Starbucks Instant Coffee - A Review

Coffee is my drug of choice; the only other beverages I drink are water, milk and an occasional beer. I drink coffee before bed, when I wake up and throughout the day. I don't like instant or decaf and yes I can tell the difference. You could say I am a coffee snob.

A while back Starbucks was offering free samples of their new instant coffee and because it was Starbucks I requested a sample. It arrived yesterday one packet of Colombian Roast and one packet of Italian Roast. For this review I am using the Colombian. If anyone can make a good instant coffee it is Starbucks.

It smells good, more like real coffee than instant. However it still has that "instant coffee foam" on the top, but it dissipated after a few moments. The color is deep and dark and looks like real coffee in the mug.

A teaspoon of coffee sans cream, sugar and it tastes more like real coffee than instant, but I need sugar and cream.. The color looks good with cream, the taste is good, but not as good as home brewed.

This is a great instant coffee for those that drink instant. It would also be good to have on hand for coffee emergencies or if going backpacking or camping.

Overall I give this coffee 4 stars out of 5.

Starbucks did a good job, but it is still instant coffee.

Blogging or Writing?

Today I received a DM from one of my twitter friends and she commented that she liked that I was a blogger who took my writing serious.   I never considered myself a blogger who writes, I am a writer who blogs.  Blogging is extention of my writings and not the purpose.  

In truth I find blogging difficult at times.  To spend time writing about about my opinions of the day or insights learned seems to me anyway a waste of time.   Mostly I post things I've written already. Not that there is anything with blogging opinons, insights in fact I enjoying reading blogs of that type.  

However, currently I am editing and rewriting my first novel, working on a biography, and several shorter pieces for different magazines.   There is also  the weekly news column I write. Every extra moment is devoted to writing or activities around writing, like online and in person critique groups and of course reading.    

Being a writer is more than putting words on paper and arranging them to make a interesting story.  It is keeping up with the trends, meeting fellow writers, discipline, reading, brainstorming, research, and submitting. You can't be published if you don't submit. :)        

When blogging, you write your piece and hopefully edit it.  When you write you edit it, show it to your crit group, rewrite, edit, show it to your crit group again and then look for places to submit it. Not that it always works that way, but you get the idea.

Is the art of writing becoming obsolete in this fast paced world?   Do you think there is a difference between blogging and writing?  Or are they one and the same?

Am interested to hear your feelings on blogging and writing.. or writing and blogging..  

Queen of Say So

Looking back over my childhood, I realize I had the perfect mother for the fifties. There was no way of her or I knowing that the following decade would bring the sexual revolution, women’s liberation, and the culture of doing your own thing. Not that my mother was perfect, no mother is except the TV moms of that era, Donna Reed, Jane Wyatt, and June Cleaver.

My mom had nothing in common with them, except she wore spiked heels like June Cleaver. June. Cleaver wore the high heels daily, to appear taller as Wally and the Beaver grew. My mother wore spiked heels because she had great legs and she was not shy about them. Mom also had a different air about her than other women of the era. She carried herself as if she had the Crown and Title to “Queen of Say So.” It was only later in life I discovered she had skipped two grades in school and graduated at age 16.

She was born Frances Marie Knizikiewicz and possessed a strong identity to her Lithuanian roots. She spoke the language and followed the traditions, though she was born in New York. On Shrove Tuesday aka Fat Tuesday, she would spend the day making homemade jelly donuts for our family to enjoy before Lent. On Easter Saturday, she would take baskets containing homemade, coffee cakes, pickled beets, picked eggs, ham, and a stick of butter molded into the shape of a lamb adorned with a red ribbon on its neck and peppercorn for eyes to the church to for the blessing of the food.

Mom was home with me the first seven years of my life. She cooked, cleaned, and took care of her children. She was not the doting mom that TV portrayed. If any of my siblings or I fell and suffered an injury, my mom would comfort us with “It will be better by the time you get married.” If any of us went to her with a compliant, she would always tell us to “Look on the bright side.” When we like most kids were unable to find a bright side, she found one. Even if it was, “Well you’re not dead.” There was no excuse for complaining about anything.

