The Bridge / Aye Yes and Aye No! / The Glasgow I used to know ...

Hi Folks,

The Bridge - An Inspirational Story

Once upon a time two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into conflict.It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch.

Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding and it grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.

One morning there was a knock on John’s door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter’s toolbox. “I’m looking for a few days work” he said. “Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there I could help with? Could I help you?”

“Yes,” said the older brother. “I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That’s my neighbor, in fact, it’s my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I’ll go him one better. See that pile of lumber by the barn?

I want you to build me a fence - - an 8-foot fence — so I won’t need to see his place or his face anymore.” The carpenter said, “I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post hole digger and I’ll be able to do a job that pleases you.”

The older brother had to go to town, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day. The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, nailing, and hammering. About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job. The farmer’s eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. There was no fence there at all.

It was a bridge — a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work handrails and all — and the neighbor, his younger brother, was coming across, his hand outstretched.

“You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I’ve said and done.”

The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge, and then they met in the middle, taking each other’s hand. They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. “No, wait! Stay a few days. I’ve a lot of other projects for you,” said the older brother. “I’d love to stay on,” the carpenter said, “but, I have many more bridges to build.”

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This is the latest TV advertisement for Scottish McEwan's beer - Now in Scotland the word 'Aye' can be used in many ways to say many things - as you will notice in this advert .

McEwan's was first brewed in Scotland over 150 years ago and its modern day owner, Jygsaw, Brands, hopes to make the most of its association with Scotland to win over Scots drinkers.Marketing director John Edwards said: "The Scots are famous all over the world for their unique dialect and this advert celebrates their amazing ability to communicate using just one word! McEwan’s has a rich Scottish heritage so we want this advert to reach the hearts and minds of Scots across the land.”

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The Glasgow I used to Know ...

I got this poem in an email from my brother in law yesterday and it appealed to me - it sort of has a connection with the foregoing advert though in a different way .... I haven't a clue whether or not many folk outside of Scotland will understand it .... as it's written in 'auld Glaswegian' you see from a different age ...

There are even some of the words that Rob had to explain. It is the way most folk spoke where I was brought up (at least until I was about 10 year old. OMG ! am I showing my age hehe... I hope some folk will remember and get enjoyment out of the remembering !

Where’s the cludgie , that cosy wee cell ,
The string frae the cistern , I remember it well ,
Where I sat wi’ a candle and studied the mags ,
A win fur the ‘Gers , defeat fur the Jags .

Where is the tramcar that once did a ton
Doon the Great Western Rd on the auld Yoker run ...
The conductress aye knew how to deal wi’ the nyaff ,
“If yer gaun , weal get oan , if yer no’, jist get aff “.

I think o’ the days o’ my tenement hame ,
We’ve got fancy hooses noo , but they’re no’ the same ..
I’ll swap you gisunders , flyovers and jams ,
For a tanner return on the old Partick trams .

Gone is the Glasgow that I used to know ,
Big Wullie , wee Shooie , the steamie , the Co.,
The stupid wee bauchle , the glaikit big dreep ,
The baw’s on the slates , an’ yer gas at a peep .

Where is the Glasgow where I used to stay ,
With white Wally closes done up with white clay ,
Where ye knew every neighbour from first floor to third
And to keep your door shut was considered absurd .

Where are the weans that once played in the street ,
Wi’ a jorrie , a peerie , a gird wi’ a cleek .
Can they still cadge a hurl , or drap aff a dyke ,
Play haunch-cuddy-haunch . Kick-the-can an’ the like ..

Where is the wee shop where a’ used tae buy
A quarter o’ tatties , a tuppenny pie ,
A bag o’ broke biscuits , a wee sodie scone ,
And the wummin aye asked ye “How’s yer maw gettin’ on ?”

Where’s the tally’s that I knew so well ,
The wee corner shoppie where they used to sell
Hot pies , a McCallum , ice cream in a poke ,
Ye Kent they were tally’s the minute they spoke .

On a cauld winter’s night when we sat roon the fire ,
Each telt a story , not one was a liar ..
Then in the morning , no lang efter dawn .
Ye got handed a parcel and sent tae the pawn .

Those days were so rosy , but money was tight ,
The wages hauf feenished by Seterday night .
But still we came through it and weathered the ruts ,
The reason is simple our parents had guts

I haven't a clue where the poem came from but if anyone else does please let me know so that I can give them the credit !!?

Love and Peace from the land of the Tartan, Kate xxx.

The Trouble Tree / Some gutsy prayer / Halloween Wishes !

This is a story which was written by an unknown author, as many of these ' feel good ' stories which ' move me to tears ' are, as usual I couldn't resist posting it on here - I hope you enjoy it too ......

The Trouble Tree ......

I hired a carpenter to help me restore an old farmhouse, and after he had just finished a rough first day on the job...a flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit... and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching tips of the branches with his hands.

When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.

"Oh that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having troubles on the job and in my life, but one thing's for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again."

Funny thing is," he smiled, "When I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there aren't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."

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Rev. Joe Wright ......

A Man with Guts ......

