Five days and counting! There are just 5 days (well, day 5 is almost gone) left to enter our Great Southern Oregon Give-a-way. And since one of the prizes is a white water rafting trip on the Rogue River, I thought a little inspiration might just convince you to enter the contest and if you’ve already entered, here’s a glimpse of what you might win!
We’ve called southern Oregon – Ashland - home for the past 3 1/2 years. It’s an incredibly beautiful part of the country filled with lakes and rivers and trees and mountains. If you’ve been fortunate enough to travel to our part of the country, you know of what I speak. If you haven’t, you just may win the opportunity to do so.
It’s a rare thing to have the inn to ourselves – very rare – but the other night I took the opportunity to actually sit in the unusually quiet dining room to work on my weekly menu planning while Abi watched the world cup soccer game back in our apartment. It’s true. I admit it. I could care less about watching the world cup soccer games. Am I the only one? Continue reading
As we traveled across the USA this past December and January, there were several places/stories that really stood out and have stayed with me; sitting on a little brain shelf waiting to be dusted off and told. Some stories are easy. Some, not so much because I want to do the characters justice by finding just the right niche…the not so common side of things.
Imagine living to be 99-years-old and living your entire life in the same place, never going beyond what you know. This is the story of Alfred – Alfred Jackson – an enslaved man who spent the better part of his life in servitude to President Andrew Jackson.
Two-hundred-fifty. That’s the number of published posts – as of today – I have written. Yep. In less than two years live, I’ve written 250 posts. That’s a lot of thoughts. No wonder my brain hurts so often.
Remember encyclopedias? Today, I Googled (it’s a verb, right?) the number 250 just for fun. I didn’t find anything particularly fun so I decided to make my own fun by writing exactly 250 words in this post. Wish me luck. 250. No more. No less.
At this moment I think I understand the feeling of the proverbial sardine in a can. I am currently somewhere around 30,000 feet trapped in a tin cylinder with about 240 other sardines. The man sitting next to me is probably 6’2” if he’s an inch and although I pity him, practically folded in half in his middle seat, no way am I giving up my aisle seat for anyone.