<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154</id><updated>2011-08-02T22:47:37.739-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nameless Wonder</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>18</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-8397901946071145990</id><published>2009-07-09T13:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T13:30:45.979-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tri-Cake Trial</title><content type='html'>I spent lots of time on Tuesday putting together this party for my dear friend Charlee. I wish it hadn't been my first time making the main cake, I could have made it look much prettier. But this layer cake of vanilla and chocolate genoise with mango mousse, coconut Bavarian cream, chocolate ganache and a lemon glaze, ended up tasting much better than I thought it would and was not nearly as hard as I thought it would be. So I was glad I challenged myself with this one. The coconut cupcakes were good as well but I cooked the cupcakes longer than I wanted to and they could have been a little less dry. The chocolate ganache cupcakes were good as well. The ganache was great but I was disappointed by the new recipe I tried for the cake. Should have stuck with the tried and true that I always use. It was fun though and had me thinking all over again that I should own a tiny little bakery and create all day. But then it would be work. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlZSz-SrXNI/AAAAAAAAAHM/uiAYYzBCJR0/s1600-h/Charlees+Birthday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlZSz-SrXNI/AAAAAAAAAHM/uiAYYzBCJR0/s320/Charlees+Birthday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356559859651927250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a great party and my room mate Mauri saved me at the last hour and helped make everything come together. My friend Jed came right in at the very beginning and did my prep dishes, and then stayed at the end and did the rest. Thank you Jed! I hate doing the dishes! So much so in fact, (and my mom will appreciate this) that once as a freshman in high school my mom had been asking me to do the same dishes for maybe two days. I did everything I could to find something else to do to avoid it. Finally on the second day I snuck passed the sink on my way to school hoping she would give in and have mercy on my dish hating self. Not! Second period English class, we were reading Shakespeare(you remember these kinds of details when trauma occurs). The phone rang and my teacher picked it up. She turned, looked right at me, and in front of the whole class said "Miss Jones, Your mother is in the office, she said you need to come home and finish doing the dishes and then she will bring you back to school." I was mortified, and furious, but I did those dishes. I'm sure my mom thought it was the best idea she's ever had. Needless to say my mother never had problems with my lack of attention to post dinner clean-up again. My unborn children should fear the day they refuse to do the dishes, I learned the hard way what type of motivation works. I'm not afraid to use it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-8397901946071145990?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/8397901946071145990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=8397901946071145990' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/8397901946071145990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/8397901946071145990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2009/07/tri-cake-trial.html' title='Tri-Cake Trial'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlZSz-SrXNI/AAAAAAAAAHM/uiAYYzBCJR0/s72-c/Charlees+Birthday.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-3323648769642789361</id><published>2009-07-07T02:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T03:32:50.236-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Toothpick Guy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlR1wnuSpLI/AAAAAAAAAHA/luUtZ5Lqiro/s1600-h/071031_DES_toothpicksTN.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlR1wnuSpLI/AAAAAAAAAHA/luUtZ5Lqiro/s320/071031_DES_toothpicksTN.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356035335007675570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dear friend Chuck was born 27 years ago today. This year for her birthday she wanted a party. And so we gave her one. It was a long and fun day for me. It began this morning as I awoke with my grocery list running through my head. I did three brand new recipes! After work I went over to the grocery store, it was the middle of the day. I'm never at the grocery store in the middle of the day, let me tell you, that's when you should go. Not because it is quiet, you should go because it isn't. I was walking down the baking aisle when an elderly man stopped across from me and asked; "Do you speak English or a foreign language?", "Ummm, both?" I replied, not sure why he was asking because he spoke perfect English. "Look at these toothpicks!" he said, placing the small paper box two inches from my face. "Did you know that almost all toothpicks used to be manufactured in Maine?" he asked, I did not know this, and said as much. He shook his head in dismay. "You know, the round ones, not the flat ones, they made the round ones because Maine grows the right kind of trees for the round ones!". "Look at this box!" he said again, and I looked, wondering intently as to where this was going. "They're made in China, China!" he exclaimed. "I can't even be sure these are made of wood!" Ah, there was the point, he must be trying to make a statement about outsourcing to foreign countries. He wasn't. He went on to talk about how those very toothpicks from Maine had been the cure to his wife's gum disease, and her savior from surgery; and now he didn't even know if they were really wood! It was a dilemma. "Do you use toothpicks?" he asked, I nodded, "Then you now how important they are! I need to know if these are plastic. I bet you that's what they are!" He was becoming very animated by now, and I believed him when he told me he was off to find out. I then politely excused myself as I had a long grocery list to procure and not a lot of time. I thought about the toothpick man as I wandered the aisles. He was really concerned about those toothpicks. As I turned the corner down the cereal aisle there he was. He had cornered two unsuspecting men neither of which worked at the store, telling them of his misgivings about the origins of the toothpicks in his hand. I watched the faces of these men as he spoke, they were slightly uncomfortable but seemed interested in what he had to say. I was surprised how long they both stood there listening, and it was a few minutes before one of them even looked remotely as if he wanted to escape. I, of course, was watching this whole exchange from behind a box of Grape Nuts. I saw him again in the produce section, entreating a girl who worked in the deli to listen to his cause to bring back the wooden toothpick, if in fact they no longer exist. I'm pretty sure whatever type of toothpick was in his little box, they were wooden. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point of all of this, and yes there is one, is that four people including myself and probably others I didn't see, took the time today to talk to a man about toothpicks. They talked to him knowing there was probably no real necessity for the conversation, but engaged in it because this man wanted to talk. He had interesting stories about Maine's production of toothpicks, and his wife's oral hygiene, and he wanted to share. In doing so he invoked smiles from others, and shared unfounded facts about nothing at all really. How often do we even do that in our communities anymore? How often do we think to engage in conversation in the grocery store aisle just because someone is standing next to us? Now I know we are busy, we have things to do, and it is possible that this sweet man has little audience at home and was craving interaction. But I was most surprised at this entire string of interactions because of the novelty of it all to those of us experiencing it, when it probably doesn't need to be such a novel thing, talking to our neighbors, or random members of our community in the grocery store. Just think how much more I know about toothpicks now because of five minutes I spent in the baking aisle talking to this nice man. More importantly it was one more smile I smiled today. Humanity is a funny, quirky thing, we should indulge it more often. I'll get past the grocery store and tell you about the goods for the party in my next post. I got a little carried away with the "toothpick guy" story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-3323648769642789361?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/3323648769642789361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=3323648769642789361' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/3323648769642789361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/3323648769642789361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2009/07/toothpick-guy.html' title='Toothpick Guy'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlR1wnuSpLI/AAAAAAAAAHA/luUtZ5Lqiro/s72-c/071031_DES_toothpicksTN.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-770087758014262783</id><published>2009-07-04T20:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T11:04:03.912-07:00</updated><title type='text'>D - Word</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlA75usfhRI/AAAAAAAAAGk/GH9rlCXPk-8/s1600-h/Pics+from+hoome+105.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlA75usfhRI/AAAAAAAAAGk/GH9rlCXPk-8/s320/Pics+from+hoome+105.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354845819916748050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't really feeling the holiday buzz this year for the 4th. My family is in Iowa City today to see my grandfather, and just be together. This was not a planned gathering, my mother's father is currently in the ICU trying to recover from Legionnaires Disease. I've been spoiled having all four of my grandparents play a huge role in my life up to this point. They have always been there, teaching me, supporting me in everything I have set out to accomplish. The idea of them not being here is difficult for me to wrap my mind around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom's dad is intelligent, kind, humble and the hardest worker I know. He can fix anything, and always wants to make sure everyone is taken care of. He cheats at cards when ever he can get away with it, and always blames it on my grandmother if he gets caught. He is a goofball, and loves to make people laugh. I'm pretty sure one of his many heroes is Peter Pan. His full name is Richard Leroy Unsicker, but he has been lovingly known as grandpa D-word ever since an unsuspecting ride home from Chi Chi's Mexican restaurant in 1983. My brother and I were sitting in the back seat he was almost four, which would have made me five. It is one of those stories when you aren't sure anymore which details you actually remember and which ones you know because you have heard the story so many times. In any case... The grown ups were talking up front and my brothers little voice pipes up and asks, "Dad, why does everyone call grandpa the D-Word?" I admit I had wondered the same thing at times but had never voiced my concern. Dick is a common short name for Richard and I can't really say that I understand why that is, even now. As a four year old it upset Phil that people were calling his grandpa a word for which he only knew the negative connotation. He was a sweet little boy who often took things very much to heart. For example, around the same age, when asked what he learned from the Book of Mormon he responded "Be good, or you will be destroyed." Yeah, he was kind of intense. I don't remember the explanation my mother gave us once they stopped laughing, but we must have bought it. My father still calls him grandpa D-word, or just D-word, come to think of it so does my brother. And my grandpa still chuckles a bit every time they do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlA8b3_R6zI/AAAAAAAAAGs/UwISZmQ5BTE/s1600-h/Pics+from+hoome+350.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlA8b3_R6zI/AAAAAAAAAGs/UwISZmQ5BTE/s320/Pics+from+hoome+350.