Growing up, my dad always had a vegetable garden. In fact, he always had a large vegetable garden. We had very few store-bought vegetables because Dad grew so many in the garden and canned them that we had enough some years to last more than just one winter. Unfortunately, though not at the time, I was not allowed in the garden because I might mess it up. I therefore didn’t get lessons on how to weed, the proper way to hoe a planted garden, how to thin plants, etc. I didn’t care either because I always figured I would just buy it from the store.

Now after years of buying from the store, I realize that my parents were right. Fruits and vegetables are better home grown. Now I am starting my own garden. So far, it’s really small, and really more of a test run to see if I can actually grow one. The small area I have chosen for my garden spot only has a small area fit for growing currently. The previous owners had put a bunch of wood chips down in the area to use for a play area for their kids. I haven’t managed to get a full half of the chips out of the area yet, so I only have about 1/3 of the area available.

I sat down back in January and decided what I wanted to plant. I finally settled on lettuce, spinach, broccoli, turnip greens, green peas, carrots, snap beans, cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini and yellow crookneck squash, eggplant, bell pepper, cayenne, jalapeno peppers, watermelon, and cantaloupe. Of those already planted, I only managed to get 4 pea plants up, a handful of turnip greens, a handful of lettuce, a couple of handfuls of carrots, and I’m not sure that any of the spinach has come up. I also put out some strawberry plants that still look as dead as when I pulled them out of the bag. I started the tomatoes, eggplant, and peppers indoors, and aside from what Notch decided to munch on, I have almost all of them to come up and look real good. I could probably put them out this weekend, but I am going to leave them outside in the containers over this week to harden them before transplanting.

Now flowers are another matter entirely. Mittens, the stray cat we adopted, has decided that every place I have put potting soil is a toilet. Now fortunately, she isn’t doing any “real business” in them, but still she’s digging. Bad kitty. I suppose I am going to be forced to put netting (like vinyl chicken wire) over all my flowers and pots until she takes her business back to the leaves. But I digress. I didn’t have good luck with flowers last year. I can only blame myself as I didn’t keep them weeded, watered, and fertilized as I should have. I will put some of the blame on the software engineering course I took as I had absolutely no free time during that term and it was spring term. This year, I will have the time to do proper weeding and watering. Then I will see if I do truly have what my mom calls “Susie’s green thumb” referring to my paternal grandmother who could grow anything anywhere.

I originally posted this on DragonLady’s World, but have updated it some for readability, and a thing or two I just left out of the original.

I can’t write about why I got out without first talking about why I joined. There were many reasons for both. During my last undergrad course (the internship), I was looking for a post graduation job. The box factory was fine for summer work, but I didn’t spend 6 ½ years getting a 4 year degree to stack and pack boxes. My professor put me in touch with a former student who worked at the Frigidaire factory. The company was looking to fill a position working with her, as she was a single point of failure type of job. By that, I mean she was the only one who could do what she did, and if something were to happen to her, they would be hosed. I was called back for a second interview as they had narrowed the applicants down to me and one other person. Then the company decided not to fill the position.

I was bummed. I started hitting the temporary agencies to get something while I started a new search. By this time, I had my B.S., and was not looking forward to more factory work. (My degree is in Industrial Technology with a Manufacturing concentration.) This was the point that every recruiting commercial I had ever seen flashed through my head. I decided to join the Guard. I talked to Army vet hubby first. He told me that I would be happier with active duty than Guard, and to join the Air Force, not the Army because “the Air Force will take care of you.” So, I called the recruiter, and he processed me both as enlisted and officer. I was joining no matter what, and as it turned out, OTS board results would not come out until after I was scheduled for basic training. My enlisted job was guaranteed, and rather than risk losing my guaranteed job (which I methodically picked primarily because it looked fun and easy and “combat” wasn’t in the title or description), I chose to enlist rather than wait for OTS board results.

