tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-300766322024-02-07T16:33:21.851-08:00A Duck in Her PondGiddily married to her best friend. Texas native. A magazine editor. Novelist and writer. Working hard to become published. I'm delightfully whimsical, artsy and creative- almost to the point of sheer goofiness. I take frequent dance breaks wherever I am, whenever I can. My days are spent chasing my two Chihuahua puppies, Bitty and Bear. My motto: Be a happy duckie!
<b>hello</b>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.comBlogger587125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-22000780917563207442009-02-08T14:21:00.001-08:002009-02-08T15:06:12.433-08:00The Pond Has a New HomeI've moved! The new site is finally up! For new details, go to <a href="http://www.aduckinherpond.com/">www.aduckinherpond.com</a>.<br /><br />See you there!The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com72tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-67017291861368463702009-02-07T03:00:00.001-08:002009-02-07T03:00:01.402-08:00Tangled WebsTo read the previous Twirl, go <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/02/without-single-word.html">here</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">For my new Invisible Friends, Twirl is the story of a feisty, sassy ballerina named Vivi and her handsome cowboy named Wade. After falling in love swaying on the dance floor to the sound of a fiddle and steel guitar, the couple have stumbled onto a old Texas legend that might possibly lead to riches! On top of everything, Vivi is fighting her controlling father and over involved dance teacher, who are trying to trap her into a life she may not want. Add in a mysterious secret with her mother, a scheming evil boy in her dance class and regular teen angst and you've got DRAMA!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">To catch up in the archives, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dancing">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> and </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dance">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">. Or <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/mirkoerner@gmail.com">e-mail</a> me and I'll send you the word document of what I've posted.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Vivi stared out the windshield, unable to believe her eyes. Damien smirked and she snarled. Wade glanced out the windshield and swore. His blue eyes narrowed.<br /><br />"What the hell is that creep doing here?"<br /><br />"I don't know," Vivi muttered. Gritting her teeth together, she jerked open the car door. With the letter still clutched in her hand, she stormed over to Damien.<br /><br />"Vivi," he drawled in a voice meant to be sexy. "Imagine finding you here in the boondocks."<br /><br />Vivi shoved her palm into his chest. "What the hell are you doing here?" she barked.<br /><br />Damien fluttered his long eyelashes. "Is your redneck boyfriend not happy to see me?"<br /><br />"Answer the question, Damien," Vivi snarled. "I've had a long day and I'm really not in the mood for this."<br /><br />Damien's eyes dropped and he shifted his gaze. "It's a family reunion," he said in a bored tone. "It's my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary and for some reason, they dragged us all out to this God forsaken hell hole." His gaze shifted to a leer. His eyes traveled up and down her body, lingering on the bodice of her sundress. "What are you doing here? Are you the entertainment?"<br /><br />Vivi lunged at him, but a warm hand pulled her back. Wrapping around her front, Wade lifted her off her feet and placed her behind him.<br /><br />"In return for me saving your life," he spat at Damien, "I'll ask you nicely to be polite to Vivi. Next time, guest or no guest, I'll make you pay. Understood?"<br /><br />Damien threw back his head and laughed, showing the whites of his teeth. "Is this the part where I suggest we have a drawl?" he said in a mocking tone. "Shall I take ten paces and turn?"<br /><br />Wade's jaw tightened. Through the back of his cotton Western shirt, Vivi saw the muscles in his back ripple with restraint. Without another word, he grabbed her hand and walked away.<br /><br />"Oh Vivi?" Damien called. She and Wade turned. With a smirk, Damien spoke low enough for them to hear. "I heard you skipped practice today. I wonder what Mrs. Angelson would think of all this."<br /><br />"Damien, I swear if you say a single word"-- Vivi hissed. Damien held up a hand, his eyes glittering.<br /><br />"I'll stay quiet," he drawled with a pleased smirk. "For now. But you owe me, Vivi." His eyes flicked to Wade and his smile grew larger. "I look forward to collecting my debt."<br /><br />It took the promise of peanut butter ice cream and research about the letter to keep Vivi from wrapping her hands around his throat. Fuming, she let Wade pull her through the throngs of people. After passing a large pavilion and barnyard full of prancing horses, she finally trusted herself to speak without screaming.<br /><br />"Was he telling the truth?" she asked as they walked past the crowd. Wade tipped his hat to a group of ladies and nodded. "I talked to J.W., the manager. My grandpa rents this part of the ranch out for events. Apparently, they're getting a lot of money for this one. That's the only reason I didn't stir up a fuss. He needs it."<br /><br />Vivi's interest was peaked, but she stayed quiet. "I'm sorry."<br /><br />"For what?" Wade's forehead wrinkled.<br /><br />"Everything," Vivi muttered. "My dad, my dance teacher, now Damien...it seems like every time I finally feel happy, they spoil everything. It's just annoying."<br /><br />"Ghosts only chase you if you let them, darling," Wade told her. "You just got to learn to run faster." Seeing her nose wrinkle, he pulled her closer to him. "You know what?"<br /><br />"What?" Vivi asked, biting her lip. She could feel the heat from his chest against her fingertips. The stubble on his chin brushed her forehead as he looked down.<br /><br />"This is the first day we've been together we haven't danced," Wade murmured. "And I was thinking..."<br /><br />Vivi swallowed, unable to speak. Wade's blue eyes locked on to hers, the edges crinkling as he smiled.<br /><br />"Ol' Bullet Bill would have done anything for one last dance," Wade said in a low voice. "And I'd hate to miss my chance with you."<br /><br />"This isn't our last dance," Vivi blurted out. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away. She had never been very good at intimate moments. "And there's no music or dance floor," she muttered.<br /><br />Wade laughed and took his hand in hers, than put his arm around her waist. "Did you ever just think I wanted to dance with you?" he asked. Spinning her around, they settled into a gentle sway in the middle of the dusty yard.<br /><br />"What about dinner?" Vivi asked. "What about the letter?"<br /><br />Wade grinned. "We got all the time we need," he said.<br /><br />And for that moment, all Vivi cared about was twirling.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow you'll hear of a fabulous new celebration here at the Pond! Then we have a whole week of whimsical fun coming up! Stay tuned!</span></span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com72tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-34788916029924144012009-02-06T03:00:00.000-08:002009-02-06T03:00:01.250-08:00The Rubber Chicken talks to the Love Pig<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOGPAgGjaoj4Ye6IqxbTk_CVpBlTMCmb95d9kxSPa4afWNPlx6NV4SJHVz1V0GqCv0kPkmUqkKVn0i-JRsR9BWtQZq20QvYJDkB_QDr2RHf0WK50cWTIi-qvJuaRPCeQ6epwx0Q/s1600-h/DSC05264.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOGPAgGjaoj4Ye6IqxbTk_CVpBlTMCmb95d9kxSPa4afWNPlx6NV4SJHVz1V0GqCv0kPkmUqkKVn0i-JRsR9BWtQZq20QvYJDkB_QDr2RHf0WK50cWTIi-qvJuaRPCeQ6epwx0Q/s320/DSC05264.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299449083573989442" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Before we check in with the Rubber Chicken, I have to thank my buddy </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.tatertotsandjello.blogspot.com/">Jen</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQ46YOOFKb1ig3DcBDC36gtZsPIOK4qKkDm6fid13olda4dqu6EOORmou0_LG9jcz5W8vpf7uE7l0Ld7sWQi-qn6OBkwRZtRVuFXbSmoSvFjACoSKs80Nvj0pWRW18PQEtOgSow/s1600-h/DSC05265.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQ46YOOFKb1ig3DcBDC36gtZsPIOK4qKkDm6fid13olda4dqu6EOORmou0_LG9jcz5W8vpf7uE7l0Ld7sWQi-qn6OBkwRZtRVuFXbSmoSvFjACoSKs80Nvj0pWRW18PQEtOgSow/s320/DSC05265.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299449694261100338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">She sent me these great sussies from her vacation: a fabulous shell necklace, tasty chocolates and delicious-smelling lip gloss.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Thanks so much Jen! It was so sweet of you to think of me.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6JPhDNCA9qfo6XnWSkj4VJh85E7ughLYb1T5Vxw0gjlOOqS_B1nmsv9yVqCDyuI2kpAe1sV4PwzGz73jbNOfITSw6dgoYDQTsXN8K4iwFd-B4g81bbddRt-KKksMLQ7C6FYx3g/s1600-h/DSC05266.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6JPhDNCA9qfo6XnWSkj4VJh85E7ughLYb1T5Vxw0gjlOOqS_B1nmsv9yVqCDyuI2kpAe1sV4PwzGz73jbNOfITSw6dgoYDQTsXN8K4iwFd-B4g81bbddRt-KKksMLQ7C6FYx3g/s320/DSC05266.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299449967187338242" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Though it may be awhile until I can wear the necklace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And now, we find out what the Love Pig can offer the Rubber Chicken...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">For the previous edition, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/02/rubber-chicken-begins-search-for-fuzzy.html">here</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEbdJFczLAOSzyIkSMCVMTdtnNLLS_zgxgNevs5LlRX8SbcAlb1GpBB5br2wGz-i2NN4yh4lOY7cC1ziv19CnjaX7DRShEikk2WBJEuelcgjkrz0TetxF2Q63l-jjjoYRdvLcvA/s1600-h/DSC05223.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEbdJFczLAOSzyIkSMCVMTdtnNLLS_zgxgNevs5LlRX8SbcAlb1GpBB5br2wGz-i2NN4yh4lOY7cC1ziv19CnjaX7DRShEikk2WBJEuelcgjkrz0TetxF2Q63l-jjjoYRdvLcvA/s320/DSC05223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299450685001017330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I am the Love Pig!" the pink pig exclaimed with a snort. His white wings fluttered and he spread his red hooves wide. "And I hear you're looking for your love."</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9aZ1sT9Or8IVZFTVdZuRCQ2LfP3YbPx5Ert2e63UfCdSkHWtXt8dAopDUoe1rTvEfKceQd8eTyxmTdMrqTfDXmf223d2qoJBw5r5NYWz5S2SLc3nlRIrspiLh3LL8KurUCcAMw/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9aZ1sT9Or8IVZFTVdZuRCQ2LfP3YbPx5Ert2e63UfCdSkHWtXt8dAopDUoe1rTvEfKceQd8eTyxmTdMrqTfDXmf223d2qoJBw5r5NYWz5S2SLc3nlRIrspiLh3LL8KurUCcAMw/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299450864327107490" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Yes!" the Rubber Chicken shouted. "I've been searching everywhere for her! I checked with the ducks, the silver banker pig and the Taco Dog. No one knows where she's gone! Can you help me?"</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUSKrL8gi0Yh6dbr7O3sjsoDjacX4eiCbchseGsd-XJRrPLKZGVLoVs_w7czCIWZNSivlL2d0JTmxmWdbnGCFIlWxZ8UFOXdtAEPJhsu5cCOaymai20xiJx79XosDCIvJMfd8rsg/s1600-h/DSC04612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUSKrL8gi0Yh6dbr7O3sjsoDjacX4eiCbchseGsd-XJRrPLKZGVLoVs_w7czCIWZNSivlL2d0JTmxmWdbnGCFIlWxZ8UFOXdtAEPJhsu5cCOaymai20xiJx79XosDCIvJMfd8rsg/s320/DSC04612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299452151271364338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">His voice was filled with desperation. As his eyes pleaded with the Love Pig, he felt his heart twist. If he could only talk to the Fuzzy Duck. What if she was trapped in the attic? What if she had been captured by a French chef? What if....He gulped, wincing at his raw throat from the emotion bubbling in his chest. His feathers heaving, he gaped at the Love Pig.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEbdJFczLAOSzyIkSMCVMTdtnNLLS_zgxgNevs5LlRX8SbcAlb1GpBB5br2wGz-i2NN4yh4lOY7cC1ziv19CnjaX7DRShEikk2WBJEuelcgjkrz0TetxF2Q63l-jjjoYRdvLcvA/s1600-h/DSC05223.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEbdJFczLAOSzyIkSMCVMTdtnNLLS_zgxgNevs5LlRX8SbcAlb1GpBB5br2wGz-i2NN4yh4lOY7cC1ziv19CnjaX7DRShEikk2WBJEuelcgjkrz0TetxF2Q63l-jjjoYRdvLcvA/s320/DSC05223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299450685001017330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Don't worry my feathered chicken friend!" the Love Pig shouted. "We'll find her quite easily. What's the last thing you heard?"</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzrAB0f17FZ56arSmPjb3k_3phfzqBgiVSZfGCq2-YhOpjCkp_Y8Pcj1S-IPQSmh1Sgz_V9TR5k1z-5a5aIW-t7YTH071RlrIjWQFnfIUazQ_6vFxAsKgdLG1QNLSLujaoQvofw/s1600-h/DSC04614.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzrAB0f17FZ56arSmPjb3k_3phfzqBgiVSZfGCq2-YhOpjCkp_Y8Pcj1S-IPQSmh1Sgz_V9TR5k1z-5a5aIW-t7YTH071RlrIjWQFnfIUazQ_6vFxAsKgdLG1QNLSLujaoQvofw/s320/DSC04614.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299452921912297170" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Her friend the mermaid found a note that said she'd gone to save her mother from the Skull Face," the Rubber Chicken informed him. "But why would she just leave without saying anything? We had a date last night."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Love Pig gulped. "Skull Face? In the attic?"</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uKnf9dbsnekYNSSYy_LqRRJGZSGLR8cusZY4HRrxMixXJOaZbwaQaX8Eqh9WOVnTCPEGrQFr6FhzrMHCOble-nqTWYYf3vBeL4eOIvyftV7P7ppEMvkA9ZR6RtjvR1KPJYIzqQ/s1600-h/chicken.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uKnf9dbsnekYNSSYy_LqRRJGZSGLR8cusZY4HRrxMixXJOaZbwaQaX8Eqh9WOVnTCPEGrQFr6FhzrMHCOble-nqTWYYf3vBeL4eOIvyftV7P7ppEMvkA9ZR6RtjvR1KPJYIzqQ/s320/chicken.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299450406505439010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Yes," the Rubber Chicken replied.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Oh dear, oh dear," the Love Pig stuttered. He paced back and forth, his white wings fluttering wildly against his hot pink back. "This is bad. This is very bad."</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9aZ1sT9Or8IVZFTVdZuRCQ2LfP3YbPx5Ert2e63UfCdSkHWtXt8dAopDUoe1rTvEfKceQd8eTyxmTdMrqTfDXmf223d2qoJBw5r5NYWz5S2SLc3nlRIrspiLh3LL8KurUCcAMw/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9aZ1sT9Or8IVZFTVdZuRCQ2LfP3YbPx5Ert2e63UfCdSkHWtXt8dAopDUoe1rTvEfKceQd8eTyxmTdMrqTfDXmf223d2qoJBw5r5NYWz5S2SLc3nlRIrspiLh3LL8KurUCcAMw/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299450864327107490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What do you mean, bad?" the Rubber Chicken shrieked. "I can't let anything bad happen to her!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I'm sorry to tell you this," the Love Pig said gravely. "But no one finds Skull Face. He finds them."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Rubber Chicken's beak dangled open. "So you think--"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Love Pig nodded. "Yes. She was kidnapped to be part of his captured Holiday Creatures."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Rubber Chicken howled and fell to his orange feet. Burying his head in his feathers, he sobbed into his wings. </span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEbdJFczLAOSzyIkSMCVMTdtnNLLS_zgxgNevs5LlRX8SbcAlb1GpBB5br2wGz-i2NN4yh4lOY7cC1ziv19CnjaX7DRShEikk2WBJEuelcgjkrz0TetxF2Q63l-jjjoYRdvLcvA/s1600-h/DSC05223.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEbdJFczLAOSzyIkSMCVMTdtnNLLS_zgxgNevs5LlRX8SbcAlb1GpBB5br2wGz-i2NN4yh4lOY7cC1ziv19CnjaX7DRShEikk2WBJEuelcgjkrz0TetxF2Q63l-jjjoYRdvLcvA/s320/DSC05223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299450685001017330" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Don't be worried, my feathered fowl pal!" the Noble Pig bellowed, pulling the Rubber Chicken to his feet. "I am the Love Pig! The cupid of pork! The Love Doctor of the Pond! The protector of critter hearts! The guardian of animal emotions"--</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"That's all lovely," the Rubber Chicken interrupted. "But how does that help me?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The pig snorted and fluttered his wings. "Because I know the Lady in Pink. And she is the only one in the whole Pond who has ever defeated the Skull Face."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Really?" The Rubber Chicken jumped up and down. "How did she do that?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I don't know," the Love Pig replied. "We'll have to ask her."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To be continued....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a special edition of Twirl, just as you requested. Then Sunday, a special announcement about a celebration in the Pond! And we have a whole new week of whimsical goodness coming up! Stay tuned!</span><br /></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-20031369686865348232009-02-05T03:00:00.000-08:002009-02-05T03:00:00.709-08:00Muffin Top<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQC86ROGd1juw9VyqEb_0djcexfXpXzNNfww5d5RRJOwhH-ZGei5FNzzlPp0jB1F75sbJxVDHAXo39UF7YI-nSFMq4YPmfZHf0qd3z3OpXivcjZefU1OxvaaN-oMu2Ic-3e2hJg/s1600-h/DSC05249.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQC86ROGd1juw9VyqEb_0djcexfXpXzNNfww5d5RRJOwhH-ZGei5FNzzlPp0jB1F75sbJxVDHAXo39UF7YI-nSFMq4YPmfZHf0qd3z3OpXivcjZefU1OxvaaN-oMu2Ic-3e2hJg/s320/DSC05249.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299126923370867650" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Muffins are the perfect treat.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Whether sunrise or sunset, there's always room for a muffin.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0uzILw-rnc-Mx-9jmucBUzRFainXVN_n1Lf1eBCWQ8mQ3qUvRSIBZf6hyphenhyphenTJoGp2xV7wsIdbu1Ihw0YG-_b8-Gn19SD46-3IS3KQFhs1KmmBQZIlT13M0KSYPeuXMOURuGhdtfg/s1600-h/DSC05250.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0uzILw-rnc-Mx-9jmucBUzRFainXVN_n1Lf1eBCWQ8mQ3qUvRSIBZf6hyphenhyphenTJoGp2xV7wsIdbu1Ihw0YG-_b8-Gn19SD46-3IS3KQFhs1KmmBQZIlT13M0KSYPeuXMOURuGhdtfg/s320/DSC05250.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299129184023886882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">You can snarf one from your hand and lick the crumbs off your fingers (all the better to hide the evidence of hurried consumption and shattered resolutions!)</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iGaJqjec2Dp-QacHYU8M-i7Rm8PMRxyGJ8vx9KHrMEzubryKxlhxVEGH1aXukOAD7C4aSHtu1pjZj52HDbq9hsYhLwN9mZJMLBWfFaIjXuZm0TGnkw_DoN8aHLz8TNLG2nMlpg/s1600-h/DSC05252.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iGaJqjec2Dp-QacHYU8M-i7Rm8PMRxyGJ8vx9KHrMEzubryKxlhxVEGH1aXukOAD7C4aSHtu1pjZj52HDbq9hsYhLwN9mZJMLBWfFaIjXuZm0TGnkw_DoN8aHLz8TNLG2nMlpg/s320/DSC05252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299129446830478578" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">You can adorn a plate with plump muffin goodness. A muffin makes everything look prettier.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWEf9268aXEemhlbAMbXSLcpwwvN-93f3W4REgz2wMNgHUEe_O_FSssqM5GjudnKWFxwiwwMhtue0GChaDaGFQraGSAZ8gSFP5jorLgspo0PEfY8RDEtKpXTTdtMG2TzLvlg66w/s1600-h/DSC05254.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWEf9268aXEemhlbAMbXSLcpwwvN-93f3W4REgz2wMNgHUEe_O_FSssqM5GjudnKWFxwiwwMhtue0GChaDaGFQraGSAZ8gSFP5jorLgspo0PEfY8RDEtKpXTTdtMG2TzLvlg66w/s320/DSC05254.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299129769252081698" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">You can eat it from a cup or a tiny bowl. And if some ice cream/ butter/ honey/ whipped cream/ another muffin should happen to join the muffin in its tiny bowl, that's ok. Muffins in cups should never be lonely.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jpeU0JCQ_yYGen8fSfd_zKF2BKxC3K_rk6ZMajLT03LbKnY3MVS161Bb8XizAnZy8F2omIQlFZfdauyy8VBVcBB_00AmfvvvAxiVafgQr9GXaBCrfD7KO8JHPR78FCfQBnUuww/s1600-h/DSC05255.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jpeU0JCQ_yYGen8fSfd_zKF2BKxC3K_rk6ZMajLT03LbKnY3MVS161Bb8XizAnZy8F2omIQlFZfdauyy8VBVcBB_00AmfvvvAxiVafgQr9GXaBCrfD7KO8JHPR78FCfQBnUuww/s320/DSC05255.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299130051657564114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">You can even pluck a muffin straight from the pan and pop it into your mouth. Don't worry, you don't need to taste anything ever again after this muffin.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmjiEcCMWNQhV2LAT9H1loqGtcaTgQthFYTbEoTh10icIQubJv0IGfJJ-QYORnn_vAzsy7f4_C5xVch2uv6ybiFJUs4Eg2Q7B599RNpI01qaJgf9rdfbdN7v3QSpS_t3S-HFfIA/s1600-h/DSC04269.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmjiEcCMWNQhV2LAT9H1loqGtcaTgQthFYTbEoTh10icIQubJv0IGfJJ-QYORnn_vAzsy7f4_C5xVch2uv6ybiFJUs4Eg2Q7B599RNpI01qaJgf9rdfbdN7v3QSpS_t3S-HFfIA/s320/DSC04269.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299134015292369346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">As a expert on muffins, I can assure you they are 100 percent tasty and good for the happiness of the tummy and soul.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZw6VUeW3WoG8L-xzrPTZ1So9HtCORujG7v3Nk1azf99O_ipd5iBEq8SP-ASM14atiRBzHRmAqd2Abd2t2aPTjjEFuFO3vAlDLWBYoHEzod04BUFPZMk-wMIO1LAqeWIxi6A7xuQ/s1600-h/Thanksgiving-Christmas-Tuna.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZw6VUeW3WoG8L-xzrPTZ1So9HtCORujG7v3Nk1azf99O_ipd5iBEq8SP-ASM14atiRBzHRmAqd2Abd2t2aPTjjEFuFO3vAlDLWBYoHEzod04BUFPZMk-wMIO1LAqeWIxi6A7xuQ/s320/Thanksgiving-Christmas-Tuna.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299133163511711154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Scientists have proven that one muffin a day can prevent crankiness, stress and depression. I should know. I live at the North Pole all year.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_wwwbnGjYxt7P_D4oHxsABGhhM64c0sQYV0hdIkJhD5pLzByIDT0jEylKrIYrtAXH7SvAQ-OmWTAcdFuHdRjTCC60NpNI0QGYjWpCzc8ENRz9w891CykAFfgOKaRc4_8v1c7Nw/s1600-h/66.75.132.160.Dscf0071.