I was the fifth child in a family of six. My eldest brother Richard died of cancer at the age of three, exactly one month before my sister Judy was born. As an adult, I try to imagine the various feelings mom had at that time. Was it possible to feel the joy of new baby while mourning another child’s death? She commented once that she lost so much weight the month before my sister was born that Judy’s skin sagged over her body.

My mother mourned Richard’s passing throughout her life. We were always encouraged to pray to him if we needed anything. I never knew Richard but I was forever asking him for things. When the anniversary of his death came around, she was saddened for a time, and she was not timid about telling us the reason for the change in her manner. Richard died in the spring, and by the time summer arrived, Frances returned to normal.

In the summer, she gathered an abundance of "Jersey Tomatoes" from our small but efficient city garden and spent days canning. We had plenty of stewed tomatoes, whole tomatoes, and ketchup to last us until the next harvest. After the tomatoes, she moved on to peaches bought by the bushel for homemade jams and jellies. The smells from our kitchen rivaled those of Stokely's the local cannery.

My father came home from work each day about 7 p.m. Each night mom served dinner twice. Often making my father, an entire different meal then we had earlier. Frances hoped my father’s special meal would keep his blood pressure and weight down. It never did.

Many women in the fifties did not have a driver’s license and those who did, had their husband drive them. Frances could never understand why women wanted to be so dependent on their husband, “What if he dies, or gets sick? What will they do?” Although my father took the car to work, my mother would get up early and drive him to work if she needed to do shopping or errands.

When I was seven, my mom returned to work. It was a temporary position that lasted twenty-five years. I remember feeling abandoned. During the fifties like most children, I came home from school to eat lunch. Now I went to the neighbor’s, it was not the same. No more boats made from oranges or having my sandwiches in pretty designs, the neighbor made me substantial food, but it was not the same.

Besides lunch, not much in my life changed but France's life did. Like most fifties families, we had but one car. My mother would wake up every morning; slip her full-length beaver coat over a sheer silky nightgown and drive my father to work. It was a 30-mile trek. My father asked several time for her to put real clothes on. He feared the cops would pull her over and find her wearing the flimsy nightwear. My mother continued driving in the nightgown and beaver coat for years.

After her daring drive she came home made breakfast, dressed and then drove another 20 miles to her job at Trenton State Hospital where she an executive medical secretary. When her workday was finished, she came home, made dinner, feed us kids, and then pick up my father. Upon returning home, she made his dinner. She continued this routine for the next eight years, until our family bought a second car.

My mother was not timid with anyone. She always told us “Might does not make right.” One time at my brother’s Little League’s game my mother approached the Mayor and gave him her not so high opinion him. The Mayor kept smiling while she listed all her complaints and offered her some insight into his reasoning. Although my mother never cared for the Mayor, she did respect him because he addressed the issue.

Mom was no one of the mother’s that made the monthly PTA meetings but that does not mean she was not interested in our education. It was not uncommon for her to march into the principal’s office and expound a complaint against a teacher, or policy. She stated with pride “They don’t want to see me coming into the school.” More than once, we would be afraid to go to school after one of her numerous visits.

When I was in the sixth grade my teacher molested me, and I told my mother. After making certain I was not fibbing, she went to visit all the other mother’s of the girls in my class and urged them to come forward to make a compliant. She was disappointed that none of the mothers wanted to come forward even though their daughter’s also experienced advances by the teacher.

She was appalled at their fear and weakness, but it fueled her mission. Mom went to school and in no uncertain terms told the principle what would physically happen to him and the teacher if the teacher ever laid a hand on me again. Incidences like this did not get the attention in the fifties they do today, but the teacher did not touch me for the rest of the year.

My mother was a role model for me entering womanhood in the late sixties. She taught me to; Question authority, be independent, fight for what you believe in, do not be afraid of your sexuality, and not to care what others think. The most important thing she taught me though her words and her actions was to be a strong woman for that I am eternally grateful.

Getting Twitter

I joined twitter in September and I “ didn't get it“. It seemed moronic to me. Someone was tweeting (what is twitter's word for posting) "Eating a snack" or something else just as mundane. At the time, I was writing for Buzz Prevention and we were required to promote our blogs in 26 places every two weeks. Twitter was one of the places I used for promotion. I would go on and tweet my latest Buzz Prevention Blog.