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354846406527019826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandpa Unsicker's family is from Germany, and for this reason only, he is pretty sure he can speak German. So on occasion, or a little more often than that, he will start in on what he considers true German dialect and sounds like, "oh schalden schpitzen schleisterator" and so forth. It normally comes out when he has stubbed his toe, or hit his head on a cupboard. He has also integrated it into his terms of endearment, as well as using it when he can't remember the name of something, or just feels like using a made up word instead of what it's really called. We have actually written a book of translation for this pseudo-German of his. It comes in handy when you first meet him. This is an example of a typical greeting when I walk in their house; "Why Emily [he comes in for a big squeeze] my little schmooglerator, sweet little {smooshy kiss on the cheek} schklabopple! [one more kiss on the cheek]How are you? Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? We've got some nuts, or some pop out in the crotch(word he now uses for garage)! [before we can respond] Cheeks (his nick-name for my grandma)!! We gotta get something for them to eat they're hungry!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlA9cVGQR0I/AAAAAAAAAG0/U51cUntZ5QQ/s1600-h/Pics+from+hoome+336.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlA9cVGQR0I/AAAAAAAAAG0/U51cUntZ5QQ/s320/Pics+from+hoome+336.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354847513852528450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world is a better place with him in it. I love you gramps!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-770087758014262783?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/770087758014262783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=770087758014262783' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/770087758014262783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/770087758014262783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2009/07/d-word.html' title='D - Word'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SlA75usfhRI/AAAAAAAAAGk/GH9rlCXPk-8/s72-c/Pics+from+hoome+105.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-7155411662806891564</id><published>2009-02-10T20:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T13:11:47.455-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Damage control</title><content type='html'>I am realizing more and more that the world is such a different place for each individual, even the ones living down the street from me. When a child tells me he is late to an appointment because a kid got shot outside his front door that day, I don't get to think of how to get him out of that house or even that neighborhood, I get to help him want to survive another week, and help him know how. I never thought that answer would include "I know you sell drugs, and so do your parents, so if you sell, do it in a different neighborhood so people don't know who you know or where you live." I may tell them this knowing that for every week they stay alive they might come in to see me, and when they come in I might be able to help them decide that this doesn't have to be their life if they want out. And some days I might even believe what I say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-7155411662806891564?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/7155411662806891564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=7155411662806891564' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7155411662806891564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7155411662806891564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2009/02/damage-control.html' title='Damage control'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-518276510401178617</id><published>2009-01-18T19:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T20:06:41.361-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bono, Usher, Obama. Did I mention...BONO!!!</title><content type='html'>Oh that I had A picture...alas. Still I consider one of my life quests to be practically achieved! I have always wanted to see U2 live and today it happened! I still need to go to a full concert to feel satisfied that I have had the complete experience. Still, it was awesome! Seeing Obama get his groove on was good too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP7G_tP_bI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ER56RI6DKME/s1600-h/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP7G_tP_bI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ER56RI6DKME/s320/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292850084689477042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP7em5AD8I/AAAAAAAAAEM/nqbLtMS0qzc/s1600-h/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP7em5AD8I/AAAAAAAAAEM/nqbLtMS0qzc/s200/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292850490344738754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP7wcwEVJI/AAAAAAAAAEU/vRU3zPVygH8/s1600-h/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP7wcwEVJI/AAAAAAAAAEU/vRU3zPVygH8/s200/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+009.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292850796860560530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Barb, Ryan, Regina and I ventured out into the not SO cold to experience the buzz that is DC right now. I'm so glad we did. The concert could have been a bit more kickin, but they wanted to make sure and get in all of those sentimental "I love America" moments. Garth Brooks was great, Shaquira definitely represented, however I was hoping to see a few more moves out of her and Usher. Guess they were trying to keep things nice and conservative for the occasion. We were sort of disappointed Beyonce didn't show up, maybe next year. Now that the Democrats are in, Hollywood is in the house for at least a few more free concerts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God bless America!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-518276510401178617?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/518276510401178617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=518276510401178617' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/518276510401178617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/518276510401178617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2009/01/bono-usher-obama-did-i-mentionbono.html' title='Bono, Usher, Obama. Did I mention...BONO!!!'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP7G_tP_bI/AAAAAAAAAEE/ER56RI6DKME/s72-c/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+006.