Before The Easter Ham Soup

Every Easter, we always serve glazed ham to our guests. John has begun to call our Easter dinner as a Ham - O - Rama.

I can't wait for this year's ham, so in order to calm my ham cravings I'm making a soup that will have to tide me over. I don't know what to call it. But it's good.

I start out by putting a blob of butter in my porcelain coated cast iron soup pot. Best soup pot ever. Then I soften a coarsely chopped onion in the butter. I toss in two ham shanks, and let them brown just a teensy bit.

After washing and cleaning a bag of soup beans - you know, the kind that has a zillion different kinds of beans and lentils in it - I add them and a big can of chopped tomatoes to the ham and onions.

Am I the only person that has a phobia about all the germs that live on electric can openers? I use a manual one that I can toss in the dishwasher.

Yes, it gets rusty pretty quickly in the dishwasher. I wait until it's really gross then I just buy another one.

Then I put enough water in the pot so that the level is a couple inches under the rim, throw in a couple of globs of minced garlic, a sprinkle of salt, and let it simmer for about six hours.

I stir it every now and then and add water as needed. Taste for and adjust seasonings at about five hours.

Those soup beans in a bag come with a little silver packet of seasoning. Since I'm a suspicious type of person, and they don't list the ingredients in that little packet, I just toss it in the garbage.

This ham-tomato-bean-onion-garlic soup tastes great with a couple of baking powder biscuits, or a slab of sourdough bread.

Like my groovy little Easter bunny plates by the stove?

Won't You Tell Me How To Get There?

A friend and I were googling a disease that I was unfamiliar with. After we read all the squirm-inducing symptoms, we looked at the list of conditions that could be the cause, and Sjogren's Syndrome was one of them. She said, "Oops, you shouldn't have read that. Gonna sleep OK tonight?"

I laughed and said that probably five years ago it might have sent me into a worrywart panic. But back then my comfort level with autoimmune disease was much different than today. Which isn't to say that I have achieved zen like acceptance of it all. Yet.

But early on, I attributed everything from a hangnail to dandruff as being caused by SjS. It took awhile before I realized that sometimes a cold is just a cold, not autoimmune-caused non-specific pulmonary interstitial pneumonia. Or that back pain is just a pulled muscle and not transverse myelitis.

It's so hard to walk that line between overreaction and denial, or between hypochondria and total disregard for one's health. Somewhere in between, there's got to be a calm yet realistically alert state in which it's possible for a Sjoggie to assess those physical issues that are a daily part of dealing with chronic disease.

If you find that place, would you please let me know where it is? I'll save the location as a favorite on my Garmin.

Delightful Day

I love plant nurseries, especially in the spring.

Meet the two newest members of our tree family: A pink lady apple and a dwarf bing cherry:

Live long and prosper, guys.

Happy Little Trees

John has issued a no-more-new-trees-plants-bushes ban for our small patch of green, and I have to admit he's right. If I had my way, I'd pack the yard full of just about anything that my favorite plant nursery has for sale. Which would make our property look like some kind of Pacific northwest jungle.

So if I'm limited to a finite number of trees and plants, I have decided that the greenery that grows in our yard has to be healthy and happy. On our little splotch of land, there's not much room for unhappy vegetation.

This week John rolled up his sleeves and took a chainsaw and shovel to a few trees that just didn't make this year's happy tree list. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I still couldn't watch as he took down a very bug-infested and overgrown ornamental plum tree and an oddly shaped spindly ironwood tree. Once they were neatly stacked as campfire wood, I unscrunched my eyes and started thinking about what would take their place.

Nice of Greg to loan us his truck to haul away leftover brush.

This little honeycrisp apple tree is going to tentatively be allowed to stay, but I'd say it's not particularly happy. Wonder what we're doing wrong? It's been here for two years but has yet to sprout one blossom, unlike all of the other fruit trees that have been blooming and producing fruit from season one. Which makes our other apple tree unhappy since it's supposed to cross-pollinate with it.