It wasn’t until Buzz Prevention put the Blog project on hold in December that I really started to enjoyed and understood twitter. The first thing I did that helped was using twitter grader http://twitter.grader.com it was there I discovered I had a very low ranking. Of course I wanted to improve my ranking, but how to go about it?

One feature that grader has is a search function where I entered various subjects I was interested in and it showed me all the twitter elite that were interested in the same subject. I looked for writers, pug lovers, swimmers, etc. I would then click on the person’s @theirname and read their bio. If they sounded like a person I would like to meet in person, I followed them.

I did this whenever I could and looked for chances to have conversations when they were tweeting. I concentrated on building relationship with fellow twitters, stopped the tweet, and run routine.

Since that time, I found a great writing group, found a writing class via twitter and met some fabulous people. Twitter is full of opportunities, but as with most everything in life it requires some work. The rewards are fabulous.

If you joined twitter and are not getting it, try-visiting it an hour a day and try Mr. Tweet http://www.mrtweet.net as well as grader. Oh yeah add me as a friend and I’ll follow you back @jerzegurl

Happy Heart Day

May love arrive gently
and
become the passion
of
a storm within your soul.

Disdain

I hate you.
With hostility
that erodes
My Christian values

Each day I seek
a quality that
would redeems you,
but I meet failure.

I search for warmth
You possess none.
Just your chill and iciness
mixed with threats.

I'm tired of your
demanding chores.
I don't want to do
them any more.

Where is your warmth?
Do you have any?
You were born
to be cold and harsh.

I wish you away
Far from me.
But you’re here
Winter.

Love Everlasting

"What the hell..." Carol mutters as a figure appears in the heart of the road. Like a statue, it stood still, not attempting to move out of the path of Carol's Toyota. Carol slams the brakes and the quick stop, sends the car spinning into a snow bank. Her car sits 180 degrees half buried, parallel to the frozen lake. She steps down from the car and looks for whoever was standing in the road, but no one is there. Carol kicks the back tire that sticks up in the air curses, and releases her tears.

The snow changes to ice and it stings her face, she tries to get back in the car. After several attempts, she opens the door, climbs in, and reaches for her purse. "Shit!" she cries out, "no freaking reception!"

A sudden shadow appears on her left and a woman is standing in the road, feet from her car. Her heart jumps along with her body, until she realizes it is Mrs. Borelli, Tony’s mother. Carol rolls the window down. "Hi, Mom! What are you doing here?" Mrs. Borelli is the only person Carol called Mom, beside her own.

"I work at the inn around the bend saw the car go into a spin, didn't know it was you. Come with me and I’ll heat up some soup. Were you going to the cemetery? Tony wouldn’t want you traveling in this weather, come with me. ”

Carol gets out of her car and embraces the woman and the two walk the road with arms intertwine keeping each other from falling as they reminisce.

“Carol I was crushed when you broke up with Tony. What happened? He didn’t say much, I'd always hoped the two of you would marry.”
“Me too Mom, however I couldn't compete with his mistress."
"Mistress? Tony wasn't seeing anyone that I know of. Who was she?"
Carol strains holding in tears and attempts to swallow the lump in her throat. She is about to start blubbering, when they reach White's Inn. The door of the inn opens to the kitchen and a myriad of aromas saturate Carol's nose, yeast from fresh bread, onions and beef from stew, apples from a crisp, and the unusual scent Carol couldn't place, but knew well.

"Take off that wet coat, I'll get you some soup." Mrs. Borelli continues to talk "I can't believe you're here! How long has it been?”

"Twenty years? I'm not sure, but it seems like yesterday." Carol thought back to the time she spent with Mom while dating Tony. Mom and her would prepare meals, go to the hairdressers, play hearts, and other mother/daughter activities. "How long, have you been working here?"

"Years, live here too. My house was empty without the kids or Jerry and this job was perfect. I make the breads, soups, desserts, and salads. Guess it has been 15 years give or take a few. I love the work and I can see Tony’s grave across the lake. Can you see it?” Mrs. Borelli points her index finger towards the window. “What about you Carol; Married? Kids?" Mrs. Borelli keeps chatting and places a bowl of minestrone in front of Carol. "Mangiare!"