I received the undernoted in an email this morning and I thought others might enjoy this prayer given in Kansas at the opening session of their Senate. It seems prayer sometimes upsets people. When Minister Joe Wright was asked to open the new session of the Kansas Senate, everyone was expecting the usual generalities, but this is what they heard -

"God in Heaven, we come before you today to ask your forgiveness and to seek your direction and guidance. We know Your Word says, 'Woe to those who call evil good,' but that is exactly what we have done.
We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and reversed our values.
We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery.
We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare..
We have killed our unborn and called it choice.
We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable.
We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self esteem.....
We have abused power and called it politics.
We have coveted our neighbour's possessions and called it ambition.
We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression.
We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment.
Search us, Oh, God, and know our hearts today; cleanse us from every sin and set us free.. Amen! "
He certainly didn't fire and miss the target ... The response was immediate. A number of legislators walked out during the prayer in protest. In 6 short weeks, Central Christian Church, where Rev. Wright is pastor, logged more than 5,000 phone calls with only 47 of those calls responding negatively. The church is now receiving international requests for copies of this prayer from India , Africa and Korea . Commentator Paul Harvey aired this prayer on his radio programme, 'The Rest of the Story,' and received a larger response to this programme than any other he has ever aired....

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I'm finishing off this entry with a Halloween card I received the other day ...... How on earth they manage to work these things out - I haven't a clue ...... Amazing !

Greatest Halloween Card Ever ...

Click Here

Or here:

Cheers from the land of the Tartan, Love Kate xxx.

Silly Pictures Are Fun

I bring some light-hearted fun to you today.  It's the least I can do to reward you for putting up with my Brett Favre-ish nonsense around here.  (No, I'm not sending you pictures of my schlong.)  Here's a few pictures from around the web that I've had sitting on my laptop and haven't had a chance to use in any productive way.  I hope they make you smile in a horrible world where either Matt Treanor or Edgar Renteria is going to be a World Series champion soon.

First up...something that I'm sure all of us has at LEAST suspected for a while...
Not that there's anything wrong with that...

More after el jumpo...

From the Comerica Park scoreboard...

Try looking up from your seat and explaining to your kid why you're laughing.

Normally, I wouldn't support making fun of Magglio Ordonez in any way, but...
Demotivational Posters are always fun.

What does minor league baseball player-extraordinaire Nate Robertson do to stay in shape?
Represent, yo.

No collection of pictures is complete without one of Joel Zumaya doing something stupid...
Put...the fake guitar...down...asshole.

And while we're with Zoom...
You'd be smiling, too.  I mean, that's Curtis Granderson!  He's awesome!

There's not many Don Kelly photos out there...
But it's worth looking to find some Don Kelly-fail.

That's awesome.  I need to get Photoshop.

A Brandon Inge picture, you say?  So hard to choose...
They just gave this idiot another $11 least.

Something for the sensitive people out there:
Did I just hear something crack?  Uh oh...

Speaking of Jim Leyland...
Which one's the dummy?

Ever wonder what's inside of Joe Mauer's bat?
I hate Joe Mauer.

And finally, though it isn't baseball related, it remains my favorite Detroit sports pic of all time.  Apologies in advance to Big Al for the flashback...
"I wish I could quit you."
"Just touch it."
" does this make me a better quarterback again?"
"Matt, when they say that I suck, this isn't what they mean."

And so on...enjoy the stupid World Series.

Everyone Pitches In and Gets Me Motivated

So, I was thinking of quitting the blog…again. Here’s whats happened since then, as I recall it.

Day One

OLD ENGLISH D JEN: As the resident Detroit Tiger Emo Fan Mistress of Sorrow, I COMMAND you to not give up your blog!

/stares at picture of Magglio…starts weeping

ROGO: Meh. Work is killing me. This season wiped me out. They re-signed Inge. A pretty girl talked to me out of pity and I, of course, thought that we were engaged. My mind just isn’t there. Sorry.

OED JEN: You can’t do this! You’re the greatest Tiger blogger in the world! What will we do without you?

/cuts self

ROGO: Meh…

Day Two

ALYSSA MILANO: Rogo, you need to start writing. Your genius work just makes me so…excited. How about I call my good friend Jennie Finch up, we pick up some whipped cream, and we head over to your place and l…

/wakes up

ROGO: Damn. Guess I’ll see what’s on Redtube…

Day Three

JAMIE SAMUELSEN: C’mon, man. No one’s reading my crap anymore without you linking to it and making fun of every inane thing I say. Please come back?

ROGO: I’m busy. And I hate baseball. Get off my lawn.

JAMIE SAMUELSEN: Can I borrow some money for gas?

ROGO: Die of a rectal tumor…

Day Four

FAN LETTER #22: C’mon, dude. Come back. Make fun of Inge.

FAN LETTER #59: Who’s gonna call Don Kelly funny names now? Make me laugh!

FAN LETTER #255: You have won the Nigerian lotto! Just send us your bank info…


/watches Pawn Stars and mopes

Day Five

ROGO: Hmm…Jayson Werth looks homeless. Or like Edge from WWE. Or like the guy that plays Shaggy in the Scooby Doo movies. Buffy was in those, too. Buffy’s hot.

