Natalie was born back in the days before ultra sounds and knowing the sex of your baby before it was born. One day we ask Stephanie what kind of baby she was hoping for. She thought a minute and then answered, "One with little feet."
Yes, Luanne, Matt and Shelly, this is a Forest of Neurons. The image shows just a minute fraction of the cells and connections within the microcircuitry of the neocortex of the brain. Looks a little familiar, doesn't it? This last shot is a model created by scientists at Harvard and MIT depicting a complete neural circuit. A close, close, close-up of a single tip of one of those infintesimally tiny nano branches from the top photo. Kinda takes your breath away, doesn't it?
All things denote there is a God, yea even the earth and all things that are upon the face of it . . .Alma 30:44
I found this photo, taken by National Geographic photographer, Lynn Johnson, on my son-in-law's blog. Not only does Kevin have excellent taste in wife selection, he is also the kind of unique and wonderful man who would find such an exquisite photo and want to share it. Isn't it beautiful? At first I thought it was a painting, it's so perfect. I love the colors, the composition, the lighting, the tenderness the scene evokes. I was especially touched by the mother's hands. Look how they're poised protectively between her baby and the ground. I love that Kevin's heart resonated with this shot. Isn't Steph lucky to have such a man in her world?
This video is taken from a compilation of videos posted at Vimeo, all shot during a day of of 'inquiry into religions' at Harvard University late last year. The event was titled, A Day of Faith. The moderator, a newswoman and self-proclaimed Atheist, asks each of five Harvard students: a Mormon, a Muslim, a Protestant, a Jew and a Buddhist, about their faiths. It is fascinating and inspiring to watch. What beautiful messages! When you've got some time, I'd encourage you to go to Vimeo and watch each of the segments--and then share them with those you love. Click here for the full program.
So, this morning Lenore has moved right up to the window. It may be that she's getting a little more brave, but I'm thinking it's just that it was very cold this morning and she was trying to tuck up against the house to stay out of the wind. I know, I know. This is a really bad video. When I first started shooting, I thought I was taking a still picture. There's the bold truth about my photographic abilities. Natalie I'm not. In fact, I'm thinking we're pretty lucky we've even got this.
Don't you just love clever people? These look like they're made with mini stencils--and I imagine that you'd just lay the stencil over your foam topped coffee or hot chocolate cup, then sprinkle over it with cocoa or cinnamon. This is one of the billion times I miss Gav. He'd be able to whip one of these little guys out for me in 10-15 minutes. I'd love one that just said, "I love you." Wouldn't it be fun to serve someone a warm cup of "I love you"?
I'm sure not going to be needing the "I'm pregnant" one, but wouldn't that be a fun way to make your announcement? (Oh. I just remembered. Last night I dreamed that I was pregnant. How random is that?) I'm so sorry that I don't know anything about the product or these photos. But I found the pics over at Amorology. You can drop over there and ask Heather about them.
Meet Edgar. He stands about 4 inches tall. I think he's a Common House Finch. For the past week, this little guy has been tap, tap, tapping at our family room window sill. Two, three times a day he appears, and while his wife waits timidly in the oak branches a safe distance behind him, he perches on the transom sill and peers into the window, as if he wishes he could come inside and . . . what? Build a nest? Snack on the popcorn and Cheez-It crumbs on the floor around Greg's recliner? I have no clue. Now, before you start guessing you need to know: this mystery goes far deeper than popcorn and Cheez-It crumbs. Here's a strange clue for you: This is not the first bird that has come knocking at my window. The first year we lived here a chubby, round robin started knocking--but Sherlock, NOT at the same window. Interestingly, he sat at a lower window, just next to and below Edgar's transom window--and, you should also know . . . slightly around the corner. Stop laughing. The varied location of the knocking is relevant here. Think about it, different height, different angle, and the light or reflection would be also different, now wouldn't it? (Yes, Watson. Elementary.)
I named this first bird Curtis (not relevant, but it'll help you keep it all straight in your mind), and Curtis too, came several times a day throughout the spring. There's more: Curtis came back every year for about three years. See, I told you. This is a pretty thick plot. Every clue counts. Now, since Curtis started coming the first year we'd built our little house here in the trees, we wondered if maybe he had been born somewhere in the trees surrounding the house and now wanted to have access to his old stomping grounds. Curtis REALLY wanted in. He fairly drove us crazy tapping at the pane. He could really make a ruckus, I'm tellin you.
