Questions, Answers, and Bugs Dying Feet

My house is a place were bugs come to die.

It's true.

What's more, it doesn't bother me in the least.

As much as I love my little house, I recognize it's faults. There are many. Yet, it is a rental house and there is only so much that I can do, and so much that I can seem to get my landlord to do. One such fault that I simply can't fix by myself and, evidently, is not deemed to be of great importance to the man who owns the house is the fact that there are multitudes of little cracks and crevices that allow the little many legged creatures access to my living space. It's an older house and it has settled, the windows and doors just aren't as tight as they used to be.

So I compensate as best I can by laying a trail, inside and out of "bug killer". I do it each spring, and generally follow it up in the summer and fall. Bugs don't bother me in their natural habitat. If those grasshoppers want to live in the field across the street, I say "more power to them!". If those ants and beetles and june bugs and spiders and crickets and other creepy crawlies want to live out in my yard or garden, well ... hey! Grass and plants are nature, insects are nature, I say let them live hand in hand.

O.U.T.S.I.D.E!!!

Inside my house is not where I want to find something more than a creature that stands on two legs. Unless I finally give into the growing temptation and add a small four legged canine creature to my household. I'm the one that pays the rent on this domicile, not them and therefore - since they won't leave when asked - I say, "Die Bug, Die!".

Does this make me a bad person?

Eh! Sorry. Not really caring.

So ... here's what happens ... bugs come in ... they cross, of their own choosing, the barrier that I have invisibly erected around the perimeter of my living room, my kitchen, my hallway, my bedrooms and they believe in their little insect minds that they have it made, that they have survived. But they don't. With the exception of a pesky slug that kept finding ways around my barrier of salt, they all tend to die fairly quickly.

Now there are the occasional crickets and "doodle bugs" that have, over the years, been rescued by some youthful girlies (The same ones who screech and jump up onto the couch, chairs, counters, etc. if a spider looks at them askance from the doorway 10 feet away, but we won't mention that now, will we?) and tossed back to their natural habitat of the outdoors. But these are few, and far between. Generally ... the bugs ... they die.

Nothing could make me happier.

Yet, here's where my mind has wandered this morning (yes, there is actually a reason, a thought behind these words I'm putting to paper - computer - whatever - this morning) and has me writing.

Why do bugs die with their feet in the air?

Seriously.

They're crawling along and their time is up and they somehow manage to flip themselves over onto their backs, sticking their tiny little legs up into the air. Crickets do it. "Doodle bugs" do it. Those little black "I don't know WHAT the heck they are but they annoy the crap out of me" bugs do it. They all do. Why?

I realize that this may seem like a childish question, but can someone tell me why?

Today we have the wonderful internet and we can "Ask Jeeves" these questions, or we can do a "Google Search" and look up these subjects and find the answers to our questions. Children are always asking the "why?" question ... "Why is the sky blue?" ... "Why is fire yellow?" ... "Why do feet smell, even when you've been walking in water puddles?" Yes, they are always looking for answers. It's what keeps them learning, keeps them searching - expanding their horizons. As much as we grownups dread the "why?" questions, children need to ask them and we need to respond with as much truth and information as we deem their youthful minds can accept, given their ages and maturity.

Yet we don't always have the answers. Hence falling back on the wonderful world of "Ask Jeeves", Google, and Wikipedia, et. al. Hopefully answers can be located there. However, we didn't always have the internet. What did parents do before the internet? Lie? Make up answers? Continually go to the library?

Play the chase game of "Go ask your father", which would, inevitably result in the "Go ask your mother" response?

Books were where the fountain of knowledge lay during those *mumblemumble* years ago. I remember when my parents got our first set of World Book Encyclopedias. This huge selection of green and white books that came filled with all this information. They also got the series of Childcraft books that went along with the encyclopedias - books filled with stories, music, poems, crafts, useful learning tools for children. The standard answer to our "why?" questions in our house for my brother and I became ... "Did you look it up?" Placed on the "easily reachable by childish hands" shelving in our family's den, the encyclopedias took their place with the dictionaries and other reference books that my parents had collected over the years. During the school year, these books would wander from those shelves to the couch or the bedroom or the table ... where ever homework was being done or answers were being seeked.