Now these guys are so happy they're laughing. In pear blossoms.

Keep it down out there, guys. The neighbors might complain.

Smile As Though Your Life Depends On It - Because It Does

Plate III from Charles Darwin's The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals. From Chapter VIII: Joy—High spirits—Love—Tender feelings—Devotion

Ever heard of the Duchenne smile? Me either. 

That is, until I read about this study, in which the conclusion was this:

"To the extent that smile intensity reflects an underlying emotional disposition, the results of this study are congruent with those of other studies demonstrating that emotions have a positive relationship with mental health, physical health and longevity," the study says.

In other words, people who smile authentically (the Duchenne smile) are happier, healthier, and live longer.

The study looked at a group of baseball players who began playing before 1950, which was a great research population choice, since baseball players are among the most statistically reviewed group of guys ever. The researchers had a wealth of information to examine about these gentlemen over many years.

Researchers began by looking the players' pictures in the 1952 Baseball Register and categorized the players by their smiles: no smile; partial smile in which only the muscles of the lips and mouth were lifted; and full smile - or Duchenne smile - in which the mouth and muscles near the eyes were affected. A Duchenne smile encompasses the entire face and is responsible for those great little crow's feet wrinkles.

You can read more about the French neurologist for whom this smile is named here, complete with some seriously strange pictures.

After factoring in other variables that may affect longevity, the study reported that:

Of the players who had died as of June 1 last year, those in the no-smile category lived for an average of 72.9 years, those with partial smiles - just the mouth involved - died at age 75, while the full-smile players lived to the ripe old age of 79.9 on average, the study published in Psychological Science showed.

Impressive.

The baseball study is only one of many studies linking quality of life to quality of smile. This article in Psychology Today cites this from UC Berkeley:

Researchers Dacher Keltner and LeeAnne Harker from the University of California, Berkeley analyzed the smiles in 141 photos from the 1960 Mills College yearbook. They divided the photos by Duchenne smiles, Say Cheese smiles, and the non-smilers.The researchers followed up with these women at age 27, 43, and 52 and asked them questions about their life satisfaction and status of their marriage. They found that the Duchenne smile predicted positive outcomes in marriage and well-being up to 30 years later.

Wowsers. I wonder if one could fake that kind of smile and get the same results?

Apparently, no, you can't. A fake smile is generated in the cerebral cortex, which is responsible for motor skills, among a multitude of other functions:

The Duchenne smile arises from the emotion center, or limbic system found deep in the brain:

I guess today's message would be this: Smile, darn it. And once more - this time with feeling.

More Sunscreen Stuff

AAAArrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhh!

Sometimes I am sorry that I opened up this avoiding potentially dangerous chemicals can of worms. Sometimes I think that ignorance truly is bliss. Sometimes.

In my effort to choose a sunblock that is not laced with poison, I've been using Burt's Bees Chemical Free Sunscreen. Aside from making my skin feel strangely tacky for awhile after application, it's been effective in helping me avoid the skin lesions that plagued me last summer. The active ingredient in this sunscreen is titanium dioxide. You can revisit my discussion about sunscreen and it's ingredients here and here.

Then I read this from AOL News:

(March 24) -- For almost two years, molecular biologist Bénédicte Trouiller doused the drinking water of scores of lab mice with nano-titanium dioxide, the most common nanomaterial used in consumer products today. 

She knew that earlier studies conducted in test tubes and petri dishes had shown the same particle could cause disease. But her tests at a lab at UCLA's School of Public Health were in vivo -- conducted in living organisms -- and thus regarded by some scientists as more relevant in assessing potential human harm. Halfway through, Trouiller became alarmed: Consuming the nano-titanium dioxide was damaging or destroying the animals' DNA and chromosomes. The biological havoc continued as she repeated the studies again and again. It was a significant finding: The degrees of DNA damage and genetic instability that the 32-year-old investigator documented can be "linked to all the big killers of man, namely cancer, heart disease, neurological disease and aging," says Professor Robert Schiestl, a genetic toxicologist who ran the lab at UCLA's School of Public Health where Trouiller did her research. 