"I’ve been divorced ten years, no children. One of my many regrets, I never could find another love like Tony." Carol stops and takes a spoonful the soup. "This soup is wonderful."
"It was one of Tony's favorites. Remember? You mentioned a mistress of Tony‘s. Who was she?"
"It wasn't a woman, it was...drugs. I'm surprised you didn't know."
"Oh sweetie, I knew. However, I'd always thought he started using because you left him. God, I wish I'd known. You should've talked with me, honey."

"I know, but I was scared, it never occurred to me to talk with you. I did everything else, threatened, screamed, and broke up with him. I thought that he'd come to his senses, but he didn't." Carol takes another spoonful of soup. "You are a wonderful cook, always were. Did Tony die from a drug overdose?"
"That’s what they say, but I say he died of a broken heart, he was lost without you. He stopped using drugs for long time... and then one night he...slipped. I never told him."
"Told him what?"

"Tony was doing well, but he was lonely. He dated some, but he never found the one. He mentioned, finding you and trying to work things out, but he didn't know where you were. One day I ran into your friend Trish, she told me you were living in Boston. I never told Tony. I thought you would hurt him again. I feel so guilty." Mrs. Borelli wipes a tear with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry Carol."

Carol gives her a hug. "I'd run back to him barefoot in a snowstorm, if I only had the chance."

"I know that now sweetie, I need to let him know."

"Let him know?"

"Prayers, I talk to him everyday, hope he forgives me."

"He'll forgive you, Mom." Carol kisses Mrs. Borelli’s cheek. "But will he forgive me for moving away?" Mom, I have to go to the cemetery.”

"Wait, the storm will be over soon."

"No, I must go now. He's waiting for me."

"Carol, you need to wait, now is not the time." Mrs. Borelli's pleads.

Carol runs out the door before Mrs. Borelli gets up from her chair.

*****************************

"Miss, do you know where you are? Dr. Pulio’s voice stirred Carol.

“Yeah, I am in a hospital, or God looks a lot like a Doctor.”

“Glad you have a sense of humor. Why did you try to kill yourself?” The doctor asks and touches Carol's hand.

“What kind of question is that?” Carol's brow crinkled and her eyes meet the doctor's.

“Your car was in a ditch with the tailpipe in the snow, and your engine was running. Carbon monoxide. What were we to think? What were you doing on that road?"

“I was going to St. Mary’s Cemetery and made a wrong turn. Someone was standing in the road when I hit the brakes; my car spun and went into a snow bank... I went to White's Inn with ...”

“Can't be, White’s Inn closed 17 years ago, it’s in shambles, if it's still standing." The doctor tone is stern and no nonsense.

"Maybe I imagined going there, while I was out." Carol wonders how long she's been unconscious.

"You've been in here for two days, lots of time for dreams. . . An admirer sent you some flowers.”

Carol’s turns and sees the largest bouquet of vibrant red poppies she ever witnessed. "Is there a card?"

Dr. Pulio checks the flowers, grabs the envelope and hands it to Carol.


Neither death nor distance will destroy our love,
It is living and everlasting.
Stay here my love until the time is right,
And I’ll carry you in my arms to heaven
Where we will share our love forever.
Happy Valentine’s Day
Love T.