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-7976720664711117688</id><published>2009-01-18T19:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T19:48:05.660-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spike</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP2c5YOJmI/AAAAAAAAAD8/5hVItwRKKso/s1600-h/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP2c5YOJmI/AAAAAAAAAD8/5hVItwRKKso/s320/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292844963389646434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the inauguration kick off concert in front of the Lincoln Memorial today! It was pretty great. But before I get to that there is the small matter of Spike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got off the Metro at Smithsonian to walk down to the concert and as we came up from the station there were people handing out flyers for Good Stuff Eatery, then I heard the words Top Chef and my ears perked up. I looked to my right and there was Spike from last season. Good Stuff Eatery is his new restaurant in Capitol Hill. It is weird to recognize famous people when they are standing next to you because I tend to initially think that I know them from somewhere and only then does it dawn on me that I know them from TV. Given I very rarely spy famous people, and when I do I generally leave them alone. But today, he was so close, and then he kept walking right behind us. I pointed it out to my friend Regina and she almost fell over, she is apparently even more of a Top Chef fan than I am. We stopped to decide if we were going to approach him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Should we just do it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regina: What are we going to say, we need a line! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: A line? Like "Hey Spike, Nice T-shirt, too bad you didn't win"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regina: No like "Hey Spike we loved you on the show"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: But we didn't, we thought he was an eee-errr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regina: That's beside the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At which point I grabbed her wrist and pulled her along with me and after "Hey Spike" came out of my mouth I have no idea what we actually said, but we got the picture and it was awesome. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder what his real name is? Dang, that's what we should have asked him. But honestly how ridiculous that the rich and famous...more famous than rich in this case, can make giddy school girls out of otherwise perfectly calm and composed women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we didn't even really like this one. If we had seen Harold?!! Watch out!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-7976720664711117688?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/7976720664711117688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=7976720664711117688' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7976720664711117688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7976720664711117688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2009/01/spike.html' title='Spike'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SXP2c5YOJmI/AAAAAAAAAD8/5hVItwRKKso/s72-c/Inauguration+Concert+Jan.+09+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-653590550044026976</id><published>2008-12-04T16:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T16:39:51.476-08:00</updated><title type='text'>May I....</title><content type='html'>I would just like to say thank you to my friends and family who recently found out about this blog and have been prodding and cajoling me to post more ever since. Expectation is the price one pays when starting one of these. Don't get me wrong, I hate it when my favorite bloggers don't post. Curiosity killed the cat you know, and I don't miss that cat, so i'm obviously pro curiosity. I demand postage when it isn't there, and so it is only fair that you should too. I just have to remind everyone of the disclaimer with which I started this blog,(see first post). I say when! I say who!...am I kidding, I'm a total pleaser. And having said all of that, I'm back, wanting to be more dedicated to blogging bliss, and I shall try.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-653590550044026976?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/653590550044026976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=653590550044026976' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/653590550044026976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/653590550044026976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/12/may-i.html' title='May I....'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-5267782951384338427</id><published>2008-09-24T05:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T11:08:45.228-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hip To Be Square</title><content type='html'>I teach teen-wonders at 6 in the AM most mornings. This morning we were talking about symbols and parables, and such. So I had these four symbols written on the board, I needed to make one up I knew they wouldn't know so I put this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNoulCmFr9I/AAAAAAAAADk/Ny1cq2cYyeg/s1600-h/metro_image_subway.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNoulCmFr9I/AAAAAAAAADk/Ny1cq2cYyeg/s200/metro_image_subway.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249559529540399058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, you don't know what it is either. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway I was down to the last symbol and I needed one that I was sure they would know, so the first thing that came to mind was the Superman symbol, a weak choice, and thinking back now, the obvious icon would have been Mickey Mouse but what do you expect at 6 am? Anyway Superman would have worked, but for whatever reason I thought "hey what about Super Grover? I love Super Grover!" They'll totally get that!" Wrong. "and they'll think that's funny" Also, Wrong. So, off I go drawing my super G on the little lightning bolt thinking it's this great idea. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNo1og5QgDI/AAAAAAAAADs/dnb5pseE0sI/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNo1og5QgDI/AAAAAAAAADs/dnb5pseE0sI/s200/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249567285794865202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was right about the first symbol, no clue. Problem was I got the same thing on the last symbol...blank stares. I said, "you know guys, Sesame Street?", Response, "Sesame Street?", Me, "yeah, you know, Grover! Super Grover! [pathetically attempt simulated flying with arms outstretched overhead, doing the little voice he makes (kind of like Tarzan) when he crashes down from the sky]", again I get blank stares. Ok, moving on. And I was stunned once again by the generation gap I'm facing here, and how hilariously, and definitively uncool I had just proven myself to be. I mean if they only knew. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was only fitting that as Pants and I got in the car to drive home, this song came on the radio. She wrinkled her forehead, scrunched up her cute little nose and asked, "who sings this?" Without any hesitation, not even looking up I said matter of factly, "Hewey Lewis and the News", and proceeded to laugh out loud. She said that exasperated "what?" that teenagers say where they don't pronounce the "t" and I explained that I was laughing because I knew the answer to her question. "Oh" she replied, she didn't get it. Which is fine, neither do I, I just know that whenever I hear that song I will forever see Michael J Fox throwing on that life preserver of a jacket, jumping in his car with wings, and flying off to some place where they don't "need" roads, or Super Grover apparently...the future.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-5267782951384338427?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/5267782951384338427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=5267782951384338427' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/5267782951384338427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/5267782951384338427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/09/hip-to-be-square.html' title='Hip To Be Square'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNoulCmFr9I/AAAAAAAAADk/Ny1cq2cYyeg/s72-c/metro_image_subway.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-7765954153282502638</id><published>2008-09-22T19:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T04:58:19.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Infant Guises</title><content type='html'>See, this is what I mean about personality, (see previous Isaac post)and this was just in one day. I swear these were completely not contrived. Except for maybe Isaac Burrito, but it's not like he was going to wrap himself, and he likes being like that because he can bob his head. Duh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Isaac the Thinker&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhPN3GUuUI/AAAAAAAAAC8/OG1OrdU56BQ/s1600-h/of%3D50,590,442.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhPN3GUuUI/AAAAAAAAAC8/OG1OrdU56BQ/s200/of%3D50,590,442.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249032465247680834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Isaac Burrito&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhPvnvZpUI/AAAAAAAAADE/EsryOQUjfaw/s1600-h/IMG_0445.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhPvnvZpUI/AAAAAAAAADE/EsryOQUjfaw/s200/IMG_0445.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249033045240554818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Isaac the Thug&lt;/span&gt; (but I looked up the etymology of the word thug, which I won't list here because it isn't very nice, and so I would like to state that Isaac isn't really a thug in the actual term, but only in the sort of cute way people use the word some times, you know, like "aww, you thug" like that)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhQ3IlXrKI/AAAAAAAAADM/m-N3tvPcT0c/s1600-h/IMG_0449.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhQ3IlXrKI/AAAAAAAAADM/m-N3tvPcT0c/s200/IMG_0449.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249034273827564706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-7765954153282502638?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/7765954153282502638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=7765954153282502638' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7765954153282502638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7765954153282502638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/09/infant-guises.html' title='Infant Guises'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhPN3GUuUI/AAAAAAAAAC8/OG1OrdU56BQ/s72-c/of%3D50,590,442.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-4309000084221242719</id><published>2008-09-22T18:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T19:21:05.999-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Corset</title><content type='html'>I don't know if I have mentioned that while I have been home I have been working in a small intimates shop called The Corset Shop. We have lots of pretty things, as well as the odd and unexpected i.e. bras the size of my head, literally. But I have honed my fitting skills and I can sell a mean bra. So last week we had our 60th anniversary. The owner put up a vintage display of corsets and lingerie and this morning it was my task to take them down. So I found myself wrestling with the mannequin up front.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhNPoHI2PI/AAAAAAAAACs/Z7m1mgwPnfQ/s1600-h/corset.