Does my friend Burt use nano-titanium dioxide? Or just plain old run of the mill titanium dioxide? And does it matter? I have run multiple medical literature searches and have come up empty on this one.

So I guess the situation is this: Choose your sun - protection poison, girlfriend:

• Use TD and risk destroying my DNA and chromosomes and who knows what else,
• Use a product that contains oxybenzone and disrupt my endocrine system and get skin cancer,
• Cover every inch of my body with clothing this summer,
• Sit out the entire summer inside my house,
• Adopt a what the hell attitude and endure skin lesions, nausea, increased flare activity and other sun-related yukkies after chucking the whole thing.

Good grief. 

Time to bring the old nursing cap out mothballs.....now where did I put that thing..... and approach this from a purely rational perspective. I need to come up with a decision here, and soon. 

*Julia slaps her cap on and tries very hard to look serious*

Student nurse Julia was just downright strange. Ahem. Disregard the above photo. 

Back in my working days, we used to use a process called SOAP to document patient issues and arrive at potential solutions. I wonder if I can remember how to do this.....but here goes. 

S (subjective data): Client reports "feeling crappy and looking like a leper" after spending minimal time in direct sunlight. Expresses desire to avoid this experience, yet is reluctant to avoid sun completely. Also is reluctant to use commercially made sunblocks. Shouts repeatedly,"Sunscreen companies are going to kill us all" and "I sweat like a pig when wearing long sleeve shirts, long pants, and stupid hats and I hate them."

O (objective data): Client frowning ferociously and vocalizing loudly. States is currently reluctantly using a product containing titanium dioxide daily as a sunscreen. On exam, skin is pale, underlying tissue flabby, but cutaneous lesions absent. Wearing dorky SPF 50 hat and a long-sleeved lightweight shirt. 

A (assessment): Client anxious and upset. However, in spite of her emotional outbursts, skin is currently without lesions and no flare activity noted. Body mass indicates that nausea is not a problem at this time. Assessment: measures to avoid sun-related problems currently effective. 

P (plan) Client in need of stress reduction measures which may include daily small doses of adult beverage such as lemon slush. Counsel client: to continue to use a combination of sun-avoidence techniques; that unless client is willing to hibernate indoors at all times, a combination of protective clothing and some type of sunblock is essential; that unfortunately at this time, all sunscreens provide some unknown health risks but the benefits are visibly effective for client; and most importantly: to put on her big girl panties and just get on with life. 

Patients For A Moment

Head over to Wellbook, to read a sampling of blog entries from several folks (including me) that attempt to answer the question:

My question is about adapting - the ol' "bend but don't break." If you have a chronic illness, you may not be able to pursue the goals you'd have if you were healthy. My question therefore is, "how have you learned to adapt around your illness in order to accomplish things that are important to you - even though your illness may prevent you from achieving the goals you had before you got sick?"

I thought very carefully about my answer. And for the life of me, I just couldn't muster up am in-depth and insightful response. What can I say - I think I was momentarily possessed by my bratty inner child Julia. So instead of posting something that others would think inspirational, I posted something completely silly. I just couldn't help myself. It was a post that I did awhile back entitled A Sjoggie's Version of Housecleaning.

Others, however, did not have multiple personality issues and therefore were able to write some very interesting posts. Enjoy.

Image by lusi.

King Boy

I was talking to my dad today. I never know what direction our conversations will take, and today was no exception. Somehow we ended up reminiscing about our Shetland pony from my childhood.

King Boy was a great little pony. I mean a really truly exceptional little guy. John remembers having ponies in his childhood, and what he remembers most is that they would escape their corral, bite him, hate to be ridden, and were just a pain in general. Not our King Boy. He was spunky, intelligent, and sweet as could be. He loved us almost as much as we loved him.

