What is Happening to the USA? My Thoughts.

July 14, 2024 / diannbayes / Leave a comment

The evening I visited the 9/11 Memorial in February of 2019, light rain started falling as I exited the building. I walked around the dedication to those lost on that horrific day nearly 23 years ago. Decisions made by those trapped were even more impactful when I saw the vastness of the area and could see for myself the heights of the buildings based on One World Trade Center next door to the memorial.

When you’re young and learning about history in school, you tend to read the few paragraphs in your schoolbook and move on without much feeling. I’m sure I was that way when I learned about the Civil War, WWI, and WWII.

Being married to a Vietnam Veteran for 25 years opened my eyes to the true impact on someone who lived it.

The same can be said for those in NYC, Washington DC, and Pennsylvania, who were there and saw things unfold before their eyes. I only saw it on the screen and know the impact it had on me.

Today, I was picking herbs from my garden. I walked into the door when my husband called me into the living room to tell me former President Donald Trump had just been shot at a rally. He had read it on his phone and was turning the news on the television.

Much like I learned about 9/11, I watched the story unfold before my eyes on the screen. I heard the popping sound coming through the TV speakers, as the former President grabbed at his right ear and dropped below the podium. The Secret Service arrived swiftly, and I felt such relief when Mr. Trump could stand, wave at the crowd, and walk away.

In those quick seconds of watching this happen, I suddenly thought back to the 1960’s when three leaders were assassinated a few years apart. With tears in my eyes, I found myself asking what was happening?

While the newscast was on, I checked social media to see if I could learn more news. Some of it was kind and some of it was ugly.

One comment on the social media channel X caught my eye. It was from someone who is running for president, as an opponent to both the current President and the former President. Robert Kennedy, Jr. was 10 when his uncle, President John F. Kennedy, was assassinated. Only a few years later, he was with his father, Senator Robert Kennedy, when he was assassinated.

Robert Kennedy, Jr.’s words, “Now is the time for every American who loves our country to step back from the division, renounce all violence, and unite in prayer for President Trump and his family.”

Also on X, the 4th most popular thing trending right after the assassination attempt was “Civil War.” This is NOT something we should want to ever see trending in the United States of America. I took a screen shot of it, as it was hard for me to believe what I was reading.

Post on X after the assassination attempt.

An American citizen lost their life for attending a political rally and two others were injured, aside from the former President. Some family will have to face the news that they have lost a loved one. I pray the two others who were injured survive. They all attended something many of us have attended ourselves in our lives. This could have happened to any of us.

I ask you to harken back to a time when U.S. citizens worked together for the good of the country and not based on party lines. Can you even remember that time?

For me, it was September 12, 2001. That was 23 years ago, almost a quarter of a century. How sad that I had to go back more than two decades. Our country came together as one nation that day and it lasted for a little while. We were not Democrat against Republican or Us vs. Them, we WERE Americans.

On this 248th year of our nation, I pray we will come together again to say this has to stop on all sides. I also pray we never forget how truly blessed we are to live in this great country. Have we forgotten? I pray that is not the case.

Sticking with Your Strengths – A Baking Story

September 8, 2023September 8, 2023 / diannbayes / Leave a comment

Cooking is Cool!

From an early age, I remember going to visit my grandparents and watching my grandma make incredible food for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and even snacks with simple ingredients and very little pomp and circumstance.

That’s probably why I have grown to love watching cooking shows, particularly shows like The Great British Bake-Off and The Big Family Cooking Showdown, both BBC series. I think my grandmother would have enjoyed them, too, as I learn so much about other cultures and what they grew up eating and what they consider to be their comfort foods.

I’m Not a Slouch in the Kitchen

I’m not bragging about my cooking prowess but I do believe it’s important for you to know that I’m not bad in the kitchen. I can cook great southern savory staples like buttermilk biscuits and gravy, chicken and dumplings, collard greens and bacon, pinto beans and cornbread, and the list goes on. It’s not my first rodeo.

I can make rustic breads, white breads, pizza dough, and even focaccia from scratch.

My homemade focaccia with decorative herbs, tomatoes, peppers, and olives.

When it comes to desserts, I’m pretty good, too. I’m not intimated by recipes. I read through them, gather my ingredients, and follow the recipe to the letter.

Where Did It All Go Wrong?