I had thought about joining the Guard in high school. My parents always spoke about the military with great respect, and built up this honorable entity for me regarding the US military. Now, of my mom’s six brothers, five were in the military: two Marines, one regular Army (he was drafted during Vietnam), and two National Guard. Of my dad and his three brothers, only two were in the military that I know of. Uncle Lawrence tried to enlist in the Army, but they didn’t want him because he didn’t finish high school. He was drafted after Pearl Harbor, and volunteered for the Army Air Corps, mainly because he thought the LT who told them about it was full of it. He said by the end of the day, he was on a train headed for FL for Air Corps training. My dad volunteered after Pearl Harbor, but the Army wouldn’t take him because he was missing two fingers on his left hand, and they considered him handicapped. Then they tried drafting him four or 5 times. He said he almost made it through the physical exam once without anyone noticing his hand. He was at the last station, and was a signature away from making it when the doc noticed. He finally moved to Alabama and joined the state militia there (which eventually became the National Guard) for the rest of the war. I also had several cousins on both sides of the family who served in the military. Anyway, I mentioned joining the Guard in front of a friend’s dad back in high school. By the time he got finished describing his experience at Ft Polk, I had changed my mind, which was his intention.

Now, that all makes it sound like I joined just to have a job, but with patriotic or family history leanings. Both are true, but not the only reasons. The hubby and I were not in a very good place in our lives, and really needed to get away. Also, neither of us had any kind of health insurance, and I knew we would eventually want to have kids. Both kids were born during my first assignment. I got to “see the world,” though Kuwait was not on my list of places I wanted to see. I got the GI Bill that is helping pay for graduate school. Most importantly, I finally got some much needed self-discipline.

I once had a teacher that I hated. Sandra Mahan. No one looked forward to being in her class, and I don’t recall any kids having great things to say about her after having had her. She was notoriously “mean” and taught sixth grade. On the first day of school in sixth grade, I was full of dread. When she came in, she told us that 3 students would be moving to the other sixth grade class, and asked who wanted to go. Now the other sixth grade teacher was the former fifth grade teacher. I loved her. Granted she cut me no slack, and I didn’t push her since she went to school with my mom and got her hair done by my uncle. She wouldn’t hesitate to announce any of my shenanigans to my family. Still, I didn’t raise my hand to go back. I remembered how our fourth grade teacher had a “mean” reputation and she wasn’t that bad other than giving us lots of homework. Oh, no; Mrs. Mahan’s reputation was spot on.

Sixth grade was a miserable year. That woman stayed on me to the point I knew that she had singled me out as her problem child. Every morning I woke up dreading school, but kept thinking that sixth grade was only one year. Finally we reached the end of the year, and she announced that she would be returning to school over the summer to get her certification for high school math. She would become the junior high and basic math teacher starting in the fall. Oh, no. Two more years in her class. Seventh grade wasn’t too awful bad, but eighth grade was pure hell. Ninth grade was a new beginning. No more of her classes. It was nice, and then we moved and I transferred to a new school.

There were a couple of teachers at my new school with similar reputations, but the one taught a class I wasn’t going to be taking. The other, however, was waiting for senior year. Her class was my last class of the day as a senior. Mary Oates taught world history, and I wasn’t much of a history fan so I expected another year of hell. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Sure she was tough, and you didn’t play in her class, but she made history fun to learn. She taught us how to take notes properly, though I still suck at it. She became my favorite teacher even though most people could not stand her.

Despite the fact that I took all advanced courses in high school, and even a couple of Advance Placement courses, I was totally unprepared for college. I never dreamed I could be so happy with C’s. It took me 6 years, but I finally graduated with slightly better than a C GPA. Then I joined the Air Force since the job market around the area was such that I was looking forward to toiling away in a factory for who knew how long. The factory was fine for summer jobs, but I needed something more, and had to go away to get it.

I have often looked back over my short (8 year) Air Force career and said that basic training was my best assignment. I know how sad that sounds because I did not enjoy basic training in the least. Anyway, thanks to my age and height, I was assigned as an element leader. So not only did I get yelled at when I screwed up, I got yelled at when the girls in my element did anything. Granted, I had the best element anyone could hope to get, so I didn’t often get yelled at over them. However, ever time a TI was in my face chewing me out, I kept thinking, “I made it through three years of Sandra Mahan. This is nothing.” As I was studying in Tech School, and getting damn good scores because of it, something started to dawn on me. Mrs. Mahan was not riding my ass because she was mean; she was riding my ass because she knew I could do so much more than I was doing. She expected me to live up to my potential. *Gasp!*