My dad said that every kid should have a dog and a pony, and he definitely came through big time on this philosophy. But I think somewhere along the way, Dad kind of let the lines of distinction between dogs and ponies blur. A great deal. Because King Boy was allowed to run the farm like a puppy dog. He could sit, shake, roll over and play dead. On special occasions, and in retrospect, I CAN NOT BELIEVE THIS BUT IT IS TRUE: Dad would allow King Boy to come IN THE HOUSE. Mom would absolutely have a conniption fit, and although I thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world at the time, I really can't blame her. I don't remember him ever um...having an accident in the house. Good boy.

Dad has wonderful pictures of King Boy: posing in front of our fireplace, standing in front of the jars of pickles in the cellar, and a zillion pictures of every kid in the neighborhood and in our extensive and extended family sitting on or under or around him. I really need to get some copies of those photos.

This picture is typical of a King Boy pose in that everyone is either laying on or petting that pony. He was irresistible with his fluffy coat and sweet temperament. I'm on the left and you can barely make out his hoof. Dad is lying on the grass with his head propped up on KB, and he's probably stroking his mane. I was a really little kid when Dad brought King Boy home, so in this picture he's getting pretty old, but loved no less.

I thought that I had heard every story and remembered every detail about King Boy, but today during my phone call with Dad, I asked him, "Hey Dad: Where exactly did you get King Boy?"

This is great. And so typical of my dad.

"Well, got him in (a bitty town about 45 miles from Dad's farm). I had my eye on that little stallion for awhile and stopped at the owner's place while I was on my way through town. We dickered on the price for awhile and finally the guy said I could have him for a pretty low price, but only if I took him home that day. I was driving our car, that old Ford. I didn't want to drive all the way back home and get the truck, so I just put that pony in the back seat of the car."

In. The. Back. Seat. Of. The. CAR.

After I quit laughing hysterically, I asked, "So Dad - How did you get him INTO the car?"

"Aw, hell, wasn't anything to it. I just opened the door and he poked his nose in. I gave him a little kick in the ass and he was in there. He seemed to like it just fine. We talked all the way home. Took about an hour."

Can you imagine what other drivers thought as they saw this car heading down the highway with a horse in the back seat?

In thinking back, there's a few things that I would like: I really wish I had a picture of Mom's face as Dad opened the car door and led a horse out of the back seat. But mostly I wish I had a chance to feel King Boy's soft nose, to brush out his coat, and pet his furry little ears, and braid flowers into his cream colored mane again.

Ahhh. Good memories are good medicine.

Juicy Research

NEW YORK (Reuters Health) Mar 19 - Orange juice counteracts the proinflammatory effects of a high-fat, high-carbohydrate meal, new research shows.

You can read more about this interesting study here. 

Foggy Peppers

Most Sjoggies deal with brain fog. Goodness knows I do. But even though I've been foggy for eight years now, sometimes even I am amazed.....

So I was in the grocery store today, shopping list in hand. John and I both write stuff on the list, so when I scanned the items, I was perplexed.

Bread, milk, butter, blah blah blah......and then an item that John had penciled in: green pepper.

Green pepper. Green pepper. Hm........I searched the spice aisle and read all the labels on the cans and bottles. Yes, there's black pepper. Then there's lemon pepper. And cayenne pepper. And red pepper. And whole peppercorns in nifty little glass and metal grinder thingies. What the heck is green pepper? Is it one of those trendy new spices? Does he really mean green tabasco sauce?

I had my Duh moment when I gave up on the whole pepper thing and headed over to the produce section for salad makings. I cruised through the aisle, and stopped dead in my tracks. There they were, sitting in their plump green veggie gloriousness. Green peppers.

Of course! I slapped my forehead and leaned against my cart as I guffawed helplessly and loudly enough to make a young mother put her arm protectively around her toddler as she and her cart gave me a wide berth.

Oh, Julia, girl. Get yourself and those green peppers home now. Before you and another foggy incident scare another young child.

Explain, Please

I have to admit with some sense of pride that I have developed the ability to reward myself at a moment's notice. For anything.