I took a week off from work and have been cleaning house, photographing birds in my backyard, and watching the aforementioned BBC cooking shows while sweeping and mopping the floors and folding laundry.

The Brits love to mix it up when it comes to desserts. I’ve watched Paul Hollywood, Mary Berry (before she and Paul went sideways with each other), and Pruh Leith judge many a contestant under the tent for their sticky toffee puddings, treacle tarts, swiss rolls, battenbergs, and sponges. I’ve seen contestants get emotional when Paul told them they had a soggy bottom (okay, you have to watch the show to understand) or Pruh questioned the snap in their biscuits (cookies to us from the USA).

One of my favorite things to watch the contestants make is a macaron, a sandwich-like cookie filled with buttercream, jelly, or ganache, according to Southern Living magazine. Macarons are nothing like the macaroon that we southerners love to devour. Those lovely holiday desserts are made of coconut and offer a chewy, sweet deliciousness when you bite into them.

And Then This Happened…

I had some time on my hands this morning so I thought to myself, “I think I want to try and make macarons. How hard can it be?”

I found a great little website called Sally’s Baking Addiction, with a “Beginner’s Guide to French Macarons” recipe that was ranked with five stars by Google searchers from around the globe. Sally had it going on.

Nearly 2,000 people loved this recipe from sweet Sally so I knew I’d love it, too.

I read through it to make sure I had all the ingredients. Unfortunately, I was short a few eggs so I drove down to the Dollar Store. Don’t judge me. I live in the country and the grocery store was seven miles away. I checked the date on the eggs and they were good to go.

When I arrived back to the house, I got out as many small bowls as I could find so that I could have all my ingredients out and accessible when I began making this favorite recipe of the people.

I sifted the ingredients, per the recipe. I used a candy thermometer to make sure the heated sugar and water were at the right temperature. I whipped the meringues to medium peaks and then combined all of the ingredients together to make the shell.

I even used a piping bag, something I’m not prone to do, but I went for it. I lined the pan with parchment paper. I piped the circles on the cookie sheets.

This is where I may have made my first mistake.

I never could find in Sally’s recipe exactly how many macarons the recipe made, but I’d already made two dozen and I had a lot of the mixture left. Sally’s picture showed two dozen so I could only assume that’s how many it made. Before you go there, yes, I do know what happens when one assumes.

I decided I wanted to make Texas-sized macarons so I went back over the batches with the extra mixture and added them to the original circles that I had created.

Unlike the macarons I’d seen on the TV show, mine started to spread like that first batch of pancake batter you put into the greased pan. The dogs always get the first one because they never turn out right. Or is that just me?

I knew, having watched the cooking shows, that macarons need to dry a bit before you put them in the oven so I left them on the counter to rest for 30 minutes so they had a dry top. Then they were headed to the oven. I looked inside and the top layer of macarons, while very large, didn’t look too bad. The bottom layer started to bubble up like a pancake that needed to be turned. What was happening?

I pulled the pans out of the oven after the required 15-20 minutes cooking time. The flatter macarons looked a bit dark on the bottom but the top pan still seemed a bit pale so I placed them back in the oven for a little more time.

The Final Results

Now I’ve had some great macarons in my life. In fact, I’ve loved them so much at the time that I photographed them for the memory, they were so delicious.

Macarons from a beach-side reception in Galveston.

As you can see below, my macarons look slightly different from the professional versions. While you can’t really tell from the photo, mine are not quite round, in spite of my impeccable piping skills. Most macarons measure around 1.5 to 2 inches in diameter. Mine, on the other hand, came in at a whopping 3-3.5 inches, almost big enough to hold a hamburger patty, if one chose to go the sweet and savory route.

The toothpick holder represents a normal sized macaron.

Once the macaron shells were cooled, you were to add butter cream icing, which I also made from dear Sally’s recipe. For some reason, it came out more like pancake batter than icing. Not to worry, I placed it in the fridge to “harden” a bit.

As you can see, the refrigerator did wonders for the butter cream icing.

The flatter macaron with butter cream spillage.

They say the key to a great macaron is that it should be delicate, almost like a floating cloud when you pop it into your mouth. The outside should have a light crunch with a chewy interior. Few things in my life have been described as delicate, whether it came to describing me or my cooking. I would probably use the word sturdy. I think that is much more fitting.