A couple years after the arrival of the encyclopedias came four books that were truly fun and amazing ... they were the "Tell Me Why" books. These books were great. You could literally look up questions and find answers. At the time, I accepted them for what they were - something fun and interesting to read or to find answers. I was a kid. I didn't realize what a book such as that entailed - the formatting of questions into sections to find easier, the compilation of thousands of childish questions and their answers written for youthful understanding.

For me, and my little brother, they were just really cool books - paper and words bound together. From our earliest days, we both loved to read and these books were not only interesting and entertaining, but also filled with facts and knowledge and information. How wonderfully sneaky were our parents to provide something to teach us while we were entertained, yet be safe and secure in the fact that the information we were receiving was not something damaging, something that was not wholesome, was not bad for us?

Today, children have questions and are sent to the computer, to the internet, to these websites that may contain the information that they need but may also provide further information that youthful minds simply don't need to have. This frightens me in so many ways for our children of today. Make no mistake, I love the world of the internet and I make use of it daily. I love the quick access to the information that I desire. During times of homework, projects (gotta LOVE those science projects, history projects, geography projects), and just plain questions - the internet has provided a source of answers for my girlies when all my brain could come up with is "I don't know". However, it is my responsibility as the adult to make certain that they are accessing sites that provide only the information that they need and not something that young eyes, minds, and hearts do not need to witness or read.

That's a responsibility I don't take lightly. I just wish that more adults would think the same way because it breaks my heart when I hear a five year old discussing topics in graphic fashion. A five year old should not know the complete details of how a baby is made and how it arrives to this world. A seven year old does not need to learn the details of how sex is performed. An eight year old should not have access to information on how to construct a weapon or bomb.

What's my point about this, you ask? Simply this ... even though it is easier to just send a child to the computer when they ask the "why?" question, we can't just allow them to do that. We, as adults, need to know what they are reading is appropriate for the ages and maturity level that they have acheived. We need to allow our children to remain children and not allow them to become tiny grown ups. We need to remember that children should be playing outside with a rubber ball, with an umbrella in the rain - making their feet stinky in the puddles.

Of course, this is just my viewpoint. Children are going to ask questions ... it's just a natural part of childhood. It's up to us to determine the response that they receive, the amount of information that they need to have to satisfy their curiosity. Shouldn't we know where the answers to our children's questions are coming from?

Personally, I'd rather answer the question of "why do bugs die with their feet in the air?" than "why did Timmy shoot our teacher?".

Maybe because there the answers to some questions don't come in a book, or the internet because they are questions that children simply shouldn't have to ask. But then, maybe that's just me.

Oh ... btw ... according to John Meyer, entomolgy professor at North Carolina State University, it is believed that bugs die with their feet in the air is not intended but rather, a result of the fact that the insecticide affects their nervous system and so their coordination declines and they are unable to right themselves if they get turned over due to a breeze, a fall, a bump from another bug, etc. I should probably feel sorry for them that I am affecting their nervous system ... but ... I'm not.

Mind Numbing or Something More

We don't have a postage machine in my office.

Normally, it's no big deal. We only average 3 or 4 outgoing letters a day, usually. However there is one week a month that we not only send out an average of 20+ letters a day, but each of those letters is enclosed with a self-addressed stamped envelope. So, technically the 20+ is, actually, 40+.

Why am I telling you this?

So you will understand when every once in awhile I have the job of restocking my supply of self-addressed stamped envelopes. Every few months I spend a mindless hour, labeling and stamping 100+ envelopes. It's not my favorite job ... in fact, it's rather mind numbing. I try to do it when I'm alone in the office and I can either play some music or set my computer to view a Supernatural episode on http://www.cwtv.com/. It's not like I'm not working ... my hands are continually busy ... I simply need something to concentrate on before I fall asleep. Did I mention this is a mind numbing task.

Unfortunately, there are days when my computer speakers decide they don't want to work. Call the Winchester boys and get the holy water and rock salt shotguns, because there's an evil spirit in my speakers which decides at the most inopportune times when it thinks I don't need to listen to something.

Today was just such a day.

No speakers mean no music to while away the dreary. No speakers mean no Supernatural episode dialogue to take away the boredom. *sigh*

Wouldn't you know this would happen on the day when I need to do double the amount of return envelopes because this is the month that I have double the normal amount of letters to send out??

Have I mentioned before that me and Murphy's Law ... we are just THAT tight??