/drools for ten minutes

ROGO: Maybe I could write something funny about him. Ugh…I can’t keep quitting and starting up again. And my time is so precious…

/loud banging on door

ROGO: Who the hell could that be?

/door flies open

KIRK GIBSON: You f-cking disgust me.

ROGO: Oh my God…Kirk Gibson?

GIBSON: F-cking A, bucko.

ROGO: What are you doing he…

GIBSON: Shut it! Gibby goes where he wants and does what he wants. Gibby f-cks who he wants and kills what he wants. In fact, I was in the U.P. last month. I shot a ten point deer in the face and f-cked the bullet hole for twenty minutes afterward. That’s just how Gibby rolls. You understand?

ROGO: I guess so.

GIBSON: You guess so, huh? You’re pathetic. You and your little fart joke blog. You quit again, huh?

ROGO: Well, I’ve just been so busy and haven’t had the time…

GIBSON: Bullsh-t. You stand there with that dumb look on your face and tell me you’re busy? You’re lazy! You remind me of Chet Lemon when I caught him dogging it on a routine ground ball back in ‘87. You know what I did to him?


GIBSON: I punched that pussy so hard in the gut that his spleen exploded.


ROGO: Poor Chet…all he’s gone through was because of you?

GIBSON: No. It was because he was a lazy c-cksucker…just like you. Look, kid…you don’t have much talent, but any jackoff can write about baseball. You don’t even have to be good at it. Look at Rick Reilly or Lynn Henning. Ha, I remember one time Henning writing something that pissed me off. I took him up to my hunting compound and…well, let’s say that ‘ol Lynny couldn’t sit down comfortably for about a month. Point is, you seem to be able to make folks laugh. Ya know, Gibby can be funny too. You want to hear a joke?


GIBSON: Course you do. Here it goes. Goose Gossage. Ha!

ROGO: Heh heh…

GIBSON: Another one…Dennis Eckersley! Hohoho…that goofy haired sumbitch still sh-ts his pants any time some says “Kirk Gibson” around him.

/eats entire bag of deer jerkey

ROGO: Look, Mr. Gibson. Thanks for coming by, but…

GIBSON: Shut up, fag. Ya know, I tried to quit baseball in 1992, banged up as I was. And Sparky Anderson was there to call me a pussy and tell me to go back. And I did. Gibby hasn’t quit on anything ever again. And neither are you. Did I ever tell you about the time Rozema and I double-teamed Joan Collins back in ’83?

/shoots squirrel with an automatic rifle

ROGO: Um, we just met five minutes ago…

GIBSON: Shut up. Anyway, Davey had to have put down two fifths of Jack at that point. And the sumbitch kept tellin’ me, “Gibby, I just can’t get it up. Whiskey d-ck like a motherf-cker, man.” Well, I slapped that goofy f-ck right in the face and screamed in his ear until he was able to be the man I knew he could be. I didn’t care if it took all night, but he was gonna leave his mark on that ugly hag. And it took a couple hours, but dammit, Rozey was picking Dynasty drippings out of his mustache for a week.

ROGO: Mr. Gibson…I think I’m gonna be sick…

GIBSON: Shut up. I’m almost out of here. Point is, Dave wasn’t a quitter. And no matter if it were injuries, owners practicing collusion, or anything, Kirk F-cking Gibson never quit. And neither are you. Who cares if you only write once a week? Or once every two weeks? Whatever. But have fun, work hard, and try to entertain the people. That’s what I did. You with me?

ROGO: I guess so.

GIBSON: Say it like you have a pair, son!

ROGO: Yes, sir!


ROGO: F-ck yes!

GIBSON: Damn right.

ROGO: Um…I still don’t know what to write about.

GIBSON: Do what you always do. Rip off someone more talented and claim it as your own. I don’t care. Me and David Wells are going out killin’ sh-t today. Then I gotta figure out how to make those losers in Phoenix quit playing like pussies. Seeya, kid.

/backs pickup into mailbox…drives off
No promises, but I’ll write when I can throughout the offseason and quit crying wolf. This dumb blog helps to keep me sane. As always, thanks for your support.

To the anon poster that said “Don Kelly thinks you’re a f-cking quitter”, that was awesome. Made me laugh.

And yes…I really do look like that. Seeya around.

Breathe In ... / Angels at the Truck Stop / Test

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Talk about a tight squeeze! No pun intended in regard to the header!

Hi Folks,

I received the following story from a site which forwards stories regularly and thought it was one which had the typical 'feel good factor' which I enjoy and I hope you do too ...

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave 15 dollars a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.

I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job. The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed, crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job. Still no luck.

The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.

When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money - fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added another strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.

One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered. I made a deal with the owner of the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up. When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning I hurried to the car. I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and get the presents from the basement and place them under the tree (We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the road down by the dump.)

It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the car - or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what. When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crumbled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.

Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There were candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

Awwww... I just love these kind of stories, it makes me feel that good old fashioned ' helping' folk and 'Angels' are still around and doing 'good works'......