While I don’t post on this blog often, you might remember my first “Sticking with your Strengths” post when I discussed my inability to make a bow with a bow-maker or decorate a gingerbread house using a pre-made gingerbread kit.

Apparently, I can now add macarons to the things I am challenged by and should not attempt further. It’s important, my friends, to know your strengths, AND to be okay with the fact that you won’t succeed at everything, no matter how hard you try or read the instructions.

And to Sally, please know that my failed attempt at your beginner French macaron recipe is no reflection on you or the other nearly 2,000 people who thought it was the bee’s knees. It truly wasn’t you. It was me.

Until next time…

The Road Not Taken Can Get Pretty Bumpy

October 8, 2022October 9, 2022 / diannbayes / Leave a comment

I have always loved the Robert Frost poem The Road Not Taken since I first read it more than 40 years ago. As a teenager and young adult, I couldn’t appreciate exactly what it meant, I only knew that I liked it. As I have experienced more and more life, the meaning for me is clearer. Is it the meaning Frost intended? Most likely, it isn’t, but it’s certainly what I interpret it to mean for me. It’s not that simple to explain without a little context.

A Short History

Having lived in 22 cities and towns in my life, 20 of those in Texas, I have met a number of interesting people. Most came in for only a few months or years, while others have been around a majority of my life. In the words of For Good from the musical Wicked, “Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better, but because I knew you, I have been changed for good.” Whether good or bad experiences, these individuals all contributed to the person I am today.

Faith

While I grew up southern baptist, I haven’t been affiliated with a church for decades. However, I’ve continued with my faith in God. For me, I’ve found more commitment in that faith through music, reading, and prayer at home or while surrounded by nature. For those of you who prefer a service in a church building, I’m glad it works for you. It’s not my thing for many reasons, but those reasons are not enough to keep me from continuing to have faith.

My Current Reality

Over the past year, I have experienced challenges that were foreign to me. I didn’t recognize until this week that I was allowing those challenges, and those who have played a role in them, to murder my joy. I had become depressed and had little interest in doing anything besides watch television. Even then, I wasn’t really absorbing what I was watching. I wasn’t present. I was only there.

A Look at the Road

Yesterday, the Robert Frost poem came to mind and because this is not only about my personal views, it is also about my literal views, I’m sharing a photo that sums up how I’ve been feeling.

A photo I took while camping a few years ago at Guadalupe River State Park near Boerne, Texas.

While the picture is not of an actual road in Texas, it represents how traveling through some of the challenges along life’s journey may feel. We are delusional to think it will always be smooth and easy. That’s not really how it works. Certainly, some have it better than others, but I believe that is due to their faith – faith in a higher power and faith in themselves. I was losing that, especially when it came to faith in me, because I was second guessing myself because of what others said about me. Looking back on it now, I seemed to revert back to my awkward teenage years when people’s words hurt and I didn’t have the maturity to understand from where their hurtful comments came. It’s not a good feeling and I don’t recommend it.

Footprints in the Sand

No one could help me bring that back, except me, with help from God.

Another poem that I love was written by Mary Stevenson and is called Footprints in the Sand. It resonated with me this morning.

Photo of the Footprints in the Sand park in Carthage, Texas.

The number of times my footprints have disappeared and been replaced with only one set is too many to count. God has been with me during my rockiest of moments and I believe God will continue to walk by my side. I also believe I will feel the occasional nudge directing me to get back on the road and not take an unnecessary detour along the way. After all, we can all be squirrels, distracted by the newest, shiniest object along our paths.

Where Do I Go from Here?

I sit in the quiet of a space I’ve grown to love, listening to the birds chirp, the rooster crow, the dogs bark, and the wall clock tick. I take a few breaths and enjoy the solitude of now.

I remember a quote from Admiral James Stockdale, known as the Stockdale Paradox, “You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”

Am I ready to face reality? I think so. Should I be fully confident? Maybe. I do recognize that the road not taken that I’ve chosen for my life is filled with all sorts of detours and distractions. How I choose to face those is up to me.

As I contemplate, I recognize the promise of a new day, a new hope, and a new adventure. That keeps me going for the time being. Here’s to finding the joy again and being the best I can be in the time I have been blessed to have on this earth. Onward and upward!

Have we forgotten?