Helping Your Dog Heal

My husband and I currently have four pugs and take in foster pugs for a local rescue organization. Most of the dogs come to us with health problems. One foster pug, Porkchop’s fold was raw and bright red. A vet even suggested plastic surgery to reduce the beautiful deep wrinkle gracing his nose. The rescue organization asked us to take him and see if we could help him, before opting for expensive surgery. They knew of our success with sick dogs.
After an anti-allergy diet we put Porkchop on a human grade dog food Canidae. Within 2 weeks, there was a noticeable improvement. After six weeks, hair began to grow back in his fold, and his ears were no longer hot and itchy. Of course we adopted him.
We are life-long dog owners and fed our dogs’ commercial food for years, until they started having health problems with hot spots, ear infections, and lethargy. After numerous vet trips and bills I started to investigate the ingredients in our dogs’ food a popular lamb and rice formula. I was surprised and puzzled to see the ingredient animal by-product.
I called the company’s 800-number and questioned a representative about animal by-products. She informed me that animal by-products contain various parts of many animals even chicken. What? I fed our dogs lamb and rice because of their allergies to chicken.
Further investigation revealed levels of sodium pentobarbital in commercial food. According to the FDA the drug entered the animal digest from euthanized animals. Another troublesome ingredient is Animal-digest: "Material from chemical and/or enzymatic hydrolysis of clean and undecomposed animal tissue.” I was now aware of the toxicity of many commercial dog foods.
The first three ingredients in dog food represent 75% of the dog food. It should list Beef, Chicken, and Lamb etc to show it is pure. The ingredients listed after are contained in the additional 25%. For example, corn listed as one of the first three ingredients is less desirable than if listed as the eight ingredient. Corn is hard for dogs to digest.
Common ingredients present in most commercial dog food to avoid.
Poultry, Beef, Lamb, or Meat Meals: ground up clean tissues.
Brewer's Rice: Extracted residue of rice after the manufacture of wort (liquid portion of malted grain) or beer.
Corn gluten meal: Residue from corn after removal of starch, germ and the separating the bran when manufacturing cornstarch or syrup.

Animal Fat: Fat source often made up of rendered animal fat, restaurant grease, or other oils too rancid or deemed inedible for humans.
Digest of Beef, Chicken or Meat By-Products: Material taken from the undecomposed tissue from non-rendered clean parts of the animal including, but is not limited to, lungs, spleen, kidneys, brain, livers, blood, bone, partially defatted low-temperature fatty tissue, stomachs and intestines freed of their contents.
We pay a little more now for our dog food, but it is less expensive than the vet bills, and our dogs are healthy

Meeting Ken Burns, and Having Dinner with Lincoln.

November 8, 2008
The hour is getting near, and I am excited and nervous about meeting Ken Burns. He is one of my heroes. At 5:30 EST time I will meet the man himself within a small group of Library Trustees and like officials. Forget the Hollywood Hunks - To Me Ken Burns is the Bomb.

You know the question and perhaps answered it yourself, "Who would you like to talk with living or dead?" My list is Abraham Lincoln, Albert Einstein, Augusta Cooper Bristol and Ken Burns.

Most of my writings are nonfiction and my desire is to bring history to life as Ken Burns does. All day long my stomach has contained butterflies and my brain has been in a major freeze. I don't think there will be time for a lot of questions, so I've been thinking of what one question to ask.

Maybe I could rob Barbara Walters question and ask him "What Kind of Tree Would You Be?" Or maybe something typical, "How Did You Get Interested In History?" Or maybe something totally random "What's Your Favorite Color?" I've pondered what the question would be for a weeks. What would you ask Ken Burns?

I decided on my question and it is: What is it about a particular subject that makes you want to dive into it and explore?

************************************************************************


November 9, 2008
Wow not only did I meet Ken Burns but also I had dinner with Abraham Lincoln. Who would have guessed? More on Lincoln later.

My friend Nancee and I arrived at the Library at 5:30 the precise time of the reception for Ken Burns. There were approximately 40 people in attendance, an open bar, but no Ken Burns. I am not a drinker, but decided to have bourbon on the rocks and it was weird drinking in the library.

Many of the people in attendance were from the upper crust of society and I am from the doughy part of the loaf. However one gentleman started speaking with me, and it turned out he is one of Ken Burn’s summer neighbors in on Lake Sunapee. Mr. Eldridge is a fine gentleman interested in history and served in the 10th Mountain Division. We chatted about his unit for some time.

The Librarian addressed the group and informed us that Ken Burns would be late and that was in Lempster. Lempster is another small town and of course, everyone was curious as to why Mr. Burns was in Lempster. Could it be the new windmill farm? Or was he interested in the religious sect that once occupied the town? No, he was not in Lempster he was driving through the town coming from NY.

Nancee and I continued to smooze the crowd and I was losing hope of getting a chance to ask Mr. Burns the one question I had stressed over for the past week. Then I saw him, he entered the door the Librarian greeted him, and they took off somewhere. But where? I decided to refill my bourbon, but he wasn’t in the bar, he also wasn’t in the reception area. My eyes kept scanning the crowd he was not in the public part of the library.