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_wwwbnGjYxt7P_D4oHxsABGhhM64c0sQYV0hdIkJhD5pLzByIDT0jEylKrIYrtAXH7SvAQ-OmWTAcdFuHdRjTCC60NpNI0QGYjWpCzc8ENRz9w891CykAFfgOKaRc4_8v1c7Nw/s320/66.75.132.160.Dscf0071.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299133500297936866" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">If you don't have a muffin, dozens of muffins will go without cheerful kitchens to populate this year. And you wouldn't want that, would you?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">So there's only one real question, Invisible Friends:</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZSmoINI2naGpcLcqZmhkPph4PesFxN552jkfjk7dMqbfuagdWFiZLL87R4MnUatzwR8WJx66XyNsKs-Vk2jPrE6l6FztLCEyI-Pa9tmmxxx84XU7KW-_OGC8UacIfYM34Z-1lQ/s1600-h/DSC05253.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZSmoINI2naGpcLcqZmhkPph4PesFxN552jkfjk7dMqbfuagdWFiZLL87R4MnUatzwR8WJx66XyNsKs-Vk2jPrE6l6FztLCEyI-Pa9tmmxxx84XU7KW-_OGC8UacIfYM34Z-1lQ/s320/DSC05253.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299131346612026610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Have you had a muffin today?</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfyoi8MAOCQKnsIZq-OVvXyYctdkFdyiTfM-5dkMUJDpX1RtnW8k3DUtwBVwHGzYkI2juJ-dcJFdrwGlkKuPbnxvIB1yVzKDZcXZOgsVLHjBbnvH85uEDxQIMypvp4fKqoJcysg/s1600-h/bunny"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfyoi8MAOCQKnsIZq-OVvXyYctdkFdyiTfM-5dkMUJDpX1RtnW8k3DUtwBVwHGzYkI2juJ-dcJFdrwGlkKuPbnxvIB1yVzKDZcXZOgsVLHjBbnvH85uEDxQIMypvp4fKqoJcysg/s320/bunny" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299131528624620546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He won't bother you. I promise.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">This is actually my mom's recipe for Banana Nut Bread. I just made them into muffins because, well, who can resist a hot, tasty muffin?</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQC86ROGd1juw9VyqEb_0djcexfXpXzNNfww5d5RRJOwhH-ZGei5FNzzlPp0jB1F75sbJxVDHAXo39UF7YI-nSFMq4YPmfZHf0qd3z3OpXivcjZefU1OxvaaN-oMu2Ic-3e2hJg/s1600-h/DSC05249.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQC86ROGd1juw9VyqEb_0djcexfXpXzNNfww5d5RRJOwhH-ZGei5FNzzlPp0jB1F75sbJxVDHAXo39UF7YI-nSFMq4YPmfZHf0qd3z3OpXivcjZefU1OxvaaN-oMu2Ic-3e2hJg/s320/DSC05249.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299126923370867650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Banana Nut Muffins</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1 1/2 cup all purpose flour</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1 1/2 tsp. baking powder</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1/4 tsp. baking soda</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1/2 tsp. cinnamon</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1 egg</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1 cup mashed bananas ( 3 med. bananas)</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">3/4 cup sugar</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1/4 cup cooking oil</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1/2- 2/3 cup chopped pecans</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Grease bottom of muffin cups or one loaf pan, 8 x4x2 inch if you prefer a loaf bread over muffins. Stir flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and nuts together. In a separate bowl, mix egg, bananas, sugar and cooking oil. Mix wet batter into dry batter until thoroughly mixed and pour in muffin cups or loaf pan. Bake for 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees for muffins, 60-70 minutes for loaf pan at same temperature. Check with toothpick to make sure center is done.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow, the Rubber Chicken continues to search for his Fuzzy Duck. This weekend, as requested, a new Twirl and a special announcement about a celebration here at the Pond, as well as a new series of stories you're sure to love! Stay tuned! </span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com101tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-36944315926959917462009-02-04T03:00:00.000-08:002009-02-04T03:06:58.507-08:00Without a Single Word<span style="font-family:georgia;">To read the previous Twirl, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/bluebonnets-under-old-oak-tree.html">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">For my new Invisible Friends, Twirl is the story of a fiesty, sassy ballerina named Vivi and her handsome cowboy named Wade. After falling in love swaying on the dance floor to the sound of a fiddle and steel guitar, the couple have stumbled onto a old Texas legend that might possibly lead to riches! On top of everything, Vivi is fighting her controlling father and over involved dance teacher, who are trying to trap her into a life she may not want. Add in a mysterious secret with her mother, a scheming evil boy in her dance class and regular teen angst and you've got DRAMA!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">To catch up in the archives, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dancing">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> and </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dance">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">. Or <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/mirkoerner@gmail.com">e-mail</a> me and I'll send you the word document of what I've posted.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Yup, there's only one thing we can do now," the sheriff sighed. He rubbed his forehead and planted his cowboy hat over the greasy strands that covered his budding bald spot. "We'll have to turn it over to the historical society."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"The historical society?" Margaret squawked. "It'll take them ages to find out anything! By the time they vote on where to start, how to start, when to start and what to look for, we'll all be dead! It could take 100 years!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I know," the sheriff replied, his voice bitter. "And I'd sure love to keep looking. But as a member of the Texas law force," he boasted, snorting proudly and pulling his pants over his bulging belly, "I'm afraid I can't waste my time chasing legends."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"But"-- Vivi started to protest, but Wade's hand squeezed hers. Hard. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him, a sharp retort on her lips. His blue eyes were twinkling as he gave her a small wink.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I know, Vivi," the sheriff said, not noticing the exchange. "It is a bummer. But as Miss Margaret here can tell you, it could be a wild goose chase that lasted years."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Margaret hissed through her rotten teeth. "How can you do this to me?" she snarled. "You pull me away from a Ancient Texts Convention to translate this old letter, then you don't even bother to let me in on the puzzle! I am offended, sir."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I'm sorry, ma'am," the sheriff said, honestly bewildered. "We'll be getting out of your way then." Tipping his hat, he shuffled out the front door. "Come on Wade, Vivi," he called over his shoulder.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Wade also tipped his hat, his eyes glittering with excitement as he walked out the door. Margaret handed Vivi the letter. Vivi gently touched the delicate yellowed paper between her fingers. Margaret's rough, gnarled hands clamped on. Her black eyes bore into Vivi's.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I'm available," she whispered through her rotten black teeth, the words whistling through the air. "Day or night. Just call." She slipped a card from her black sleeve and slid it under Vivi's thumb. Releasing her grip on the letter, she abruptly turned and shuffled away. For a moment, Vivi stood in the strange living room holding the letter in a daze. It all felt so strange, so unreal. A tribal mask stared down at her, unblinking in agreement. Jumping at Wade's voice calling her name, she hurried out the screen door without looking back.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">She waited until after he had helped her in the truck and climbed in on the other side before speaking.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"What's your idea?" she blurted out. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Wade didn't even bother pretending. With a wide grin, he fired up the engine. "I say we find what Bullet Bill hid," he exclaimed. "We can go to every dance hall in town and follow the clues. I know we can do it!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"How do we know all the letters are in dance halls?" Vivi asked. "The first letter was in their house."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"They've got to be in dance halls," Wade replied. "Where else could a unmarried young woman go alone in those days at night?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Good point," Vivi admitted, running her finger along the edge of the letter. "Why didn't you tell the sheriff?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"The sheriff wants the treasure for money," Wade replied bluntly. "I don't care if it's money or a bag of old socks. I just want to find it." His blue eyes locked onto hers. "What do you think?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Vivi felt her cheeks turn pink. Every time he gave her that look, she felt like she was swirling on the dance hall. "I think it'll be a lot of fun," she said honestly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >"Great!" Wade crowed. "We can hit a dance hall a weekend and spend all week breaking down the clues."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >"Every weekend?" Vivi gulped. The performance she'd been training all year for was just a few months away. Every single weekend had been scheduled with hours of practice, not counting the classes and dance team practices she had during the week.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >"Is that not going to work?" Wade asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Vivi looked at his wounded face and felt her heart twist. "No, it's fine," she lied. Her stomach tightened in knots and she bit onto her tongue, digging her tooth into the soft flesh.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >"I can't wait to find out what the first clue means!" Wade cried, slapping the steering wheel in excitement. "But first, we've got to get to dinner!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >"Dinner?" Vivi looked at the clock. It was barely three. "What do you mean dinner?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >"At my grandfather's," Wade said, giving her an odd look. "I have to help him barbecue and get set up. It takes awhile."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Vivi felt a quiver snake down her spine. "Barbecue? How many people are coming?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Wade looked straight at the road. "Just a few," he murmured. A smile danced at the edge of his lips.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vivi gulped and stroked the letter with her thumb, running it back and forth down the brittle paper. Wade laughed and put one hand on her knee.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Vivi, I was just kidding," he reassured her. "It's just the three of us. I don't have enough family I like to introduce you to, anyways." He flipped on the radio. "I'm actually hoping my grandfather knows about the legend, or at least has some books on it. He's a huge history nut. He knows everything about this area."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vivi let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the seat. "I'm looking forward to meeting him," she assured Wade. Letting the hills roll past them out the window, Vivi let her thoughts drift away as the truck flew down the road. They turned onto a old ranch road that trickled into a gravel path. The truck bounced and jarred as Wade yelled over the noise.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"See, this is where we keep the cows in the summer--and that's where the old barn used to be," he shouted, pointing to different land marks. "Over there is the tank--you'd call it a pond--it's usually stocked with catfish."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vivi peered through the windshield. Her eyes widened. "What's all that about? Who are all those people?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wade leaned forward and his jaw tightened. "I don't know. But if it's what I think it might be, then it ain't good."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Pulling up to a large metal building surrounded by a sea of cars, Vivi felt her body go numb. It couldn't be him. Not here, not now</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Her fingers clamped the letter to her chest, damp with sweat. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Vivi?" Wade asked. "What's wrong?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vivi couldn't answer. She could only stare at his sneering face.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Damien, the nemesis from her dance class, was smiling right at her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" ><span style="font-family: georgia;">To be continued....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a tasty family recipe and the new chapter of the Rubber Duck searching for his Fuzzy Love on Friday! Plus, we've got a weekend full of whimsical fun! Stay tuned!</span><br /></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-32767950478393880202009-02-03T03:00:00.000-08:002009-02-03T03:00:03.262-08:00The Intruder of the Pond<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLytKb65pUntgJfBrs3QyTu6JAwpjNF-MtgPhhekRb00FeCaIAZORfgrLt3LuDA5L9AoQkaa5btds8tENucIWr2ix4TKkeRXEszzW07az1gsob6pJZ-PAgoGLeMX_POSdNfsvTA/s1600-h/DSC01554.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLytKb65pUntgJfBrs3QyTu6JAwpjNF-MtgPhhekRb00FeCaIAZORfgrLt3LuDA5L9AoQkaa5btds8tENucIWr2ix4TKkeRXEszzW07az1gsob6pJZ-PAgoGLeMX_POSdNfsvTA/s320/DSC01554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298412955233443314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dearest Invisible Subjects,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is your regal ruler, Queen Bitty. And I have a terrible tragedy to tell you about.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A horrible event.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A disastrous deed.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4ncYpNJD82wrsbunFfwCikIxSKpRid7C9hlq_DnO1VaPxKDe5en6J3mzQnAcALmZvTanFkm0m11T0NW5omUVhKhbVTqIzYxgAjQcyofiPVnPAUCl1z09xwZb0H5TWySNPdw-gA/s1600-h/DSC05246.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4ncYpNJD82wrsbunFfwCikIxSKpRid7C9hlq_DnO1VaPxKDe5en6J3mzQnAcALmZvTanFkm0m11T0NW5omUVhKhbVTqIzYxgAjQcyofiPVnPAUCl1z09xwZb0H5TWySNPdw-gA/s320/DSC05246.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298412425806781922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">This </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">creature</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> has invaded the Pond.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgHBmWd2oXdc18CwEP1G0-lWdFBOqMaTsj_ZGOvaCjcTF9geIFFGLH1YTLzYWZRHdITRF7F5NOfTfvFkJmqvbfZx9plX4spiFp-CXEcJyBRwviY1nXuysjGxdP1QIuaRRN0DfFw/s1600-h/DSC04424.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgHBmWd2oXdc18CwEP1G0-lWdFBOqMaTsj_ZGOvaCjcTF9geIFFGLH1YTLzYWZRHdITRF7F5NOfTfvFkJmqvbfZx9plX4spiFp-CXEcJyBRwviY1nXuysjGxdP1QIuaRRN0DfFw/s320/DSC04424.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298418637913063602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Did I just hear you coo?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I thought not.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxgh7XsBcrLc87tfK2heUq5j9TOwfW96AC3t2Y39z-Aimewgzs4OPd7pADxlGfRtU10j1wPhX6RR6gJpA_t2HGw2VP6TDhzNbHyOOoDb9OVcMbtyFFrCl8Ee3im4iIOKLSzOUUA/s1600-h/DSC05233.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxgh7XsBcrLc87tfK2heUq5j9TOwfW96AC3t2Y39z-Aimewgzs4OPd7pADxlGfRtU10j1wPhX6RR6gJpA_t2HGw2VP6TDhzNbHyOOoDb9OVcMbtyFFrCl8Ee3im4iIOKLSzOUUA/s320/DSC05233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298408633226946530" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It seems my unloyal servant, the Blond Duck's sister Danielle, has gotten a new puppy. A baby beagle named Star.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am not amused.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHcsSmIFHhE4qz1Uitpsk8Ugp49qNnpQC3roi1xwW15YsSHmAYTklHGilOj17yHqfSKYj-L4MYeAOQnDuzYDgeOFbsq7Ez5qM3Gf_MmPIoG9qyN8HU3OWvfTZruB79ezjEEi3LQ/s1600-h/DSC05229.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHcsSmIFHhE4qz1Uitpsk8Ugp49qNnpQC3roi1xwW15YsSHmAYTklHGilOj17yHqfSKYj-L4MYeAOQnDuzYDgeOFbsq7Ez5qM3Gf_MmPIoG9qyN8HU3OWvfTZruB79ezjEEi3LQ/s320/DSC05229.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298406208277512274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">How dare Ben rub her belly?!?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ4mxOKIMMq3vSg0YIKhVtfbL9Q0KSSRZhEJK78xDmrCBUgVMXhwQkzkKpIaJShChW8l_27ufZPknwZs9Ip5jKgVMZGopOAkPTvNUitYr9e0c2Ubxlb3XfHwQ3VkZHKUitk4LoQ/s1600-h/DSC05232.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ4mxOKIMMq3vSg0YIKhVtfbL9Q0KSSRZhEJK78xDmrCBUgVMXhwQkzkKpIaJShChW8l_27ufZPknwZs9Ip5jKgVMZGopOAkPTvNUitYr9e0c2Ubxlb3XfHwQ3VkZHKUitk4LoQ/s320/DSC05232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298406815341897554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Look at the fuzzy body, those floppy ears, those small paws! Blasphemy, I say!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dBClAOPvbqZoOY1_1o0TFxw9loA9xH2Ehgs-pGHtsxSj-deQJ_mnWhrb7AvKpi2vLL577CQWNJZPu-q9hV-miuVFTjZIyVmCOkNYVXj1Houq-NZJ7WWIbL66u1IJcbanW_j69g/s1600-h/DSC05231.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dBClAOPvbqZoOY1_1o0TFxw9loA9xH2Ehgs-pGHtsxSj-deQJ_mnWhrb7AvKpi2vLL577CQWNJZPu-q9hV-miuVFTjZIyVmCOkNYVXj1Houq-NZJ7WWIbL66u1IJcbanW_j69g/s320/DSC05231.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298407102788242306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">This just makes me sick.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYYZCpty9kAcZFaiQFxNV07XfVvAPEvKJVD5_PLa7ONQSwMYJuK-pqYwSUhKLC5_CnelCz4Csiq98jD26qjqRgJ3pF3Eu5Vi-4MfBQFbJLyOResA9LeP7WlwFC21kQ0_R-tAk_w/s1600-h/DSC05244.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYYZCpty9kAcZFaiQFxNV07XfVvAPEvKJVD5_PLa7ONQSwMYJuK-pqYwSUhKLC5_CnelCz4Csiq98jD26qjqRgJ3pF3Eu5Vi-4MfBQFbJLyOResA9LeP7WlwFC21kQ0_R-tAk_w/s320/DSC05244.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298419996436605938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And she even has a moose. </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">Snarlllll.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOotmpQZ5hvShogLKkGK0_yrPV1JLlB7iqh2P9JWI24tL_s1byPdunMjvqW4kkqhstT1IlD-uqtkoU-OGnWUfOGKa6T0DqHZ8M5kZgFWD8mnGWjsqn5oVHd66WJbn6XRe4m3CNw/s1600-h/puppies+287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOotmpQZ5hvShogLKkGK0_yrPV1JLlB7iqh2P9JWI24tL_s1byPdunMjvqW4kkqhstT1IlD-uqtkoU-OGnWUfOGKa6T0DqHZ8M5kZgFWD8mnGWjsqn5oVHd66WJbn6XRe4m3CNw/s320/puppies+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298413980597289490" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wuffle. I like mooses. Wuffle. And dolphins.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSTNN93F60zsFFJfVAIZDJCVtSqcY4VMyt0Sds2P6pP8O3FEWkOg3S-gdDrcPCNtf1A1wPvqCkv6LnkMl1d3Zlor4c8AZ_2YY4uCvby0LWNkQYsDTApPfhGT0dRccqtMAE4zxMg/s1600-h/DSC05240.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSTNN93F60zsFFJfVAIZDJCVtSqcY4VMyt0Sds2P6pP8O3FEWkOg3S-gdDrcPCNtf1A1wPvqCkv6LnkMl1d3Zlor4c8AZ_2YY4uCvby0LWNkQYsDTApPfhGT0dRccqtMAE4zxMg/s320/DSC05240.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298410684294665986" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Honestly, how can you respect any furry creature that flails about like this? How unlady-like. </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxOtgzEaZOaeo4uqkJBNvnBwcLRUzfzZ4AQaHqQTpG-degUEZ-OIlsNpoP0NjCsjrlzQFKIKkIkHkjtwDxPUKC8LmAv6Z-F520jyIO-Ig0qJDVE9g_0x50-eczy7W0MNLT4v0VQ/s1600-h/DSC05243.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxOtgzEaZOaeo4uqkJBNvnBwcLRUzfzZ4AQaHqQTpG-degUEZ-OIlsNpoP0NjCsjrlzQFKIKkIkHkjtwDxPUKC8LmAv6Z-F520jyIO-Ig0qJDVE9g_0x50-eczy7W0MNLT4v0VQ/s320/DSC05243.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298411123956103474" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am not amused.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wait a minute.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">What is this??!?!?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb2PP3nsddy5x4D_ChRWw1SAbwLbOx2p7n5wSqcYMXJjLKysCkuCYEcnPg_ppCU0ZxmhhvFi4zB14CKzHOOon4bCzxZom4jthpbG21U5Hsi_SRYZ5o32gHl5V2v1QYxPqBUY-W8w/s1600-h/DSC05236.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb2PP3nsddy5x4D_ChRWw1SAbwLbOx2p7n5wSqcYMXJjLKysCkuCYEcnPg_ppCU0ZxmhhvFi4zB14CKzHOOon4bCzxZom4jthpbG21U5Hsi_SRYZ5o32gHl5V2v1QYxPqBUY-W8w/s320/DSC05236.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298409907355900050" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have not the words.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguD4xfiOi_R-QvlTAyovNayWxztB2xwu7BFNgfNJiW6tK3k4bNPGyNrlWOE6Z-X9vTJvcDw26Gd20yMXlNeh57khL59WlCDYN16Jj9CieDHiUQq_2RaMGyfrTRIvUL2acNk1k9LQ/s1600-h/DSC03691.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguD4xfiOi_R-QvlTAyovNayWxztB2xwu7BFNgfNJiW6tK3k4bNPGyNrlWOE6Z-X9vTJvcDw26Gd20yMXlNeh57khL59WlCDYN16Jj9CieDHiUQq_2RaMGyfrTRIvUL2acNk1k9LQ/s320/DSC03691.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298414765151918514" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Blond Duck, you've crossed the wrong 3 lb. Chihuahua Queen. Vengeance shall be mine. You shall learn the hard way that </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">I, Queen Bitty, ruler of the Pond,</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> am the only puppy in your life.