September 11, 2021September 10, 2024 / diannbayes / Leave a comment

In February of 2019, I was fortunate enough to fly to New York City for a work trip. I admittedly had trepidations prior to my visit, which is really unlike me when I travel. I had never been to a city this large and the vastness of it all intimidated me a bit. While I’ve lived in a few large cities, I’m really more of a country girl and prefer the wide open spaces. I suppose I also watch too many crime shows that take place in NYC and was nervous I’d get mugged or worse while walking around by myself. New Yorkers are also not portrayed in the nicest ways so I went with preconceived notions running around in my head.

View from my hotel room at the Millennium Hilton New York One UN Plaza.

The trip was magical, especially for an amateur photographer. I clocked over 30 miles on my Fitbit between appointments and, after my work day was done, I took hundreds of pictures with my Nikon and my cell phone. I didn’t want to miss anything. I wanted to experience it all.

I ate lunch at a Top Chef restaurant near the United Nations, enjoyed a hotdog from a vendor by Central Park, and grabbed a slice from a pizza place in the basement of a high-rise.

I got yelled at by a woman working at a bagel shop for taking too long to decide on my order. The line was long and she had people to assist who knew what they wanted. I sat by a fashion designer who offered me a bite of his Asian dish, because he said his was better than what I ordered and he insisted I try it.

I rode to the top of Rockefeller Center for the incredible view of the city after watching the ice skaters at the iconic rink next door.

I stopped to watch a bubble maker and a saxophone player, seemingly ignoring the crowds to do their own thing, and saw the infamous T-Rex at the American Museum of Natural History.

I visited Grand Central Station, looked at the subway cars (wasn’t quite brave enough to figure that out on my own), and walked over to Times Square because that’s what you do when you’re a tourist in NYC. I checked off a great deal in only five days.

While I would have loved to see a Broadway show, the one thing I knew I had to experience when I arrived in the city happened on my last day.

On February 7, 2019, a little before dusk, I took an Uber two miles to the memorial site and museum dedicated to those who lost their lives at the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. When I arrived, I walked around the dedication to those lost on that horrific day 20 years ago. Decisions made by those trapped due to the location of the airplanes flying into the buildings were even more impactful when I saw the vastness of the area and could see for myself the height of the adjacent One World Trade Center next door to the memorial. It was apparent for me that I was standing not only on a memorial site but also on an unconventional cemetery dedicated to 2,977 individuals, some who died there and others who lost their lives in Shanksville, PA, and Washington, D.C.

When I entered the 9/11 Museum, I saw the familiar remnants of the building and reminders of that day. The steel beams, the staircase, and the remains of the Ladder 3 Fire Truck left an image in my mind I will not soon forget.

Seeing the smiling faces of those lost that day through photos on a seemingly never-ending wall and hearing the recordings of their voices from messages left on phones or answering machines, struck me with a grief I was not prepared for and I had the desire to run away. I didn’t KNOW these people but I DID know them as my fellow American citizens and people from across the globe who innocently started their day that quickly ended in unforeseen tragedy and loss.

When you’re young and learning about history in school, you tend to read the few paragraphs in your assigned text book and move on without much feeling. I’m sure I was that way when I learned about World War One, the holocaust, and the Vietnam War. Being married to a Vietnam Veteran for 25 years opened my eyes to the true impact on someone who lived it. The same can be said for those in New York City, Washington, D.C., and Shanksville, Pennsylvania, who were there and saw things unfold before their eyes. I only saw it on the screen and know the impact it had on me.

Twenty-three years later, many people seem to have the desire to sweep that tragic day under the rug, but I believe it is imperative we continue to honor this day, those lost, and those who will suffer for years to come. In the words of Spanish philosopher George Santayana, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” which was later paraphrased by former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, “Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it.”

So many young people living today have no memory of that time, as they were very young or they were not yet born and the anniversary of 9/11 is the only time they learn of the tragedies of that fateful day in America. People read the names, share the stories of their own loved ones, and bells are rung to signify the times of those four horrible incidents in our history, when planes were taken over by terrorists hell-bent on destroying the U.S.A. A field in the Pennsylvania countryside memorializes the heroes who lost their lives while bravely taking on these evil people, so that more tragedy did not take place in our nation’s capital.

For those of you who CAN remember, do you recollect that day? What about September 12? We seemed to all become ONE America. Certainly, flying an American flag in our front yards was an easy way to show our patriotism, but we did it. We did it because we were unsure what else to do. Many young people enlisted, many wrote songs, and still others vowed to not take their lives for granted and do good things.

