The Things I Think

When I was a small child, my family lived in a trailer park in Inver Grove Heights.  It was there, amidst my humble surroundings, that I met my best friend Amy who lived two trailers down from me.  From the age of two, we became inseparable.  Through random photos and a slightly hazy memory, I can recall the two of us playing "whale" in a little pool in my yard.  We spent hours in the sandbox, took trips to the beach with Amy's mom, who served as my daycare provider for a while, and cheered our dads on as they totaled cars in the occasional demolition derby.  We went to our first Sunday School class together, and played in the back of my dad's van (black '70's version).  Life in the trailer park was simple, and so was our friendship.  We shared dolls and other toys and most of all, giggles. Just before Kindergarten, my parents built a new house and we moved to Apple Valley.  Around this same time, Amy's family moved to Cottage Grove.  Though separated by

My husband tossed the idea around for years before we got them, and I was never really sure it was a good idea.  But since I am the ever-supportive wife, a few years ago our back yard became home to a flock of chickens.  I grew up in suburbia and am now a chicken farmer.  I have to admit, though, they have really grown on me.  I pet them and thank them for a job well done when I go to collect the eggs.  I occasionally pick one up and carry it around like a small pet dog.  They really are nice animals to have around and don't require a whole lot of effort to raise.  And the fresh eggs are marvelous. As I've gotten to know my chickens and they have become a part of our family, I am constantly reminded of how much we humans have learned from the chicken.  I like to call it "Chicken Wisdom." "Don't count your chickens before they hatch."  This is a lesson that I can't seem to learn completely, but I keep trying. Sometimes you gotta "rule the ro

I'm on a mission to organize my scrapbooking and cardmaking supplies.  Since I don't have a room I can dedicate to my crafting habit ( addiction ) just yet, my vast collection of albums, papers, stickers, ribbons and other embellishments have taken over every spare corner, nook and cranny in my house.  Until just recently, it occupied my closet, my kids' closets, the linen closet, the basement, the underside of my bed, the walkway that goes between my bedroom and the baby nursery ( future craft room ), and even the laundry room.  My husband, bless his heart, must want to open the nearby window and start whipping stuff out of it every time he steps on some of my supplies on his side of the bedroom.  He never says anything, though.  Either he has faith that one day I will get it cleaned up and feels it best not to stir the pot at this time, or he feels it's a lost cause and feels it best not to stir the pot ever.  Whatever the reason, I appreciate his current silence on t