After affixing the address labels to 200 envelopes, my wrist and elbow have begun screaming with the repetitive motion and my mind has wandered from emails that I need to write, to blogs I want to start, to cards I need to send, to lists I need to make. Unfortunately, I can't stop to write these things down as that simply prolongs the amount of time I have to spend sitting here ... at my desk ... peeling a label from the printed sheet ... placing the label on the top envelope on the stack ... taking the top envelope off the stack and moving to another "completed" stack ... going back to the printed sheet ... peeling a label ... well ... you get the idea.

See what I mean about mind-numbing??

Once the labels are attached and I have spent 15 minutes frantically trying to figure out which latin exorcism will remove the evil spirit from my computer speaker system to no avail, I restack my 200 envelopes and begin applying stamps.

I open up my new rolls of .42 cent stamps and begin applying. After the first 25 envelopes, I began to actually look at these new stamps. After the next 25 envelopes, I begin to actually realize what I'm seeing when I look at these new stamps. After the next 25 stamps, I have the pattern of these new stamps going through my mind. After the next 25 stamps I have begun to fully understand the meaning of these new stamps.

Did the postal system truly create these new stamps in the vision that I was seeing them or was it just my numbed mind latching onto something? I can't tell you that, cause I'm not employed by the U.S. Postal System. What I can share with you is what I saw as I repeatedly affixed 200 stamps to 200 envelopes.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the morning's first light.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the bright blue of the afternoon sky.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the glow of the evening's setting sun.

I saw a stamp with the flag of our nation flying high in the shine of the moon overhead during the night.

The flag of our nation ... flying high ... over and over through countless mornings, afternoons, evenings and nights as depicted on these new stamps, just as it does in life.

Each morning that we wake up, free to determine the path of our day, our nation's flag is flying high.

Each afternoon that we go about our business, free to make choices, our nation's flag is flying high.

Each evening that we return to our homes, free to decide how to spend our time, our nation's flag is flying high.

Each night that we tuck our children in their beds, free to plan their futures, our nation's flag is flying high.

Continuously flying day and night, never ceasing, it can be seen leading troops into battle, it can be seen high atop our capital buildings, it can be seen on flagpoles scattered throughout the nation in front of businesses and private homes. It is our nation's flag and it represents the continual freedoms that we, as United States citizens, so often take for granted.

June 14th is Flag Day ... the day we celebrate the flag of the United States of America as adopted by resolution of the Second Continental Congress in 1777.

We see it every day in countless ways ... postage stamps, flying from a flag pole, on bumper stickers, emblems on t-shirts, emblazoned on buildings, and so on ... and sometimes we forget.

June 14th is Flag Day ... the day we need to remember ...

I pledge alligence to the flag

Of the United States of America

And to the Republic, for which it stands,

One Nation,

Under God,

Indivisible,

With liberty and justice for all.

While Driving

I was driving in to the office this morning and when I halted at a stoplight at a busy intersection, I did my normal glance around at the other drivers next to me. To my left was a man - not a young man, not an older man, just an average aged man - sitting in his white Lexus ... reading. Not a map or glancing at a little note ... he was full-on reading an actual book, propped on the steering wheel, balanced between his two hands that were (ironically) placed in the "10 & 2" positions. While this stoplight is known to be kinda long, it's not "read a whole page and make it worthwhile to pull out the book" long, if you know what I mean.

So I continued to watch.

The light for our lanes turned green.

The cars began to move.

His car began to move.

He didn't put down the book!!!

Seriously. He was driving while reading his book.

I'm not sure about anyone else, but I'm pretty sure (actually, I'm REALLY pretty sure) that when I took driver's education *mumblemumble* years ago, they were fairly strict on the "Don't read while driving" policy.

I knew that I didn't want Baby anywhere near him if he came to an exciting or dramatic part, or any part for that matter, so I quickly sped her up, got around him and put him far into my rearview mirror. (I'd like to point out here that Baby only went over the speed limit briefly to insure her safety and if we had been caught, I would have been certain to point out to the officer the reason for doing so ... white guy, white Lexus, reading a book while driving ... that should have gotten me out of the ticket ... right?

However, here's the thing that got me thinking.

As drivers ... we are technically reading all the time. Our roads and highways are littered with stuff to read. I'm not talking about the road signs, the highway signs, the information signs. Those are necessary for safe driving and can be grasped in a glance. I'm talking about bill boards, advertisements, information painted on the sides of buildings.

When you stop and really think about it ... it's crazy!!

