Memorial day Weekend

in Arizona's Rim country.

We went camping near the Mogollon Rim last Friday. We arrived shortly before the sun fell behind the tall pines. We managed to get our tent set up, the air mattresses inflated, our camp kitchen set up, a fire ring built & the girls into their pink leopard print sweats before the sunlight faded entirely. We also had to build a fire ring, the first time we have had to do so. We managed to do all of this while keeping our eyes glued on our 5 year old & our 2 year old. She turns two today actually. Yes, we were working at break neck speed. It is the first time we had been camping in 5 years. The last time we went camping was May of 2002 when our oldest was our only child & she was just 6 just 6 weeks old.

The oldest had fun during the day, but was cold at night. The little one is going through the seperation anxiety phase & when she woke up at 3 am, she cried non-stop. She didn't calm down until I jumped in our car with her, cranked the heat up & watched Charlotte's Web on our DVD player. She FINALLY went to sleep again about dawn. Once she went to sleep, I turned off the car, cracked open the door & used the restroom in the wilderness. While I was out there, I took a few photos. My hubby & our oldest were curled up in their sleeping bags in the tent. Do you think I remembered to take photos of our camp? NO! I sure took photos everything else though.

We camp in undeveloped sites in the Apache-Sitegraves forest. There was a small clearing of trees so we pitched our tent there. The forest service allows camping in these sites, but no more than 300 feet from the road. If we would have gone 300 feet from the road, we would have been invisible.

We drove to both of the nearby lakes. To get to Bear Canyon Lake you have to climb down a 1/4 mile path that is steep & winds back & forth 4 times. We did this & our legs were TIRED after we did so. The little one walked all the way down & 3/4 of the way back up before her Daddy plooped her on his shoulders. The oldest hiked the entire thing.

We only had to go through the bait & tackle shop to reach Woods Canyon Lake. We stopped & I took many photos of plants, trees, the lakes, the kids & my husband.

We played horseshoes & kicked balls into our mini soccer net. We read books, drew pictures & went on walks. A little bird even visited the edge of our camp! The youngest took a nap along with her daddy for awhile. Then we packed everything up & headed back home.

I was enjoying myself, but I was exhausted & I didn't feel like dealing with another sleepless night courtesy of the youngest. On the way home, the youngest vomited all over herself, her carseat & the toys she was holding on her lap. After that she was feeling better. Thank goodness she did it near a place we were able to stop & I could clean her up & change her clothes.

We had fun. It just got a little too cold at night for the kids. Maybe we will try again later this summer, if the forest service doesn't have a no campfires rule again.

1. Yourself? On a journey
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend? married
3. Your hair? In need of a dye job
4. Your mother? Sassy
5. Your father? Daddy
6. Your favorite thing? Material possession....my camera
7. Your dream last night? dry
8. Your favorite drink? Water...at the moment
9. Your dream car? I honestly don't have a "dream" car
10. The room you're in right now? The messiest room in the house
11. Your fear? Which one
12. What you want to be in 10 years? At healthy weight & at home with my kids
13. Muffins? YUMMMM....MUFFINS!
14. Who you hung out with last night? The family unit
15. What you're not? shy
16. Time? 12:51 A. M.
17. What you're wearing? Capris
18. Your favorite weather? Fall
19. Your favorite book? Horror (Stephen King)
20. Last thing you ate? Taco
21. Your worst vice? Pizza
22. Your best friend is? I'm not sure I have one anymore
23. What you're thinking about right now? This list
24. Your car? Malibu
25. Your life? Moving forward

I'm a Canna? What kind fo flower are you?

I am a Canna What Flower Are You?

Pee BEFORE you read this!

I just thought this photo was approproate for this post.

This is toooooo good not to share, but I warn you, go pee BEFORE reading this....

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a
seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it
had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd
tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of ass
cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at
work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning
home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the
emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be
happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order
for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the
stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign
proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon
informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that
everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms.
I surveyed the five stalls, which I have
numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1. Occupied.

2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the
occupied one.

3. Poop smeared on seat.

4. Poop and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered
on seat.

5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of
toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped
trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Pooper. I wasn't
happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were
afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet
sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and
then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for
a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it
needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The
inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Pooper was blathering to Mrs.
Pooper about the crapy day he had. I sat there, cramping and
miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation
dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had
a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My ass
let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping
soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no
longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand,
braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with
all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a
cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in
half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM
tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the
resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things
became apparent:

(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued
seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom
was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma
quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate.
This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-
sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds
of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could
hear that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could
swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes,
poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The
amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl
with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that
liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run
down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang
on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of
conversation made
themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible...
throw up...
in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh
God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's
bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet
was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed
by string of swear words and gags. My shit-mate had dropped his
phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly
quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A
final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks
plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw.
I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door
was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming
the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the
damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with
this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the
world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a
floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in
the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and
left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never
know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking
around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that
somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my
Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time
before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll
ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends,
is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

**Note** I hope everyone gets a laugh out of this, if it offended
anyone, Im sorry. :)

Photos I have taken

I have turned these photos into book plates for my Book Crossing releases.