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Did they say ' Not many score more than 5' ? I must be a flippen genius then 'cos I scored 16...
click here: A Think Test

Cheers from the land of the Tartan, Love, Kate xxx.

I don't know if the news item about a new submarine (which had been named "Astute") going aground off the coast of Skye in Scotland the other day had hit the headlines in the outside world... Anyway, me being someone who is inclined to see the funny side of things - I thought it hilarious !

I wasn't as quick witted as someone else though, who the following day had made a banner and hung it at the side of the docks onto which he had written - "Astute? Hardly"... Well, I thought it was really funny and let's face it, the day we can't laugh at ourselves we really will be in trouble...

K. xxx.

And...I'm Done...Again...For Now?

The Tigers signed Brandon Inge to a two-year extension, with a team option on a third.  I hate baseball.

I can't even watch the playoffs.  The Giants, Phillies, Yankees, and Rangers are full of ex-Tigers.  It's depressing.

I need a break from this.  Thanks for reading and your support the past two years.  Maybe I'll be back in a while.  I hate to keep crying "wolf" on this, but isn't as easy as you may think it is to maintain a thing like this on your own and try and have a productive life at the same time.

And as always, Don Kelly can tongue-jack my sh-tbox.  I hope he falls into a pit of meth-addicted cobras in the off-season.

Take care...

A Bridge Move / Britain ?

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A Silver Surfer ......

Hi Folks,

Vancouver's Capilano Bridge Move, North end of Lions Gate Bridge - Time Lapse.. They just moved it over to make a new bridge on the site. It's amazing to watch them move it OVERNIGHT! Of course they had the new bed for the old bridge made in the last few months but to move it like this is incredible - and I would love to get the name of the crew concerned...... 'cos I have a house that is all but 'falling down' and I am dog tired - trying to hold it up !!

So ‘Pathetically’ True …

- arrghhh !

Are you aware of the following? The British Government provides the following.

Pension Benefits received by the average 'British Old Age' pensioner ...

Weekly Pension Allowance £100.
Spouse (wife) Allowance £52. Additional weekly hardship allowance - NIL...

Weekly Pension Allowance £250. Spouse Allowance £225. Additional Hardship Allowance £100?

I hope you have read the foregoing and that you will forward it to all your contacts so that we can lobby for a decent old aged pension. After all, the average pensioner has paid taxes and contributed to the growth of this country for the last 40 to 60 years. Sad isn't it?

According to information given out by our parliament we are "broke" and can't help our own Senior citizens, Troops or Homeless. In the last month we have provided aid to Haiti , Chile , Turkey , Greece , Pakistan .

pensioners are living on a 'fixed income' and the vast majority receive no extra aid or get any breaks while our Government and religious organizations pour hundreds of millions of pounds and tons of food to foreign countries .

The only good point I can see as far as old folk getting aid is that some after a lot of form filling and contact with 'Home Services' can have the facility of a 'homehelp' . Now years ago this meant that the 'help' would do any shopping, give the inside of the house a quick going over (not as a cleaner, but just a tidy up). Oh, and make sure that the old person had something to eat (meaning a cuppa and a sandwich) and to just check that she/he was taking their medication. Surely THAT isn't too much to ask ???

When my pal Moira was still at home, a few weeks before she died - the homehelps called in, checked and entered into their paperwork the time they had arrived, they stayed for 10 minutes, talked to Moira then left ... That was the sum total of their visits...

They aren't allowed to make dinner or aught - the reason given ? well they might have an accident peeling the potatoes or cooking on the stove .. Amazing! isn't it? It's a good job that she had family and friends.

Please God, if I ever get to the stage of having a homehelp take me quickly - I would HATE to be at 'their' beck and call !

Great Britain is at present a country where we have homeless without shelter. I know it sounds incredible in this day and age but there are children and adults going to bed hungry here and unbelieveably, elderly going without their 'needed' medication because they can't afford to pay the prescription charges for their medicine. Yet they are requesting donations for the people of Pakistan and other countries - It doesn't make sense...

I do understand that the people in Pakistan are in dire need and have no doubts that 'they' deserve to be helped, there are plenty of tins in all the shops into which people put money and also shops where you can deposit clothing to help the Pakistan people. There are however other countries who get food, goods and monetary help given to them which the leaders of these countries then use to blackmail their citizens.

We are a 'giving' country to needy folk ... But we don't like to put up with some who 'take the piss' . Surely there is some middle way to help the needy in other countries, but make sure that our own citizens are taken care of as well.

Peace and Love, Kate xxx.

Onions - Yeah, that's correct, ONIONS !

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A shot gun wedding ?

Oh errr... Help me someone !

These paintings are sooo realistic ...

Hi Folks,

Not being a very domesticated Kat(e) this is not exactly a subject which is near to my heart and therefore I don't usually blog about cookery or vegetables etc.. but I received this in an email from my BIL and wondered if any of you had heard about these facts ..... I certainly hadn't, so I hope you find it interesting ... it's good to know that some of the old housewives tales sometimes work ! I know it's a bit of a long post but I think you will find it worth the read ! So enjoy ...