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOotmpQZ5hvShogLKkGK0_yrPV1JLlB7iqh2P9JWI24tL_s1byPdunMjvqW4kkqhstT1IlD-uqtkoU-OGnWUfOGKa6T0DqHZ8M5kZgFWD8mnGWjsqn5oVHd66WJbn6XRe4m3CNw/s1600-h/puppies+287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOotmpQZ5hvShogLKkGK0_yrPV1JLlB7iqh2P9JWI24tL_s1byPdunMjvqW4kkqhstT1IlD-uqtkoU-OGnWUfOGKa6T0DqHZ8M5kZgFWD8mnGWjsqn5oVHd66WJbn6XRe4m3CNw/s320/puppies+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298413980597289490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And Bear. I guess.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHnzik6Q4oTylS72kIbbJgstBjKxVT-_fYc9bt7des0mO_i882cUx9PGLGwKZGg2835IlOltB-gu6QgyoDq6k34S1kXdESehCU_vr2Dbo0K-tGqpi2Zef9-0rI9VROxakLz-0TA/s1600-h/bunny"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHnzik6Q4oTylS72kIbbJgstBjKxVT-_fYc9bt7des0mO_i882cUx9PGLGwKZGg2835IlOltB-gu6QgyoDq6k34S1kXdESehCU_vr2Dbo0K-tGqpi2Zef9-0rI9VROxakLz-0TA/s320/bunny" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298413056160670386" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cookie-stealing bunny, attack! </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLytKb65pUntgJfBrs3QyTu6JAwpjNF-MtgPhhekRb00FeCaIAZORfgrLt3LuDA5L9AoQkaa5btds8tENucIWr2ix4TKkeRXEszzW07az1gsob6pJZ-PAgoGLeMX_POSdNfsvTA/s1600-h/DSC01554.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLytKb65pUntgJfBrs3QyTu6JAwpjNF-MtgPhhekRb00FeCaIAZORfgrLt3LuDA5L9AoQkaa5btds8tENucIWr2ix4TKkeRXEszzW07az1gsob6pJZ-PAgoGLeMX_POSdNfsvTA/s320/DSC01554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298412955233443314" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Blond Duck, you shall rue the day you crossed Queen Bitty, ruler of the Pond, for the fuzzy creature you call Star.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHnzik6Q4oTylS72kIbbJgstBjKxVT-_fYc9bt7des0mO_i882cUx9PGLGwKZGg2835IlOltB-gu6QgyoDq6k34S1kXdESehCU_vr2Dbo0K-tGqpi2Zef9-0rI9VROxakLz-0TA/s1600-h/bunny"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHnzik6Q4oTylS72kIbbJgstBjKxVT-_fYc9bt7des0mO_i882cUx9PGLGwKZGg2835IlOltB-gu6QgyoDq6k34S1kXdESehCU_vr2Dbo0K-tGqpi2Zef9-0rI9VROxakLz-0TA/s320/bunny" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298413056160670386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Beware the vengeance of the Cookie-Stealing Bunny!</span><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline; font-family: georgia;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a new Twirl and Thursday, a tasty family recipe that you can take anywhere, anytime. And Friday, the next part of the Rubber Chicken's story as he searches for his long lost Fuzzy love!</span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com118tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-90646894038004518552009-02-02T03:00:00.000-08:002009-02-02T03:00:01.459-08:00The Gift 9<span style="font-family: georgia;">Have you ever lost a love? A feathered love with webbed feet and frizzy yellow feathers?</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbOPCShCRq_XIyy1rvymxwuL21rZdurjbs-BoW0_ubG2kLhQ3txL0S3-LujLXthRNC3v_-Dy_zdYRQlm8RUsymFoRLclP_onqd_hQnCGXaBDNwHrMdp0JCLAT1m67mIkKEzvw1A/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbOPCShCRq_XIyy1rvymxwuL21rZdurjbs-BoW0_ubG2kLhQ3txL0S3-LujLXthRNC3v_-Dy_zdYRQlm8RUsymFoRLclP_onqd_hQnCGXaBDNwHrMdp0JCLAT1m67mIkKEzvw1A/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297862097254163842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then you'd probably want to check in with the </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/02/rubber-chicken-begins-search-for-fuzzy.html">Rubber Chicken</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">, who continued to search for the fowl of his dreams yesterday.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And if you want to see what happens when the Blond Duck goes out in the sun, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/tag.html">here</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Babies say thank you for all the fond </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/happy-birthday-bitty-and-bear.html">birthday wishes</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And now, for the Gift.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">You read the </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/gift-8.html">previous one</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">, right?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Of course you did.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">You may proceed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rouge smiled over a tray of the most luscious desserts Ashley had ever seen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Oh my God!" she cried, grabbing for a plate of mini-cheesecakes all the time. "If you serve these every night, I'm going to be as big as a house!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"It's just for Ladies' Night," Rouge replied with a grin. "I know how girls like their sweets." He picked up a chocolate brownie drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauce. "Where's Samantha?" he asked, looking up and down the bar. "I got this just for her."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I don't know," Ashley said, her forehead wrinkling. "She was right here."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I didn't see her leave," Cleo said, her eyes wide. "She always tells us if she goes somewhere."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A bitter cackle burst from the other end of the bar. Jeremy swung around on his stood, swaying as he sipped from a thick glass mug. "She disappeared," he cried, leering at the girls. "Into thin air! Poof!" Ashley and Cleo stared at him as he roared with laughter.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"She must have gone to the bathroom," Rouge said, setting the brownie down at her place at the bar. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Oh no," Jeremy called, shaking his head. "She vanished. Poof! All gone!" He giggled, then slurped down more beer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Cut him off," Rouge muttered to the bartender. The bartender nodded and tried to jerk the mug from Jeremy's hand. Jeremy howled and clutched it to his chest.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What do you mean, she disappeared?" Ashley asked. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Snarling at the bartender trying to swipe his beer, Jeremy pushed off the bar. Teetering on one left of the stool, he smiled triumphantly and took a drink.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"One of the waiters gave her a bright blue drink," he informed Ashley with all the condensation a drunk can. "She took one sip and poof! Gone in a flash!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What waiter?" Rouge demanded.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"The one with black hair in all black," Jeremy replied. "He's gone too." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rouge shook his head. "My waiters don't wear all black. And none of them have black hair like that. Plus, we don't have electric blue drinks. It's an Irish pub, not a dance club."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Poof!" Jeremy laughed, unaware that the leg of of the bar stool was creaking alarmingly. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Oh my God!" Ashley cried, grabbing Cleo's arm. "The necklace! How could we have been so stupid?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What necklace?" Rouge asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Do you have it?" Cleo asked Ashley.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"No," Ashley growled. "Samantha has it in her purse."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What necklace?" Rouge repeated.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"The necklace of love," Jeremy howled, flinging his arm out dramatically. The stool slammed into the ground and Jeremy fell on his back, the beer splashing out onto his chest and pooling around his neck. He leaned his head to the side and tried to lap it up as the beer dripped onto the bar floor.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCtsnjPGT1edqTPdO3viFSdXhC66J3Go3D4K0dlrzA-wsdD-sYnon-SLWMKadVrarsj64eJESo9jxKIRxCYMcQpugAUpLEFqhx7fjRE8X3-_LQeYccFZR_t5k9L7Q202dKVh0_w/s1600-h/sterling-silver-celtic-love-knots-filigree-circle-pendant.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCtsnjPGT1edqTPdO3viFSdXhC66J3Go3D4K0dlrzA-wsdD-sYnon-SLWMKadVrarsj64eJESo9jxKIRxCYMcQpugAUpLEFqhx7fjRE8X3-_LQeYccFZR_t5k9L7Q202dKVh0_w/s320/sterling-silver-celtic-love-knots-filigree-circle-pendant.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297866506792997058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ashley grabbed a bar napkin and sketched out the design. "It looked like this," she said, shoving it towards Rouge. "But it was made out of diamonds and blue topaz stones." She told Rouge the story of the mysterious box with the note that said "Love, Me."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"And every note said, "Until Sunset," she said. "That's why we thought it was you. When we saw that the charm was Celtic and you had opened up the pub, we were sure it was you."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rouge shook his head, his face grim. "This isn't good," he said. "Was she wearing the necklace?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I don't think so," Ashley replied. "Why?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"If she wears it, she'll be bound to whoever gave her the gift," Rouge replied darkly. He leaned forward over the bar. On Samantha's seat was a tiny blue topaz pendant of a flower, much like the flower she had been given before.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And from across the bar, Jeremy began to laugh. His bitter laughter washed over them, sending shivers down their spine. </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Samantha stirred. Her skin was damp and cold and her hair felt heavy against her face. Pulling herself up, she grimaced and brushed mossy twigs and leaves from her arms and hands. After she had picked dirt and leaves from her hair, she climbed to her feet. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wrapping her arms around her body, she cursed. Of course. The one time she got drugged and dumped in the woods, it'd have to be in a short sweater dress that barely covered her butt and stiletto boots. She was going to kill Ashley.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Hello?" she called. Glancing around, she shivered. She had never seen woods like this before. The trees stretched toward the sky with thick trunks covered in a bark that was so lush it looked like fur. Snarled greenery covered every inch of the ground that wasn't covered in dense green moss. A fine white mist rolled across her feet, the bitter cold making her skin prick.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">She spotted a grey walk and stepped carefully over to it, avoiding small stones and small creatures under those stones. She knew enough about nature that she didn't want to run into anything with teeth or scales. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Placed on the rock was a small box wrapped in brown paper. Picking it up, Samantha read the note attached.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">"I am pleased you have taken the trouble to join me, love. Are you wearing the necklace to think of me? But no path is easy, and yours is certainly difficult. I hope this makes things easier. Until sunset. Love, Me."<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">"As soon as I meet "Me," I'm going to throttle him," Samantha snarled. She sighed. Looking around at her empty surroundings, she sighed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then she opened the package.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To be continued....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have the introduction of a new addition to the Pond and Wednesday, a new Twirl! Then we have a treasured family recipe and more adventures with the Rubber Duck and Fuzzy Chicken! Stay tuned!</span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com292tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-10459048643018542862009-02-01T03:00:00.000-08:002009-02-01T08:03:06.731-08:00The Rubber Chicken begins the Search for the Fuzzy Duck<span style="font-family:georgia;">To read the previous edition of our feathered friend's love drama, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/mysterious-date-between-rubber-chicken.html">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPPinHcLtVXsIbDJuipocxogULaiMiFpXGopRgqh0C05C75FbQ7VOt8x-kFEWHOc8aDM_4aNgmitUoyXxt9ucDxqCavZgYyGcgkIrSaROj6RwmIvgZamMN2spO9_9Z2QwHF5Xxg/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPPinHcLtVXsIbDJuipocxogULaiMiFpXGopRgqh0C05C75FbQ7VOt8x-kFEWHOc8aDM_4aNgmitUoyXxt9ucDxqCavZgYyGcgkIrSaROj6RwmIvgZamMN2spO9_9Z2QwHF5Xxg/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297850996131898146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">After discovering the Fuzzy Duck had gone to rescue her mother from the evil Skull Face in the attic, the Rubber Chicken set out in the dark of night to rescue his feathered love.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqP6TYEeLpOxH2RYdoRdZRO4LtJ0aaQbvdhvqCrtLDukP5Zvywi-kJtjZTeYbGplKcLasQNrwQCT2nSvgOkrFFaS3TiNqm-y9ygKNqC8WJwnMT04E2IKl6rCpXK1X22Y003Fqq3w/s1600-h/chicken.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqP6TYEeLpOxH2RYdoRdZRO4LtJ0aaQbvdhvqCrtLDukP5Zvywi-kJtjZTeYbGplKcLasQNrwQCT2nSvgOkrFFaS3TiNqm-y9ygKNqC8WJwnMT04E2IKl6rCpXK1X22Y003Fqq3w/s320/chicken.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297851224810398114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">At first, he simply ran around the streets in a fit of panic.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"What should I do?" he fretted, flapping his wings frantically. "Where should I go? There's a million places she could be!"</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehEBVWmGCAbFZo7HHPXFlkjoJFaMLf4Zw0DboOdiqEB2OfM8_fFhyfi579vLdoHJ4OiGSi55fhu92RlD7UoxYgOjLkupvsB6vFv4xc3W2Zn8PQqIngbrdh9lveHqD-CCTK59zmw/s1600-h/DSC04612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehEBVWmGCAbFZo7HHPXFlkjoJFaMLf4Zw0DboOdiqEB2OfM8_fFhyfi579vLdoHJ4OiGSi55fhu92RlD7UoxYgOjLkupvsB6vFv4xc3W2Zn8PQqIngbrdh9lveHqD-CCTK59zmw/s320/DSC04612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297852139646044530" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Terrible images raced through his mind. What if the Fuzzy Duck was hurt? What if she had been captured by the Skull Face's evil hooligans? What if....the last thought was so horrifying he couldn't bear to finish it. Gnashing his beak together, he threw himself down in front of the restaurant they went to on their first date.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPPinHcLtVXsIbDJuipocxogULaiMiFpXGopRgqh0C05C75FbQ7VOt8x-kFEWHOc8aDM_4aNgmitUoyXxt9ucDxqCavZgYyGcgkIrSaROj6RwmIvgZamMN2spO9_9Z2QwHF5Xxg/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPPinHcLtVXsIbDJuipocxogULaiMiFpXGopRgqh0C05C75FbQ7VOt8x-kFEWHOc8aDM_4aNgmitUoyXxt9ucDxqCavZgYyGcgkIrSaROj6RwmIvgZamMN2spO9_9Z2QwHF5Xxg/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297850996131898146" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"It's useless," he whispered to himself, his wings dangling by his sides. "I'm just a rubber chicken. How can I rescue her?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"First, you have to stop sniveling!" a voice snapped.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"It's not romantic," a second voice scolded him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Buck up, chin up!" a third voice cheered.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Do you have any pie?" a fourth voice answered.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Rubber Chicken looked up in astonishment. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4bXox4P5nUUpCYZXa-cYsrECzEJh8_0nssXPg43JYgHNGtWgpSHHTSuedlzz_qQSQ8D1XI4x3TZt5444-ARsV3QLi_KPgm_VP6AtUCMsgNlAn5j-34ZhWsEbXKXe7e1LzRILWA/s1600-h/DSC05228.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4bXox4P5nUUpCYZXa-cYsrECzEJh8_0nssXPg43JYgHNGtWgpSHHTSuedlzz_qQSQ8D1XI4x3TZt5444-ARsV3QLi_KPgm_VP6AtUCMsgNlAn5j-34ZhWsEbXKXe7e1LzRILWA/s320/DSC05228.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297852819999807954" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Hello," he said uncertainly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Hello," the first duck said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"How do you do?" the second duck asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Why are you still wuffling on the ground?" the third duck asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Do you like chicken nuggets or are you morally opposed to them?" the fourth duck asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Rubber Chicken blinked. He had never been asked so many questions at once. "Actually, I'm looking for a girl," he said. "The Fuzzy Duck. Have you seen her?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"The one with frizzy feathers?" the first duck asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"She was here yesterday," the second duck said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"With the Yellow Chicken," the third duck confirmed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"You might want to check with her," the fourth duck advised. "She's at the late night cafe down the street."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Thanks!" the Rubber Chicken cried. Cheered, he hurried down the road towards the late night cafe. When he got there, only a few patrons were sprinkled about the booths. The Yellow Chicken was munching on apple pie and a entire carton of ice cream when he burst through the door.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgURuSrsfRk7T1uE794BOfP4NlXhTR-1t4HWJe28frCXDZHJaG5ZbW3iv4LhvA4i8skZ7JWckGJ24ex3zYDNwBAPKSFAhQ7FsjvS8STEnc1XbolsKkF4ghF8eEFq2S1LJ4alWkXUQ/s1600-h/DSC05224.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgURuSrsfRk7T1uE794BOfP4NlXhTR-1t4HWJe28frCXDZHJaG5ZbW3iv4LhvA4i8skZ7JWckGJ24ex3zYDNwBAPKSFAhQ7FsjvS8STEnc1XbolsKkF4ghF8eEFq2S1LJ4alWkXUQ/s320/DSC05224.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297854219349777650" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Excuse me, ma'am!" he cried. "I'm in desperate need of your aid!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Not my pie, I hope," the hen clucked, pulling her plate closer to her feathered breast.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Oh no," the Rubber Chicken assured her. "I'm looking for the Fuzzy Duck. Do you know where she is?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"We had a lovely lunch yesterday,"the Yellow Chicken chortled, waving her spoon in the air. "Corn salad with tomato and grasshopper soup and honey macaroons! Delicious!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Yes," the Rubber Chicken agreed. "It sounds lovely. Did the Fuzzy Duck mention any plans?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Yellow Chicken chewed on her pie for a moment. "She was going to the Mr. B, the banker," she said finally. "You might check with him. He comes to the bank at 7 a.m., so you might meet him then."</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PRCAtkgnJ4PyBCpHk4kXRZ6DOKpf8f6NOEVnRSIH2OeCG8gEX3C1KEjFDUYioIdwtfdceK1CeX22d4XrJMHBsjU087cgmwA-PW3idAVjAAj-Cc8f8vJEV91f3USji4qMueeD5w/s1600-h/DSC05226.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PRCAtkgnJ4PyBCpHk4kXRZ6DOKpf8f6NOEVnRSIH2OeCG8gEX3C1KEjFDUYioIdwtfdceK1CeX22d4XrJMHBsjU087cgmwA-PW3idAVjAAj-Cc8f8vJEV91f3USji4qMueeD5w/s320/DSC05226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297855331971714130" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Thanks!" the Rubber Chicken shouted. Enthused, he hurried home. The next morning, he bolted out of bed and raced to the bank. He was there by 6:30 a.m. Burying into his rubber feathers, he had almost fallen asleep when he saw the silver banker ascending the bank steps.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PRCAtkgnJ4PyBCpHk4kXRZ6DOKpf8f6NOEVnRSIH2OeCG8gEX3C1KEjFDUYioIdwtfdceK1CeX22d4XrJMHBsjU087cgmwA-PW3idAVjAAj-Cc8f8vJEV91f3USji4qMueeD5w/s1600-h/DSC05226.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PRCAtkgnJ4PyBCpHk4kXRZ6DOKpf8f6NOEVnRSIH2OeCG8gEX3C1KEjFDUYioIdwtfdceK1CeX22d4XrJMHBsjU087cgmwA-PW3idAVjAAj-Cc8f8vJEV91f3USji4qMueeD5w/s320/DSC05226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297855331971714130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Excuse me!" he shouted. "May I ask you a question?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"What?" the silver pig snapped. "Time is money, money is time! Unless your question revolves around quarters or dimes, that's no concern of mine!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Rubber Chicken blinked, then shook his head. "I'm looking for the Fuzzy Duck," he said. "Do you know where she went?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Foolish duck!" the silver pig cried. "She took all her money and drained her account! There's not a quarter, a dime or even a penny left to count!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"But where did she go?" the Rubber Chicken pressed. "Did she say?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"The Taco Dog," the silver pig snapped, pulling keys out of the slot on his back to open the door. "Time is money, money is time! Unless you have bank business, this is goodbye!" The silver pig hurried into the bank and slammed the door. Shacking his feathered head, the pig hurried to the Taco Dog. By this late in the morning, it was crowded with customers wanting tasty breakfast tacos. The Rubber Chicken shoved his way to the front.