I chatted with Nancee for a bit and a few minutes later, I saw him deep in conversation with Mr. Eldridge and one of my nemeses that will remain nameless. Then came the call to move to the arts center for dinner. All my dreams died.

I decided to go and enjoy the dinner. There is a small stage in the room where the dinner was served with the guest of honor table. None of the tables had name tags, but all the top uppercrusts were gathered around the table on the stage. Everyone was standing up and milling around. This I thought was my opportunity to meet Ken Burns. I went on stage and took a picture of Ken Burns with Mr. Eldridge.

Then a man, standing there, who I don't know who took the camera out of my hand. I thought perhaps I made a mistake in taking the picture and he was going to confiscate my camera, but surprise, he used my camera to take a picture of me and Ken Burns. Ken asked my name, and I told him and then I asked him my question... and his  answer was...... Heart. His heart leads him.

After the picture taking, dinner was starting and that is when I realized I was sitting with Abraham Lincoln. Actually, it was Steve Wood the only NH member of Association of Lincoln Presenters, Mr. Wood travels extensively throughout New England portraying Abraham Lincoln in presentations. Our conversation of course was on Lincoln, and Wood’s performances. It was a lovely dinner.

Afterwards we went to the Opera House where Ken Burns received the coveted Sarah Josepha Hale Award. He gave a film presentation of his past projects and a snippet of his upcoming one on National Parks. Burns explained how he likes to tell history from the bottom up not from the top down. He emphasized the importance of everyday people in history and the importance of telling your story to your family and friends.

One point he made was that a lot of great stuff ends up on the cutting room floor, and that sometimes they are better then what replaces it, yet the cuts are necessary to keep the story on track. As a writer, I understood. I have many a piece cut out from my WIP since it doesn't move the story forward. It helped me in deciding about a piece I've been arguing about with myself. Overall, it was a wonderful evening. And this is my story about meeting Ken Burns, that may show up 100 years from now in a snippet of history. Now I wonder……

Will someone be surprised that people drank in the library? Or that Ken Burns was late for the reception? Or that one unknown person had a dream realized on that evening?

Apples! Try Them for Dinner

Apples! Try Them for Dinner

Posted using ShareThis

Small Town Life

My Town is located in the hills of New Hampshire and it has a population of 750 people, give, or take a few. There are a few you could take and I'd give them to you, but you'd have to pay the $5.00 disposal fee at the dump. In addition to the human population there are 779 dogs that live here. It is evident that the people of My Town love dogs. In fact one residence had 21 Chihuahua's.  

I love all of the dogs in town. They don't want to run for office, start rumors, go to school where the town has to pay tuition or wake me up howling after midnight. I plead ignorant on the cat population; they stay inside a lot, and when outdoors they hide in the ditches, high grass, or snow drifts depending upon the season.

We have more dead residents than living ones, and most of the them reside in the seven cemeteries. Five of them are inactive and there is not much happening in the other two. My Town’s cemeteries are well cared for, since several residents bequeathed money in their wills for the care and upkeep of the cemeteries. One resident left $1,000,000.00 (one million dollars), another resident left $50,000.00 (fifty thousand dollars) several others left smaller sums.
One of the inactive cemeteries is located inside the boundaries of a private hunting club. The cemetery is only open to the town folks one day a year since the rest of the time, there are shotguns going off. I wonder if the departed rest in peace?

This exclusive club has a limited membership and the dues are $10,000.00 a year, in addition to a onetime $100,000.00 membership fee. Members are entitled to hunt elk, wild boar, deer, turkey and other animals that live in the fenced in area. I think they join the club because they aren’t good enough shots for regular hunting. Or maybe this how the rich get the fancy meats to serve at their dinner parties. I am not certain how cost effective it is, since you can buy elk cheaper than what the dues cost.

There are two churches in town, both belong to the same congregation with only one minister. One church is for winter services and the other is used for the summer There are 50 members in the church. The other 700 residents either worship Satan or go to the neighboring town for services. The same generous benefactor that left $1,000,000.00 for the care and upkeep of the cemeteries also left $1,000,000.00 to church. The minister of the church gave the $1,000,000.00 to the mother church. The minister said she didn’t want the congregation to get lazy in their fundraising. I guess owning real estate is enough for them.