Onions ...

In 1919 when the flu killed 40 million people there was this Doctor that visited the many farmers to see if he could help them combat the flu.
Many of the farmers and their family had contracted it and many died. The doctor came upon one farmer and, to his surprise, everyone in the family was very healthy. When the doctor asked what the farmer was doing that was different, the wife replied that she had placed an unpeeled onion in a dish in the rooms of the home.

The doctor couldn't believe it and asked if he could have one of the onions. She gave him one which he placed under the microscope & found the 'flu virus in the onion. It had obviously absorbed the bacteria, thereby keeping the family healthy. Now, I heard this story from my hairdresser. She said that several years ago many of her employees were coming down with the flu and so were many of her customers.

The next year, at flu season time, she placed several bowls with onions around in her shop and, to her surprise, none of her staff got sick.
It must work... and no, she is not in the onion business. The moral of the story is, buy some onions and place them in bowls around your home. If you do get the flu, it just might be a mild case.. What have you to lose?

Now there is a P.S. to this...

I sent it to a friend in Oregon who regularly contributes material to me on health issues and she replied with this most interesting experience about onions: She said - Thanks for the reminder. I don't know about the farmers story, but I do know that I contacted pneumonia and needless to say I was very ill. I came across an article that said to cut both ends off an onion, put one end on a fork and then place the forked end into an empty jar...placing the jar next to the sick patient at night. It said the onion would be black in the morning from the germs.

Sure enough ... it happened just like that... the onion was a mess and I began to feel better. Another thing I read in the article was that onions and garlic placed around the room saved many from the black plague years ago. They have powerful antibacterial and antiseptic properties.

Here's more:


I have used an onion which has been left in the fridge; sometimes I don't use a whole onion at one time, so save the other half for later. Now with this info, I have changed my mind; will buy smaller onions in the future.

I had the wonderful privilege of touring Mullins Food Products, makers of mayonnaise. Mullins is huge, and is owned by 11 brothers and sisters in the Mullins family.
A friend, Jeanne, is the CEO.

Questions about food poisoning came up, and I wanted to share what I learned from a chemist. The guy who gave us our tour is named Ed - he's one of the brothers.
Ed is a chemistry expert and is involved in developing most of the sauce formula. He's even developed sauce formula for McDonald's. Keep in mind that Ed is a food chemistry whiz.

During the tour, someone asked if we really needed to worry about mayonnaise.
People are always worried that mayonnaise will spoil. Ed's answer will surprise you. He said that all commercially made Mayo is completely safe. "It doesn't even have to be refrigerated. No harm in refrigerating it, but it's not really necessary." He explained that the pH in mayonnaise is set at a point that bacteria could not survive in that environment.

He then talked about picnics, with the bowl of potato salad sitting on the table and how everyone blames the mayonnaise when someone gets sick. Ed says that when food poisoning is reported, the first thing the officials look for is when the 'victim' last ate ONIONS and where those onions came from (in the potato salad?). Ed says it's not the mayonnaise (as long as it's not homemade Mayo) that spoils in the outdoors. It's probably the onions, and if not the onions, it's the POTATOES. He explained, onions are a huge magnet for bacteria, especially uncooked onions.

You should never plan to keep a portion of a sliced onion.. it's not even safe if you put it in a zip-lock bag and put it in your refrigerator.. It's already contaminated enough just by being cut open and out for a bit, that it can be a danger to you. (and doubly watch out for those onions you put in your hotdogs at the baseball park!)

Ed says if you take the leftover onion and cook it like crazy you'll probably be okay, but if you slice that leftover onion and put on your sandwich, you're asking for trouble. Both the onions and the moist potato in a potato salad will attract and grow bacteria faster than any commercial mayonnaise will even begin to break down.. So, how's that for news? Take it for what you will. I am going to be very careful about my onions from now on.

Please remember it is dangerous to cut onion and use or cook the next day. It becomes highly poisonous for even a single night and creates toxic bacteria which may cause adverse stomach infections because of excess bile secretions and even food poisoning.

So there you go folks - who says you never learn much from reading this blog huh ??

Love and Peace, Kate xxx.

'Strictly' / The Silly Season has started / Things women should know about men ..

Hi There,
I am well and truly again hooked on the Saturday evening TV programme 'Strictly Come Dancing' which restarted a couple of weeks ago - being someone who has loved to dance since I was a child I once again have to tune in to the programme and am totally blind and deaf to anything else which happens on a Saturday night. Even Rob knows to exit 'stage left' and disappear from the room...... I LOVE it !

I have realized that I have become a ' typical oldie ' .... after the producer or whatever he was getting rid of one of the judges apparently for no other reason than them wanting to get someone younger for the series I decided to ' blacklist the programme! ' fancy them wanting to change the layout and put in place a singer who had previously won the contest, instead of having an older lady - Arlene Phillips, who had years of experience of judging, working and teaching in the world of dance... aaarrgghh ! The nerve of the man! Once the new series started though I couldn't resist having a peek now, like all older folk who find 'change' for change sake hard to take ...... I have decided to 'put up with' the singer come judge and enjoy the dancing which is the 'main' part of the programme.