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUw-Z21vZ_GTaB_xU2AIZBSxvRyvJTTBAIalYu_gAHBhD7pdYk36aklFvzTNyGeu0uULV6VLaXwVXV71XIqewHHpe2zUETT8WJSIQvXKMwwUUWj0ojPQ7kx9YrPaBYqpL1PLb3_g/s1600-h/DSC05225.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUw-Z21vZ_GTaB_xU2AIZBSxvRyvJTTBAIalYu_gAHBhD7pdYk36aklFvzTNyGeu0uULV6VLaXwVXV71XIqewHHpe2zUETT8WJSIQvXKMwwUUWj0ojPQ7kx9YrPaBYqpL1PLb3_g/s320/DSC05225.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297855671855792594" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Taco, burrito or tamale?" the Taco Dog inquired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"None of the above," the Rubber Chicken replied. "I'm looking for the Fuzzy Duck."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"She likes burritos," the Taco Dog assured him. "Eggs, bacon and cheese. With a splash of beans."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Where is she?" the Rubber Chicken asked, his patience fading. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I don't know," the Taco Dog shrugged. "She hasn't been in for breakfast in two days. Next customer!" he called, looking over the Rubber Chicken's shoulder.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPPinHcLtVXsIbDJuipocxogULaiMiFpXGopRgqh0C05C75FbQ7VOt8x-kFEWHOc8aDM_4aNgmitUoyXxt9ucDxqCavZgYyGcgkIrSaROj6RwmIvgZamMN2spO9_9Z2QwHF5Xxg/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPPinHcLtVXsIbDJuipocxogULaiMiFpXGopRgqh0C05C75FbQ7VOt8x-kFEWHOc8aDM_4aNgmitUoyXxt9ucDxqCavZgYyGcgkIrSaROj6RwmIvgZamMN2spO9_9Z2QwHF5Xxg/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297850996131898146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Pushing through the crowd, the Rubber Chicken plopped down on a bench and buried his head in his feathers. "It's hopeless," he muttered to himself. "She's so far gone I'll never catch her."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Not necessarily." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Rubber Chicken jerked his head up and gasped. "Who are you?"</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrci716_QE0B-GMB5ZDxqQviVGzT3onQdVyVbZTtqKKOlA4OEY2QveWJbofTNGcT0rgW2-YU7Hj5s_tzyCC7yt04TDW62ol_Rzslc2JrOF-o4sOjX_4Ef33uI9lRJo-AcT1TuRg/s1600-h/DSC05223.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrci716_QE0B-GMB5ZDxqQviVGzT3onQdVyVbZTtqKKOlA4OEY2QveWJbofTNGcT0rgW2-YU7Hj5s_tzyCC7yt04TDW62ol_Rzslc2JrOF-o4sOjX_4Ef33uI9lRJo-AcT1TuRg/s320/DSC05223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297858615889744066" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I can help," a pink cupid snorted, his snout twitching as his wings fluttered. "Let me introduce myself..."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have all sorts of whimsical fun this week. Tomorrow, we have a new Gift! Then we've got a new Twirl, a new addition to the Pond and a family recipe that will have you drooling into your keyboards. Get ready for a whimsical week at the Pond! </span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-31620657824224605342009-01-31T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-31T03:00:01.071-08:00Tag<span style="font-family: georgia;">Jen at the lovely </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://tatertotsandjello.blogspot.com/">Tater Tots and Jello</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> tagged me a few days ago. When I realized what picture I would have to reveal, I giggled. So instead of the story I was going to give you today, you get another story instead.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Admit it. You're curious what story you missed. Don't worry--it will be revealed soon!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The rules are:</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">1) I choose the 4th folder where I store my pictures on the computer.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">2. Select the 4th picture in the folder.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">3. Explain the picture.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">4. Tag 4 people to do the same.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">5. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">No cheating</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> (cropping, editing, etc.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Here's the fourth picture in my fourth folder:</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJ9HvmD4bBZ8x8ulRtJh7Km92qBOG2tBT2edpL0HflZPaqsfTLSk6ZDy-2SNnsTG1TPKRZXIUW_EQDMudhUOMCt1t37ceAO75EgtPFbYnFC46fDsqAyjes-zyHRUrm9WR6Gxb7Q/s1600-h/Halloween+and+engagement+076.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJ9HvmD4bBZ8x8ulRtJh7Km92qBOG2tBT2edpL0HflZPaqsfTLSk6ZDy-2SNnsTG1TPKRZXIUW_EQDMudhUOMCt1t37ceAO75EgtPFbYnFC46fDsqAyjes-zyHRUrm9WR6Gxb7Q/s320/Halloween+and+engagement+076.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297286931383544818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">When Ben and I went to Baylor, we didn't usually go to football games. The whole point of football games is to enjoy a rousing competition, and there was nothing to compete with Baylor. We lost almost every game. By halftime, you were either freezing with purple toes during a cold spell, or more likely sweating with your underwear stuck to your butt. And the Blond Duck doesn't do purple toes or sweaty underwear stuck to her butt. There were very few games in my college experience.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSv4sdSkTEUZRdawGdtrocIN96kJbKnefZf0H1F3s4z1SgXxjKUXEE4yBoffyU_iuFBvIQssU_z-jX-JIbM82iGRjPYUdg3w7vBWdvPurhyphenhyphensDc4Dr-Ct8BpiLsrCjmVPOofigbYw/s1600-h/Halloween+and+engagement+065.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSv4sdSkTEUZRdawGdtrocIN96kJbKnefZf0H1F3s4z1SgXxjKUXEE4yBoffyU_iuFBvIQssU_z-jX-JIbM82iGRjPYUdg3w7vBWdvPurhyphenhyphensDc4Dr-Ct8BpiLsrCjmVPOofigbYw/s320/Halloween+and+engagement+065.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297289166134836418" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">My senior year, my friend Val and her fiance David came up for the Baylor-UT game. I thought they were insane. Not only did they drive an hour and a half to go watch a game where we all knew what was going to happen, but they paid $80 per ticket.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TsFf_Nd2SsPSfpnguRsrkxmf_t9NEmbgN1iEwIlMeAx7CwhyphenhyphenbdTWonxDZ4m80Dbn52zxbHFsGTu9S2mxhmgRvorfQo5RIq3yK3PDRFjY-SdPOVi4-mi4TkrINUX5DhWJuNSsDw/s1600-h/Halloween+and+engagement+067.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TsFf_Nd2SsPSfpnguRsrkxmf_t9NEmbgN1iEwIlMeAx7CwhyphenhyphenbdTWonxDZ4m80Dbn52zxbHFsGTu9S2mxhmgRvorfQo5RIq3yK3PDRFjY-SdPOVi4-mi4TkrINUX5DhWJuNSsDw/s320/Halloween+and+engagement+067.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297289530065237106" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But I'm not a Longhorn, so I suppose I don't understand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Val and David had just gotten engaged. The plan was to stay until halftime, then Val and I would go shop for wedding dresses and bridesmaid dresses. The boys would watch television and scratch themselves until we returned to pour over more wedding magazines and discuss more wedding details.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">As I've said before, </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/story-of-blond-ducks-wedding.html">I'm not really into weddings</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6SGZt7Qt88KeXQNeQ7A-jPREvhow6fZYCuZp-ZK0BjdnboaQVK2QuBJ3M3ZozgXFimKNOtfF4nPB7mdedrxwS5fiAEgLvNIrJjUDaTJjKjNJ5EzSMCvXyy40o9fX0AuzhHIZSQ/s1600-h/Halloween+and+engagement+078.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6SGZt7Qt88KeXQNeQ7A-jPREvhow6fZYCuZp-ZK0BjdnboaQVK2QuBJ3M3ZozgXFimKNOtfF4nPB7mdedrxwS5fiAEgLvNIrJjUDaTJjKjNJ5EzSMCvXyy40o9fX0AuzhHIZSQ/s320/Halloween+and+engagement+078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297290567076251474" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But, I was Val's maid of honor, so I bucked up and prepared for a day of football and weddings, my two most favorite things ever. It's what a good buddy does.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The game was in November, so I only put a light coating of sunscreen on my face.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdHKndOIx6ePI4IQwozwg0G9SzFL0rLo4YzeqsJg1zz18n0mr-9nVV1TmS7Lpq00SxpRtxkENd4etcDf5f_TLT2bJIZIicuyVmDlFmI7LlAVjgWfbSby32DW-YIrfwGq1PhUq2g/s1600-h/Halloween+and+engagement+081.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdHKndOIx6ePI4IQwozwg0G9SzFL0rLo4YzeqsJg1zz18n0mr-9nVV1TmS7Lpq00SxpRtxkENd4etcDf5f_TLT2bJIZIicuyVmDlFmI7LlAVjgWfbSby32DW-YIrfwGq1PhUq2g/s320/Halloween+and+engagement+081.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297290912785484146" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">When the ladies began to giggle at David's Bridal a few hours later, I couldn't understand why. I thought perhaps my bra was showing or a boob had escaped my corset or maybe my underwear was showing.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was only when a saleswoman touched my arm to turn me to pin the dress that I realized everything, and I do mean everything, was burned to a crisp.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Blow up the picture if you don't believe me.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxr7vHEthMyaPTB13nsQmmi0qwPLFco-8eSYEJN_qki9IKGEzXuVrx_1aubsGSOOfDpYgRkWGDFWZ5gdyUyIbW58VV9s1RqH6W0VE1MlXWNdxZthElg7-Uwrs-I2021VzhjfnlxA/s1600-h/Halloween+and+engagement+084.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxr7vHEthMyaPTB13nsQmmi0qwPLFco-8eSYEJN_qki9IKGEzXuVrx_1aubsGSOOfDpYgRkWGDFWZ5gdyUyIbW58VV9s1RqH6W0VE1MlXWNdxZthElg7-Uwrs-I2021VzhjfnlxA/s320/Halloween+and+engagement+084.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297291395548981458" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Several dresses and wedding magazines later, the bride's fears of a lobster maid of honor had been calmed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">After all, her wedding wasn't until next September.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">So Invisible Friends, it's like that old </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I5NAPZp2w-o">Baz Luhrman song</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> says: "If I could offer you any tip for the future, wear sunscreen."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tag.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">You're it!:</span></span><br /><br /><ol style="font-family: georgia;"><li>Amanda at <a href="http://amandascookin.blogspot.com/">Amanda's Cooking</a><br /><a href="http://laddsandlasses.blogspot.com/"></a></li><li>Debbie at <a href="http://thefridayfriends.blogspot.com/">Friday Friends</a><br /><a href="http://mrayfam.blogspot.com/"></a></li><li>Pearl at <a href="http://inanoyster.blogspot.com/">Fresh and Pure</a></li><li>Pam at <a href="http://fortheloveofcooking-recipes.blogspot.com/">For the Love of Cooking</a></li></ol><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow, the Rubber Chicken finally searches for his long lost love....And we have a week full of whimsical goodness coming up!</span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-74711511881921940382009-01-30T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-30T03:00:03.105-08:00Happy Birthday, Bitty and Bear<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTSoO5OUsrhb_z9Nox23M9i2pK6il_pFH__Ec4NcIcZN_LsSgGlSB1Q7u3SKDaawA7yd1ef0g1bi-2mJ4lc8yBPz7Jbu_6-6GWZvycoU0ch4-fCW2CjpQQ-QMStBTugxOqujWWw/s1600-h/puppy+13.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTSoO5OUsrhb_z9Nox23M9i2pK6il_pFH__Ec4NcIcZN_LsSgGlSB1Q7u3SKDaawA7yd1ef0g1bi-2mJ4lc8yBPz7Jbu_6-6GWZvycoU0ch4-fCW2CjpQQ-QMStBTugxOqujWWw/s320/puppy+13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296916628179051986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">One year ago, two little creatures entered our lives. They terrorized our nights with banshee screams, peed on every inch of carpet and turned our organized home into slightly manageable chaos.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF88GmHKJ13VC6iWxWpfagEkUGhuKB_aEMIMbis9A68Asp5DDw_QaGL0yTnBC6Q-L2HkVHWW7krYp74HQsZOv1-RdDYmfe3irjH8dICusmnGQcziPuHcd5IBvnEACGPGarO0SoyQ/s1600-h/puppy+23.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF88GmHKJ13VC6iWxWpfagEkUGhuKB_aEMIMbis9A68Asp5DDw_QaGL0yTnBC6Q-L2HkVHWW7krYp74HQsZOv1-RdDYmfe3irjH8dICusmnGQcziPuHcd5IBvnEACGPGarO0SoyQ/s320/puppy+23.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296917198860375586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And I couldn't have been happier.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-5YRUUTtT4u7Wz2RuRFdJd2eXg53vtbDpCvb36BXF7dZxvPjYfDIaVJ5bPnaHtrAfbDx7WKQcYgXsxQdfJCdI0HBsDqCVGjRZrFxe9-OcBg83TAUp_nuE2MBO6WXFisvUF9qTw/s1600-h/puppies+091.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-5YRUUTtT4u7Wz2RuRFdJd2eXg53vtbDpCvb36BXF7dZxvPjYfDIaVJ5bPnaHtrAfbDx7WKQcYgXsxQdfJCdI0HBsDqCVGjRZrFxe9-OcBg83TAUp_nuE2MBO6WXFisvUF9qTw/s320/puppies+091.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296918279387020978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">There was the first bath...</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbAhu1TwJopzJrv9O_ZekvmW75g6VcT8_WPbf3LbAPDnWkXQBtZiOfFQhKRXmlD42W1HuntJ7xsjK55AwR6W_jJDSto_ZDh1nuQ4g1bbYh0sXfv_3JWQ2kvnidK1DTQCUt9yYzuQ/s1600-h/puppies+118.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbAhu1TwJopzJrv9O_ZekvmW75g6VcT8_WPbf3LbAPDnWkXQBtZiOfFQhKRXmlD42W1HuntJ7xsjK55AwR6W_jJDSto_ZDh1nuQ4g1bbYh0sXfv_3JWQ2kvnidK1DTQCUt9yYzuQ/s320/puppies+118.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296918939600486034" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The night time snuggles...</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDX9AaUszH5f7TOJesvSqbV3kEOWC5X8FwKuttI72im1-acRTDiwNvcOUGEBlN6kkdUL9TRji9CfBTTeOjRoZF7xBNNxcTst1BtnQCiUWGI5A8u1KQEgMwpF4W-ing1K8nxSCZsQ/s1600-h/puppies+111.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDX9AaUszH5f7TOJesvSqbV3kEOWC5X8FwKuttI72im1-acRTDiwNvcOUGEBlN6kkdUL9TRji9CfBTTeOjRoZF7xBNNxcTst1BtnQCiUWGI5A8u1KQEgMwpF4W-ing1K8nxSCZsQ/s320/puppies+111.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296920857843211698" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The patter of little puppy paws behind me wherever I went...</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWqNFk3peKa7G6mMhh1rD9ZEu6isEP0vnZUWoSNv8WeJPBiRTO6dV9K_44WW0EkiH06tpeyN65tSzAQ7c5vHWZSFhg8SkWBklcbkLdlCqQS6RlRabpUYNXtPeJ9qSgICIkfFjRw/s1600-h/puppies+255.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWqNFk3peKa7G6mMhh1rD9ZEu6isEP0vnZUWoSNv8WeJPBiRTO6dV9K_44WW0EkiH06tpeyN65tSzAQ7c5vHWZSFhg8SkWBklcbkLdlCqQS6RlRabpUYNXtPeJ9qSgICIkfFjRw/s320/puppies+255.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296920381168574258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And the sight of a little head trying to hide in our covers at night.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDn3kSUOzrsbWv6THZzNv5V0spTU7FmuwfFtmmZycsBJvCX7Ico1VVg_xigTkAJWALY-SfOLnUrDeq_W4aC7cqcVdKlJh933dwN_bic0ZDR6Jk3CHdJ_e6BHyng_uN3Q1_FypiQ/s1600-h/DSC05169.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDn3kSUOzrsbWv6THZzNv5V0spTU7FmuwfFtmmZycsBJvCX7Ico1VVg_xigTkAJWALY-SfOLnUrDeq_W4aC7cqcVdKlJh933dwN_bic0ZDR6Jk3CHdJ_e6BHyng_uN3Q1_FypiQ/s320/DSC05169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296924709263313826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">One year later, Bitty and Bear are even more fun than they were as little puppies that could fit in my palm.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">To celebrate this grand occasion, we had all sorts of wondrous festivities planned in the Pond.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtBdyZ1OS0f4QmRUhUNXCSES2O9XlwK9uKwxY5AEzr257oIOSKH3xym_VX0T6ouNka3qCs5iLU-uR1-5zqtsQaxqH97U1ltEuMkSATmlQljo3KBoRdg_NvI1o9maGoHNqfE06mQ/s1600-h/puppies+287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtBdyZ1OS0f4QmRUhUNXCSES2O9XlwK9uKwxY5AEzr257oIOSKH3xym_VX0T6ouNka3qCs5iLU-uR1-5zqtsQaxqH97U1ltEuMkSATmlQljo3KBoRdg_NvI1o9maGoHNqfE06mQ/s320/puppies+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296919660654686754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">All sorts of friends attended,</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpgaoSA5446GuHsTgbcX46UcrvZV38vv03bzqrlGBmabqPF_88a2jpBLIGb6wQENpw4_xOc-jggWr5bEcRetD1Mc8dGUUzvWBJ3tu6wVpKdaIA723WIpYkokDHqjYJ-hdWT1gGA/s1600-h/Alaska+344.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpgaoSA5446GuHsTgbcX46UcrvZV38vv03bzqrlGBmabqPF_88a2jpBLIGb6wQENpw4_xOc-jggWr5bEcRetD1Mc8dGUUzvWBJ3tu6wVpKdaIA723WIpYkokDHqjYJ-hdWT1gGA/s320/Alaska+344.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296922299795495986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia;">including Bear's new friend the Moose.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzDQyRg2u8siwGi5ZMuJRYKv1WlrgzoEWqIRP34sy83llrLr4Neb-y9PiK3Dzxxcrand_dQbxyyu7BGA2IEFS8oeZXSOOtsp_Cuk99SUWGQKR5GE3iLhAGz8zuvnpO-OPp2NnUg/s1600-h/DSC01554.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzDQyRg2u8siwGi5ZMuJRYKv1WlrgzoEWqIRP34sy83llrLr4Neb-y9PiK3Dzxxcrand_dQbxyyu7BGA2IEFS8oeZXSOOtsp_Cuk99SUWGQKR5GE3iLhAGz8zuvnpO-OPp2NnUg/s320/DSC01554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296922600869142178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Since Bitty had already ordered all her royal subjects to attend,</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZp1Y__xIZXUEtfHz7lyVQWrPbFyUNPvw4hmU_vcj3z8Y-M2gZSedSpXLkgfZSbLMKbam_4dGCyaO8cOI_kDxlCOlgvLXPJEeD8Q1YHAFogq9X-DDsUTLGptS3IqOD8Rp3MW_MA/s1600-h/DSC05147.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZp1Y__xIZXUEtfHz7lyVQWrPbFyUNPvw4hmU_vcj3z8Y-M2gZSedSpXLkgfZSbLMKbam_4dGCyaO8cOI_kDxlCOlgvLXPJEeD8Q1YHAFogq9X-DDsUTLGptS3IqOD8Rp3MW_MA/s320/DSC05147.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296921806767070658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Her birthday activities included showing off her new gems.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1mR9aywryEgJYxD32SXjbx47DRZjHMZkMTiz9TSGeFdVaRZddQGcpn_8xE3ym-eNG1SvLyT-C7H32XEGre1byL4yT6xQ08wHJwKXmVWaCISLFssRTlTlg0yaY_O5aCAWFShAdrw/s1600-h/DSC05171.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1mR9aywryEgJYxD32SXjbx47DRZjHMZkMTiz9TSGeFdVaRZddQGcpn_8xE3ym-eNG1SvLyT-C7H32XEGre1byL4yT6xQ08wHJwKXmVWaCISLFssRTlTlg0yaY_O5aCAWFShAdrw/s320/DSC05171.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296924280598707666" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The puppies and their guests (and ordered servants) then dined on chopped hot dog and nachos made from a corn tortilla and the finest shredded cheese.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-r3ToKU3NIrckedUS5UjkJAmOyjjwqgknnMvpCRqw7uY53ydPVy5oY4ixI5NlGzMB80Zbc1lCv3v_kq_2U73nr_-Ih1XRlxHJAkk1GV7hGTXF-eEw3-PcM-NoGPzYsJHInW033w/s1600-h/DSC05178.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-r3ToKU3NIrckedUS5UjkJAmOyjjwqgknnMvpCRqw7uY53ydPVy5oY4ixI5NlGzMB80Zbc1lCv3v_kq_2U73nr_-Ih1XRlxHJAkk1GV7hGTXF-eEw3-PcM-NoGPzYsJHInW033w/s320/DSC05178.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296925298723253746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">For several moments, the only sounds in the Pond include polite snorting, wuffling with joy and slurping as hot dogs and nachos were dragged all over the kitchen floor. They were quite enthusiastic about their meal.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPkX9t-QfhBKBBz_L7FinUkmV4NvzLmmsXGTSLtFeFaPy-DoBVzD_6iqhp5ZQnaEuYXO6-XfEHmxfz4Li1n10wpMgsnGil8GJ43qe0wWvNMK8EaqQTr_3PElMFo4V3HxL-6zYCw/s1600-h/DSC05186.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPkX9t-QfhBKBBz_L7FinUkmV4NvzLmmsXGTSLtFeFaPy-DoBVzD_6iqhp5ZQnaEuYXO6-XfEHmxfz4Li1n10wpMgsnGil8GJ43qe0wWvNMK8EaqQTr_3PElMFo4V3HxL-6zYCw/s320/DSC05186.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296931799059918962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">In fact, Bitty enjoyed her meal so much she stole the last nacho and retired to the kitchen rug, growling at all who stepped too close to her birthday treat.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdvdhvOc1uhSc-6ag9JA8Mf4rIlz6pZX-cRN6GL6dVqrPv-TLNsvUXAwkpdC2_gpc-rGcaZ_dFfqqNkI__wi5bU0ilS8XuIxztmZ3KaAMH8OuxT7gWBjc-6nTIvGewOgKGRMDNQ/s1600-h/DSC05191.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdvdhvOc1uhSc-6ag9JA8Mf4rIlz6pZX-cRN6GL6dVqrPv-TLNsvUXAwkpdC2_gpc-rGcaZ_dFfqqNkI__wi5bU0ilS8XuIxztmZ3KaAMH8OuxT7gWBjc-6nTIvGewOgKGRMDNQ/s320/DSC05191.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296931483259779714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Of course, there is more.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">As no birthday in the Pond ever last one day (mine last a month), the Babies will also celebrate tomorrow evening with peanut butter puppy pies and chicken chew sticks provided by the Blond Duck's mom.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">After such a wonderful birthday, Bear could only wuffle one last request.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEger0fst1yAsZ1X8yzrZYyEWyoeOoOlDkkt23UDLu5oYWGQI0XSqYa6-KykI6UxcFa43XAjXHQLoNDYP-E5sXgfdj5bTMEDRz33OUhibseWeRbqy1LM7O-jOxwJp011bFKXP7HTUg/s1600-h/DSC05193.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEger0fst1yAsZ1X8yzrZYyEWyoeOoOlDkkt23UDLu5oYWGQI0XSqYa6-KykI6UxcFa43XAjXHQLoNDYP-E5sXgfdj5bTMEDRz33OUhibseWeRbqy1LM7O-jOxwJp011bFKXP7HTUg/s320/DSC05193.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296925861663557778" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Yo quiero peanut butter puppy pie, pronto.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wuffle.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Happy Birthday to the Pond's Babies!