“I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of a vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I never want to be away from you again, except at work, in the restroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see.

“I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.

“I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world.
 
“I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.
 
“I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.

“Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece
of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.” 
 
“Life will never end when you are in it.” 
 



 

Sara Noelle Blackwelder: just witnessed a bug giving birth on her windshield. It's going to be a bad day.

Megan Blackwelder:  Ewww

Wendy Lowman James:  was it on the bug's  windshield? ("giving birth on HER windshield")

Lori Lowman Madden:  Really, Sara? Did I forget to teach you about misplaced modifiers?

Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  Ok, ok. The sentence goes "Sara Noelle Blackwelder just witnessed a bug giving birth on her windshield..."  It is not incorrect, thank you!!

Lori Lowman Madden:  "Her" is closest to "bug", and since said "bug" is obviously female because "she" is giving birth, "her" appears to be referring to said "bug" instead of the aforementioned "Sara Noelle Blackwelder". Do I sense a 'tude?

Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  Yes, there is a definite 'tude here, Mother.  What was I supposed to
say?  Sara Noelle Blackwelder just witnessed a bug giving birth on Sara Noelle Blackwelder's
window??

Lori Lowman Madden: "Mother"?  That's not a good sign... 

Rebecca Lyon:  Ahahahahaha!  :)

Kathy Martin Blackwelder:  Did it have a boy or a girl?

Lori Lowman Madden:  Greg wants to know if you are going to be the bug's nanny also. He says a little extra cash never hurts! 
 
Lori Lowman Madden:  Puts a new twist on a baby "buggy", huh? 

Sara Noelle Blackwelder: No, they pay too little (ha ha ha... pun intended).  And I do believe it had quads so the sex is unknown.

Kathy Martin Blackwelder:  I wonder if they are registered at Bugs R Us??
 
Lori Lowman Madden:  And how many baby booties does each one need? Six or eight? 

Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  Well it wasn't a spider... because if it was, it wouldn't need any baby booties because I would have killed it.

Kathy Martin Blackwelder:  Good question...they will probably just need sleepers or onesies to start out with.

Megan Blackwelder:  OHHH MY GOSH. This conversation is hilarious!
 
Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  Hahaha I know, only on my facebook would an entire conversation about bug babies happen!!

Lori Lowman Madden:  The itsy-bitsy bu-ug gave birth on Sara's shield... the sex of the babies is yet to be revealed... Stock up on the booties because she'll need a lot...(and brush up on your grammar, just so you don't get caught!!!)

Megan Blackwelder:  Wow. hahahaaaaaaaaaaaa. That’s talent right there!

Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  Oh my my my.
 
Lori Lowman Madden:  And the moral of the story is... block Wendy from your friends list... :-)

Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  hahaha yeah, Wendy!  You started it!!!  She will have plenty of comments to catch up on tomorrow.  All of these will be in her notifications haha.

Lori Lowman Madden:  Shouldn't you be studying???

Megan Blackwelder:  Yes...SARA!

Lori Lowman Madden:  Thank you for your support Megan... 
 
Megan Blackwelder:  You're welcome! :) 

Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  Ugh. Yes. I am studying!!  I'm taking a break...?

Keith Blackwelder:  You should've just turned on the dad-gummed windshield wipers and we wouldn't be having this conversation...

Sara Noelle Blackwelder:  Dad, there's no "we" about it... and those of us that were are done with it!! :) Love you Dad.

Wendy Lowman James:  OMG ... woke up to 29 notifications ... I giggled all the way through my shower this morning!

Sara Noelle Blackwelder 's comment about a birthing bug is now ruined thanks to her grammatically anal family. Thanks, family, thanks. 
 
Lori Lowman Madden:  My work here is done. 
 
Wendy Lowman James:  I love being called anal. Just so ya know.
 
Wendy Lowman James:  BTW, people that call me "anal" usually don't get good birthday
presents. Just so ya know.

I may be a lot of things, but high-maintenance is not one of them. Let me describe for all one of you what the perfect Friday night 'date night' looks like to me. I love, love, love a good storm. I don't know why rain makes me so happy, but it does. I also love the fall colors, and I realize that fall and stormy weather don't usually go together. But in my head I can make it so... Early October. Secluded mountain cabin with huge covered porch lined with little white lights. Hammock for two. Ingrid Michaelson or Martina McBride playing slow-dance worthy tunes in the background. Crackling fire in the fire pit. A just-out-of-the-oven-brownstone cake cooling on the tile counter next to a vase of daisies. Gallon of ice cold milk in the fridge. Wicked thunderstorm. Some dancing. Some cake eating. A little more dancing. Then settling into the hammock with the man I love under a soft-as-butter blanket, and falling asleep with my head on his chest and to the sounds of thunder and the rain pounding against the red tin roof. If this makes me wrong, I don't want to be right : )

My grandmother lived to be almost 100, as do most of my relatives. I remember one of the last conversations I had with her while she was in the nursing home. She was looking at me with a sort of sad smile, and I asked her what she was thinking about. I was probably in my mid-thirties at the time. She told me that no matter how old her body got, her heart still felt like that of a young girl. Her husband, my grandfather, had passed on many years earlier, but she missed him every day. My great-aunt (my grandmother's sister) and great-uncle passed away within days of each other. They had been married for more than 60 years and they were constantly together. When she died, he said that he just didn't have enough time with her. And then he went too. I want to be the cherished wife whose husband could never get enough time with her. Perhaps one day.

When you're special to a cat, you're special indeed.  He brings to you the gift of his preference for you - for the sight of you, the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand. And then after 3.2 minutes, he bites you. Then he slinks away with a quick jerk of his tail as if he's made your life better with just his nearness to you. And yes. Yes, he has.

I recently completed a Photoshop class, and as much as I hate to admit it, I learned very little because my attention span is about as flexible as an old rubber band. But I did manage to create a thing of at least minimal beauty. When I was probably 4 or 5, I was on a local TV show called The Sargeant Mills Show. It was about a police officer who interviewed a bunch of kids sitting on bleachers. When he got to me he asked what my favorite flower was. My answer was "pansies, because they have faces on them." I can't explain the reasoning behind that answer; after all, I was a weird little kid who slept with a huge, sticky, rubber monkey, and always had to dance or do cheers for the purpose of entertaining company (at 25 cents a pop). I was no more normal then than I am now, but who decides what normal is, anyway?
     This post spans a multitude of totally unrelated topics, but the original intent was to show off my pretty pansies. You're welcome.