Now ? Well, I daren't miss any episodes and am transported once again to pure enjoyment of the music and dance (a la) 'real' dancing and am really looking forward to the rest of the series and to seeing who is going to be good enough to win the title just before Christmas.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Finding some ' weird ' news around this part of the world is getting a bit scarce so I thought I would check around in some other ' airts and pairts ' and I came across this snippet ...
A 19-year-old woman was charged with second-degree assault after allegedly stabbing another woman during an ' anger-management ' class, the Seattle Times reported.
    1. Stabbed — during anger-management class
    2. 82-year-old ticketed for going 110 mph
    3. Cops: ‘Moss man’ arrested in attempted heist

The incident occurred on Saturday while a video on anger management was being shown, the Times said. Police said Faribah Maradiaga walked into a classroom at Bellevue College and started complaining about the video. The victim told her "to give it a chance," according to charging documents.

After words were exchanged, Maradiaga pulled out a knife with a 3-inch blade and stabbed the other woman, police and prosecutors said. Maradiaga also is accused of threatening to kill the other woman's family, the Times said.

So there you go - it's not just in this part of the world that the ' silly season ' happens ... It's everywhere !

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

This next item was sent to me in email by my brother in law and although the messages are definitely Pro men and not women - they are funny ... So please enjoy !

Man\'s View of Life

Peace and Love - Kate xxx.

Making The Grade: 2010 Tigers Position Players

Yeah, it’s that time. The season’s over and Your Party Host, in his infinite wisdom, is here to provide his grades on everyone that took the field for your Detroit Tigers in 2010. As always, I remain fair and balanced. My grades are based on a complicated formula taking into account a player’s stats, the impact they had on the team, expectations I had for the player, and how tall the player is. (Just kidding, Will Rhymes!) Also, no “incompletes” for anyone. The season’s are their grades.

We’ll start with position players and then move on to the pitching staff later on this week. I’ll try to keep things brief since 41 guys in total saw time for the Tigers this year. That’s a lot of mostly interchangeable, below average white guys, Mr. Dombrowski. We expect better in 2011.

Let’s rock.

Player, Final Grade (First Half Grade)

Miguel Cabrera, A+ (A+)
.328, 13, 126, 1.042

I guess I’ll start with the best of the best. The man’s a beast. He proved all his doubters wrong this year with very little offensive support around him. His defense at first continues to improve and he put together another MVP caliber season. Cabrera’s the most amazing player I’ve ever seen in a Tiger uniform. Appreciate the big man while he’s around. You might never see another like him.

Austin Jackson, B+ (B+)
.293, 4, 41, .745

AJax was an awesome surprise this year in Detroit. His defense is unbelievable and I think his hitting will only continue to get better now that he has a year in the show under his belt. Though his OPS+ of 102 is almost the definition of average, given the shoes he was filling in center field in the eyes of the fans and Detroit media, I think Austin did an unbelievable job. And unlike most, I could care less that he struck out 170 times. If he popped out to second base 80 of those times, would that make him a better player? No. Keep it up, kid.

Johnny Damon, B (B)
.271, 8, 51, .756

Yeah, that makes three straight guys that I’m giving the same grade as I did at the break. JD’s only season in the D was interesting. His numbers don’t jump out at you. But he did have two walk-off homers and more importantly, in my opinion, set an awesome example for the many young Tigers that made their MLB debuts this year. JD’s a class act, had a .355 OBP in ’10, and I wish him luck next year wherever he ends up.

I still think his wife’s a twat, though.

Magglio Ordonez, A- (A-)
.303, 12, 59, .852

For a guy that was supposedly winding down his career after a disappointing ’09, Maggs was putting together a damn fine season batting ahead of Big Mig this year before breaking his ankle and ending his season early. His 130 OPS+ was second to only Cabrera on the team among all guys with at least 100 plate appearances, and his defense was much better than he has shown in recent years. The Tigers declined his option, but I remain hopeful that they can come to terms on a deal for him to return to right field in 2011.

Brandon Inge, C (C+)
.247, 13, 70, .718

Binge gets a C because he did everything that was expected of him. He hit around .250, got hurt for a while, and played great defense at third base. With a weak free agent crop for third basemen and Adrian Beltre coming to Detroit being highly unlikely, expect the same for the Tigers in 2011. Joy.

Alex Avila, D+ (C-)
.228, 7, 31, .656

I wasn’t one of the people that were gushing over Al Avila’s kid after his impressive debut at the end of ’09. I’ve seen too many guys not pan out over the years after hot starts. But Avila’s offensive production this year was even worse than I expected. Sure, he hit better than Gerald Laird and played solid defense, but the guy really needs to develop quicker with the bat if he’s going to be the starter next season.

/praying for DD to sign Victor Martinez

Brennan Boesch, C (A)
.256, 14, 67, .736

He was Al Kaline in the first half. He turned into Clete Thomas in the second. Hopefully the kid figures out how to take a pitch once in a while, improves his defense, and rebounds from the nightmare that his season became after July.

