeable butter (i.e. melted butter) on it. <br />
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“I want butter on mine!” they complain.<br />
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“You have butter on yours.”<br />
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“No. Look.”<br />
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Of course on close inspection their bread just looks wet. Who wants wet toast? I don’t blame them. <br />
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"Have faith and try it," I tell them.<br />
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We all need a little more faith in life. Faith is to hope for things which you can't see, which are true.Rachel Hansenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01068841866530534407noreply@blogger.com0