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhNPoHI2PI/AAAAAAAAACs/Z7m1mgwPnfQ/s200/corset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249030296561047794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could not get this corset to budge and I'm up there talking to myself and muttering this and that and something about "..how in the world did they ever get themselves into these things let alone out of them?" when my fingers finally fumble across the solution, only I laugh out loud when I realize what the solution was; 60 eye hooks from the top of the thigh right up under the arm. Are you kidding me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhNPm1oiDI/AAAAAAAAAC0/m_tJvQ6xPv8/s1600-h/corset+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhNPm1oiDI/AAAAAAAAAC0/m_tJvQ6xPv8/s200/corset+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249030296219191346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never again will I complain about societies expectation of the female undergarment,we don't have much of one any more. And thinking about it now, it is more convenient, definitely more comfortable, but I can't help but wonder if all that underwear didn't leave a little more to the imagination. Not like I'm going to pretend to know anything about this but, my co-worker mentioned that our opposite sex may also appreciate the fact that women's under-apparel no longer requires 60 or so eye hooks to remove, but then I say maybe they'd like the challenge, every once in a while. In any case I will give it a &lt;em&gt;pretty, but cumbersome&lt;/em&gt; in catalogue speak as it was so kind as to give me a good laugh this morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-4309000084221242719?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/4309000084221242719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=4309000084221242719' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/4309000084221242719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/4309000084221242719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/09/corset.html' title='The Corset'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNhNPoHI2PI/AAAAAAAAACs/Z7m1mgwPnfQ/s72-c/corset.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-7951312257284433870</id><published>2008-09-22T12:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T06:37:23.182-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nameless Wonder</title><content type='html'>Hi Family and very few friends that read this I think there are one of you, maybe two, anyway. My blog name stinks, and I find it generally unsatisfactory, which is kind of belaboring the point, the name has temporarily been changed to the aforementioned title of this post. So I would appreciate some feed back, suggestions, etc. I may or may not use any of it, of course, but you're used to that.  And I'd really like to hear the great blog names you come up with. look at her she's nameless and wondering. She's a quote without a name, and I might even take that away. (see, I did I took it away) So lets have some comments please.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-7951312257284433870?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/7951312257284433870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=7951312257284433870' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7951312257284433870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7951312257284433870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/09/nameless-wonder.html' title='Nameless Wonder'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-7313060190253919045</id><published>2008-09-20T19:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T20:42:10.113-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Isaac John Dunford</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNXBgeffhdI/AAAAAAAAACg/bb7JMA3-hWE/s1600-h/IMG_0457.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNXBgeffhdI/AAAAAAAAACg/bb7JMA3-hWE/s200/IMG_0457.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248313704455308754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a process to get our not so little new addition to our family here last week. Abby went to the hospital Thursday night and 43 hours and 11lbs 5oz later I had my super hero sister Abigail, and my sweet new nephew Isaac John happy and healthy, and it was finished, or just beginning, I don't know. Either way he was here, finally! I am just smitten. We all are. He is his mother's son, sweet, and stubborn. but we'll most definitely keep him. I was there for most of the labor and that was not really planned. I have a lot to say about it, I have not decided yet what I will say on here, but it will be something. I just wanted to make an introduction and since everyone has been making such a big deal about his weight, and don't get me wrong, he was large, really, really large, I just thought I would give you some idea of the blossoming personality. I like to call this the pirate face. We've seen it a few times now and it is fast becoming a personal favorite. I think it speaks volumes of attitude. And we know how I love me some good sass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-7313060190253919045?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/7313060190253919045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=7313060190253919045' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7313060190253919045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/7313060190253919045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/09/isaac-john-dunford.html' title='Isaac John Dunford'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNXBgeffhdI/AAAAAAAAACg/bb7JMA3-hWE/s72-c/IMG_0457.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-1772984423290639866</id><published>2008-09-20T17:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T19:12:28.912-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Raccoons</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNWfqCOGYfI/AAAAAAAAACA/EAwFrehLSMA/s1600-h/raccoon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNWfqCOGYfI/AAAAAAAAACA/EAwFrehLSMA/s200/raccoon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248276485269512690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the thing about Raccoons, I hate them, I mean I dislike them immensely. Except that the word raccoon is actually sort of cute and sometimes there are illustrations of raccoons that are really cute like this one for example to the right. But don't let that fool you, they aren't, they are just dumb, and well, dumb. Which leads me to my story. I was driving my teen-wonders (I teach seminary at the moment)home from a gathering where a bunch of people were attempting to tell them that the Lord's university was in fact located right here in the United States of America some where in the Rocky Mountain Region, and that they should all go there. Whether or not they succeeded in this task I am unsure. But Pants is still Michigan bound she just doesn't know which colors she will choose yet, or which will choose her rather. But I digress. So we're driving along and I'm educating them on U2 and Tom Petty both of whom