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! This weekend, we have the Rubber Chicken's gallant search for his fuzzy love and more whimsical fun! Next week, stay tuned for a new Twirl, Gift and tasty recipe (that for now, shall remain secret!)</span><br /><br /></span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com79tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-25194887953656425972009-01-29T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-29T03:00:03.450-08:00A Beautiful Mess<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBTDj0PzWJHyoU6up3AstWzB9XUbQID-B5zLosuWUCtZQykdEXwa1mXdw0Qjgen9ZUN-lFe42_88Q52moNDaS1B_ImOerLasNWpJKFGRlShqnt7LKHgKi7aENtY-5fjUJ_eNXXw/s1600-h/DSC05165.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBTDj0PzWJHyoU6up3AstWzB9XUbQID-B5zLosuWUCtZQykdEXwa1mXdw0Qjgen9ZUN-lFe42_88Q52moNDaS1B_ImOerLasNWpJKFGRlShqnt7LKHgKi7aENtY-5fjUJ_eNXXw/s320/DSC05165.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296536888616482002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Several years ago, a country band called Diamond Rio released a song called "Beautiful Mess."</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;">"<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:-1;" >What a beautiful mess, what a beautiful mess I'm in </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:-1;" > Spending all my time with you </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:-1;" > There's nothing else I'd rather do </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:-1;" > What a sweet addiction that I'm caught up in </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:-1;" > 'Cause I can't get enough </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:-1;" > Can't stop the hunger for your love </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:-1;" > What a beautiful, what a beautiful mess I'm in</span>"<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JEInsWKo6tRCXRlaQz0gAcFrJsnpu1H1FlhdTfChDcTEnn6NjvoWUn9mU2ZFl5zQLbuux-fM3OOBAtgqBvCbB1xQL8cE937bKPYXTkos3ErhxNafg6qDyLGCD6hKXCt4Iw84Jg/s1600-h/DSC05166.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JEInsWKo6tRCXRlaQz0gAcFrJsnpu1H1FlhdTfChDcTEnn6NjvoWUn9mU2ZFl5zQLbuux-fM3OOBAtgqBvCbB1xQL8cE937bKPYXTkos3ErhxNafg6qDyLGCD6hKXCt4Iw84Jg/s320/DSC05166.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296537115715898690" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Invisible Friends, this is a beautiful mess. A beautiful mess of meatball goodness handmade by none other than the Pond's resident chef, Ben.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dkRuGxQSK5eMCNfHSAntJPXWEi_FQ2CNjaZUXF6PWV3DFeKKpekhOjfGR3WD9ar13DFpSrsFH4_r-PDicJQFp4Wvp5jOFb9P3qUrbKG4mbl6zBjMH-iILIkwCdAEaQrCw-4kxw/s1600-h/DSC05168.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dkRuGxQSK5eMCNfHSAntJPXWEi_FQ2CNjaZUXF6PWV3DFeKKpekhOjfGR3WD9ar13DFpSrsFH4_r-PDicJQFp4Wvp5jOFb9P3qUrbKG4mbl6zBjMH-iILIkwCdAEaQrCw-4kxw/s320/DSC05168.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296537422224924626" border="0" /></a><br /><br />There's only one problem with this gorgeous mess of meaty goodness.<br /><br /><br />There's no real recipe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0TR3W7-pNPlK2-jr_M2x8OW-3wfVQdsApXYsi3eKsveX3NwBkRA0AWSRgU091LdhZ-E-if0T306m6-RrKcEDZHkmMBTiI8ceEMcoVk7MoGjhMJ5UPkLikmJHtr5nPwiUWyzBc5w/s1600-h/DSC04902.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0TR3W7-pNPlK2-jr_M2x8OW-3wfVQdsApXYsi3eKsveX3NwBkRA0AWSRgU091LdhZ-E-if0T306m6-RrKcEDZHkmMBTiI8ceEMcoVk7MoGjhMJ5UPkLikmJHtr5nPwiUWyzBc5w/s320/DSC04902.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296506404314032546" border="0" /></a><br />It's different every time and is constantly evolving.<br /><br /><br />There are however, a few constants. They involve 2 lb. ground beef, Parmesan cheese, onion powder, garlic powder, crushed cracker crumbs, an egg, oregano and various Italian spices, kosher salt and pepper.<br /></div></div><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhya0J0g8zX92jHiyK769nXg9kdryE9tf6wFVZia_A1bxVnqJ-vh82DTuL_qal95I6EKw__NrXw22FcvPvHqyhPQoVZaBsaWQnt0DFl7N3S2qZGZWpvdazomIvbCHDsMmtvwr216Q/s1600-h/DSC04903.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhya0J0g8zX92jHiyK769nXg9kdryE9tf6wFVZia_A1bxVnqJ-vh82DTuL_qal95I6EKw__NrXw22FcvPvHqyhPQoVZaBsaWQnt0DFl7N3S2qZGZWpvdazomIvbCHDsMmtvwr216Q/s320/DSC04903.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296507368378655826" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">First, you mix the big old mess together. Then separate into little balls with a spoon or Ben's favorite, a cookie scoop.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFOpl-ZL26JBw6OuifSK_pAaDs1aRshvnB5akmp-JpW_u4zzzOOdf18xXwqn8xScOz2UfdvxhcdaZEVgIrRb4sU8dvHkkc-Ra35pe_uO6ZIg8AFj6CvR0KL4NfcDhYv24dBZlfA/s1600-h/DSC04904.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFOpl-ZL26JBw6OuifSK_pAaDs1aRshvnB5akmp-JpW_u4zzzOOdf18xXwqn8xScOz2UfdvxhcdaZEVgIrRb4sU8dvHkkc-Ra35pe_uO6ZIg8AFj6CvR0KL4NfcDhYv24dBZlfA/s320/DSC04904.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296508571801228562" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rolling, rolling, roll the meatballs....</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FHDPU7iozrgmVu03UoW5345yw7ffKZLZaL4c8FHWkQVZdg7ouBA9b0VNU6lrRKCxvmTSuTD_fEgjhXge1F6Ipi4m_0v7G_uSF5L3h5y49KiFMJJfKkFNH64KFCGvZ0e5i8vNAg/s1600-h/DSC04905.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FHDPU7iozrgmVu03UoW5345yw7ffKZLZaL4c8FHWkQVZdg7ouBA9b0VNU6lrRKCxvmTSuTD_fEgjhXge1F6Ipi4m_0v7G_uSF5L3h5y49KiFMJJfKkFNH64KFCGvZ0e5i8vNAg/s320/DSC04905.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296509721824426914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Drop into a dutch oven with your favorite sauce and let simmer for two to three hours.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">That's it. </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dkRuGxQSK5eMCNfHSAntJPXWEi_FQ2CNjaZUXF6PWV3DFeKKpekhOjfGR3WD9ar13DFpSrsFH4_r-PDicJQFp4Wvp5jOFb9P3qUrbKG4mbl6zBjMH-iILIkwCdAEaQrCw-4kxw/s1600-h/DSC05168.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dkRuGxQSK5eMCNfHSAntJPXWEi_FQ2CNjaZUXF6PWV3DFeKKpekhOjfGR3WD9ar13DFpSrsFH4_r-PDicJQFp4Wvp5jOFb9P3qUrbKG4mbl6zBjMH-iILIkwCdAEaQrCw-4kxw/s320/DSC05168.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296537422224924626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It's simple.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JEInsWKo6tRCXRlaQz0gAcFrJsnpu1H1FlhdTfChDcTEnn6NjvoWUn9mU2ZFl5zQLbuux-fM3OOBAtgqBvCbB1xQL8cE937bKPYXTkos3ErhxNafg6qDyLGCD6hKXCt4Iw84Jg/s1600-h/DSC05166.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JEInsWKo6tRCXRlaQz0gAcFrJsnpu1H1FlhdTfChDcTEnn6NjvoWUn9mU2ZFl5zQLbuux-fM3OOBAtgqBvCbB1xQL8cE937bKPYXTkos3ErhxNafg6qDyLGCD6hKXCt4Iw84Jg/s320/DSC05166.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296537115715898690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And beautiful.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBTDj0PzWJHyoU6up3AstWzB9XUbQID-B5zLosuWUCtZQykdEXwa1mXdw0Qjgen9ZUN-lFe42_88Q52moNDaS1B_ImOerLasNWpJKFGRlShqnt7LKHgKi7aENtY-5fjUJ_eNXXw/s1600-h/DSC05165.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBTDj0PzWJHyoU6up3AstWzB9XUbQID-B5zLosuWUCtZQykdEXwa1mXdw0Qjgen9ZUN-lFe42_88Q52moNDaS1B_ImOerLasNWpJKFGRlShqnt7LKHgKi7aENtY-5fjUJ_eNXXw/s320/DSC05165.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296536888616482002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And messy. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Just the way I like it. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a re-cap of the Babies' Birthday party! Then this weekend, we have the chronicles of the Rubber Chicken as he rescues his lady love of frizz, the Fuzzy Duck! And more whimsical fun coming your way! Stay tuned!</span></span><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com74tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-40310333314198468752009-01-28T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-28T03:00:03.381-08:00Bluebonnets under the old oak treeTo read the previous Twirl, go <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/letter-full-of-secrets.html">here</a>.<br /><br />For my new Invisible Friends, Twirl is the story of a star-crossed ballerina named Vivi and her handsome cowboy named Wade, who have stumbled into a international ballet scandal and a old Texas legend that might possibly lead to riches! To catch up in the archives, go <span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dancing">here</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> and </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dance">here</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">. Or <a href="mirkoerner@gmail.com">e-mail</a> me and I'll send you the word document of what I've posted.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />If Vivi thought the woman's appearance was bad, her house was worse.<br /><br />Chipped and broken furniture was covered in boxes of books, papers and thick folders with documents written in strange languages pouring out of them. The walls were empty of pictures or color. Instead, crooked bookshelves that looked as though a blind man had installed them dangled from the walls, stuffed with faded books that suffered from cracked bindings and loose, yellowed pages.<br /><br />Wade lead Vivi to the only clear space in the room, a sticky leather arm chair. Vivi looked at the seat and bit her lip.<br /><br />"I'll stand, thanks," she said, smiling brightly at the woman. "I've been sitting for awhile and my muscles are stiff."<br /><br />The woman's hard black eyes narrowed, her nose crinkled as if she could smell the lie on Vivi's breath.<br /><br />"Vivi, Wade, this here is Margaret," the sheriff stuttered, standing as far away from the woman as was polite. "She was a professor of languages"--<br /><br />"I'm a linguistic expert and highly regarded in my field," the woman interrupted, her black eyes glittering. "I've taught at Oxford, Harvard and done work for the Smithsonian. However, considering these two barely speak proper English, I doubt my background is of any interest of them. Shall we get to the point?" She held out a withered hand.<br /><br />"There better be something damn good in that letter," Vivi muttered, glaring at the older woman. Wade's lips twitched and he squeezed her hand.<br /><br />Wiping his brow, the sheriff mutely handed the envelope to the woman. Without another word, she scurried over to her desk. Wiggling her fingers so her rings clinked together in a trilling melody, she jammed some reading glasses on her nose and stared down at the fragile paper. Her lips moved as she whispered to herself. Vivi leaned forward, straining to hear. The woman raised her eyes and snarled.<br /><br />"Do you mind?" she bellowed, her wrinkled face draped in sinister shadows. The silver chain swung around her neck, trembling as she flung her arms in the air. "I'm working here!"<br /><br />"Sorry," Vivi muttered, her cheeks turning red. "I just wanted to know what you are muttering."<br /><br />"If you wish to know what is on this page, you will cease disturbing me immediately!" the woman shouted, her black eyes bugging out and spittle flying from her pale wrinkled lips. <br /><br />When Vivi stared at her sullenly, she huffed and dropped her greasy silver head back to the page. Her lips moved faster as her eyes skimmed across the page, her fingers wiggling in excitement. The cadence of the rings ringing together as her fingers fluttered in the air grew faster and louder as her whispers slid into a single hiss.<br /><br />"AMAZING!" she bellowed, slamming her fist on the desk. A rotten apple core bounced into the air, knocking over a lamp. The sheriff's face blanched and he jumped toward the letter.<br /><br />"Oh relax!" Margaret shrieked, waving the yellowed paper in the air. It crinkled like tissue paper, the spidery lines of age dancing across it's surface. "The letter is fine!"<br /><br />"What did it say?" Wade asked. Even though his voice sounded causal, Vivi could see his eyes glittering with excitement.<br /><br />Margaret flung the long silver braid over her shoulder. "First of all, it's not German."<br /><br />"It's not?" The sheriff sounded disappointed. "What is it?"<br /><br />"It's a code." Margaret smirked. "A complicated mix of German, Spanish and English. Lucky for you, I figured it out in only a few moments. You see, my studies of Latin, Russian, Arabic, tribal languages in the Southwest and Australia"--<br /><br />"What does it say?" Vivi interrupted. "Could you read it to us?"<br /><br />The woman pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "I suppose so," she growled. With a glum expression, she peered at the paper.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">My love,"</span> she read in her bitter, ancient voice. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Forgive me for my sins. If I had known my past would effect our future, I would have lived a clean life."</span> Margaret snorted. "Not likely, considering the historical records of Bullet Bill, historians agree that"--<br /><br />"Please keep reading, ma'am," the sheriff begged in a hoarse tone. "We're all anxious to hear what's in this letter."<br /><br />Margaret clenched her rotten teeth together and continued to read. "<span style="font-style: italic;">If you'll still have me, Addy, I'll marry you. A proper marriage in a proper church. I don't know if you'll want to have this old outlaw for a husband, but I'd be honored to have you for my wife." </span><br /><br />Margaret paused, her eyes glittering. Before she could comment, Vivi asked, "Was that it?"<br /><br />"No." Margaret sighed, her face tight with irritation. She took a breath and continued reading. <span style="font-style: italic;">"For many years, I stole and robbed from good, honest people. I've killed, destroyed families and taken food from babe's mouths. But that's all over with.<br /><br />"I made a fortune doing bad, and now I am to do good. I'm a rich man, Addy. And I'm man enough to admit I'm going to keep being a rich man. But I know a way to do it that'll make you proud. In the next letter, I'll tell you all about it." </span><br /><br />Margaret peered at the paper. "This doesn't make any sense. The words are so strange."<br /><br />"What's it say?" The sheriff's eyes were wide. He was hanging on to every word.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Starlight under the Oak Moon. Blue ribbons. Bluebonnet."<br /><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vivi blinked. "That doesn't sound like a song or a poem."<br /><br /><br />Wade frowned. "It's not the name of a dancehall or town either."<br /><br /><br />The sheriff wrinkled his forehead. "Well, I reckon there's only one thing we can do now..."<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">To be continued...</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow, we have a tasty new recipe! Friday, we have the Babies' birthday and this weekend, the Rubber Chicken sets off to help the Fuzzy Duck in her quest to rescue her mother. Stay tuned for more whimsical fun! </span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-21391491018251371002009-01-27T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-27T03:00:10.336-08:00The story of the Blond Duck's wedding<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd37vvNpn8jDqIPoCJ0QM34zavlQis3UKw_3ky3c1bLP7asm5cu3tvnr87yViiFzyor6frJlTxtewRhhdgyEiIUyvzGiJZCNoylrPrBUSFyXAhrkHSivs2VKwkoLQ55q1qJR7j6g/s1600-h/Alaska+329a.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd37vvNpn8jDqIPoCJ0QM34zavlQis3UKw_3ky3c1bLP7asm5cu3tvnr87yViiFzyor6frJlTxtewRhhdgyEiIUyvzGiJZCNoylrPrBUSFyXAhrkHSivs2VKwkoLQ55q1qJR7j6g/s320/Alaska+329a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295817464079610098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Growing up, I was never the kind of girl who dreamed of getting married.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">In fact, I didn't really get weddings. I'd only been to one or two, and I didn't like them much. People cried, no one would let me dance spastically around the floor and the food was terrible. Plus, I didn't know anyone and I wasn't the center of attention.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkb6Q8131_D_pOyBiEI9rXnFO4ULAGeTrCKjDsKBhs6yeb0Cl1NzeF7yqo3tNLPMtKuIJyuSIZrKuMVNHK-DAni5omBAP9whRPuPnmy4kCY-FqOPgLVseMEQArHcyBxp_zxTelqw/s1600-h/cuteee.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkb6Q8131_D_pOyBiEI9rXnFO4ULAGeTrCKjDsKBhs6yeb0Cl1NzeF7yqo3tNLPMtKuIJyuSIZrKuMVNHK-DAni5omBAP9whRPuPnmy4kCY-FqOPgLVseMEQArHcyBxp_zxTelqw/s320/cuteee.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295825369442570178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Really, I only dreamed of one thing.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Of course, I'd always thought of my husband would be like. But I never pondered about his hair color or name. I never dreamed of what tux he would look good in and what his face would look like when the church doors opened. My curiosity centered around when and where I would meet him. That was about it. I saw marriage as being legally bound to my best friend. Being a practical romantic, I never dreamed of being swept off my feet or knowing at first sight. I had a list of requirements and knew exactly what I wanted. I just hadn't found it yet.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1nUcy2MBW127y-8uZDzPak15UWoEiTA3Gt1mI65nlJjc32eemv18Lf8aFB6go3TgSabSfCRtKNFiEFwmc_Gmp6S8UvnoNgQ65lRUbINEyrj2CsKH4igzqHHaNGkAnCLAWBsh9_w/s1600-h/DSC01441.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1nUcy2MBW127y-8uZDzPak15UWoEiTA3Gt1mI65nlJjc32eemv18Lf8aFB6go3TgSabSfCRtKNFiEFwmc_Gmp6S8UvnoNgQ65lRUbINEyrj2CsKH4igzqHHaNGkAnCLAWBsh9_w/s320/DSC01441.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295826275587498386" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This picture was used on our invitations. They were far from traditional.<br /><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then one grey day at a Jason's Deli by Baylor University, I found it. I was instantly curious, extremely fascinated.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The feeling was mutual.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGkQWAOFfQgMaNzQAjPtQedxGvTZiG3Bj-d8QFn_eopHWzqs_oPiJS3KChgCUL1bEiI0TfTMbd3Smwl600Tfq4XvpSJjf9ru3WM8hiz9NeQSXhQTTGMqzzoM2Cbdj_DjYlKh8Sw/s1600-h/DSC_0205.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGkQWAOFfQgMaNzQAjPtQedxGvTZiG3Bj-d8QFn_eopHWzqs_oPiJS3KChgCUL1bEiI0TfTMbd3Smwl600Tfq4XvpSJjf9ru3WM8hiz9NeQSXhQTTGMqzzoM2Cbdj_DjYlKh8Sw/s320/DSC_0205.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295819402004034546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I'm pretty sure, anyway. I mean, not much the poor sap can do now, right?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Moving on.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Being a non-wedding kind of girl, wedding planning was more of a chore than a joy. If my mother and sister hadn't done most of the work, I'd still be sitting on the carpet dumbfounded with an engagement ring on one hand and the other stuck in my nose.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLOqyaR3bFHC5q0M4NjjS_8XrtOEIiLW2agrvZ_yK_fZzIeiHzNqZd-AoaaYp0h_DHavrStH09cJfvM5_8AlU9U67SULASBjLM8yOAhv8KtRRCdkXWtDDnP4UfRK5qa0xUgcM3w/s1600-h/DSC_0724.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCLOqyaR3bFHC5q0M4NjjS_8XrtOEIiLW2agrvZ_yK_fZzIeiHzNqZd-AoaaYp0h_DHavrStH09cJfvM5_8AlU9U67SULASBjLM8yOAhv8KtRRCdkXWtDDnP4UfRK5qa0xUgcM3w/s320/DSC_0724.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295821984964403298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I gave my poor Mom and sister hell.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">First, I demanded apple pie instead of cake. I didn't want cake. I didn't like cake. No cake. Forget traditions--I was not having a cake.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwktzQOEBSgstfdOpZmg4dtttb0zeOFqZ2SXohisLYMglfjkWcnSJbKXGVu2qZ2H1k-QiixgEv0eKXEEPSgXh4NpfycGa78y44OQh7q8ILm6hr9fIzgatD5H0iF5ukUT4aVjat6w/s1600-h/DSC_0017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwktzQOEBSgstfdOpZmg4dtttb0zeOFqZ2SXohisLYMglfjkWcnSJbKXGVu2qZ2H1k-QiixgEv0eKXEEPSgXh4NpfycGa78y44OQh7q8ILm6hr9fIzgatD5H0iF5ukUT4aVjat6w/s320/DSC_0017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295812658636317506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I had a cake. And tiered apple pies.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Next, I refused to deal with bridesmaids dresses. I told them to pick out a sundress. My mom told me to pick three colors.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMSVfhg9KG56M13C-JwEcAZtCl9RsB5jcaQSHW0vpFc1KmabxIszUIsD3T2PpSjMkGDac9iJv2C6HXPa3AixCZNZkZieJIdvqmIitjgkp4KTAHTd8kYM_qYUChX9taSgUoYcoGQ/s1600-h/DSC_0025+crop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMSVfhg9KG56M13C-JwEcAZtCl9RsB5jcaQSHW0vpFc1KmabxIszUIsD3T2PpSjMkGDac9iJv2C6HXPa3AixCZNZkZieJIdvqmIitjgkp4KTAHTd8kYM_qYUChX9taSgUoYcoGQ/s320/DSC_0025+crop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295816011772250290" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">My sister's the one in green.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">For six long months, I snarled and snapped every time someone mentioned the word wedding. I ranted about trends that had nothing to do with love, howled when I received a million silver platters instead of practical sheets and towels as gifts and staunchly refused anything but a traditional bridal shower. I wasn't having a lingerie party, a bachelorette party, an engagement party or a look at me party. For something that was all about me, I tried to make it as un-about me as possible.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ2xNNERv-XRUhARQxJyAx5Wlwbuj_-F_N6tSbPO_DEisyAgKAvUq0ZoKvvxtPM6IMTRQq0g1J_sIrTyul-D9epnc8qq_LlozOrQfU8hKn3GLhenLDTovBNJr4JmdPlmWWPrpIA/s1600-h/DSC_0316.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ2xNNERv-XRUhARQxJyAx5Wlwbuj_-F_N6tSbPO_DEisyAgKAvUq0ZoKvvxtPM6IMTRQq0g1J_sIrTyul-D9epnc8qq_LlozOrQfU8hKn3GLhenLDTovBNJr4JmdPlmWWPrpIA/s320/DSC_0316.