Woo hoo! I put both socks on my feet this morning.
Atta girl. Nobody nukes frozen tater tots better than me.
A shower? Before noon? What a woman!

My rewards vary. This week's treat was a couple of bunches of flowers: carnations and tulips. I took them out of their cellophane bags, clipped the rubber bands around their stems, then trimmed them all to be the same length. All of them. The carnations AND the tulips were all the same length when I placed them in the vase.

This was two days ago. Today, I noticed something very strange: The tulips are taller than the carnations and leaning towards the sunny window. 

What the heck??

Somebody explain this for me. Are the tulips actually growing? Did the carnations shrink? Am I just imagining this?

Skeptical? Here's pictorial evidence:

Read More About Sjogren's Syndrome

Woot! Two more blogs have emerged into the blogosphere recently, both authored by women dealing with autoimmune diseases. Both are very well written, both are helping to raise awareness of autoimmune disease and it's impact, and both are worth a serious read.

Jenny Pettit has launched a blog entitled UII - Understanding Invisible Illnesses. Jenny has extensive experience with multiple invisible illnesses, this from her profile:

I'm a 'modern woman' trying to balance a new (and strenuous) career, a young marriage, family with serious health challenges, and my own chronic illnesses while keeping my faith and sanity. My current diagnoses include: Sjogren's Syndrome, Raynaud's, osteoarthritis, dysautonomia (or autonomic dysfunction), localized Scleroderma, and fibromyalgia. Other diagnoses are always looming. I'm trying to develop UII ("We") - Understanding Invisible Illnesses as an awareness and suppport network for those who suffer from conditions others can't see (and those who suffer with them - friends and family). I'm also trying to focus on hope and victories, while still giving into the healthy aspects of sharing challenges with people who understand them. Join in anytime!

Vivre Avec Le Syndrome De Sjogren / A Sjogren's Life, is authored by Jazzcat, a fellow Sjoggie living in France who publishes her insightful posts in both english and french.

Je suis une jeune femme de 30 ans, j'ai été diagnostiqué atteinte de Gougerot Sjogren il y a trois ans. I'm a 30 years old women, diagnostiqued with Sjogren three years ago.

Both these young women are, well.....young. So they bring a much needed perspective to this subject, that being one of a young person dealing with significant illness in a much different phase of life than someone in her fifties such as myself. They both juggle marriages, full time jobs, and autoimmune disease.

Go get 'em, girls. We'll be reading and cheering you on.

Image by sqback

True Colors

My friend Karen and I go way back to our teens when we met as college freshmen. We graduated together and shared an apartment before John and I were married, so we have some great memories together. Karen and her daughter made the six-hour trek across the mountains this weekend for a very enjoyable visit.

There's so many blessings and rewards that accompany having a long term friend because she knows me so well.........but then she KNOWS me so well.....as well.....

So I had to laugh when we were discussing my blog and she had a chance to prove just how completely she has me figured out.

Hey, Julia - you write posts in two different styles. 

How's that?

Well, some of your posts are very professional and all Julia-RN-like.

And..........?

And then you write some where the REAL Julia breaks through. You know, the really goofy Julia. 

Drat. My secret is out. I'm really just a goof. Gee thanks, Karen, for blowing my cover. OK. I admit that the real Julia - the one at my very core - is goofy as heck. Here's my most favorite video ever of my goof hero - Disney's Goofy.



Now there's a guy with virtuoso level goofiness. I only hope that someday I will attain his admirable goof skills.

I suspect that Karen was reminded of my goofy character flaws at a restaurant on Friday night. When I threw a lemon wedge wrapped in a paper napkin at Greg. Who then hit it back at me and missed, smacking a kid sitting at the next table over.

I just want to point out that I am not alone in my goofiness.

I Belong In The Zoo

Yesterday, my friend Sarah and I took a leisurely tour of our local zoo. It was an absolutely fabulous day. I gave Sarah permission to walk at least ten paces ahead of her middle-aged, floppy hat - wearing, doofus companion, but she was brave and strolled right alongside me. What a gal.