But then one Spring, Curtis didn't come. It was a little sad. We missed him. We consoled ourselves by considering that Crazy Curtis had probably simply reached the end his robin life span and he was now happily tapping at some heavenly window somewhere else. And so we finally let go of trying to figure out the method behind Curtis' madness.
But now here we are, five springs after Curtis' departure, and two new birds, Edgar and Lenore--who, I remind you, are not even robins--show up. What the?
If I lived in Hawaii, I would take my three little grandsons to Sea Life Park there on O'ahu to see this baby sea turtle. Afterward, we'd drive home through the pineapple plantations to North Shore and stop to get a shave ice at Matsimoto's. Then we'd drive through funky little beach towns and around Waimea Bay to Sunset Beach where we would play pirates and have driftwood sword fights until the sun went down. That evening, after I'd given them warm bubble baths and we'd read There's a Wocket in my Pocket, we would snuggle on the couch watching Wall E until we all drifted off to sleep. I would love to live in Hawaii.
Yesterday, on Twitter, Natalie posted the following:
Educate me tweet peeps, what's the single greatest song ever written?
3:35 PM Mar 4th from web
And since I had laundry, vacuuming and bills I was eager to avoid, I spend the next hour trying to imagine how I would answer her question. It wasn't easy. How could I choose between Handel's Messiah and the entire Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Album? In fact, if I were to limit myself solely to Lennon & McCartney compositions alone, how in the world could I come up with just one to label Best?? (Think the entire Rubber Soul album, or The White Album, or Revolver. Can't be done, can it?) Next I moved on to Paul Simon. Oh man, just the man's poetry, even without his stunning music, was almost too beautiful for me to bear all in a single afternoon. In light of my life recently, this lyric of Paul's came to mind:
Don't know a soul who's not been battered,
Don't have a friend who feels at ease.
Don't know a dream that's not been shattered
Or driven to it's knees.
Oh, but I'm all right, I'm all right--
Just weary to my bones.
Still, you don't expect to be bright and bon vivant
So far away from Home . . . so far away from Home.
And that, my friends is merely the first of his lyrics that came to mind. He's written hundreds of them, many even more beautiful than this. Now, think about the sweeping beauty in Hoagie Carmichael's Stardust, or the tender way Jimmy Durante sang Make Someone Happy. Or Iz singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. See what I mean? Where would you even begin?
I finally came to the conclusion that Natalie's question just couldn't be answered. At least not in any way that she was expecting. So this morning I sent her the following:
Single greatest song: Your newborn's first cry.
Sorry. All the rest are purely subjective.
Though I still remember it's magic, that is one song I haven't heard in about 23 years. So for now, I'll have to let this fine little number from Paul Simon and his Gracelandalbum tide me over.
I am really doing my best to forgive Apple and Steve Jobs for giving their iPhone contract to AT&T, but let me tell you, it's hard. Steve, I l-o-v-e my iPhone, but honestly, the fact I am now forced to be an AT&T hostage is taking all the joy out of it. My calls echo and drop and echo and drop and drop and drop. Often, they won't even connect. AT&T, you are the Evil Empire of phone services, and I hate you. Just in case you missed my drift here, let me be clear:
AT&T, I HATE YOU!!!!
Years ago, when I had my first cell phone, I innocently stumbled into AT&T service and my fury began. Their billing department was a joke. My bills were always wrong. Every month, without fail. My calls echoed. My calls dropped. Usually they echoed, then dropped. But I was trapped. So I took deep breaths, waited out my hostage crisis, and at the exact moment my contract expired, tore over to a refreshing land called Verizon, with a solemn vow never to return to the Evil Empire.
Now, here's the honest truth: Never, ever, not even once during the years I was with Verizon did I EVER drop a call. My connections were always clear and crisp and get this: actually stayed connected. My bills were accurate. Their customer service was friendly, fair and responsive. My phone life was sweet and serene.
Then came the iPhone. Greg adored his and begged me to let him buy me one. "No!" I screamed. "I don't care how amazing that phone is. I will never, ever, ever be an AT&T customer again. Ever. Not as long as I live. Never." He tempted me with it's glorious features. They are glorious. I wouldn't budge. Finally, for our anniversary, he surprised me with a beautiful sleek white 3G. He laid it before me as if it were diamonds. It really was exquisite, and the experience there in the Apple store was truly rhapsodic. I caved.