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295814920681432226" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But despite all that, my wedding was magical. And perfect.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRU8mguRox6Rtf5GMce-4sPPBn3Gtm0_k8ItTclzUU7OtKZTCURvWxRw_qoHKr1unO3oOrpsbAOGzbibsfrJQl0guAxEFgSXdyPu9dMLgxT9K8zHTtOxSDTf_y6-CNgJDsODnjEw/s1600-h/DSC_0399.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRU8mguRox6Rtf5GMce-4sPPBn3Gtm0_k8ItTclzUU7OtKZTCURvWxRw_qoHKr1unO3oOrpsbAOGzbibsfrJQl0guAxEFgSXdyPu9dMLgxT9K8zHTtOxSDTf_y6-CNgJDsODnjEw/s320/DSC_0399.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295819834589019330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">We got married in Austin at the County Line on the Lake. That's right--it's a barbecue restaurant.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmclTtter3n1FSUtKfkL56MTeMpgPE1GUMq2hj_PIXze5NCQHIV0thjUsFZVWPe5FHc9QDQjjRa-Ud1IC3mBfNBt37dPdkN-fCeBcvPrhoBGkeSmMqcx2M9aDpH5jM6QrQCFDmw/s1600-h/DSC_0062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmclTtter3n1FSUtKfkL56MTeMpgPE1GUMq2hj_PIXze5NCQHIV0thjUsFZVWPe5FHc9QDQjjRa-Ud1IC3mBfNBt37dPdkN-fCeBcvPrhoBGkeSmMqcx2M9aDpH5jM6QrQCFDmw/s320/DSC_0062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295818489488258002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was also a traditional spot for Pike family special family traditions. The Line, as we called it, was reserved for straight A report cards, special birthdays and major accomplishments. And the lake, or Colorado River, was also ingrained in our family. I'd been riding in my dad's boat on that lake since I was old enough to walk, and water skiing since 8. The lake was in my blood and part of my soul.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPD9Zrj1UyiOgoLBmNI_pvaCQ8-s5EjQx90cH_ZUFLEar9OdfwGIf-9YDnws3NRDMMUqaXtmBirz6CkXksSvFpRXgEOnNAAAzFMhRgZBGPv2s4NZJBMNQqTpYVh4P3vE_i91-MA/s1600-h/DSC_0043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPD9Zrj1UyiOgoLBmNI_pvaCQ8-s5EjQx90cH_ZUFLEar9OdfwGIf-9YDnws3NRDMMUqaXtmBirz6CkXksSvFpRXgEOnNAAAzFMhRgZBGPv2s4NZJBMNQqTpYVh4P3vE_i91-MA/s320/DSC_0043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295816808731797378" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Before the ceremony, Ben thought heavily about the commitment he was going to make...</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvipPjw0IVht5XlREpO7czzq9M6eNTOj1LVfpO1dSNOZYxw3BAc7U8H4FoBrQIGAztn__4qJbpFUN3aMXoMj3YQGmleLMi8yMAPhgL8SoL4MFriU5fepLUE3NOcn8VkYS8S7UAg/s1600-h/DSC_0058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvipPjw0IVht5XlREpO7czzq9M6eNTOj1LVfpO1dSNOZYxw3BAc7U8H4FoBrQIGAztn__4qJbpFUN3aMXoMj3YQGmleLMi8yMAPhgL8SoL4MFriU5fepLUE3NOcn8VkYS8S7UAg/s320/DSC_0058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295818151020750114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">While I thought heavily about the apple pies.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekmgwL3cNTMnrPWv5Rd6bWSRugcEtK-av5Vmq0wmoRoM0v_t4oM3SBcdjDT-uEHvcXbQWnO8tqQb7MozpFwlz_oPzYo1BAbEzRQ1fE9XQbgHWcbkQzBILDQ_BvvEZjDVfhl_Vyw/s1600-h/DSC_0159.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekmgwL3cNTMnrPWv5Rd6bWSRugcEtK-av5Vmq0wmoRoM0v_t4oM3SBcdjDT-uEHvcXbQWnO8tqQb7MozpFwlz_oPzYo1BAbEzRQ1fE9XQbgHWcbkQzBILDQ_BvvEZjDVfhl_Vyw/s320/DSC_0159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295818904837117778" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">We were married by a justice of the peace at high noon on May 27, 2006. As we walked down the aisle, my father teased me about water moccasins...</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdeP-H9AUNBxKKmBTjrjV_M8oCSvYkWsnhQ5K6qt9IpSRuq2lKh85lrpteR67-LUKm0Hqvb4q25TAA8FLqvrR2Ctt5X5oYtKW7dVCy9INVZOG_878uIHDZ3G3Nv-CFFw4xBpkAQ/s1600-h/DSC_0687.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdeP-H9AUNBxKKmBTjrjV_M8oCSvYkWsnhQ5K6qt9IpSRuq2lKh85lrpteR67-LUKm0Hqvb4q25TAA8FLqvrR2Ctt5X5oYtKW7dVCy9INVZOG_878uIHDZ3G3Nv-CFFw4xBpkAQ/s320/DSC_0687.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295821478052509122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Little did he know one would show up later, much to the delight of Ben's city-slicker friends. Trust me, it's there. Look for it.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXCqSxJy9UGKNkjZmtchvo0GdPrv-qVMT6cDbBAxl8aaUMAYzbOjWORviEJgJxeh_LKRJpJe3L3vEfOAgzzvCLqEZtZ6tzj3JYLXsFLk0krubA3u5GJyEawYEUczB8Q8Zole9RrA/s1600-h/DSC_0455.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXCqSxJy9UGKNkjZmtchvo0GdPrv-qVMT6cDbBAxl8aaUMAYzbOjWORviEJgJxeh_LKRJpJe3L3vEfOAgzzvCLqEZtZ6tzj3JYLXsFLk0krubA3u5GJyEawYEUczB8Q8Zole9RrA/s320/DSC_0455.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295820200914467858" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">By 12:30 p.m., the wedding was over and the reception had begun.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUkk_TntAGA4rOuyI9FWwsz59SBIe5naJwcc0zKL1WBj67o3OaomDUG8rxTK4__2_uWJGk9zKRViRivAb8mKUuthr6iDV0NOWPsXecaLsB8uz8ZPN8sh0ICxIn2jJvt2hYqICTQ/s1600-h/DSC_0496.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUkk_TntAGA4rOuyI9FWwsz59SBIe5naJwcc0zKL1WBj67o3OaomDUG8rxTK4__2_uWJGk9zKRViRivAb8mKUuthr6iDV0NOWPsXecaLsB8uz8ZPN8sh0ICxIn2jJvt2hYqICTQ/s320/DSC_0496.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295820740518195810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was time for ribs!</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhicpV_wT3BfmvshjA-lLtQADWSb8hmee8np3lULEVbu4to8rDN8VJVud4AJurGWNh4M49hEryBupqxhhSNa7Y5KfNCoKvxSVDpQJGT9sgnwUKpjUxXlPV4-zhmK9jYZ7jC0b3oFA/s1600-h/DSC_0542.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhicpV_wT3BfmvshjA-lLtQADWSb8hmee8np3lULEVbu4to8rDN8VJVud4AJurGWNh4M49hEryBupqxhhSNa7Y5KfNCoKvxSVDpQJGT9sgnwUKpjUxXlPV4-zhmK9jYZ7jC0b3oFA/s320/DSC_0542.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295815449382482594" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And dancing on the patio...</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOITNW9XU_JAOgq-UHJCKM4OdC4BLWiwPto2dPynIYq-AXKQlNWgBGKa_isDPDNXyrVtul7fb_LIDUM4LjET_Qn0k6eNz45OSrv0PVacJhiq0CDjhkDzHzeBBDNffmn0SaP4Inw/s1600-h/DSC_0708.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOITNW9XU_JAOgq-UHJCKM4OdC4BLWiwPto2dPynIYq-AXKQlNWgBGKa_isDPDNXyrVtul7fb_LIDUM4LjET_Qn0k6eNz45OSrv0PVacJhiq0CDjhkDzHzeBBDNffmn0SaP4Inw/s320/DSC_0708.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295822364325041618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Starting new fashion trends....</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJMsLSz6pLglDB2_V-mugf8mIhqBaRr-MO6x97uKUOenOkxA3bQCOwmtVLhZAOFYijATJlR2YpSfHU6SvELvjpjSSE6QYKwr769B_pGEjHizVgeteM9N9EnlsoTnPjfkq3i-HeRw/s1600-h/DSC_0723.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJMsLSz6pLglDB2_V-mugf8mIhqBaRr-MO6x97uKUOenOkxA3bQCOwmtVLhZAOFYijATJlR2YpSfHU6SvELvjpjSSE6QYKwr769B_pGEjHizVgeteM9N9EnlsoTnPjfkq3i-HeRw/s320/DSC_0723.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295823331475177058" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And annoying neighbors by throwing bouquets to their 15-year-old daughters even though they specifically asked you not to. Of course, I was just as horrified as he was.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkJudhxhSbKavCpwyNJsQY9GQkDPbQoSC3ap3jvbNTwSx7-6yGXB8xc3X6b6V5WSJbDThJbilDrTkEG4pM6llVT-gLB9XU8ENoEmZHB5Nv48yL9qjXZD9lF1T0EC9Vp0yYjYSmg/s1600-h/DSC_0744.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkJudhxhSbKavCpwyNJsQY9GQkDPbQoSC3ap3jvbNTwSx7-6yGXB8xc3X6b6V5WSJbDThJbilDrTkEG4pM6llVT-gLB9XU8ENoEmZHB5Nv48yL9qjXZD9lF1T0EC9Vp0yYjYSmg/s320/DSC_0744.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295824136920217954" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have no idea.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2dROsHbyHgb5A7vWtV6VrvDo5hTgq1rAsYDj8dkJucYcmKlq6QmqhiJfRZzaXGOc_9rBUvF665Ru32C5GWSvdaPqidzx5ISf8vf24MGbUFKnTVMKP1Hs1IM2lk3dcl6YfHYiew/s1600-h/DSC_0780.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2dROsHbyHgb5A7vWtV6VrvDo5hTgq1rAsYDj8dkJucYcmKlq6QmqhiJfRZzaXGOc_9rBUvF665Ru32C5GWSvdaPqidzx5ISf8vf24MGbUFKnTVMKP1Hs1IM2lk3dcl6YfHYiew/s320/DSC_0780.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295824570163003490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A little after three, we decided the reception had come to an end. Our guests reinforced this by throwing white bio-degradable rice at us.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1w785lFDgQNRcu6wrike-YiHc22_gzseAUuHIkKwXFEY07s5qmdiFCoLAI6JFt_uw8-Xr9hTSss-ctCOEDqwrnJwVAOIPgY9Bn-Jl02ytXyo8rlZkuzVAfC-Toc9dhO6kN5E_w/s1600-h/DSC_0793.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1w785lFDgQNRcu6wrike-YiHc22_gzseAUuHIkKwXFEY07s5qmdiFCoLAI6JFt_uw8-Xr9hTSss-ctCOEDqwrnJwVAOIPgY9Bn-Jl02ytXyo8rlZkuzVAfC-Toc9dhO6kN5E_w/s320/DSC_0793.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295825102186821394" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Giddy and breathless, we drove away to my parent's a few miles down the road for a post-reception celebration. We spent the afternoon swimming, dining with friends and visiting with family.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The next day, after spending the night in a hotel, we headed to my parent's for a special neighborhood reception that included a tricked out golf cart, lots of rice and a whole lot of fun...</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MLVc0rxv31k_Lk4zFP9KQhCuexk9QA6GMAQJiHP33Ez_1wiJoE9FxCROyS8wYxAh3R_Vqx-5IdorUeFTNVMDu5gq2cTZ0ZbLCaa1ibeH2NUnv6NRgi9cvii3OGCwC_vD4yfOAQ/s1600-h/DSC_0307.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MLVc0rxv31k_Lk4zFP9KQhCuexk9QA6GMAQJiHP33Ez_1wiJoE9FxCROyS8wYxAh3R_Vqx-5IdorUeFTNVMDu5gq2cTZ0ZbLCaa1ibeH2NUnv6NRgi9cvii3OGCwC_vD4yfOAQ/s320/DSC_0307.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295814212895783890" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But that, dear Invisible Friends, is another story.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Oh, and why did I get married at 21, two weeks after my college graduation and a week after buying my first house and moving to a city three hours away?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Because I wanted to. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">For more wedding tales, visit </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://elislids.blogspot.com/">Eli's Lids.</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> She's linked up dozens of fun wedding post from romantic bloggers. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tommorow we have a new Twirl and Thursday.... Ben's famous hand-made-sauce-dripping-Mini Meat balls! And Friday, we have the Babies' birthday and the Rubber Chicken's search for his long lost date. Stay tuned!</span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com123tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-40824181501554414222009-01-26T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-26T03:00:04.719-08:00The Gift 8<span style="font-family: georgia;">Stop!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Did you read the date of the </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/mysterious-date-between-rubber-chicken.html">Fuzzy Duck and Rubber Chicken</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Did you read the last edition of </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/gift-7.html">the Gift?</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> (If you didn't, read it before today's post or you'll be sorry!)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And what about my </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/lunch-date.html">sweet tribute to the lunch date?<br /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ok. You may proceed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Samantha peeled her face off Rouge's t-shirt and smiled as he pounded her on the back in the most enthusiastic bear hug she'd ever received.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"It's so good to see you!" he cried, stepping back to beam down at her. "Aye, it's been too long Samantha!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Hey, that's my girlfriend you're hugging!" Jeremy bellowed, thrashing around in the doorway. "Back off, Irish boy!" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Oh, shut up," Ashley groaned, stepping on his foot with her high-heeled boot as she hurried toward Rouge. Jeremy howled as she smiled at Rouge. "Remember me, handsome?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Ashley!" Rouge cried, releasing Samantha to embrace Ashley. "My other partner in crime! It's like Christmas, it is!" He turned toward Cleo and bowed his head. "And who is this other fine lady with you?" He winked at Cleo and she blushed, holding out her hand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I'm Cleo," she simpered, biting her lip as Rouge raised her hand to his lips. "I'm a friend of Samantha's from grad school."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You're in grad school?" Rouge whirled around and stared at Samantha. "I always knew you were brilliant, darling. What are you studying?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Psychology," Samantha said with a grin. "You know I always like studying people. I want to be a family therapist. I'm fascinated by the dynamics of relationships."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"If she was only better at studying her own relationships," Ashley muttered, jerking her head towards Jeremy. "Or lack thereof."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rouge burst into laughter as Samantha shrieked and started toward Ashley. "Girls, come in and have a drink on me," he said, his voice rising and falling in a thick Irish cadence. He steered the three girls through the pub doors. "If you're up to it, there's a drink for you at the bar," he addressed Jeremy, his lips twitching in a grin. "If you're done howling like a banshee and all that."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Jeremy snarled, but pulled himself upright and limped inside. He plopped down at the end of the bar away from Samantha and her friends, shooting wounded glances their way as he nursed a beer. The girls ignored them. Their attention was solely on Rouge, who was handing them platters of Shepard's pie and fish and chips with thick mugs of Irish beer. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"So I suppose you're wondering where I went," he said to Samantha, his eyes twinkling.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Duh!" she exclaimed. "I tried to find you for years. It was like you just disappeared off the face of the Earth. What happened?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Well, my great aunt left me a fortune in her will when she died," he explained. Leaning over the bar, golden candlelight flickered across his impish features as a grin spread over his face. "When I traveled over there to receive the fortune, I found the will had certain obligations that came with it. For two or three years, I had loose ends to tie up with family business before the fortune could become mine. As soon as I finished the last task, I was back on a plane to America."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Why didn't you call me?" Samantha asked. "Why wouldn't you tell me any of this?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"It was a complicated situation," Rouge admitted. "Plus, I was in the middle of the Irish countryside. Post was the only way of communication. It was as though I'd gone back 100 years in time. I never expected it to take so long. By the time I came back, I had no idea how to contact you. Your parents had moved and no one from our old school knew where you had gone."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Why a bar?" Cleo asked. "Why didn't you finish college?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rouge's eyes twinkled. "It was my dream," he murmured, his rich accent sending shivers down Samantha's spine. "It was the last part of the puzzle that had to be completed. I wanted to make my grand dad proud, you know? So I came back here, found this property and spent two years getting this set up. I wanted it to be a proper Irish pub." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rouge leaned forward, running his thumb under Samantha's chin. "I never forgot about you," he said earnestly. "I never stopped thinking of you. And there is so much to tell you"--</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Sir?" A waitress approached Rouge with a hesitant smile. "We're having a bit of a problem in the kitchen."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rouge groaned and flashed a smile at the girls. "I'll be back," he promised. "Excuse me." He winked at Samantha and disappeared into the kitchen. Samantha heard clangs and clashes of metal and winced.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"He's so crazy about you," Ashley announced.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Totally," Cleo agreed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You guys are crazy," Samantha argued. She pulled a fork out of her napkin to dig into the fish and chips. "We're just friends."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A hand tapped her shoulder, and she turned around. A man with dark hair and light, grey eyes stood behind her. He was dressed in all black and holding a electric blue drink. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"A gift," he said, bowing as he handed her the glass. "He wanted you to have this."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Who?" Ashley demanded.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Rouge, of course," Samantha said as she accepted the glass. She smiled and thanked the man. Raising the glass to her lips, she took a tentative sip of the electric blue liquid. The sweet cold liquid jolted across her teeth and down her throat, her entire system tingling.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And then the world went white. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">To be continued....<br /><br />Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have the wedding story you've all been waiting for! Then we have a new Twirl, a tasty classic Pond recipe and the Babies' birthday! Plus, can the Rubber Chicken find the Fuzzy Duck? Stay tuned to find out!<br /></span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-52735106710200748312009-01-25T06:56:00.001-08:002009-01-25T07:49:06.914-08:00Lunch Date<span style="font-family: georgia;">It's my favorite time of the week.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">For days before, giddy possibilities fill my mind. It could be fish, a sandwich, a hamburger or even barbecue. It could be ice cream or pizza, or even soup and salad.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKfzXprsnX4B9QJ1Jeuj_GW8iEU-BIrmTbXywepq7DfgN2-rgUjtdWqHtndLuLertn0O5sCorv_cuArQHI_1uxVWeotzf4a8nAhnL8wk2v6SoG43SNOCFNxC9rDvyY8Vw-pLRSg/s1600-h/DSC03866.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKfzXprsnX4B9QJ1Jeuj_GW8iEU-BIrmTbXywepq7DfgN2-rgUjtdWqHtndLuLertn0O5sCorv_cuArQHI_1uxVWeotzf4a8nAhnL8wk2v6SoG43SNOCFNxC9rDvyY8Vw-pLRSg/s320/DSC03866.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295247050298647314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It could be on a Friday or a Saturday, a Monday or a Sunday. It could be at eleven or one, twelve or two.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXGairpS7UA59bPoIXYwar8o8nwVkaE8B__Keojuji-gIiZZeArqWsl0arXuulX94yrJa1hXot8rdJNQFNnsVMY4uzxsZh9clMXHIK75fKZP_ELqz2Kj7xQuCnQzvN4hwN78p7A/s1600-h/DSC03094.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXGairpS7UA59bPoIXYwar8o8nwVkaE8B__Keojuji-gIiZZeArqWsl0arXuulX94yrJa1hXot8rdJNQFNnsVMY4uzxsZh9clMXHIK75fKZP_ELqz2Kj7xQuCnQzvN4hwN78p7A/s320/DSC03094.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295254436717111458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It could be downtown or a few blocks from the house. It could be out of town or at the drive through around the corner.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDBJHbJ0L_Wh1OIpcbKhxJroAc1Wkik18neg8STDznj2_mpQlk33Tz7r_TibBFMUaUmJtMXhnnkd27SXE4JUOY07yazkCGgtF8gwffxDwoBe9jxrctNjvXnHI4PgLPcjXvaTM4Q/s1600-h/petting+zoo+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDBJHbJ0L_Wh1OIpcbKhxJroAc1Wkik18neg8STDznj2_mpQlk33Tz7r_TibBFMUaUmJtMXhnnkd27SXE4JUOY07yazkCGgtF8gwffxDwoBe9jxrctNjvXnHI4PgLPcjXvaTM4Q/s320/petting+zoo+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295253823075449202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sometimes I'm in dance pants, sometimes I'm in a fancy dress. Sometimes I've taken a shower, sometimes I smell like a sewer.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But it's ok.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdbNu2Hx_lp9GW9n1_UcX1JRz8ZlKkoZVD5QwlkU8ihFUBfP_3QlQjj0Rf5yVgQg8e8zfu2QC5iaK5RZ3M4L-xkBQDLDaBisljWOEkIFp2o-82I34ry2PN1PaK8NWm6MPrqLCjw/s1600-h/DSC01119.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdbNu2Hx_lp9GW9n1_UcX1JRz8ZlKkoZVD5QwlkU8ihFUBfP_3QlQjj0Rf5yVgQg8e8zfu2QC5iaK5RZ3M4L-xkBQDLDaBisljWOEkIFp2o-82I34ry2PN1PaK8NWm6MPrqLCjw/s320/DSC01119.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295256105872020002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Because even if I talk too much about myself, smear icing or barbecue sauce all over my face or wear a cracker on my head, you just smile.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21whOqNvSYa2uwQlBLD52p7CiZ_ENBmPrjygleQWLoKTEFGVqsPoHpJpAwWyDTmvTh6MzCuEjcy04Ahadtat-OfsjFpjcX9BVfhyphenhyphenmP2WazBjs6zyC9q9koljd1UJiamiFPHRd8A/s1600-h/anniversary+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21whOqNvSYa2uwQlBLD52p7CiZ_ENBmPrjygleQWLoKTEFGVqsPoHpJpAwWyDTmvTh6MzCuEjcy04Ahadtat-OfsjFpjcX9BVfhyphenhyphenmP2WazBjs6zyC9q9koljd1UJiamiFPHRd8A/s320/anniversary+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295257036568893714" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And even when I demand dessert at every occasion and steal bites of your leftover hamburger, you think it's cute.