Sarah also took some amazing pictures. Here's just a sampling:

Where's My Rabbit Hole?

Image found here.

Did you ever watch a movie and then, afterwards, as the credits are rolling, try to insert yourself into the moral of the story? As in, so what is this movie trying to tell ME? And if so, should I pay attention?

I know - it's my giant ego. Everything always seems to be about me. Of course.

We saw Alice in Wonderland recently. In 3-D, which would have left some of my motion-sickness inclined buddies barfing within minutes after the opening sequence. But I enjoyed the film a great deal, once I became strangely accustomed to very bizarre characters and a slightly creepy feel to what I once considered a lighthearted children's story. And how did they get Johnny Depp's teeth to be all gappy?

Image found here. 

The moral of this movie was smack dab in your face obvious - a to thine own self be true message. That part was easy.

But I found myself thinking about the rabbit hole that Alice found at such a convenient time - the exact moment when she would make a life-changing decision. Through all the action and adventure and confusion that followed her dramatic fall into a new world, she was allowed an opportunity to step back and away from reality, and in doing so was afforded an opportunity to see her decision in a wholly different light.

Wouldn't it be nice if we all had a rabbit hole somewhere? Not that I'd enjoy Lewis Carroll's wonderland - I would opt for a drop into something a little more sane, perhaps a stroll around foggy London with Sherlock Holmes, or maybe a tour of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Wait - did I just imply that the oompa loompas were sane?

The Cost of Autoimmune Disease

John and I were having one of those discussions the other day. The one about our finances and the necessity of spending within our budget. Which made me think about what our budget would be like if I were still working full time. I wasn't thinking that if I were still working I'd be buying expensive things, but rather, if I were still working I'd have a different and more confident perspective on our budget.

Although we Sjoggies know all too well that there is a physical price to pay for our diagnosis, there's also the very real cost in terms of dollars and cents. Of course the medications and doctor visits and diagnostic tests are expensive. But there is also a significant price to pay in a much larger sense: the price of disabling diseases is astronomical when calculating a person's inability to work in a full time capacity and assist in ensuring their family's financial security.

Before autoimmune disease, even though there were periods when I chose not to work, I always knew that I had the capability to provide a good income for our family. Which helped both John and me sleep better at night. It was reassuring for us to know that with my education and experience I could probably land a full time job with benefits in nursing just about anywhere.

But now? Well, now I realize that due to autoimmune disease, there is no possible way for me to be able to work full time, especially in a fast-paced and high pressure nursing job. That security blanket, that comforting belief that I could contribute in a significant way to our income is gone.

Financially, we are OK. John has a good job. But who knows what that means in today's economy? And if, God forbid, John should lose his job, how could I possibly contribute enough to our finances to get us through if we should face tough financial times? The stark truth is that I couldn't. No way.

OK, Julia. Breathe. Breathe. In, and out. OK. Steady, girl.

One of the many reasons that I love my husband so much is for his very level-headed and rational approach to problems, and in looking ahead to our financial future, he approaches this uncertainty in his characteristic style. The kids and I tease him about his ability to whip out a spreadsheet in record time and his fondness for manilla folders neatly labeled and filed alphabetically, but in reality I know that because of these abilities, we will be fine. Somewhere in all those spreadsheets and folders, our fiances are organized and accounted for. And above all, there's a budget. For everything.

Ah, yes. the budget. I try, honey, I really do.

Even more reassuring for me however, is John's larger view of money and it's impact on our life. When I descend into one of my hyperventilating what if what if what if moments, he'll say, "Jul. Our house, our cars, our stuff........is just stuff. If a crisis should happen, and I really don't think one will......but if it does, our stuff isn't important. We'll get rid of it. But we'll have each other and the kids. The kids all have educations and jobs. They're healthy and happy. That's all that matters. We'll be fine."

I love it when he talks me down off the ledge.