I went back and started looking at what I learned from her. She taught us mind tricks to help us remember concepts. For instance, I never “got” the greater than “>” and less than “<” symbols. That gave me problems all through elementary school. I knew which number was larger, but I couldn’t keep the symbols straight. She gave me the key: the point points at the smaller number. In eighth grade, our school got some computers. Not many mind you. But the high school got three Commodore 64 computers, and each of the math teachers had one in their classroom. When Mrs. Mahan was telling us about it and what it could do, she decided to have someone come up and actually sit at the keyboard while she continued the explanation. She picked me, and I instantly bonded with that computer. I have often wondered why she picked me, but as I sat there while she instructed, I knew I wanted to work with computers when I grew up.

So, if you were to ask me today who was my favorite teacher, I would still say Ms. Oates. However, I believe my best teacher was Sandra Mahan. I still find it ironic after all these years that as much as I hated her back then, who would have ever dreamed I would not only get over that misguided hate, but would hold her responsible for finally getting through my thick head what it takes to succeed. She tried and tried to get me to push myself when all I wanted to do was have fun. Now that I see what she was trying to do with me, I wish I had realized it earlier, and I am grateful to her for her efforts. It took a lot longer than it should have, but she did finally succeed with me.

I call it a “hiatus” though it was more like “I don’t want to continue posting crap.” I feel it’s time to quit slacking and start posting regularly (or semi-regularly) again here. My login moved with The Daily Brief, and I still remember my password, so I guess I haven’t been fired. Who knows, I may even write a post or two that isn’t complete crap. I can’t make any promises though.

One year at Thanksgiving, my mom went to my sister’s house for the traditional feast. Knowing how gullible my sister is, my mom decided to play a trick. She told my sister that she needed something from the store.

When my sister left, my mom took the turkey out of the oven, removed the stuffing, stuffed a Cornish hen, and inserted it into the turkey, and re-stuffed the turkey. She then placed the bird(s) back in the oven.

When it was time for dinner, my sister pulled the turkey out of the oven and proceeded to remove the stuffing. When her serving spoon hit something, she reached in and pulled out the little bird. With a look of total shock on her face, my mother exclaimed, “You’ve cooked a pregnant bird!” At the reality of this horrifying news, my sister started to cry.

It took the family two hours to convince her that turkeys lay eggs!

Yep………………SHE’S BLONDE!

Cross-posted at DragonLady’s World.

For the most part, today has been just another day. I wasn’t going to do much more today than a “Never Forget” photo from 9/11, but Timmer’s post has been nagging at me. I was just going to comment, but it’s a lengthy enough comment that I am just going to post it. Timmer didn’t make me angry, and I understand and respect his desire to get over it. But I don’t want to get over it. I don’t want to heal. Not yet.

As long as our enemy lives and remains undefeated, I want to continue to feel the pain. I want to continue to mourn our innocent dead. As long as I do, I will remain angry. I want to remain angry until the bastards who attacked us, and continue trying to attack us, are soundly and undeniably defeated.

I think the reason our parents’ generation didn’t continue reliving Dec 7 is because they defeated the enemy who caused it. They had that closure that we do not and should not yet have. We need that wound to remain open. We need to relive it. We need to remember who did it to us and defeat them, soundly and unquestionably. Then, and only then, should we allow ourselves to heal. I will go one unpolitically-correct step forward and call the enemy Islam, and Islam will remain the enemy until one of two things happen. 1) Islam ceases to exist. 2) Islam sheds its culture of violence and intolerance. Religion of peace my ass!

So, Timmer, I really do hope you can successfully move on, but I can’t. Not yet.

(Cross-posted at DragonLady’s World.)

I have sat and tried to think, “Who is my Blogmother?” having seen David’s Blogmother’s reminder post. I have finally come to the conclusion that I have 3 Blogmothers.

Blogmother #1 is CelticElff. I created my first blog after reading hers because I thought it would be a good way to keep family and friends updated, as well as blow off some steam.

Blogmother #2 is Michelle Malkin. I hesitatingly include her because she never answers my emails or posts any comments I make to her via email. However, she is how I found Blogmother #3 by relaying the call out for contributors to The Daily Brief.