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And even when I pick yuppie sandwich places because I was fooled by the cute pink tables and fall into a wallowing funk, you buy me a cupcake to cheer me up.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwzUiiUkq288mPhc9Fun0-2ZfDMnzqm-6q2L-T0vh2r9UvJlsBL2uKxWK78dBaKmlds6DR8pu7u12_kXl-X8o_ZkIua_FbId5GVbJEKcDdz4BsRVWBEvbbYB04ZcTLDIJjHqQ4A/s1600-h/wedding+and+graduation+038.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwzUiiUkq288mPhc9Fun0-2ZfDMnzqm-6q2L-T0vh2r9UvJlsBL2uKxWK78dBaKmlds6DR8pu7u12_kXl-X8o_ZkIua_FbId5GVbJEKcDdz4BsRVWBEvbbYB04ZcTLDIJjHqQ4A/s320/wedding+and+graduation+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295257978962951874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Because at lunch, it's just us. It's not about the puppies, it's not about work, it's not about family or friends or the people sitting at the table next to us.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And even now, my favorite time of the week is a lunch date.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZfXQFQoSNW6jtn2Q_f60_sT2uZFUJghLZc0eld4r9uvscdMipKKINVEBMP-2U8YfafeE8JEtqmmdNKNUQcDtvJEVrqzbVDh7Iq1iRur94NVEifBOS1-4ntG0SgLEzNwiBQ8yIg/s1600-h/Mom+and+Karen+Bday+157.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZfXQFQoSNW6jtn2Q_f60_sT2uZFUJghLZc0eld4r9uvscdMipKKINVEBMP-2U8YfafeE8JEtqmmdNKNUQcDtvJEVrqzbVDh7Iq1iRur94NVEifBOS1-4ntG0SgLEzNwiBQ8yIg/s320/Mom+and+Karen+Bday+157.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295246394233268386" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">With you.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a week full of whimsical fun! We've got a new gift tomorrow and the promised wedding post Tuesday. In addition, we've got a new Twirl, classic Pond recipe of one of the Blond Duck's favorite foods and the Babies' Birthday (will they get their peanut butter puppy pie?) Stay tuned to find out! </span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com63tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-29084954763650309032009-01-24T06:06:00.000-08:002009-01-24T06:54:17.826-08:00The Gift 7<span style="font-family: georgia;">For the previous edition of the Gift, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/gift-6.html">here. </a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A few hours later, they were all in a car barreling towards Samantha's hometown. With flat-ironed hair, artfully-lined eyes and a sweater dress hugging every inch of her body, Samantha felt like she was being shown at the big city livestock fair. She had expressed the sentiment to Ashley earlier. Ashley merely snorted and flung a pair of silver hoops at her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Ok, Samantha, you're not thinking clearly," Ashley had informed her, pulling on dark jeans that looked more like tights. "Let's go over the facts again, shall we?" She paused with her jeans half-way up her thighs, ticking the points off on her fingers. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You get a mysterious package hidden in the hutch, addressed to you from a mysterious Me who ends everything with "Until Sunset." The package contains a flower that spit out a diamond and blue topaz Celtic love symbol. Now, your best male friend from Ireland who was madly in love with you for years opened up a club in your hometown called Until Sunset. Do the math."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I haven't spoken to Rouge in years," Samantha protested, pulling at the hem of her sweater dress. She frowned at the tall boots Ashley pointed at. "I'm going to look like a hooker. And I feel like a stuffed sausage in this dress. I have eaten far too much to wear something this tight."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ashley rolled her eyes. "The point is to look sexy. Some guy sent you a diamond necklace and you want to show up in sweatpants?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Samantha wasn't so opposed to the idea. Shifting in the stiff car seats, she shuffled her feet. Sweatpants would have been really nice right now. She had gone from feeling like a stuffed sausage to a sardine.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I don't get it," Jeremy whined from the backseat. "Why are we driving 200 miles to go to a club? I thought the whole point of this trip was to relax in Sam's parents cabin?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Samantha grit her teeth at the name. "You didn't have to come," she reminded him sweetly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You could have watched the work out DVDs you gave Samantha for Christmas," Cleo pointed out, an edge to her sweet smile.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I couldn't let you girls go down here alone," Jeremy protested. "Someone has to protect you. Besides, I still am Samantha's boyfriend."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The car grew silent for a moment. The unspoken words </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">for now</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> hung in the air. Samantha shivered and pressed her face to the window.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You didn't even get breakfast," Ashley griped, breaking the silence. "How are you going to protect us if you couldn't even get us a egg McMuffin?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The girls burst into laughter, and Jeremy sulked and crossed his arms. He didn't speak another word until the girls pulled into Samantha's hometown.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"This is where you grew up?" he asked, his eyes bugging out. He stared at the wooden cottages and snug brick houses that trickled into a Main Street speckled with ancient brick buildings and long wooden stores. "This looks like Mayberry or something. It's straight out of the 1950s. Why would anyone open up a club here?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"It's only a few miles from a major metropolitan city," Ashley pointed out, her eyes snapping. "Most people commute. Besides, it's not small. 30,000 people live here. This is the historic part of downtown."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"People who like family values and fresh air move here," Cleo added, her lips pursed. "People that don't want their kids growing up in traffic and drug-infested barrios." Cleo had grown up in a town of 1000 people. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I thought your parents were loaded," Jeremy said, a horrified look crossing his face as an old man drove past him on a tractor. "Why did you live in this po-dunk place if you could have lived in a high rise condo downtown? How did they ever make their money?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Samantha's jaw dropped and her eyes flared. Without a word, she and her friends turned on their heel and walked to the nearest diner. Jeremy stood in the street, scratching his head and shrieking as a trailer full of cows rattled by.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">By the time evening fell, everyone was desperate for a drink. They walked up to the entrance of the club. Bright gold letters announcing "Until Sunset" scrolled across a brand new wooden building. Through thick glass windows, she could see golden swirling embellishments painted near the ceiling on dark wooden walls. The bar was sleek dark mahogany and dotted with bottles of alcohol on thin dark shelves. The tables were thick with leather bar stools and luscious couches curled in the corners for intimate conversations. It screamed edge and tradition in the same breath.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">She didn't know how he had done it, but she knew </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">he</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> had done it. Every touch was his. The band in the back began to play, and she took a deep breath. Her stomach was curled into a hard knot that ached every every step she took. She could feel her jaw beginning to tighten and she forced herself to relax.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was just rouge, after all.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Hot damn, I need a shot!" Jeremy howled, shoving around her and interrupting her thoughts. He pushed past Ashley and she stomped on his foot with her stiletto boot. Jeremy swore and hopped up and down, his face red and his eyes shining with moisture.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What did you do that for, you stupid"--</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"If you say one more word, I'm going to shove a margarita glass"-- Ashley broke off when Samantha grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry, but you don't shove past ladies."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Who said you were a lady?" Jeremy taunted. Cleo stepped on his other foot with her own high heel and he howled so loudly everyone turned to look.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Oh, shut up," Ashley said in an exasperated tone as the thick wooden door swung open, smacking Jeremy in the leg. He screamed, pressing his pained face against the window to the delight of the curious pub patrons. <br /><br />"Why can't you be a man for once in your pathetic life?" Ashley demanded. She raised her purse again but a strange arm grabbed hers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What seems to be the problem here?" A thick Irish brogue cut through Jeremy's heated reply. Samantha turned her head and forgot to breathe. It was him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He hadn't changed at all. His thick auburn hair draped across his forehead, stubble traveled down his sculpted cheeks and his lips were curled in his signature grin. He was more buff than he had been in high school, his thin arms now toned and muscular. Biting her lip, she turned to face him. His bright blue eyes flickered over to her, then widened.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Samantha?" he said. The name in her stomach grew tighter, then relaxed as a beaming grin bloomed across his face. "Is it you?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">She nodded. "Hello Rouge," she said, raising her hand in a wave. The next thing she knew, her face was buried into his shoulder.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">To be continued....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a fun post and we have a week full of whimsical fun, including a classic Pond recipe, the Babies' birthday party and the story of why I got married at 21 (for real, Francesca!) Stay tuned!</span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-42822898112845378162009-01-23T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-23T03:00:05.436-08:00A Mysterious Date between the Rubber Chicken and Fuzzy Duck<span style="font-family: georgia;">To see the previous dates and learn about the Fuzzy Duck and Rubber Chicken's story, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/12/third-date-of-fuzzy-duck-and-rubber.html">here </a><span style="font-family: georgia;">and </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://7-7-7heavensent.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20Yellow%20Chicken%20and%20the%20Fuzzy%20Duck">here</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was nothing like he had planned.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAtzSmYkti_m7S2dGzawy6wMsas6d0e66J7UiUaW61c2mct0zCVi-KfChpzs3yauPUY8nsyY8H_LxGB78q-Auz9Lg8PMG1Ydgxhp1BJqkBtQbvmvDjXdLlUTXbt9fEcpzPB0lpg/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAtzSmYkti_m7S2dGzawy6wMsas6d0e66J7UiUaW61c2mct0zCVi-KfChpzs3yauPUY8nsyY8H_LxGB78q-Auz9Lg8PMG1Ydgxhp1BJqkBtQbvmvDjXdLlUTXbt9fEcpzPB0lpg/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294432812203564162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">After their last romantic date, the Rubber Chicken knew what he wanted to ask. The long separation at Christmas had made him even more anxious. The days had felt like weeks and the weeks had felt like years. The phone calls and letters weren't enough. He had to see the Fuzzy Duck, stroke her yellow feathers and kiss that orange beak. And most importantly, he had to ask the question that was burning a hole in his soul.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoqZkx-o6g0UXU_o5PPwqjNd1DRaO1nJ7Dze-v7rA9hmxONVwNvyG6Dwsc32kdB_2bD9QaB21HyPVa095MmHdj66IdWTSep-mR20VZr66SZWwRBAywke33pnqfzNRSnEmFUchbQ/s1600-h/DSC04612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoqZkx-o6g0UXU_o5PPwqjNd1DRaO1nJ7Dze-v7rA9hmxONVwNvyG6Dwsc32kdB_2bD9QaB21HyPVa095MmHdj66IdWTSep-mR20VZr66SZWwRBAywke33pnqfzNRSnEmFUchbQ/s320/DSC04612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294434329910080578" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The duck of his dreams<br /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He had made the reservations at the Nugget, the new hot restaurant, a week in advance. He had called the florist and told her to put together the prettiest bouquet. He'd gotten a feather cut, shined his shoes and ironed his shirt.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">For thirty minutes he waited at the restaurant. The Fuzzy Duck never showed.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAev03W5sN9eZgWQ23PtnfqBJM-1wwvX7GZ_JvkIEaE2cRcGVDN74TkhG5iCSgjxCPwAgM8O5X2Jdr2ohV0gaQwB4ms3wyZ7e6RZqQyerAiLit1iwG0DFEs9T-QVG0ObEQyZiCMg/s1600-h/DSC04811.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAev03W5sN9eZgWQ23PtnfqBJM-1wwvX7GZ_JvkIEaE2cRcGVDN74TkhG5iCSgjxCPwAgM8O5X2Jdr2ohV0gaQwB4ms3wyZ7e6RZqQyerAiLit1iwG0DFEs9T-QVG0ObEQyZiCMg/s320/DSC04811.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294435555137332306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In his state of devastation, it was as though he could see her fuzzy feathers at the table.<br /><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">With his head lowered, the Rubber Chicken tipped the waiter and left the restaurant. Something was wrong. He knew it. The Fuzzy Duck would have never stood him up.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGP-g0-mOS6uUv9RFhLPLD5Ov1NN1l5jEA2rFehJE8dPqYGrvbKNCIavsNse2v9ozYhohvP6pp5hc8fj2YTj-dbflGjWjx2bXqzBn0TJDb0Z9n12Fz4CcVHhrswafx-Nxjm5XzbA/s1600-h/DSC04720.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGP-g0-mOS6uUv9RFhLPLD5Ov1NN1l5jEA2rFehJE8dPqYGrvbKNCIavsNse2v9ozYhohvP6pp5hc8fj2YTj-dbflGjWjx2bXqzBn0TJDb0Z9n12Fz4CcVHhrswafx-Nxjm5XzbA/s320/DSC04720.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294434722629079778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He made a beeline for her friend the mermaid, who often hung out at the Fuzzy Duck's cottage.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1kYWnnCF3P9SlVmHrMQbdV4CD0IL7nt3iirykwx54qplmGrrcrIAsmZa1Q8LKrjWlJ1orB2htuT-LdzL9G3VYiOSCLFI0mRZ9vV8WMDxmd1_fJhcj-oD3e2kdc4b10vpp8CtusA/s1600-h/DSC04614.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1kYWnnCF3P9SlVmHrMQbdV4CD0IL7nt3iirykwx54qplmGrrcrIAsmZa1Q8LKrjWlJ1orB2htuT-LdzL9G3VYiOSCLFI0mRZ9vV8WMDxmd1_fJhcj-oD3e2kdc4b10vpp8CtusA/s320/DSC04614.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294436805568310482" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">As soon as she opened the door, he knew it was bad news.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I thought you might come here," she said. Hiding her face behind her green tail, she handed him a letter. "Read this."</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAtzSmYkti_m7S2dGzawy6wMsas6d0e66J7UiUaW61c2mct0zCVi-KfChpzs3yauPUY8nsyY8H_LxGB78q-Auz9Lg8PMG1Ydgxhp1BJqkBtQbvmvDjXdLlUTXbt9fEcpzPB0lpg/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAtzSmYkti_m7S2dGzawy6wMsas6d0e66J7UiUaW61c2mct0zCVi-KfChpzs3yauPUY8nsyY8H_LxGB78q-Auz9Lg8PMG1Ydgxhp1BJqkBtQbvmvDjXdLlUTXbt9fEcpzPB0lpg/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294432812203564162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gulping, the Rubber Chicken took the letter. His eyes skimmed over the hastily written words and he felt his chest tighten.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">Darling," </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">the Fuzzy Duck's desperate hand had scrawled. "</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">Something terrible has happened. My mother has been captured by the dreadful Skull Face of the Halloween decorations. He's threatening to hold her until next October. I tried to call, but I couldn't reach you. I had to go save her. Please understand. I'm yours. Hold my seat for me. Love, the Fuzzy Duck."<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Lowering the page, the Rubber Chicken stared at the floor. The Mermaid sniffled and stroked her pet seahorse.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What are you going to do now?" she asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"There's only one thing I can do," the Rubber Chicken said calmly. "I'm going after her."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What?!?" The mermaid gaped at him. "That's crazy. If she's in the attic, there could be all sorts of spiders and roaches and Easter decorations..."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I don't care," the Rubber Chicken said, puffing out his chest. "I'd die for the duck I love."</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAtzSmYkti_m7S2dGzawy6wMsas6d0e66J7UiUaW61c2mct0zCVi-KfChpzs3yauPUY8nsyY8H_LxGB78q-Auz9Lg8PMG1Ydgxhp1BJqkBtQbvmvDjXdLlUTXbt9fEcpzPB0lpg/s1600-h/DSC04688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAtzSmYkti_m7S2dGzawy6wMsas6d0e66J7UiUaW61c2mct0zCVi-KfChpzs3yauPUY8nsyY8H_LxGB78q-Auz9Lg8PMG1Ydgxhp1BJqkBtQbvmvDjXdLlUTXbt9fEcpzPB0lpg/s320/DSC04688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294432812203564162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And with that dramatic statement, he ran out into the night. He didn't know where he was going or what he was doing. He was only a simple chicken after all. A simple chicken in love.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoqZkx-o6g0UXU_o5PPwqjNd1DRaO1nJ7Dze-v7rA9hmxONVwNvyG6Dwsc32kdB_2bD9QaB21HyPVa095MmHdj66IdWTSep-mR20VZr66SZWwRBAywke33pnqfzNRSnEmFUchbQ/s1600-h/DSC04612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoqZkx-o6g0UXU_o5PPwqjNd1DRaO1nJ7Dze-v7rA9hmxONVwNvyG6Dwsc32kdB_2bD9QaB21HyPVa095MmHdj66IdWTSep-mR20VZr66SZWwRBAywke33pnqfzNRSnEmFUchbQ/s320/DSC04612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294434329910080578" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But he knew he had to find her....no matter where that might be.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To be continued...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a new Gift this weekend and all sorts of whimsical fun to keep you smiling until Monday rolls around! And soon, maybe even as soon as Sunday, the new web design will be revealed!</span><br /></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com67tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-3588470156403601662009-01-22T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-22T03:47:43.362-08:00New Recipe Series: Classy Chicken Speghetti<span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Here at the Pond, we're not the most of sophisticated of folks. Several of my Invisible Friends create glorious meals with things like butternut squash and kale and all sorts of fancy things</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">. They know what crudites are and shallots and how to make shrimp cocktails.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Meanwhile, the Ducks of the Pond eat sophisticated dishes for dinner such as nachos...</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMu-3DxLOJzrrO98lpP8SRHX1hJcW3ZN9MHWos8muVQVVhvlRBYuZ8fmAs5-UfwHXF-ALvUvYtUyByOaYd2xOgJvjc-U0hCBa2ktfX5Bvxpv8x2vdKLmxXZNhYGh6vzNecc0Hug/s1600-h/DSC03710.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMu-3DxLOJzrrO98lpP8SRHX1hJcW3ZN9MHWos8muVQVVhvlRBYuZ8fmAs5-UfwHXF-ALvUvYtUyByOaYd2xOgJvjc-U0hCBa2ktfX5Bvxpv8x2vdKLmxXZNhYGh6vzNecc0Hug/s320/DSC03710.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293900549867682786" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">French Toast....</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDoKzbBCUnLXlnOEXhihI_gnYQ57ITuKHp8GPeNCCdKwEhkx7P-5p6hLRNrbnMStkTI7rCZAot_7NJic5eutsrOiMZkwi1K83bQm3971NWM-4Ta0nVwpTiHs6Y0gFTaBeS2iJrmQ/s1600-h/DSC03743.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDoKzbBCUnLXlnOEXhihI_gnYQ57ITuKHp8GPeNCCdKwEhkx7P-5p6hLRNrbnMStkTI7rCZAot_7NJic5eutsrOiMZkwi1K83bQm3971NWM-4Ta0nVwpTiHs6Y0gFTaBeS2iJrmQ/s320/DSC03743.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293900877002759714" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Waffles...</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqZ2T75pgvai8mEm5D6QjfFJLfQGjVR5sfXf2vIEJbxB1ZX829fTYL2Jb9UZ80O1MeHuJsPN7extplyDpGJ5Jt6kk2fkk8z-4X98qP1KoJVN6eoIi9PBifm6fnkVisFa2kKSu2w/s1600-h/DSC03657.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqZ2T75pgvai8mEm5D6QjfFJLfQGjVR5sfXf2vIEJbxB1ZX829fTYL2Jb9UZ80O1MeHuJsPN7extplyDpGJ5Jt6kk2fkk8z-4X98qP1KoJVN6eoIi9PBifm6fnkVisFa2kKSu2w/s320/DSC03657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293901561891010130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Loads of beef-heavy meals like chili and meat pies...</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw5zMYsh7JdeU75cgYAQ1qlwBbp1Lwqdxfr3jRlDk5fCEx0v9B8tQhnfaQGyIX8vZxqyeTsZ4QVhcnxDq47BmfTTj2Si5658WKThofZld1JdGUVHqAKKUe4rCoMSrFEu0a2VSLoA/s1600-h/DSC03766.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw5zMYsh7JdeU75cgYAQ1qlwBbp1Lwqdxfr3jRlDk5fCEx0v9B8tQhnfaQGyIX8vZxqyeTsZ4QVhcnxDq47BmfTTj2Si5658WKThofZld1JdGUVHqAKKUe4rCoMSrFEu0a2VSLoA/s320/DSC03766.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293904322751790226" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And of course, the family favorite peanut butter....