Remember the old Burma Shave signs? Okay ... no, I'm not old enough to remember them originally, but my grandparents lived in the country and riding in the backseat during those family trips, I still saw many of these signs. They really weren't very big ... just big enough for a few words. The gimmick was the fact that six (6) of these signs, placed consecutively along the road, read as a quick little poem.

Sign #1 - Don't loose

Sign #2 - your head

Sign #3 - to gain a minute.

Sign #4 - You need your head

Sign #5 - your brains are in it.

Sign #6 - Burma Shave

Quick and entertaining, these signs did what they were supposed to do - they got people driving by to think about their product. Isn't that what advertising is all about? Getting people to think about the product being offered?

Now the billboards are huge ... and many of them are now changeable - flipping between two different advertisers. Cause as I'm whipping along the highway at 65 miles per hour, I can certainly keep my eyes posted to one billboard to read, not just one advertisement but two (often having to also make note of the corresponding telephone number). Who needs to watch out for the other vehicles going the same speed, if not faster, trying to read the same billboards.

Not to mention the companies that paint their information on the side of buildings.

Especially fun are the billboards that come in levels ... some of them stacked three billboards high. There are many of these around the Branson, Missouri area - hawking the various shows, hotels, restaurants, etc. With little space between the billboard poles, maneuvering the twists and turns for the hill country roads becomes a bit treacherous as you try to read each and every sign. Heaven forbid you miss one and don't eat at the most scrumptious restaurant available. I wonder if you can have a comp ticket if you tell the the ticket office that you broke your collar bone in an vehicular accident as you were trying to read the billboard advertising their show?

It's crazy!!

*mumblemumble* years ago I had the opportunity to travel to Hawaii. As I traveled along the roads of three of the islands, I was amazed at the beauty all around me. I also felt that I was missing something, when it dawned on me ... there were no billboards or advertisements anywhere along the roads. Hawaii, valuing the beauty nature has bestowed, does not allow their roads to be littered with advertising billboards and signs.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if the other states of our nation valued their natural beauty as well? Books wouldn't be needed to entertain while driving if people simply gazed upon and appreciated the natural beauty around them. More importantly, wouldn't it be interesting to find out the statistics on the number of accidents/injuries that are advertising related?

Perhaps hospitals could put that question on their admittance forms ...

How did these accident injuries occur? (check all that apply)

Box #1 - reading book while driving

Box #2 - reading billboard while driving

Box #3 - writing number down from advertisement while driving

Box #4 - reading and writing while driving

Down Main St. in Small Town USA

It was Osceola, Iowa.

I don't remember the year, but trust me when I tell you that it was *mumblemumble* years ago, that I saw my first small town parade.

I'd been to a big city parade. At the age of 5, my parents took me into New York City early one Thanksgiving morning and I got to see the Macy's Christmas parade live. My biggest memory of the parade? Nope, it wasn't seeing Tom Turkey, the balloons, the bands or Santa Claus himself. My memory is of the fact that since I was shorter than those around, I couldn't see, so my dad lifted me up to sit on a mailbox next to them. This was followed by the arrival of a policeman on a giant brown horse (I was short AND I was a city girl, you do the size math!) telling my parents that I was not allowed to sit on federal property.

So much for the parade memories from that year. I'm sure I was fascinated as only a wide eyed child could be at the time, I simply can't access those memories.

I can remember my first small town parade. Okay, it may not be the very first one I saw, but it's the first parade I truly have memories of being there, seeing the bands and the floats and the cars and the people. I remember the sounds, the smells, the way the sun shone down on everything - people smiling, laughing, waving with pride the little American Flags. It was over the Fourth of July holiday and it was in Osceola, Iowa, home of my mom's parents - my Nanny & Papa.

Osceola is one of those wonderful small towns built around an open city square and it was around that square that the parade wove it's way. My Papa was a member of the Osceola Volunteer Fire Department and I clearly remember him in his crisp white shirt and his dark blue pants with the dark blue cap firmly on his head as he rode in the big fire engine. I remember a float that was shaped like the world as it rested in the back of an old red pick up truck. I remember the bands and the horses. The sights and smells, the sounds as they wove through the day. My Nanny worked in a booth that sold pies and other baked goods. I don't clearly remember if it was for her church group or because she was a fireman's wife but I do remember being sneaked a cookie if I would go on and not just hang around. There were carnival rides set up in the square and that night the square became a magical world of bright lights and carny music and cotton candy.