Trees in Autum on the Grounds of the St. Louis Arch in St. Louis, Missouri



Trees outside of the Field Museum in Chicago

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Flowers at the zoo.

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The Desert Botanical Gardens


You can tell me what you think of these photos in the comments section of this entry. All I ask is that you be kind. Constructive critisim is fine, just be nice in the words you choose please.

Pink Elephant

A few days ago my daughter & I made this money bank for her. She wanted a pink elephant. I have been trying to use things I already have on hand. Instead of going out & buying a bank we made this. We used an old, clean chip container, acid free construction paper, gel pen, glue, foam stickers & embrodrey floss. The floss was braided by me & turned into a tail that is not shown in this photo.

When her Uncle & Grandpa came by for an unexpected visit, she just HAD to show it to them. Gee, I guess she likes it!

Michael Moore is at it again

'Sicko' Spawns Moore Fever in Cannes

From Associated Press
May 21, 2007 4:39 PM EDT

CANNES, France - In Cannes, Michael Moore is a rock star - mobbed by fans, assailed by cameras and forced to wolf down a plate of pasta between his latest interview and his next live TV appearance.

Moore's documentary "Sicko" - a ferocious attack on the U.S. health care industry - is the talk of the film festival, and he is hot property. Moore caught his breath Monday to tell The Associated Press about the urgent need to reform America's health system, and why he thinks the Bush administration is out to get him.

"It's a government that's funded by the pharmaceutical companies and the health insurers, so I'm not surprised they're coming after me," said Moore, who is being investigated by the U.S. Treasury Department for traveling to Cuba for one of the segments in his film.

"I'm surprised they're doing it so soon. I didn't think they'd want to draw attention to the movie this early on."

Hurriedly eating spaghetti near the end of another whirlwind day, Moore said he was informed he was under investigation just days before the film's premiere here on Saturday. He was given 20 days to respond to questions about the trip, which he took accompanied by a group of sick Americans that included Sept. 11 rescue workers, to Cuba seeking treatment.

"They want me to name names," he said.

Moore says the group went to Cuba only after failing to gain admittance to the U.S. base at Guantanamo Bay - where, he claims, al-Qaida suspects receive better medical care than millions of Americans.

Treasury officials will not comment specifically about Moore's case.

The Cuba segment of the film has drawn most of the attention, but occupies relatively little screen time. Much of "Sicko" consists of moving testimony from Americans who have suffered at the hands of insurance companies, drug firms and HMOs. That includes a mother whose daughter died because the nearest hospital could not treat her, and a man who was told the cost of reattaching his two severed fingers would be $60,000 for the middle finger and $12,000 for the ring finger.

Several interview subjects died before the film was completed.

"It was pretty somber working on this film," Moore said. "We just kept thinking, the only reason this person is dying is because they hold American citizenship. If they lived in Canada or Britain or France, they'd have a chance."

"Sicko" has been rapturously received by audiences and critics at Cannes, where it is screening out of competition. Moore's last film, the President Bush-bashing documentary "Fahrenheit 9/11," won the festival's top prize, the Palme d'Or, in 2004.

The acclaim means Moore's schedule has been frenetic. Almost as soon as he sat down with the AP for a quick supper, he was hauled from the table and bundled into a van - reporter in tow - to head to a live appearance on French television.

As Moore's driver crept along Cannes' packed main drag, tourists and paparazzi thrust cameras at the van's open window until motorcycle police carved a path for the vehicle.

Moore knows that a rockier reception awaits back in the United States.

While Cannes has embraced him, Moore's critics say "Sicko" is overly rosy in its depiction of other countries' systems of socialized medicine. In Canada, happy emergency-room patients speak of short waits and free treatment. A British doctor in the state health system speaks happily of his six-figure income and million-dollar house. French interviewees glow with satisfaction at their quality of care.

"The facts are indisputable," Moore said as the van pulled up at a beachside TV studio. "People in those countries live longer than us, they have a lower infant mortality rate, they spend only half the money that we spend per person on health care and yet they have a healthier nation. There's no part of that picture that I'm painting that is untrue.

"Are there flaws in those systems? Absolutely. But those are flaws for the people in those countries to correct, not me."

And with that, he disappeared into another cheering crowd.

The end of April

Let's see, I got really sick on my Husband's birthday. That meant no B-Day nookie of him. By sick I mean, a fever, coughing & hacking, painful sinuses & the runs. Yes I was REALLY VERY SICK. It lasted about 4 days.

Next my daughter came down with a mild version of what I had, but husband had the same thing as me. Luckily, the youngest never got more than the sniffles.

Last weekend, we drove up to Roosevelt Lake to scout out possible camping sites. We were very dissappointed with the. In addition to our dissappointment, it was only about 10 degrees cooler there than it was at home. It will be a great winter camping site, but not for Memorial Day weekend. I did get some good pictures of Superior, Miami & the Queen Creek Tunnel areas.