they have sadly never heard of. Honestly? And out of no where comes this fat, dumb, lazy raccoon right into the middle of the road. Now I don't know about you but my mother taught me that under no circumstances are you to ever swerve to miss an animal. So, obedient daughter that I am, I gripped the steering wheel and cringed as we felt the bump and heard the crunch. Gross. Not only did it scare the bejeebees out of me and the teen-wonders, I now had raccoon guts all over my back wheel. I'm sorry if you are disturbed by my lack of empathy for the raccoon, but I had my lights on, I was obviously coming and it walked right out in front of me, I mean, thats just asking for it. So i guess this is more of a confession. I ran into a raccoon and I don't feel bad about it. I thought about feeling bad about it, but on second thought, decided that I just didn't really. See, for every raccoon that blatantly walks out infront of a moving vehicle and chooses it's own death, there is another one breaking into a garbage can and making a mess on your drive way. Just think of it that way and you will feel better next time you hit the accelerator and keep on truckin, I promise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-1772984423290639866?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/1772984423290639866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=1772984423290639866' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/1772984423290639866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/1772984423290639866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/09/raccoons.html' title='Raccoons'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uQZk4FdCdxI/SNWfqCOGYfI/AAAAAAAAACA/EAwFrehLSMA/s72-c/raccoon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-6416877249395816291</id><published>2008-08-27T17:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T18:45:10.701-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nie Nie Day</title><content type='html'>I have been heart broken and amazed over this story &lt;a href="http://cjanerun.com/"&gt;http://cjanerun.com/&lt;/a&gt;. The lovely Stephanie Nielson &lt;a href="http://www.nieniedialogues.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://www.nieniedialogues.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt; and her husband Christian were in a terrible plane crash last week, and are in critical condition at a burn center in Mesa, Arizona. She has burns over 80% of her body and he is in only slightly better condition. I know this woman only through her blog, which from the first time I visited, radiated some sort of magical happiness. I read about her life and her love for her family and thought "this is it, this is how it should be, note to self, this is what I want." I admit to feeling a slight pang of jealousy, how, I wondered, could people be this lucky to love like this and find so much joy in each other? Obviously the blogosphere is only a glimps of people, but this glimpse was particularly lovely. When I heard about this tragedy I was just heart sick, and as I read the family's stories of the reality of this couples magical life, and the fact that in seconds it was so tragically threatened it made me even more appreciative for how fully they live their lives loving each other, and those around them. It is such an example to me of the fact that life is short, and I need to live it the best way I know how. Even as these two sweet people recover, and gratefully so, had this been the end of their journey here on this earth I feel sure they would have looked back to know that they lived it with all of their hearts. And now as they fight for their lives it is amazing to see how many people, many like me, complete stangers, feel such a connection to them and want to help. It is a beautiful thing. I wish my blog wasn't so very brand new, so that more people would see this and know where to go to help raise funds for their recovery, but for my family and freinds who do look at this go to &lt;a href="http://www.designmom.com/2008/08/nie-nie-day.html"&gt;http://www.designmom.com/2008/08/nie-nie-day.html&lt;/a&gt; to get more info on Nie Nie Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;form action="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr" method="post"&gt;&lt;input type="hidden" value="_s-xclick" name="cmd"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;input type="image" alt="PayPal - The safer, easier way to pay online!" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mJljZYHPA0Q/SKpVCpGLZgI/AAAAAAAAFrc/I7sAsyAugeA/s1600/donate_nienie.png" border="0" name="submit"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img height="1" alt="" src="https://www.paypal.com/en_US/i/scr/pixel.gif" width="1" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;input type="hidden" value="-----BEGIN 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Day'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-8718154512171415127</id><published>2008-08-24T20:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T20:22:21.114-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheeks</title><content type='html'>I'm sitting in Abby's new living room. My grandparent's are playing cards at the table with Abby and Jonathan. We are all waiting for the baby to decide to come out and play. And someday I will forgive him for throwing a wrench in our labor day plans (they were really good). But that is OK, as long as I can squeeze his cheeks soon, and life is still as it should be as long as my g-pa is still randomly blurting out "cheeks cheats!" at the card table while he tweaks his own hand, the little rascal. I do love him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-8718154512171415127?