However, it was the parade that started the day.

I think those memories are part of the reason I love living in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. We are a part of the Tulsa area and therefore we are part of a metropolitan community, but there are times when Broken Arrow is simply a good, old fashioned small town. The second weekend of May is one of those times. Each year, on the second weekend of May, the town celebrates Rooster Days, a spring time festival. There is a Miss Chick pageant, a carnival, a craft show, music and lights and on Saturday morning, there is a parade.
A good old fashioned hometown parade.

Leading the parade is the high school marching band, fittingly named, The Pride of Broken Arrow. These kids, grades 9 through 12, are amazing musicians and Grand National Champion winning marchers. There's one that I'm particularly proud of myself ... a sixteen year old sax playing junior.

Yeah. It was a nice way to start the parade. Although, this year the parade was started even sweeter as one of the main sponsors for the Broken Arrow parade is our own local Blue Bell Ice Cream Creamery and while their big brown truck slowly made it's way down the street, it's various employees came down each side with large ice cream buckets handing out mini ice cream sandwiches. One, two, three ... some had four and five ... didn't matter, they were free and they were yummy and there was no shortage of smiles after that.

Mixed between the various middle school bands were various floats from area businesses and churches, groups of cheerleaders and dancers. There were old cars and new ones, including the new unmarked police car contrasting with one of the original Oklahoma Highway Patrol cars. There were Shriners ... the spinning car, the clowns chasing each other, the mini speed cars racing up and down and around, the dune buggies. There were politicians (what's a small town parade without them?) and there were representatives of the local television station.

The parade began to wind down, having saved the best middle school band for last. Okay, probably not completely true since they actually marched the middle school bands in alphabetical order, but in MY opinion it was the best middle school band. You see, making her debut marching performance was yet another of my girlies, also playing sax. After years of watching her and her sisters in this parade or the winter Christmas parade, either as band members or Girl Scout troop members, the thrill of pride never fades in seeing the flushed face of the young person I adore, who has been a part of something fun and hometown wholesome. They may fuss about walking the distance, but in the end - they're always smiling.

Of course, after the parade came the craft show and a day spent at the carnival. Later that night would come the tired, sweaty, children recounting the twisting, twirling, plummeting fun of rides as they count their loot of plush animals - the magic of colorful lights still shining in their eyes.

However, before that, still seated on the concrete sidewalk, feeling the breeze, listening to the music of the bands and the people, watching the amazing sight of a small town community, I remembered back to those days *mumblemumble* years ago and the fond memories of sharing a fun time with family and I hoped. I hoped to myself that my girlies were stockpiling those memories to recount in future years.

Memories of Good Days

I miss the good old days.

This saying takes on so many meanings for me. Working with seniors on a daily basis, it takes on a historical meaning of when times were “simpler”. There’s also the fact that with today’s rising prices in gas, groceries and daily life, missing the good old days simply means missing the fact that my paycheck wasn’t spent before I actually received it.

However that’s not the meaning that has seemed to hit home for me this weekend. I don’t know why the nostalgia bug hit me, but it did and so I indulged myself with a few pictures and thoughts.

I miss the good old days …

Those days when Saturday mornings were spent with me and a three year old watching The Lion King for the 50 bajillianth (it’s a word … I just used it) time after eating pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse heads swimming in maple syrup.

Those days when my alarm clock was two little girls calling from their cribs or playpens with the words “I hun-gy, Cinny!”, which were followed by days when my alarm clock was two little girls (one in particular) who had discovered that she could get out of her “big girl” bed by herself and come into my room and stand there quietly, staring at me in the face, startling me awake by either pressing my nose or … my favorite (she says sarcastically) … sticking a finger in my ear … and waking me with the words “I hun-gy, Cinny!”.

Those days when reading with the girlies meant cuddling up in my big chair with a girlie on each arm rest and a pile of books between us.

Those days when an umbrella was a fashion accessory.

Those days when I could a few quiet moments with one of the girlies, simply sitting with her in front of me on the floor as I brushed out her long hair.

Those days when manuevering around my kitchen meant stepping around the step stools used by my budding assistants, as they helped me with cookie dough and other goodies to be baked.

Those days when it was so easy to read and understand the expression on my girlies faces.

Those days when picnics in the park, decorating the driveway with chalk drawings, and the simple words “let’s play outside”, brought smiles and giggles to the faces of three girls and lightened my mood from whatever had transpired during the week.

