I was recently tagged by DJ Kirkby to come up with a bunch of 7's... and since it has been a while since I've actually done a meme, I'm agreeable to do it at the moment.

7 Things I plan to do before I die:
-Hold my next Grandson in my arms
-Feast my eyes many more times upon the lavafields of Keflavik as I fly to Iceland

-Lose a bunch of weight and fit into my nice skinny jeans again
-Visit Niagra Falls
-See and experience the birds, beauty and food of Mexico
-Travel to Hungary, Albania, Finland, Norway and Denmark
-Drive across the US with my Sweetie

7 Things I do now:
-Spend a ton of money feeding all the wildlife in my yard and enjoying every glimpse of them that I get
-Derive enormous pleasure out of seeing the beauty of nature - sea, rivers, forests, sky, rock mountains, deserts, colored leaves
-Deeply admire and enjoy birds - especially Corvids (ravens, crows, magpies and jays)

-Am blessed with a wonderful family of loving, supportive people
-Go traveling with my dear mate as often as we possibly can
-Miss my Mom
-Look for a job every day

7 things I won't do:
-Cheat on my income tax
-Pretend to be something I'm not
-Be able to perform math comfortably
-Stop dreaming of moving to Iceland
-Understand death
-Eat liver





7 Things that attract me in the opposite sex:
-Earnest & laughing eyes


-A tender heart




-Softness for children
-Passion for fairness and truth
-Love of the earth
-Deep and warm love of family
-Strong honest character

7 Celebrities that I admire: Elizabeth Taylor, Mark Twain, Helen Keller, Judy Dench, Mother Teresa, John Muir

7 Favourite foods:
These are among some of my favorites but by no means all of them... ha ha their number is legion
-Fried carnitas tacos
-Niguri sushi
-Raw oysters

-Braised lamb shanks
-Potato chips
-Mom's zucchini squash dish
-A good steak bbq'd medium rare

Okay, the natives are not just restless, they are on the rampage. My sis AND her husband just lost their jobs today when the company they work for went out of business- closed its doors - after years... they have worked there 22 years. For that established company to just fold up and close their doors in the tiny community of McMinnville, Ore is just beyond comprehension. So two of my 4 living siblings (not including me) are currently among the unemployed in this great nation.

The world has gone mad. That dream (nightmare) about being a bag lady who lives under a bridge (which I've nursed for years), seems to be howling at all of our doors for real.

When I was a young girl, my cousin played with Barbies. She brought the dolls, the paraphernalia (clothes, tiny high heeled shoes, brushes and purses, the car and even Ken & Skipper...) I didn't get into it.

I was into trolls. Yes, trolls. I had an entire family - nearly naked Mom & Dad with salt & pepper long hair, (no cheap ones... those cheap soft imitation ones with "lucky" horse shoes on their feet didn't count: they had to be originals, made out of that HARD plastic with tan skin and little toes), a few kids with neon pink and cool blue hair... no accessories to speak of because all they had were the clothes they were wearing when you bought them and no shoes. I did find a "troll house" while dumpster diving after the neighbor moved away... it was cool and shaped like a little tree house; not the uptown condo-living Barbie would have required. The white collar, rich suburbia life never ever appealed to me even at a young age. Give me the country, the little people, the trees, the streams and the fields and I'm a happy camper.

I realize, after looking over this post, that indeed it is the trolls themselves who have become the savages. Sorry. Sometimes it happens.

Here is a little update on the age old question of "Why did the chicken cross the road?"

BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change! All chickens want change!

SARAH PALIN: I could see the chicken crossing the road from my house.

JOHN McCAIN: My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.

HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure - right from Day One! - that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.

GEORGE W. BUSH: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DICK CHENEY: Where's my gun?

COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

AL GORE: I invented the chicken.

JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's' intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.

AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.

DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.

OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.



NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hard work ing American.

MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.

DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.

GRANDPA: In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.

BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken2009, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never reboot.


Why did the chicken cross the road?

ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one?

Summer fields have gone
Leaving memories so sweet
Winter approaches

And a very happy BIG 41 birthday to our favorite
BEAGLE Curmudgeon

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Birth of the Son by Jen Otey at Moonbow Artwork

I love tales about Crows and Ravens... there are so many of them to be found. Mostly they are stories told by Native American peoples - whose legends have been handed down since the beginning of their existence.

Raven and Crow's Potlatch
A Skagit Raven Tale as told by Eldrbarry

This story is from a collection entitled Longhouse Legends by Emerson N. Matson. He describes it as a children's story used to entertain adults at a potlatch, and it appears to be a Skagit (Salish) tale from western Washington State.
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Raven used to live high up in the upper Skagit River country. He was very lazy. In the summer when the other animals were busy gathering food for winter, he would be flying from rock to stump and stump to rock making fun of them. Raven just laughed when Crow (his cousin) urged him to follow squirrel's example - but Raven never prepared for the cold months, when the snow would drift over the ground and cover all the remaining food.
But now Raven was in trouble. Winter had come and the snows were deep. He was hungry - and Raven loved to eat. He had to find someone who would share their food with him.