Carlos Guillen, C- (C)
.273, 6, 34, .746

Ugh. ‘Los only played in 68 games this year with three trips to the DL. Sure, myself and many others make jokes about Guillen being made of glass, but the guy needs to figure out a way to stay healthy next year to justify making even half of the $13 million he’s due in 2011. Yeah, $13 million to a guy that hasn’t had an OPS+ over 113 since 2007.

Ryan Raburn, B- (D-)
.280, 15, 62, .814

As usual, Ryan sucked donkey schlong the first half of the season and played like an all-star the second. All the while, he carried out there the shakiest glove seen in Comerica Park since the days of Eric Munson. Will the real Ryan Raburn please stand up…please stand up? (Or be traded…)

Ramon Santiago, D+ (C-)
.263, 3, 22, .662

That may seem harsh for Little Ramon, a longtime favorite of mine, but though he’s never been considered a great hitter, an OPS+ of 82 in his best opportunity ever to become the starting shortstop is a disappointment to me. Ramon’s the ultimate utility infielder, but he showed this year that he’ll never be able to cut it in an everyday role.

Gerald Laird, D- (D-)
.207, 5, 25, .567

Laird was a load at the plate this year. A load of sh-t. No matter how good his defense is, an OPS+ of 54 is pathetic. Dane Sardinha laughs at that. Good luck elsewhere in ’11, G. I hope it’s in Arizona so you can make more Suns games.

Will Rhymes, B- (None)
.304, 1, 19, .763

I make fun of ‘Lil Will because he’s only 4’8, but the guy surpassed all expectations I had for him when he made his debut. He hit over .300, had an OPS+ of 107, played decent defense (as long at it wasn’t a potential game winning DP ball in the 9th), and won the hearts of silly fans that like their ballplayers like their animal cartoon characters: short, furry, and Scrappy! "Lemmie at ‘em…lemmie AT ‘EM!"

Jhonny Peralta, C+ (None)
.253, 8, 38, .710

When I heard that the Tigers’ big trade deadline move was to make a deal for Peralta, I attempted to walk in front of a moving semi. Luckily, a homeless guy was there to stop me. Thanks, dude. But Jhonny played better than I expected, especially at short, and I’m willing to give him a chance to improve further with a winning Tiger team in 2011.

Don Kelly, D+ (D)
.244, 9, 27, .646

Don Kelly is an abortion at baseball. We really had no one better to play first when Mig went down?

Scott Sizemore, F (F)
.224, 3, 14, .631

Sizemore was supposed to replace Placido Polanco in 2010. He couldn’t have replaced Jim Walewander with what he ended up doing. In his defense, he wasn’t fully recovered from injury to start the season and did produce a bit better upon his late-season recall. 2011 will see him compete with Tinkerbell for the 2nd base job.

Casper Wells, A (Inc)
.323, 4, 17, .901

What can you say? Sure, he only had 99 plate appearances, but Wells did nothing but produce as a Tiger this year. Perhaps one of Double D’s terrible white clones will actually be able to hit in the big leagues.

Danny Worth, C (C+)
.255, 2, 8, .653

He can field okay. He can’t hit for crap. One of the clones that I just spoke of. Hopefully Worthless can come back from injury and prove me wrong next year.

Adam Everett, F (F)
.185, 0, 4, .468

Seriously, did he die or something after the team released him? I miss his hair, though…

Jeff Frazier, F (None)
.217, 0, 1

I think Dave and Jim had a bet to see if Dombrowski had the balls to keep calling up terrible players this year…

Jeff Larish, F (None)
.200, 0, 1, .400

Poor Jeff. He only got into 3 games before the team released him and he ended up in Oakland. I still think he can contribute…it just won’t be here.

Max St. Pierre, C (None)
.222, 0, 0, .556

Max only got 9 at bats, but it was fun to see the guy get his first MLB hit after 40 years or so in the minors.

Pitchers coming soon. Stay tuned.

The God of Cake

My mom baked the most fantastic cake for my grandfather's 73rd birthday party. The cake was slathered in impossibly thick frosting and topped with an assortment of delightful creatures which my mom crafted out of mini-marshmallows and toothpicks.  To a four-year-old child, it was a thing of wonder - half toy, half cake and all glorious possibility.

But my mom knew that it was extremely important to keep the cake away from me because she knew that if I was allowed even a tiny amount of sugar, not only would I become intensely hyperactive, but the entire scope of my existence would funnel down to the singular goal of obtaining and ingesting more sugar.  My need for sugar would become so massive, that it would collapse in upon itself and create a vacuum into which even more sugar would be drawn until all the world had been stripped of sweetness.  

So when I managed to climb onto the counter and grab a handful of cake while my mom's back was turned, an irreversible chain reaction was set into motion.   

I had tasted cake and there was no going back.  My tiny body had morphed into a writhing mass of pure tenacity encased in a layer of desperation.  I would eat all of the cake or I would evaporate from the sheer power of my desire to eat it. 

My mom had prepared the cake early in the day to get the task out of the way.  She thought she was being efficient, but really she had only ensured that she would be forced to spend the whole day protecting the cake from my all-encompassing need to eat it.  I followed her around doggedly, hoping that she would set the cake down - just for a moment.  