Those days when a simple smile and a tight hug around the neck said more than any glittery gift or expressive sonnet ever could.

My girlies are growing up. Fast becoming independent, young women with their own thoughts and decisions, instead of the babies and children they once were in those good old days. What is left of those childhood moments now are a handful of pictures and a heart full of memories,

However … these modern days still hold something wondrous and true. Perhaps the cost of gas has increased dramatically, yet the value of the smile and hug has grown to be even more precious than gold and it still costs nothing to give or receive.

And that works for me on any day.

Berry Good

I wasn’t always a berry eater. Actually, I’ve never been much of an overall fruit eater. I enjoy an occasional apple, especially in the fall. Oranges belong in the toe of a Christmas stocking and it is during those wintery months when they simply seem sweeter. Summer wouldn’t be summer without a watermelon or a cantelope (please don’t ask me about the honeydew melon – the taste just never has appealed to me) juices running down a chin and giving a refreshing punch on a hot day. There’s also the black plum, whose skin is so tart it’s as though you have bitten into a giant sour sweettart candy, yet it’s inside is so juicy and sweet that the tart is quickly forgotten.

I don’t really like pineapple, although when I had the opportunity to spend 11 days in Hawaii *mumblemumble* years ago, I don’t recall snacking on anything more than the local pineapple, as well as fresh mango and papaya. I do enjoy a kiwi on occasion. Their tart sweetness is rich and good when mixed with the melons of summer.

I’ll state right now that I have never cared for grapes, peaches or nectarines. Raise your eyebrow, scoff and laugh, it doesn’t matter. I have tried. I can’t … I don’t … I just won’t.

Yet I can’t say never.

Because there’s my growing attraction to berries.

It’s been slow to grow over the years. As a kid/teen/young adult, I would watch as my family and friends would relish in the goodness of berries … strawberries, red raspberries, black raspberries, blueberries, gooseberries. You name them, my family ate them … fresh, sliced with sugar, baked in cobblers, pureed into jams and jellys. It was a regular berry fest. One that I simply didn’t care for trying. Well … I tried … I just didn’t like.

Oh … I did eat the occasional strawberries … but they had to be whole and there had to be a good amount of powdered sugar to dip them in.

Over the years my enjoyment of strawberries has gradually increased to more than just an occasional whole berry. Perhaps it was when my mother began making her own strawberry jam and the sweet goodness, spread out on a fresh, warm slice of homemade bread was one of the finest treats I could imagine.

Recently, I’ve discovered that my distaste for blueberries has also seemed to have turned a corner. First it was cooked blueberries in a muffin or coffeecake that made me rethink my previous dislike. Who couldn’t resist a blueberry muffin with all that intoxicating crumbly coating on the top? But then, after a bit, the crumbly coating wasn’t necessary … just a straight muffin with blueberries please. Last year I discovered blueberry tea. I honestly can’t tell you why I tried it, I can only tell you that it is some of the best stuff I’ve had the pleasure of sipping on a cold winter morning as I check my emails and read my friends words before starting my day. When that warm mug of blueberry tea is joined with a toasty slice of blueberry bread … well, raptures have been sung for less. Imagine my delight when I found a place that sells homemade blueberry jelly?? Suddenly my mornings were a matter of blueberry tea and the dilemma of whether to enjoy a slice of blueberry toast or an english muffin with blueberry jelly.

I’m not stupid … I had the blueberry tea, the blueberry toast and made a peanut butter and blueberry jelly sandwich for my lunch.

Ha!

I have been enjoying learning to try new recipes, cooking with the fresh blueberries. There’s a recipe for a blueberry angel food cake that keeps catching my eye and don’t get me started on this lemon blueberry muffin recipe that looks and sounds scrumptious. I’m excited for the season’s fresh blueberries because I’ve found a wonderful way to freeze them so that I can enjoy them again come winter.

For now though, we’re back to summer and those sunny days and warm breezes. It is once again the season for my local fruit stand and the local strawberries. I may eventually broaden my horizons to once again try the other berries, but right now I don’t need to. Right now the strawberries are fresh, sweet and intoxicating – with or without sugar.

Yesterday I made a pitcher of strawberry iced tea. I ate my muffin with homemade strawberry jam. And I found a recipe for strawberry bread. Yep … I’m a singleminded creature at times and in my mind …
that’s berry good.