I have learned to adore my iPhone's features. I love every one of the many cool things my little droid does for me . . . except for one cruel problem: once again, I'm being forced to endure AT&T. I'm hostage to the Evil Empire. And it is just as painful as ever. Why Steve? Why?
It's more than a little sad that so few of us live near our families any more. My own little ones would have to fly over the ocean and through the desert to spend Thanksgiving at Grandmother's house here in the mountains of Utah. But still, I like to imagine them all racing around my house--the air filled with the delicious aromas of turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie and homemade rolls. Occasionally, one of them will dash into the kitchen to hug my aproned knees, or to slip into the pantry to hide, silently signaling me with their eyes wide and a tiny finger to shushed lips. Then, as long as I'm imagining, I'll add some squealing cousins to the mix and the men's deep voices rising in a sudden shout, followed by their easy laughter rolling in over the sounds of the football game from the TV. There'll be my daughters and a daughter-in-law bustling around the kitchen with me, recalling kitchen secrets from grandmas long gone, sharing a dish towel and our love for each other and our hopes and concerns for those we will soon feed.
Tomorrow, while Greg and I enjoy our quiet Thanksgiving together, I plan to imagine scenes like this stretching out across the continent. I'll see smiling families and friends coming together with huge hugs, gathering to celebrate their love and gratitude for each other and their lives. How dear it is that for one warm and golden afternoon, we can all forget our worries of economies, environments and wars (in all their varieties) and instead think only of gratitude, God and family. The gatherings may be smaller, but the joyous memories of Thanksgivings past--or dreams of Thanksgivings longed for--will be large and warm and comforting. May tomorrow's Thanksgiving be all you hope for it to be.
This is pretty much how I've been feeling for a while. Can't quite seem to lift myself up and out of the drink. I guess this is the one time that it's good to see the glass as half empty? Acutally, I'm afraid that my glass is much closer to full than this one. Don't you sometimes wish that someone would come along and drop you a ladder--or at least lend a hand? I used to love the story of the Shoemaker and the Elves. I'd get so excited when the elves snuck in to fix everything up for the poor little cobbler. Young as I was, I would always just sigh with relief when he came in the next morning to all those beautifully made shoes. Well, fairy tales and wishes don't seem to be getting me anywhere. I guess I'd better start rocking and rolling. Maybe I can get this glass to tip over and I can crawl out. It's ridiculous keep waiting for elves or ladders or for the water to evaporate.
Ah yes. But, just how lovely are they . . . really? Not long ago, I posted a recipe here on SkinnyLink for Raw Organic Chocolate Macaroons. After having heard about all the health benefits of raw cacao (antioxidants galore) and the surprising benefits of coconut oil (it promotes weight loss, it's filled with potent antimicrobial agents), I really wondered if maybe I'd found the recipe for Manna.
How I wish things would just stay clear and simple. But, not in this world. If you look beyond all the articles posted on sites trying to sell you coconut oil you'll find that there is some controversy over just how healthy coconut oil really is. The controversy seems to be swirling around the molecular structure of fatty acids. In coconut oil, these fatty acids are "medium-chain" --which, supposedly, makes them good for your body. And that may be true. But here's the rub: no matter how long or short those chains may be, the fatty acids in this oil are still saturated fatty acids. And that's bad.
So. Though people (as in some Hollywood and naturopathic types) swear by this yummy oil's weight loss and anti-microbial attributes, there are also some pretty credible medical folks (i.e. Dr Oz--it's amazing to me that he's been able to overcome the silliness of that name. Just shows ta go ya how far a pretty face and a nimble brain will take you. . . but, I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, medical types) who are stepping up to remind the public that all saturated fats have legitimately earned their bad rap. And this is the part that I find scary. Since I've already mentioned (and digressed with) Dr. Oz, I'll use a blurb from his site to tell you the rest of the story (this is l-o-n-g so I'll hi-light the parts you speed readers don't want to miss):
[Coconut oil] has more saturated fat than pretty much any food out there. How much? A mind-boggling 87%. Compare that to 63% in butter or 38% in a burger and you get the picture.
Okay, yes, there’s still some scientific debate about whether the type of saturated fat in coconut oil raises cholesterol as much as that found in animal foods. But even if it doesn’t, there’s plenty of proof that sat fat is a major health hazard in lots of other ways. For one thing, all sat fat speeds up aging. It does this by turning on a potentially harmful family of genes that we docs call RAS genes. They tell your body to churn out inflammatory proteins that cause heart disease, stroke, wrinkles, impotence, and immune system slipups.
