Heard:
"For giving an impassioned speech, every man wants to be Jimmy Stewart; for a dressy affair, every man wants to be Gary Grant; for working in the office, every man wants to be Clark Gable.
But day in and day out, every man really just wants to be Spencer Tracy."
From my husband, just now, while watching Tracy and Hepburn in "Adam's Rib".
Here's a website that allows you to compare the sizes of the planets by using pull-down menus to compare
Planet Size Comparison
And here's another that's pretty cool:
The Size of Our World
And finally, a Star Size Comparison -- with the same music -- but a different perspective:
h/t to the Wolf Files, a blog written by a doctor who happens to be Obama's second cousin.
When I was a kid, mom always made cherry pies for George Washington's birthday - with little hatchets cut out of the extra pieces of crust, baked on top.
So, of course I carried on that tradition -- but yesterday, our youngest took it all to a new level.
In honor of President's Day, she decreed that we each would choose a president and give a speech about him at dinner. In addition, we would have to be addressed all day by that president's name instead of our given first names.
Therefore, we went around yesterday saying "George", "Abe", "Teddy", "Ronald" (a.k.a "The Gipper" or "Dutch"), "Millard", and "Rutherford". The organizer of the day became quite annoyed when anyone slipped and referred to someone by their baptismal name, marking it down with a tick mark. (I slipped up a lot.... )
At dinner, we heard the speeches, were given prizes (those who messed up the least on the name changes were given special awards), and, for dessert, had pie.
My fellow Americans, it was a delightful evening!
Here's the phrase
It led me to a very cool site, Cookthink, with a great idea for a light and easy dinner for a bunch of tired but hungry people: ham, Swiss, and sliced pear pita sandwiches, grilled golden brown just till the cheese got a little melty. Mmmmm.
For my non-ham-eaters, we also made turkey, provolone, and Granny Smith pitas. Just as delicious.
Tonight during dinner, looking at all the beautiful faces around the table talking and laughing, I realized I would walk across hot coals for these people. Every one of them.
I don't get many opportunities to do that, however, so in the meantime I will have to settle for doing their laundry, shopping, cooking, cleaning, putting fresh sheets on their beds, taking them where they need to go, praying for them, and cheerfully (most of the time) doing everything else that comes with the wife-and-mother territory.
When you think about it, the hot coals trick might be easier.
Thanks to my brother (who attended a "listening session" in Rhinelander) for sending me this link. (Language warning!)
Will he really listen? Unlikely.
"We tried to warn you... but you wouldn't listen."
I never voted for Obama, obviously, but otherwise, this video expresses my sentiments exactly.
Check out the "Dump Dodd" website: "We did it!!!! Who's next!???"
Yes indeedy: Who's next? I think there are about 59 more who ought to be shown the exit door in a hurry.
Wait, make that 99 more in the Senate, and several hundred in the House.
Then we start over with ordinary citizens, less than half of whom are lawyers, all of whom love freedom and the Constitution.
Our new Archbishop, Jerome Listecki, is being installed today. We've been watching the ceremony on and off this afternoon. (Thanks to WTMJ-4 and WISN-12 for broadcasting it.)
And while we're talking about shepherds... as you may recall, I love the song "My Baby Needs A Shepherd". It can bring me to tears in a New York minute.
Just think about those lyrics...
My baby needs a shepherd
She's lost out on the hill
Too late I tried to call her
When the night was cold and still
And I tell myself I'll find her
But I know I never will
My baby needs a shepherd
She's lost out on the hill
My baby needs an angel
She never learned to fly
She'll not reach sanctuary
Just by looking to the sky
I guess I could have carried her
But I didn't even try
My baby needs an angel
She never learned to fly
...
My baby needs a pilot
She has no magic wand
To help her part the troubled waters
Of the Rubicon
But in my soul I know she'll
Have to go this one alone
After all that is only way she's ever known
...
My baby needs a mother
To love her till the end
Up every rugged mountain
And down every road that bends
Sometimes I hear her cryin'
But I guess it's just the wind
My baby needs a mother
To love her till the end
None of my children are lost, either physically or spiritually, thank God! And yet, I still can torture myself by thinking about the terrible sadness of these lyrics.
But yesterday, while praying for my children I realized that no matter what the future holds for my children, they have all those precious things mentioned in the song.
They have a shepherd: Christ.
They have an angel: their Guardian Angels.
They have a pilot: the Pope, pilot of the Barque of Peter, who will steer them safely through the roughest of waters (as long as they stay on board).
And they certainly have a mother to love them till the end: me, and of course, our Blessed Mother.
They are in good hands.