Raven went to see Squirrel. He had a huge supply of pine nuts and seeds and other food hidden all over the place. Raven poked his head in squirrel's nest in a old fir tree. Squirrel had lots to eat. Raven politely begged for some food. Squirrel scolded him - that was always Squirrel's way - "You refused to work and save for winter - and you poked much fun at me - you deserve to starve!"

Raven went looking for Bear. But Bear was sound asleep in his cave and could not be wakened. Raven looked around for some food, but it was all in Bear's belly - Bear had already eaten it all and was sleeping till spring.

Raven was now very hungry. He thought: "Who can give me something to eat? Everyone is either stingy like Squirrel or sleeping like Bear and Marmot, or they have gone South for winter like the snowbirds." Then he thought of Crow - he would be easy to fool!

Raven flew to Crow's nest. "Cousin Crow, we must talk about your coming potlatch!" Crow answered. "I have not planned a potlatch"

Raven ignored his response. "Crow, everyone is talking about your potlatch - will you sing at it?" "Sing?" Crow had not known that anybody really cared for his singing voice - though in those days, Crow's song was much more like that of Wood Thrush than it is today.

Raven continued to talk of Crow's potlatch. "You are very talented and possess a beautiful voice - everyone will be so disappointed if you don't sing at your potlatch!"

"What potlatch? . . . You really like my singing?"

"We love your singing, Crow," Raven answered. "The Winter's cold has chilled the forest and we're cold and hungry and singing will help us forget our cold feet and empty stomachs. Now you get started fixing the food - looks like you have plenty here - and I will go invite the guests to your potlatch. You can practice your songs as you cook!"

Crow's hesitation now overcome, he began to prepare all the food he had collected for winter, and as he prepared it, he practiced his songs. The more he thought the feast and how everyone wanted to hear him sing, the more excited he got about it.

Meanwhile Raven was offering invitations to all the animals of the forest. (Of course Marmot and Beaver were sleeping like Bear, and Robin and Goose were gone South) To each he said the same thing: "Come to My potlatch! I have worked hard to prepare it. There will be much food at Raven's potlatch and Crow is helping and will sing for us. There will be fern roots and wild potatoes, dried berries, fish and meat. Come to My potlatch! It will be a great occaision." Raven did not invite Squirrel however since he had refused to share his food with Raven. But all the rest of the animals were invited to Raven's Potlatch.

When he returned to Crow - he was busy singing and cooking. Raven told him - "Everyone is coming - be sure and fix all your food - they will be hungry after their journey. And your songs are sounding so good! Crow's potlatch will be a great feast!"

As the guest arrived, Raven welcomed each one to his potlatch. There was deer and mountain goat and mouse, rabbit, ptarmigan and jay. The guests were seated and the food was brought out. Crow started to sit and eat - but Raven asked him for a song first. "It's not good to sing on a full stomach, Crow". So crow began to sing. Every time he would stop to eat - Raven would insist he sing another song. "You can't sing with your mouth full, Crow!" Encouraged again and again by the guests - who were busy stuffing themselves with Crow's food - Crow sang song after song after song - all day until night - and Crow's voice became hoarser and hoarser until all he could do was "Caw - caw".

As was the custom - the left over food was collected by the guests and taken by them for their homeward journey. Even Raven had taken his share and left as Crow was cleaning up. Crow had nothing left to eat. " At least," Crow thought, "I won't go hungry - I will be invited to their feasts." For it was the custom that having been entertained, each guest was now obliged to return the favor and invite the host for a return potlatch.

But the invitations never came. Since all the guests thought it was Raven who hosted the feast, Raven was invited to enough dinners to keep his stomach full for several winters - and he never went hungry.

But Crow, who had been fooled, had been reduced to starving, and never regained his singing voice either. He was destined to spend his winters begging in the camps of men for scraps of food. And that's where we find him today - squabbling over scraps in grocery store parking lots - Caw! Caw! Caw!"

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The Potlatch is an important custom among the nations of the North Pacific coasts, as tribal communities gather to feast and celebrate with singing, dancing and storytelling. The preparations are extensive, often taking a couple of years. The occasion of the Potlatch might be to honor the dead (which required two feasts a year apart), to celebrate a marriage or a birth, or to establish the host's claim to names, rank and privileges. Often the raising of a totem pole or the dedication of a house (which usually housed several extended families) would be the occasion for the feast. Always the Potlatch included lavish gift giving to the guests. In fact, the name "potlatch" comes from the Chinook word for "giving".

There would be special dance masks and costumes, and elaborate ceremonies often lasting for days. There would be much singing and storytelling - the right to tell those stories being considered the property of the host as well. Because of the expense - only ranking wealthy chiefs could afford to host a potlatch - and guests would travel from great distances to attend - usually by canoe - to be welcomed at the beach with celebration and singing.

The potlatch was an important part of all social life - being a combination of a town hall - where property rights and status were recognized - hunting and fishing rights confirmed - and inheritances established - and a cultural center where ancestors were honored - coming of age celebrated - marriages confirmed - rights to personal crests and property confirmed by the many witnesses gathered. Status was very important - seating arrangements and value of gifts received depended upon positions in the social and political hierarchy. Sometimes a potlatch would even be given to shame someone for failing to meet an obligation.

November 1st

Welcome to the Dia de los Muertos
Day of the Dead