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/8718154512171415127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=8718154512171415127' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/8718154512171415127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/8718154512171415127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/08/cheeks.html' title='Cheeks'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-6222194434672883307</id><published>2008-08-17T20:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T20:48:49.017-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy, Healthy Dad</title><content type='html'>I made it my task to feed Dad healthy meals out of our garden everyday this week while mom was out of town. (In actuality I do that most nights these days since mom has been on kitchen strike...because she can.)And it was a success I think:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Monday&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sauteed chard/shallot and new potato/zuchinni/shallot fritatas&lt;br /&gt;Fresh sliced tomatoes/basil/balsamic vinagre&lt;br /&gt;Whole wheat baguette  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tuesday&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheese Ravioli&lt;br /&gt;Sauteed mini zuchinni,sliced cherry tomatoe sauce&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wed&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grilled pork chops&lt;br /&gt;Savory Blueberry/Balsamic vinagre Sauce&lt;br /&gt;Whole wheat pasta&lt;br /&gt;Fresh green beans&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Thursday&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fresh Haddock broiled (just caught by one of dad's patients, really nice fillets)&lt;br /&gt;Beschamel sauce&lt;br /&gt;roasted baby potatos&lt;br /&gt;Brocoli&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Friday&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad took me to what he likes to call, OB-KB's (code for Quedoba's...obviously)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Saturday&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a really hard run, Dad Margie and I went to culvers where dad was hoping for the grilled pork loin sandwhich. But was forced to get a burger, and further forced by me to make it a single, not a double. He thanked me later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Saturday&lt;/strong&gt; (Round 2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fresh tomato/basil sandwhich (he was hungry after that single)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sunday&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Egg Plant Parmesean&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all I think I did a pretty good job&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-6222194434672883307?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/6222194434672883307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=6222194434672883307' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/6222194434672883307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/6222194434672883307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/08/next.html' title='Happy, Healthy Dad'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-9119887142115922970</id><published>2008-07-24T21:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T21:47:01.447-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer</title><content type='html'>I wonder now what I thought I would be someday twenty years ago. I'm pretty sure I had dreams of being a teacher or a marine biologist, that was a popular one, which must have been why I even thought it at the time, considering I hate everything about fish except catching them and eating them. Not in that order of course, more like the kind of fishing where your dad baits your hook for you, catch, release, and then you go out for sushi or pick up some Gordon's on the way home. Once I got to High School I had visions of being an art dealer at Christie's in London or New York, or curator at the Met. If you would have told me I would have finished a Masters in Social Work at 30 years old and would currently be looking for a job working in the inner city of some metropolis or another hoping to help the un-salvageable save themselves, or at least stay alive another year, I would have said, "social work, what?" And yet, here I am, far from the inner sanctum of an art museum, and up to my elbows in large amounts of humanity. I made the right choice, I guess the question is what do I want to do now that I'm here? What can I do? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was drowning in my own thoughts of all this grown up crap tonight as I drove Margie home from a party; windows down, listening to music, and out of a silence I was unaware of she said, "I love summer." I stopped brooding for a minute, relaxed my shoulders, sank back into the drivers seat, and with a grateful smile replied, "yeah, me too."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-9119887142115922970?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/9119887142115922970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=9119887142115922970' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/9119887142115922970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/9119887142115922970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/07/summer.html' title='Summer'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8983719871120154.post-5450796561965924170</id><published>2008-07-04T23:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T00:29:36.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bloggers make better friends?</title><content type='html'>This may be true. I mean I  appreciate a good blogging friend, so why can't I just be appreciated for appreciating? I'd appreciate it. In any case it is just as well I buckle down and do this, I think I opened this site up a year ago with very good intentions, but we know what usually happens to those. So I am resolving to blog for ever more (or until I don't feel like it anymore) about whatever it is I choose to blog. I'll take a vote at some later date and see if my quality as a friend has improved because of it. We shall see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8983719871120154-5450796561965924170?l=emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/feeds/5450796561965924170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8983719871120154&amp;postID=5450796561965924170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/5450796561965924170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8983719871120154/posts/default/5450796561965924170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyemilyjones.blogspot.com/2008/07/bloggers-make-better-friends.html' title='Bloggers make better friends?'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08029743696915735900</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