As others say every year, I suggest we all harken back to September 12, 2001, and try to relive that attitude on a daily basis, when we worked together for the good of this land that we love and it was not based on party lines. We are not Democrat against Republican or us vs. them, we ARE Americans.

Sadly, I have not felt that we are acting like it. I have seen, read, and heard more divided conversations today than I can remember in my 60 years on this earth. We are BETTER than this but we seem to have a “my way or the highway” mentality. I ask you, where does that get you?

Years ago, I took the Stephen Covey course, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. One of those habits stands out for me today. It is seek first to understand, then to be understood. We all fall short of that philosophy, but I ask us to do better, to be better. Because we disagree on a topic doesn’t mean one side is wrong and the other side is right. Seldom are things black and white. We all have life events that affect our thinking. Putting everyone in the same category because we choose to do something or not to do something is wrong and unfair, in my humble opinion.

Today, I am struggling with people putting me in a specific category who know nothing about my situation. Sadly, I haven’t said anything to those individuals because I have seen their responses on social media about similar topics and I truly believe they will judge me because they are not willing to listen to my side of the story, so I remain quiet.

A few years ago, I heard former Mayor Rudy Giuliani say, “America was at its best that day.” While I know we can’t always stop tragedies like the one that happened two decades ago on what started out as a beautiful September morning, we can and should come together as Americans without having to rely on a tragedy to make it so.

One of the photos I took in Central Park in New York City struck me that day and is a continuous reminder for me of the tragedies that fell upon our country 23 years ago. I have no idea who the gentleman was that is standing with his back to me on a rock in the park, but seeing him look toward the skyline, I wondered who stood there on September 11, 2001, and what they were thinking.

I pray it doesn’t take another incident like 9/11 to remind us of how little time we have on this earth. I have said this before and I try to make it my mantra for life. “This is the only life we’re blessed to have. I want to get out and explore and know I really lived.”

I encourage you to live your dash. I remind you to never forget.

Sticking with Your Strengths – A Christmas Story

December 13, 2020November 25, 2022 / diannbayes / Leave a comment

My name is Diann Bayes and I am NOT a crafter.

If you’ve followed any of my blogs, you know I love to shoot photography and share sunrises, sunsets, and photos of things I find to be beautiful that I capture through my camera lens. Many of my friends have commented on how much they love my photos.

I hesitate to tell this story but feel it is important I share it.

I’ll preface it with a tale from December 2018 when I bought a bow maker that gave you step-by-step instructions on how to turn ribbon into a beautiful bow for your Christmas wreath. I failed so dismally then, my husband made one in his wood shop out of sympathy for my lack of mental capacity to figure it out on my own. One would think I would have learned, but no.

Today, I decided to work on the lovely and thoughtful gift my friend, Lori Jo Thomas, gave me for Christmas recently, a Wondershop gingerbread kit that looks like a vintage camper, the kind I want to own some day.

I was so excited to see the cuteness that was inside the box awaiting me.

This afternoon, I pulled out the contents of the box, which included the perfectly formed gingerbread cutouts that made up the camper, white and black icing, a bag of gumdrops, a bag of cute little candy light decorations, and cardboard cutouts of Santa, a tree, and a grill. I was disappointed that the red icing listed on the box wasn’t there, but thought this is not a problem. I’ll use the black icing and the bag of white concrete icing and make it work. How hard could it be?

Before I got started, I reviewed the photo on the box. Being a huge fan of cooking shows, I thought rather than use the bag of icing that came with the kit, I would transfer it to a ziplock bag and carefully snip the edge like I know Duff Goldman, The Barefoot Contessa Ina Garten and Martha Stewart could do in their sleep, if they didn’t have a piping bag. I would then effortlessly pipe beautiful straight lines like the picture on the box shows.

I carefully warmed up the icing by massaging the bag, like the instructions suggest. Okay, they don’t use the word massage, but since that’s what it feels like you’re doing, I’m going with that description, no matter now wrong it sounds. I then fed the now warm and softened icing into the Ziploc freezer bag. I pushed all the icing to one corner, like EmmyMade would do, and carefully snipped off a corner. When icing the sides together, I had no real issues except that a few bigger chunks of icing came out of the bag and caused a bit of a calking issue. I thought I could pull it off as a rustic look. All good.