Blogmother #3 is SgtMom of The Daily Brief. She let me join their milblog team giving me my first break into “mainstream” blogging. Plus, she hasn’t kicked me off the team yet for lack of posting.

So, I would like to give a hearty “Thank You!” to all three blogmom’s, and wish all three a Happy Mother’s Day, as they are all real mom’s, too.

To all the men and women out there today in uniform keeping us safe, to those fortunate to be home this Christmas, and to all the veterans who have been there and done that, thank you for your service and God Bless!

There is a couple somewhere in our neighborhood that walks by our house every morning and every afternoon with their dog - a big white poodle. Not one of the toy poodles I normally see. No, this one is one of the full “real dog” sized ones. That dog has done absolutely nothing that should make me dislike it, yet I don’t. I am considering chatting with the couple one of these times that they walk by, just to meet their dog and see if maybe I can get past my poodle hatred.

You know, when I first saw her speak in the Katrina aftermath, I found her very familiar. Not familiar in the sense I had seen her before, but familiar like “she looks like someone I’ve seen before.” It hit me this morning who she reminds me of-English actress Kathy Burke as Lynda La Hughes in the British comedy Gimme Gimme Gimme.

I read a really great post today from one of our Canadian neighbors that I wanted to share.

Why this Canadian supports US efforts in Iraq

Jackson Offers Support to Chavez

So there you have it. This is why Jesse Jackson is a walking joke, and an asshat. This is why I will never call him “Reverend.” As bad as Pat Robertson’s comment was, at least he’s on our side.

I know exactly what caused this issue.

Stolen from Michele.

- When I make a sandwich, my bread has to match up just like when the slices were together in the bag.

- Public restrooms. I cannot do a certain normal function in them. Doesn’t matter how bad I need to, if someone walks in, it’s over. (I know that’s TMI)

- I have to have somthing to drink while I eat. I cannot “dry eat” as I call it.

- My shirts and pants have to be folded a certain way. Fortunately, it’s virtually the same as was required in Basic, but I’ve always folded my clothing like that.

- I have to minimize multiple computer windows, and cannot stand to even see someone else just scoot a window over to the point that part of it is off the viewable area. I just want to yell at them “MINIMIZE!!!”

So what’s yours?

…and it is scary, in a funny sort of way.

2008

There was discussion on Rock 92 this morning following the reading of a letter to the morning show chastising the Two Guys Named Chris show for saying that Mike Reno (Loverboy) looked and sounded bad on Hit Me Baby One More Time. The letter rant went on and on about the impact of 80’s rock bands, and how the present day music is crap. I personally think Loverboy’s music from the 80’s isn’t all that great now, even though I have their greatest hits and still like the old songs. When I think of great classic rock, I think of bands from the 60’s & 70’s. Now, that may be because I was “in my prime” in the 80’s, and am having a hard time coping with the fact that my husband & I attended his 20-year high school class reunion last weekend.

So I’m curious about what the world outside of the Rock 92 listening area thinks about classic rock. Does it include 80’s rock bands, and if so which ones? Since I’ve gone there, which 90’s – present day bands can/will be considered classic rock? (One caller mentioned Nirvana.)

Rest in peace, Scotty.

So, if “news” comes from the left, it’s responsible journalism, but if it comes from the right it’s propaganda. When I first read that article on FoxNews, I thought, “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” After all, all you hear from “mainstream media” is dead Americans, the war is being lost, the US Government is torturing prisoners, and Bush lied. That, too, is propaganda. Seems to me, if you are only giving one side, true or not, it’s propaganda whether you’re conservative or liberal, Democrat or Republican, journalist or entertainer.

Hat tip to Michelle Malkin

I am realizing why I hate research papers. Besides, I can only spend so much time thinking about networking.

a Knight You scored 6 Honor, 8 Justice, 6 Adventure, and 3 Individuality!

The whole ‘protect the innocent, for the Divine and Country” really appeals to you. You’re rather go forward that around the side and you’re comfortable with traditional values. Strap on a sword and wear your armor proud. You’ll do just fine.

Via La Shawn Barber there is a new site dedicated to exposing the media slander.

Media Slander