My mom quickly tired of having to hold the cake out of my reach. She tried to hide the cake, but I found it almost immediately. She tried putting the cake on top of the refrigerator, but my freakish climbing abilities soon proved it to be an unsatisfactory solution.

Her next attempt at cake security involved putting the cake in the refrigerator and then placing a very heavy box in front of the refrigerator's door.  

The box was far too heavy for me to move.  When I discovered that I couldn't move the box, I decided that the next best strategy would be to dramatically throw my body against it until my mom was forced to move it or allow me to destroy myself.  

Surprisingly, this tactic did not garner much sympathy. 

I went and played with my toys, but I did not enjoy it.  

I had to stay focused. 

I played vengefully for the rest of the afternoon. All of my toys died horrible deaths at least once. But I never lost sight of my goal.

My mom finally came to get me. She handed me a dress and told me to put it on because we were leaving for the party soon. I put the dress on backwards just to make her life slightly more difficult.

I was herded into the car and strapped securely into my car seat.  As if to taunt me, my mom placed the cake in the passenger seat, just out of my reach.  

We arrived at my grandparents' house and I was immediately accosted by my doting grandmother while my mom walked away holding the cake.  

I could see my mom and the cake disappearing into the hallway as I watched helplessly.  I struggled against my grandmother's loving embrace, but my efforts were futile.  I heard the sound of a door shutting and then a lock sliding into place.  My mom had locked the cake in the back bedroom.  How was I going to get to it now?  I hadn't yet learned the art of lock-picking and I wasn't nearly strong enough to kick the door in.  It felt as though all my life's aspirations were slipping away from me in a landslide of tragedy.  How could they do this to me?  How could they just sit there placidly as my reason for living slowly faded from my grasp?  I couldn't take it.  My little mind began to crumble.  

And then, right there in my grandmother's arms, I lapsed into a full-scale psychological meltdown. My collective frustrations burst forth from my tiny body like bees from a nest that had just been pelted with a rock.  

It was unanimously decided that I would need to go play outside until I was able to regain my composure and stop yelling and punching.  I was banished to the patio where I stood peering dolefully through the sliding glass door, trying to look as pitiful as possible.

I knew the cake was locked securely in the bedroom, but if I could just get them to let me inside... maybe.  Maybe I could find a way to get to it.  After all, desperation breeds ingenuity.  I could possibly build an explosive device or some sort of pulley system.  I had to try.  But at that point, my only real option was to manipulate their emotions so they'd pity me and willfully allow me to get closer to the cake. 

When my theatrics failed to produce the desired results, I resorted to crying very loudly, right up against the glass.  

I carried on in that fashion until my mom poked her head outside and, instead of taking pity on me and warmly inviting me back inside as I had hoped, told me to go play in the side yard because I was fogging up the glass and my inconsolable sobbing was upsetting my grandmother.  

I trudged around to the side of the house, glaring reproachfully over my shoulder and thinking about how sorry my mom would be if I were to die out there.  She'd wish she would have listened. She'd wish she had given me a piece of cake.  But it would be too late.  

But as I rounded the corner, the personal tragedy I was constructing in my imagination was interrupted by a sliver of hope.  

Just above my head, there was a window.  On the other side of that particular window was the room in which my mom  had locked the cake.  The window was open.

The window was covered by a screen, but my dad had shown me how to remove a screen as a preemptive safety measure in case I was  trapped in a fire and he couldn't get to me and I turned out to be too stupid to figure out how to kick in a screen to escape death by burning. 

I clambered up the side of the house and pushed the screen with all my strength.   

It gave way, and suddenly there I was - mere feet from the cake, unimpeded by even a single obstacle.

I couldn't fully believe what had just occurred.  I crept slowly - reverently - toward the cake, my body quivering with anticipation.  It was mine.  All mine.

I ate the entire cake.  At one point, I remember becoming aware of the oppressive fullness building inside of me, but I kept eating out of a combination of spite and stubbornness.  No one could tell me not to eat an entire cake - not my mom, not Santa, not God - no one.  I would eat cake whenever I damn well pleased.  It was my cake and everyone else could go fuck themselves. 


Meanwhile, in the kitchen, my mother suddenly noticed that she hadn't heard my tortured sobbing in a while.  

She became concerned because it was unusual for my tantrums to stop on their own like that, so she went looking for me.

When she couldn't find me anywhere, she finally thought to unlock the bedroom door and peek inside. 

And there I was.

I spent the rest of the evening in a hyperglycemic fit, alternately running around like a maniac and regurgitating the multi-colored remains of my conquest all over my grandparents' carpet.  I was so miserable, but my suffering was small compared to the satisfaction I felt every time my horrible, conniving mother had to watch me retch up another rainbow of sweet, semi-digested success: this is for you, mom.  This is what happens when you try to get between me and cake - I silently challenged her to try again to prevent me from obtaining something I wanted.  Just once.  Just to see what would happen.  It didn't matter how violently ill I felt, in that moment, I was a god - the god of cake - and I was unstoppable.