Once the structure was all “glued” together, I proceeded to the rooftop. Little did I realize the particular bag I used was described as a “stand-up bag for easy fill” so I didn’t know at the time I’d cut two little corners instead of one. Halfway through my first roof line, the icing blew out like panty hose packed into too heavy thighs. (Not that I’d know anything about that.) Rather than gorgeous icing lines, I got half-inch schmears like I was trying to put cream cheese on a bagel instead of piping icing on a rooftop. No sweat, I thought. I can clean this up. There’s no way, Duff, Martha, Ina, and Emmy got it in one take every time.

After attempting to clean up the mess that was my rooftop icing, I started on the gumdrop decorations. You’ll notice on my rooftop I only included the red ones. That’s because the OCD in me kicked in when I saw I couldn’t make a consistent row of matching gum drops unless I used all red. So I ate a green and orange one I had originally affixed on the roof, as they no longer made it into my color scheme, which apparently, I decided at that instance, was red.

I then started on the front of the camper and piped black icing around the windows and door, followed by a strand of icing that looked like the electrical for Christmas lights that were being hung. Once again, the OCD kicked in and I had to sort the lights in color order. By the time I had them separated out of the bag, (which when I opened it the first time, little candy lights flew all over the table and floor), the black icing was almost dry so I had to pipe even more black icing in order for them to stick. Of course, I ended up placing the wrong colors so had to yank those lights off the RV and replace them. Rather than throw the used candy lights back to be used again, I ate those, too, black icing and all. At one point, I looked like I’d been sucking on a ballpoint pen or brushing my teeth with charcoal.

Not seeing enough color in my decoration options and giving up my original all red thoughts, I went to the cupboard and found mini M&M’s and Reese’s Pieces. Knowing my husband would never forgive me for gluing his favorite peanut butter candies on something neither of us would be eating later, I went with the minis.

I’ve never been a petite person. I was 5’9” by the time I entered junior high. I wear a 9’1/2” shoe and buy the largest gloves they make for women’s hands. Have you seen the size of these candies? I would have better luck putting a lasso through the eye of a needle than placing these things in my hand and trying to get them to stick in a lovely pattern on a gingerbread RV.

After OCDing my way through the rest of the decorations and the tires on the front of the camper, I got the the cardboard cutouts and, miraculously, put them together with zero incidents. That, in itself, is a Christmas miracle!

I then surveyed my work with no holiday fanfare. I didn’t immediately get the holiday spirit and hear the crooning sounds of Mel Torme or the harmonies of Pentatonix ringing in my ear. I got nothin’, not to be confused with “nuttin” from the ear-bleeding song “Nuttin’ for Christmas.”

My husband came in from working in the garage and couldn’t stop laughing. I noted no sympathy in his hysterics. Being the man that he is, he immediately took in the cookie “vehicle” right down to the tires and gumdrop hubcaps, and without missing a beat asked, “Are those nipples?”

Once he straightened up from bending over laughing so hard that he finally could catch his breath and wipe the tears from his face, he said through continued snickers, “Honey, you can buy stuff and put it around the house and make it look real nice, but you are not a crafter.”

I finally gave up. I figured the back of the camper is kind of like the back of the Christmas tree. Why bother?

I sit here eating the last of the gum drops that should have made it on the camper as I write this. I felt it was kinder that they make their way into the gastric juices of my stomach rather than be sacrificial lambs to the disaster that is this gingerbread arrangement.

As I write this, I stare at the remnants of the finished work that is my 2020 Holiday Gingerbread Camper. Notice I added 2020, since I believe I can chalk almost everything up to this year from, well, you know, rather than accept the simple fact that I have limited to no crafting ability.

I consider myself a pretty good amateur photographer. No amount of photoshop improves the look. I tried.

To my friend, Lori Jo. You are such a thoughtful person. I hope you didn’t spend a lot of money and I really hope you weren’t expecting too much. Merry Christmas!

Lesson learned. Stick with your strengths, especially during the holidays!

P.S. – The day after I wrote this blog and to add insult to injury, my husband decided to take on the Christmas Story gingerbread house I had purchased to make, as well. I don’t know what he’s trying to prove but… whatever. So, my dear reader friends, who I know love to read my blogs and won’t turn on me, it’s up to you to vote on your favorite. Please leave them in a comment. Seasons greetings!