As most towns in New Hampshire, we have a Volunteer Fire Department. Although for some reason they say they are a private fire department. I guess that means it's not on the S&P index. Unbelievably the same resident that left $1,000,000.00 for the cemeteries and $1,000,000.00 to the church left the Fire Department $2,000,000.00 (two million dollars). Funny, when the fire department received the bequeathed dollars, they voted the existing fire chief out (he started the volunteer company 30 years ago) and elected a new chief. In addition to the new chief, they elected all new officers. So now the Fire Department has only members from the same family. The fire department also elects the same officers each year. It’s a family tradition I guess.

The fire department decided it was going to build a park in honor of the generous benefactor who donated the $2,000,000.00 to the organization. They brought in bull dozers, and tore up the ground across the street from the fire station, and put up a giant sign “Future Home of Generous Donor’s Name Park”. That was seven years ago. It sits unfinished; they claim they don’t have the money to complete it, and the sign is fading. You would think they could take the sign down, or collect soda cans to recycle and get money for new paint.

My town also has the oldest continuous operating one room brick schoolhouse in the country. It was built in 1780, and students in grades 1-3 get their education here. When the children reach the 4th grade we export them over to the next town. We want our children to get familiar with outsourcing, since My Town doesn't have money for a new school. One problem we don't have is the PC police. The school uses the septic system of the summer church and no one complains about separation of church and state. I suspect that it has to do with money, which My Town is always saying they don't have.

The school is located across the street from the General Store. Inside the store you'll find movies for rent, soft serve ice cream, corn dogs, and T shirts that say "Welcome to Fabulous My Town, whatever happens in My Town, stays in My Town. But nothing ever happens." When I first saw this it drove me nuts. Is it true that nothing ever happens here? Or are they just saying that because what happens here stays here? After pondering this I became paranoid.

Our town hall is located across the street from the store, and on the opposite side of the summer church. This is where residents go to get their car registered, dog licenses and to find out gossip. The town clerk is opened from 9 a.m.- 1 p.m. Mon.-Thurs., and on Wed and Thurs. evenings from 5-7 p.m. If you buy a car on Friday you are out of luck, and if it's a holiday weekend you are really out of luck.

This is also where the Chief of Police has his desk. He doesn't have an office, just a desk with evidence laying all over the top of it. There is no chain of evidence. I guess you have figured it out by now that the Chief only has a desk, because My Town has no money for an office. It's a good thing that the Chief of Police is our only law enforcement officer, I don't think we could spring for another desk, because there is no money.

I don't know what a second police officer would do, My Town doesn't have a lot of crime. Once there was the 26 year old female teacher who ran off with a student to Mexico. It was on the national news, perhaps you heard about it. However that did not involve our Chief, since the incident occurred in the next town over, and of course Mexico and it was out of his jurisdiction. 

The Big GOTCHA and 9/11

Funny how things slip out of our mind the further away they get CNN reports that 30% of Americans feel we will have another terrorist attack on our soil. Down for 60% in 2002. It was only 7 years ago that 9/11 happened and at times it seems so distant. Our mind has the capability to ease painful events. In someways it is good, or we would be walking in fear every day of our lives. In other ways it allows us to forget what is important about our life.

Watching the news on 9/11/01 I was in shock as the events unfolded. Although I live in NH, I have family in NJ and Pennsylvania.. I also have a daughter who lives on the West Coast. Who was still sleeping and unaware what was going on, I feared the West Coast would be next. Fortunately it wasn't.

As the day went on, I was in a daze and felt many emotions, fear, sadness, anger, hope for survivors, and a blanket love for my fellow human being. We were all in this together. Much like siblings. The arguments over abortion, taxes, democratic vs. republican all seemed petty.

My husband and I went to see B.B. King and Buddy Guy on 9/11. The concert had already been postponed from the summer. We were surprised that it was still scheduled. It ended up being just the right place to be that evening. The crowd was friendly and we shared our thoughts, feelings, fears with one another, total strangers. Buddy Guy addressed the audience about the day's tragic events and noted that we are all leaving this world someday.

I look back on this as we are in the midst of a political season and all the candidates are looking for the big "GOTCHA." It all seems so foolish...

Do you fear another terrorist attack? If so why? If not, why not?