Feeling older yet? Well, we’re just getting started. Sat fat doesn’t do pretty things for your memory, either. It decreases a chemical known as brain-derived neurotrophic factor that’s responsible for recall and learning. It also increases inflammation in the brain. When researchers at the Medical University of South Carolina fed rats a diet enriched with either coconut oil or soybean oil, the rats who scarfed down the chow laced with coconut oil not only developed more inflammation in their gray matter but also made more mistakes on memory tests. . .
No surprise, as many studies reveal the ugly secret that if you feast on foods rich in saturated fat, you are much more likely to develop dementia. Period, exclamation point.
So there's the Skinny. Pick your poison. Me, I'd rather be fat (the UNsaturated version) and still able to remember my name, thankyouverymuch. Sorry for getting you all excited about the cookies. Lovely bunch of coconuts indeed.
I don't know about you, but I am so sick of getting credit card offers in the mail. I'm always uncomfortable just throwing them away. I imagine some low-life scrounging through the dump and finding my credit card offers and gleefully mailing them in so that they can get a credit card in MY name and ruin my credit buying whatever it is scummy low-lifes like to blow their money on. So, I decided that I should tear them up. But what if low-life guy is really diligent and finds the pieces and tapes them back together and sends them in? OK, I guess the card company may suspect something there . . . but maybe scum man finds my name and address and then uses that information to apply for credit somewhere or to do some other nefarious scummy low-life stuff with it? Maybe I'm paranoid here, but you know what I mean: virtually daily we get all these stupid, unsolicited card offers in the mail--they junk up our mail boxes, stress out our paranoid sides, and tempt us to go into debt! I know, I know. I can just shred them. But frankly, I don't want to be forced to go to all of this work with mail I never asked for in the first place!! Well, I've found a solution. (Strains of harp music rise.) Click here and you will be magically transported to a site specifically dedicated to helping you STOP the harassment, clean out your mail box, and save a tree or two while you're at it. Ahhh, sweet serenity.
This video is taken from a compilation of videos posted at Vimeo, all shot during a day of of 'inquiry into religions' at Harvard University late last year. The event was titled, A Day of Faith. The moderator, a newswoman and self-proclaimed Atheist, asks each of five Harvard students: a Mormon, a Muslim, a Protestant, a Jew and a Buddhist, about their faiths. It is fascinating and inspiring to watch. What beautiful messages! When you've got some time, I'd encourage you to go to Vimeo and watch each of the segments--and then share them with those you love. Click here for the full program.
It's more than a little sad that so few of us live near our families any more. My own little ones would have to fly over the ocean and through the desert to spend Thanksgiving at Grandmother's house here in the mountains of Utah. But still, I like to imagine them all racing around my house--the air filled with the delicious aromas of turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie and homemade rolls. Occasionally, one of them will dash into the kitchen to hug my aproned knees, or to slip into the pantry to hide, silently signaling me with their eyes wide and a tiny finger to shushed lips. Then, as long as I'm imagining, I'll add some squealing cousins to the mix and the men's deep voices rising in a sudden shout, followed by their easy laughter rolling in over the sounds of the football game from the TV. There'll be my daughters and a daughter-in-law bustling around the kitchen with me, recalling kitchen secrets from grandmas long gone, sharing a dish towel and our love for each other and our hopes and concerns for those we will soon feed. 
This is pretty much how I've been feeling for a while. Can't quite seem to lift myself up and out of the drink. I guess this is the one time that it's good to see the glass as half empty? Acutally, I'm afraid that my glass is much closer to full than this one. Don't you sometimes wish that someone would come along and drop you a ladder--or at least lend a hand? I used to love the story of the Shoemaker and the Elves. I'd get so excited when the elves snuck in to fix everything up for the poor little cobbler. Young as I was, I would always just sigh with relief when he came in the next morning to all those beautifully made shoes. Well, fairy tales and wishes don't seem to be getting me anywhere. I guess I'd better start rocking and rolling. Maybe I can get this glass to tip over and I can crawl out. It's ridiculous keep waiting for elves or ladders or for the water to evaporate.
Ah yes. But, just how lovely are they . . . really? Not long ago, I posted a recipe here on SkinnyLink for Raw Organic Chocolate Macaroons. After having heard about all the health benefits of raw cacao (antioxidants galore) and the surprising benefits of coconut oil (it promotes weight loss, it's filled with potent antimicrobial agents), I really wondered if maybe I'd found the recipe for Manna. 