Image by ba1969

Sunscreen Update

So I've been methodically putting on my sunscreen every day, rain or shine. I'm still using the Burt's Bee's mineral-based sunscreen, as I commented in an earlier post.  Even though it still has drawbacks - it leaves my skin feeling weirdly sticky and takes forever to rub in - I'm going to finish the tube, by golly.

In spite of the way it makes my skin feels, it does seem to function really well as a sunblock. The two lesions that I developed while in Nevada have resolved, and no new ones have cropped up. Yesssss!

The packaging says that it may discolor fabrics, but I haven't noticed that to be the case. It could be that some of the product straight from the tube may stain clothing, since it's tinted a flesh color.

I'm going to give the sunscreen a serious test drive today since the sky is blue and the sun is shining.

Schnauzers and Shamrocks

Is it proper for someone who is not in the least bit Irish to wish y'all a happy Saint Patrick's Day?

I think one of the best thing about any holiday is the opportunity to make frosted sugar cut-out cookies. So I decided to try a new sugar cookie recipe for this auspicious occasion. I used the one from Martha Stewart's site. I got the dough all mixed up and ready to roll out before I read the directions, which said:

Preheat oven to 325 degrees with racks in upper and lower thirds. Let one disk of dough stand at room temperature just until soft enough to roll, about 10 minutes. Roll out dough between two pieces of plastic wrap to 1/4-inch thickness. Remove top layer of plastic wrap. Cut out cookies with a 4-to-5-inch cookie cutter. Transfer cookie dough on plastic wrap to a baking sheet. Transfer baking sheet to freezer, and freeze until very firm, about 15 minutes. Remove baking sheet from freezer, and transfer shapes to baking sheets lined with nonstick baking mats.

What? Plastic wrap and chilling and freezing and nonstick baking mats??

Nah. I scattered some flour on my countertop and grabbed my rolling pin. The cookies were rolled out, cut, and on a bare cookie sheet within minutes. Sorry, Martha. I'm just too much of an instant gratification kind of gal.

I chose the traditional Irish shamrock cookie cutter, and also the very festive schnauzer.

Personally, I think that my schnauzers Maggie and Lulu resemble mischievous leprechauns, myself, and thus a perfectly appropriate choice for this holiday.

John thinks that the schnauzer cookie cutter looks more like a giraffe. Pshaw.

No, there isn't a cookie missing from the bottom right corner of the pan.......*Julia surreptitiously brushes cookie crumbs from her mouth*

If I were a perfectionist, I'd have decorated my cookies with the same attention to detail as the ones on Not So Humble Pie.

But then, I'm me, so of course I didn't do that.

I slapped together some frosting:

In a smallish bowl, combine: a glob of butter, a bunch of powdered sugar, a splash of yummy home made vanilla extract, and another splash of milk. Mix. Taste. Mix some more.

Then slathered the frosting on the cookies and sprinkled them with Irish green sprinkles.

Delish.

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Now go have some green beer.

Spring Is Bustin' Out All Over

It's so good to see the springtime flowers in bloom. John is less than thrilled because his allergies go nuts, and I have to be super vigilant about applying sunblock and wearing my hat, but it's worth all the fuss. Ahhh.......flowers and sunshine. Nothing better.

We don't have a huge yard, just under 1/2 acre, but we try to make the most of what we do have, meaning we stuff everything imaginable into our little splotch of green, to the point that John has issued a Julia can't buy any more trees, bushes, flowers, or plants moratorium. I'll have to work on him since I have my eye on a few more things such as more blueberry bushes and an ornamental flowering cherry.

My magnolias are really wonderful this year, this is my classic dinner-plate magnolia:

And my star magnolia:

Just today I saw a few little bleeding hearts start to bloom:

My asian pear should be loaded with fruit if even a third of these blossoms turn to pears:

And I love the waxy green leaves around my pink camellia:

I have a few little blossoms on my new peach tree. I wonder if any of these will turn into peaches?

Sammy, our fourteen-year old mutt mutt, keeps watch over the yard. We're all in good hands. Er, I mean, paws.