</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabU9g8jB1pmIYxm7ZLnf9mONHPyXO-ggfpPgJVDBo5V06LKq9OV33DGo1PKMTJYbfaNJpB-mJvkWxFyw2AfRs-RuQGpJf5bkx-9_lo8oGYxa529rcZi-up202yYaV0iPotvATEw/s1600-h/DSC04084.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabU9g8jB1pmIYxm7ZLnf9mONHPyXO-ggfpPgJVDBo5V06LKq9OV33DGo1PKMTJYbfaNJpB-mJvkWxFyw2AfRs-RuQGpJf5bkx-9_lo8oGYxa529rcZi-up202yYaV0iPotvATEw/s320/DSC04084.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293902155246391794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">We're a nutritionist's dream.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzIaZjwTem7fnPMWJTRVcHjFTd5Xp6sPk0fAtW6RSI1ZBrmVX3daiTmi7KLt6EO0lMRCvJxFhcCnP2GL05FbQRpSDHb3KdZwIauvYyjw0Pm1EaZ4Sx66r_Du2bRe4Xn6iqKfoYg/s1600-h/DSC01554.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzIaZjwTem7fnPMWJTRVcHjFTd5Xp6sPk0fAtW6RSI1ZBrmVX3daiTmi7KLt6EO0lMRCvJxFhcCnP2GL05FbQRpSDHb3KdZwIauvYyjw0Pm1EaZ4Sx66r_Du2bRe4Xn6iqKfoYg/s320/DSC01554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293903151713167874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And any day now, the Queen will invite us to dinner.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">So it's no surprise that in my quest to try new recipes, I found a classic recipe that I managed to make Pond-friendly.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcchNF-IIs2WBl6QzoYDIDR6hpvSnwMNUhiIhecVt4QVokzCF9neyRpKs6ZkC2wReHZwhZy51WXzTKCM_emacqnx3BmYYBsJ40C1yFOzzr0_3E6SRE7HMzOgR8YLz2SGKRjQLnQ/s1600-h/DSC05082.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcchNF-IIs2WBl6QzoYDIDR6hpvSnwMNUhiIhecVt4QVokzCF9neyRpKs6ZkC2wReHZwhZy51WXzTKCM_emacqnx3BmYYBsJ40C1yFOzzr0_3E6SRE7HMzOgR8YLz2SGKRjQLnQ/s320/DSC05082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293922552679008066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Translation: I dumped a bunch of cheese and "gravy" on it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">You all know where I get my love of </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/10/terrifying-birthday-of-sorts.html">gravy</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> from.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOj9Hwh43pqOBkCg-t28QX-Lec3cua0zPGYGg2SnTU6bOMax1UMYEl1MzH2QTl39UbF7axBn7NlgoeojlSupqlp-DM8ykd9Gg1qj_FdbidGsXBIz4XO-ZrgAQsN8nBsv-T9FxYZA/s1600-h/DSC05091.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOj9Hwh43pqOBkCg-t28QX-Lec3cua0zPGYGg2SnTU6bOMax1UMYEl1MzH2QTl39UbF7axBn7NlgoeojlSupqlp-DM8ykd9Gg1qj_FdbidGsXBIz4XO-ZrgAQsN8nBsv-T9FxYZA/s320/DSC05091.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293921985459180546" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I've never had chicken spaghetti before, but this was delicious. It was cheesy, had tons of flavor and made me seriously consider eating it for breakfast. This is pure comfort, ya'll.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And the best part is it's only 513 calories a serving. (Depending how much cheese you add. )</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfs0EmOFMr4RzTiRbTT6lK1MDBIEiEQuXH1hdjLxzyJqMlPDXY7Nafy6zOz9HbJEC9UTf7A8ubNjZgpsE6ePJj_0gTCbliq69ErzJP72HNdEbzthNOJH5KYOZ1oW3KoHjCvfIlg/s1600-h/ServingLACover2_w200.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfs0EmOFMr4RzTiRbTT6lK1MDBIEiEQuXH1hdjLxzyJqMlPDXY7Nafy6zOz9HbJEC9UTf7A8ubNjZgpsE6ePJj_0gTCbliq69ErzJP72HNdEbzthNOJH5KYOZ1oW3KoHjCvfIlg/s320/ServingLACover2_w200.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293923279316785762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I got this from my new favorite cookbook that my mother-in-law gave me for Christmas, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Serving Louisiana.<br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQC9swnGlVzmF34HaecfQgehiEo04G0tFNK_9gumrvPhFN5JcjnfihBvxGfTQB3iJemVLB3AkLTXIFLtww_BKCpWT3AaKNHsNFap1b72eI4hTkRzi7qlqoe9WMGSTgd7sa-PL2Gw/s1600-h/DSC05087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQC9swnGlVzmF34HaecfQgehiEo04G0tFNK_9gumrvPhFN5JcjnfihBvxGfTQB3iJemVLB3AkLTXIFLtww_BKCpWT3AaKNHsNFap1b72eI4hTkRzi7qlqoe9WMGSTgd7sa-PL2Gw/s320/DSC05087.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293922961510390450" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">If you enjoy candlelight meals with several courses, you might want to skip this.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">But if you enjoy spaghetti with a bit of a kick and some cheese and don't mind slurping your noodles, this is for you.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtG15-NE2DjWVOWy545yAc4_TkK-jRa5sPz7U-nxqcao2SXwClcKgRtjHNSFif_BlIJxoMPWzZkf_7YRfosKI8H60mQIc0KKzYSw8WpU4qsDlaWfEB4iUFN_oFJj1Ffh2pJU5qww/s1600-h/DSC05093.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtG15-NE2DjWVOWy545yAc4_TkK-jRa5sPz7U-nxqcao2SXwClcKgRtjHNSFif_BlIJxoMPWzZkf_7YRfosKI8H60mQIc0KKzYSw8WpU4qsDlaWfEB4iUFN_oFJj1Ffh2pJU5qww/s320/DSC05093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293921687194072050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Chicken Spaghetti from </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Serving Louisiana<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 (3 lb.) chicken</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">10 ounces of spaghetti</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 cup chopped onion</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 cup chopped bell pepper</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 cup chopped celery</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/2 cup 1 stick margarine</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 can cream of mushroom soup</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 can tomato soup</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 tblspn chili powder</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">My addition: Black olives</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Boil chicken in stock pot until tender. Drain and reserve two cups of broth. Cut chicken into bite sized pieces, getting rid of skin and bone. Cook spaghetti according to package directions and drain.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Saute the onion, bell pepper and celery in margarine in skillet until tender. Stir in reserved broth, chicken, soups and chili powder. Simmer for thirty minutes, stirring occasionally. Add pasta and mix well.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Spoon chicken mixture into 9 x 13 baking dish. Bake at 350 for 25 minutes. Sprinkle (or dump, if you're me) cheese on top if desired.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Serves 8 (I cut it in half.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a new date with the Rubber Chicken and Fuzzy Duck! And this weekend, we've got all sorts of whimsical fun and tales to keep you mesmerized until Monday morning! </span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-42082216983804392482009-01-21T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-21T03:00:51.838-08:00Letter full of secrets<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS09vxMRF1JQrwoTS-cZK8sQ2SGzmj4LxHbKrn-yKEgaqKFYtFqHrdHQDR2DC-jEC_N2XjUcMAGpOH2YJtYK9RmpqpV2ckMsnxwciBVDZrkJsq6PSPW6aUjkkJ11zq7RZWrCIluw/s1600-h/afabulous_blog_award.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS09vxMRF1JQrwoTS-cZK8sQ2SGzmj4LxHbKrn-yKEgaqKFYtFqHrdHQDR2DC-jEC_N2XjUcMAGpOH2YJtYK9RmpqpV2ckMsnxwciBVDZrkJsq6PSPW6aUjkkJ11zq7RZWrCIluw/s320/afabulous_blog_award.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293594532197723410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />You're fabulous.<br /><br />Yes, you. I can see your eyeball twitching, your head turning as you check behind you. It's ok. It's you. You're fabulous.<br /><br />And I have full authority to say that, you see, because the fabulous <a href="http://www.tatertotsandjello.blogspot.com/">Jen</a> thinks I'm fabulous. Have you met Jen? She's more than fabulous. She's creative, sweet, supportive and can make skyscrapers from rocks. She's just that good.<br /><br />I can barely get my socks to match.<br /><br />I know I'm supposed to pick five lucky bloggers, but in my current state of sleep-reduced delirium, I'm feeling the love for everyone.<br /><br />Speaking of blogging delirium, I have a confession, my darling Invisible Friends.<br /><br />I know I haven't been able to visit you all that much in the past few days, and I do apologize. I've actually been having to work at work (God forbid) and I'm in the middle of a stunning blog redesign for the Pond.<br /><br />It's good. It's really good.<br /><br />So I'll catch up today and tomorrow. Also, please don't be offended if I don't follow you. I put people I like on my blog list, and I have a whole word document of people to add. I plan to add you in the next day or two, so please know I like you! Just give me a few days to get caught up.<br /><br />Oh, and I read a blog post about people commenting back to comments on a post. I don't comment back here because I go to your blogs to comment. I feel blogs are like a college dorm room white board. I leave comments on your board, you leave replies on mine. If I put all my comments on my board, then you don't have any on yours. And really, don't we all want a full white board on our door in life?<br /><br />Right.<br /><br />Anyway, here's a new Twirl! New Invisible Friends, Twirl is the story of a star-crossed ballerina named Vivi and her handsome cowboy named Wade, who have stumbled into a international ballet scandal and a old Texas legend that might possibly lead to riches!<br /><br />For the previous edition, go <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/special-edition-twirl.html">here.</a> To catch up in the archives, go <span style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dancing">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> and </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dance">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">.<br /><br />-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Vivi and Wade couldn't drop their forks fast enough. Wade threw a few bills on the table and lead Vivi out the front door of the dancehall.<br /><br />"Sheriff, we'll follow you out there!" he hollered, tipping his hat at two blue-haired old ladies toddling into the dancehall. One had a half-empty bottle of whiskey tipping out of her bright red plastic purse.<br /><br />"SHH!" the sheriff hissed, glancing around. He shot a terrified look at the old ladies' backs. "Are you stupid, kid? You don't want to go bellowing around about this. Folks around here are old enough to remember."<br /><br />Wade grinned as he helped Vivi into the pick up. "No offense sheriff, but I doubt they're about to grab a shovel and go digging all over the Hill Country."<br /><br />The sheriff shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Boy, you don't know nothing. People have ways of getting things without doing it themselves."<br /><br />Climbing into the battered county car, he fired up the rusty old engine and peeled out of the parking lot. Wade was chuckling when he swung into the front seat of the truck. His blue eyes met Vivi's and he beamed. Without a single word, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. His rough warm hand cupped her shoulder, his thumb stroking the smooth skin slowly as they kissed. Vivi felt like she was falling as she leaned forward towards him. Her mind was spinning and her heart was pounding in her ears. Energy was racing through her veins and thoughts jumbled around in her head in broken fragments.<br /><br />Wade leaned back and grinned. "Have I ever told you how crazy I am about you?"<br /><br />Vivi shook her head. For someone who had just been kissed, her mouth was surprisingly dry. She couldn't even find the strength to babble.<br /><br />Wade just smiled and flipped on the engine. He pulled off on the old dirt road, hanging just far back enough from the sheriff.<br /><br />"What'd your parents say about you meeting my Grandpa?" he asked, flipping on a country music channel. "They all right?"<br /><br />Vivi shrugged. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her parents. Her chest tightened as she remembered her mother's face and her father's demands. The happiness she felt over Wade's kissed faded away. The only thing she could could think about now was the same questions and worry she had always felt.<br /><br />"They didn't mind you coming out all day, after being gone so long yesterday?" Wade probed. Vivi could feel his blue eyes boring into the side of her head, watching every expression flicker across her face. She looked out the window and bit the inside of her cheek.<br /><br />"It's not a big deal," she answered finally. "Don't worry about anything." It was all she could do not to scream. Didn't he understand how messy her family was? If she didn't understand them, how could he?<br /><br />Although she was afraid to admit it, she was terrified once he knew them, he would leave.<br /><br />Wade's eyebrows crinkled together. "Vivi, did you tell them where you were coming?"<br /><br />Vivi bit her cheek so hard it bled. "No," she muttered, curling towards the window.<br /><br />"Why?" Wade asked. He tapped his hands against the steering wheel. "Is it me? I don't mind meeting them. I'm sure your dad would like me if he got to know me."<br /><br />Vivi shook her head so hard she knocked her chin into the window. "Wade, it's not you," she promised. "My dad has been really obsessive lately. He wanted me to train all day for some dance with my teacher...he even wants me to blow off school! He's just pushing me really hard. And it's the same old arguments, the same old drama." Her voice was clipped.<br /><br />Wade was silent for a few minutes, his jaw moving up and down as his eyes stared out on the road. "You just left, didn't you?"<br /><br />"I stayed with Susanna last night." Vivi tried to sound positive. "It was like a girl's night or whatever."<br /><br />"Listen Vivi," Wade said, taking a deep breath. "I know you've got a weird relationship with your folks, but I don't want to add to the trouble of it. Promise me you'll quit hiding from them or lying about going out. I don't want to lose seeing you."<br /><br />"I'll be more open with them," Vivi said carefully. She knew she couldn't promise she'd quit lying or hiding. It was the only way to survive in her family.<br /><br />"Good." Wade beamed as they pulled onto a old farm road. The truck rattled down a old gravel driveway, stopping in front of a worn house that appeared to have once been painted green. A old woman with long silver hair and deep ridges in her face scowled at them for the porch.<br /><br />"Well, darling," Wade said, taking a deep breath. "Get ready for one of the weirdest afternoons of your life. I don't know much about this old historian, but I know she's different."<br /><br />Vivi looked at the woman's hard black eyes and gulped. She sat frozen in the woman's gaze as Wade walked around the car, pulling the door open for her.<br /><br />"Wade, is she a witch or something?" Vivi murmured under her breath. "I feel like she might cast a spell on me."<br /><br />"Only if you're lucky." Vivi jumped, her head snapping up. The woman was standing a few feet from them. Her long silver hair was pulled back into a long messy braid and she wore a long black dress over scuffed black boots. A chunk of turquoise hung from a braided silver chain around her neck, and every finger was adorned with a ring.<br /><br />She was the most terrifying person Vivi had ever met. Still scowling, the woman turned toward the sheriff and reached for the letter. He handed it to her, looking as uncomfortable as Vivi and Wade.<br /><br />"Shall we go inside?" she growled, turning toward the old house. "The dead don't wait for just anyone, you know. We only have a short amount of time to reveal their secrets." Cackling, she threw her head back and revealed a row of rotten teeth. Vivi tried not to wince. Grabbing Wade's hand, she followed the woman toward the house.<br /><br />The only thing she could think was there better be something really good in that letter.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To be continued....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a new recipe and Friday a date with the Fuzzy Duck and Rubber Chicken! We've also got a whole weekend of whimsical fun! Stay tuned! </span><br /><br /><br /></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-75380898389906973532009-01-20T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-20T03:00:16.352-08:00Bear's Peanut Butter Barooo<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOztdDrMlv1gXANA5IWhZG5OUX9gSG8ceBzJUWvAj3cTtYj2it-yDEI1bxzTrS-Jc29V6NYb-AlbWSQPdwz4A4gjfVTujaV597QPnttbVNdQM2xPeBj7eKhZGhhzTCR5cRVpxOMw/s1600-h/puppies+287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOztdDrMlv1gXANA5IWhZG5OUX9gSG8ceBzJUWvAj3cTtYj2it-yDEI1bxzTrS-Jc29V6NYb-AlbWSQPdwz4A4gjfVTujaV597QPnttbVNdQM2xPeBj7eKhZGhhzTCR5cRVpxOMw/s320/puppies+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293208834129284706" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hello, my name is Bear.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgh7VCeQH1Dijcv7n2BBAQUtazWs6E8GPwGQ2zsEs4uhby0pmZ4csvYIJGAYwm1LZjw2tK2oFGvpcC4HtLSH8r4RCOmhRpmnYiq8BOhPowGBlIg5aSFI6jHuVari_7yPvEXZfNA/s1600-h/puppies+049.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgh7VCeQH1Dijcv7n2BBAQUtazWs6E8GPwGQ2zsEs4uhby0pmZ4csvYIJGAYwm1LZjw2tK2oFGvpcC4HtLSH8r4RCOmhRpmnYiq8BOhPowGBlIg5aSFI6jHuVari_7yPvEXZfNA/s320/puppies+049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293206327772166178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And I have some terrible news.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">My birthday is next week.....</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKa4l2D0pH9Rsik9y8x9lRWIpgDhC8bGUV1_gvd_C8bd24eBuCn6oraizgBT3nHPQab9UX5miHcLd3npdbzQsU9dm-qF_bYP9MW3S1bMLghB9j47bNQ4N9Q4618LmHjTGKhwUHbQ/s1600-h/DSC04089.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKa4l2D0pH9Rsik9y8x9lRWIpgDhC8bGUV1_gvd_C8bd24eBuCn6oraizgBT3nHPQab9UX5miHcLd3npdbzQsU9dm-qF_bYP9MW3S1bMLghB9j47bNQ4N9Q4618LmHjTGKhwUHbQ/s320/DSC04089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293212437089585410" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Well, our birthday.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUUG-k6sX_tkvEbNYZl69M-MNvP22M4FVbUGYL6dMyhrWFNGgikT2kQcxyPAfB0MlXZzVBMnSUm0jtPg38GBaop90QegjuECX7n6Rc5TSpnTbAHQhGNYzNqpsSQfmbgNlVvzD9g/s1600-h/DSC03827.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUUG-k6sX_tkvEbNYZl69M-MNvP22M4FVbUGYL6dMyhrWFNGgikT2kQcxyPAfB0MlXZzVBMnSUm0jtPg38GBaop90QegjuECX7n6Rc5TSpnTbAHQhGNYzNqpsSQfmbgNlVvzD9g/s320/DSC03827.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293208205829433122" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">We might not get a peanut butter puppy cake. Wuffle. And it's all </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/28740062/">their </a><span style="font-family: georgia;">fault.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyNRcsfQvd84AvxD7U7RmMlkGdehHnsHPOk8NeVH-FkJcDDibi0kBH4k_tos4RYrsMHsRHy7tgdpfkhwu2LGiUq6odKsZ5J_K3vG-k1rPrBBnfwjAr0EeIzobnGEL-fRMT93x_w/s1600-h/DSC03701.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyNRcsfQvd84AvxD7U7RmMlkGdehHnsHPOk8NeVH-FkJcDDibi0kBH4k_tos4RYrsMHsRHy7tgdpfkhwu2LGiUq6odKsZ5J_K3vG-k1rPrBBnfwjAr0EeIzobnGEL-fRMT93x_w/s320/DSC03701.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293207041375769634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wuffle. Wuffle.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLPa8wbdwg-P7cwIrMudM_6aTUQcWwHsWAK7XP20WAolUBlMuh-j9c61nTJiR7ccVd3vSPIin9qANCeZnFnK7owMPaI95D0G5BRUG5TdOSGZUJQ7CBN25yC-VcosYBvzHbz0AfA/s1600-h/puppies+244.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLPa8wbdwg-P7cwIrMudM_6aTUQcWwHsWAK7XP20WAolUBlMuh-j9c61nTJiR7ccVd3vSPIin9qANCeZnFnK7owMPaI95D0G5BRUG5TdOSGZUJQ7CBN25yC-VcosYBvzHbz0AfA/s320/puppies+244.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293214450946813522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">All I wanted in life was a peanut butter puppy cake for my first birthday.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibd5IuOxS6aH4LtNrQduN4709_dqJdlgGVxsNLNEj8Sok0i903iGyl5rl1b6IzKMdZUBsqF_lMrJVqvGtr6RxXm4AKiOdjBxh89ZbFfXw5q9rJdN4ctgpgVBytJpCNAIDUCPxAxQ/s1600-h/DSC03700.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibd5IuOxS6aH4LtNrQduN4709_dqJdlgGVxsNLNEj8Sok0i903iGyl5rl1b6IzKMdZUBsqF_lMrJVqvGtr6RxXm4AKiOdjBxh89ZbFfXw5q9rJdN4ctgpgVBytJpCNAIDUCPxAxQ/s320/DSC03700.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293213775267798594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bitty wanted world domination. All I wanted was a simple cake full of peanut butter puppy safe goodness. Is that too much to ask for?</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinIii2PnB0KtIMNNqEobkPlvDk16-y9GyTwZXZX-wFZJibro5rGBpAVRnBrAkSghfOs2TO-Azd5tc4JkgIz-QA5T6vNslslkDEu6I_SlYhKS40r9elc6MztOi5_uSpbPa_RLQK6g/s1600-h/DSC03571.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinIii2PnB0KtIMNNqEobkPlvDk16-y9GyTwZXZX-wFZJibro5rGBpAVRnBrAkSghfOs2TO-Azd5tc4JkgIz-QA5T6vNslslkDEu6I_SlYhKS40r9elc6MztOi5_uSpbPa_RLQK6g/s320/DSC03571.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293211623238935266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wuffle.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wvg-w9jmhVEqbJeDQ9CQR7ln3Ctft3GxwFz3NU8EhhocsjIb7MhzibrZIKNlhTvg4lrgLr8Tk4HpI8Mqur6zeRXu_Cebvm4HL-gmUnkxn3aE1UqiD-ntWqNy9he3Xq8YbzTkCw/s1600-h/DSC03689.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wvg-w9jmhVEqbJeDQ9CQR7ln3Ctft3GxwFz3NU8EhhocsjIb7MhzibrZIKNlhTvg4lrgLr8Tk4HpI8Mqur6zeRXu_Cebvm4HL-gmUnkxn3aE1UqiD-ntWqNy9he3Xq8YbzTkCw/s320/DSC03689.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293216661005646354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">I'll give up kibble for a peanut butter puppy cake.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Barrooooo.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37HDFfhDH5g0URb8UeKikUg0Zeri5v1rlmEFSSGBqWK1yGyJDcxbDxKo_lJh8d0CgbgiZMy5UHBILtOp5dNewgsnHbY5F85eeo-3VIfCTlHLSh0OhKMuLi13vDK_wBOeDSoD05w/s1600-h/puppies+391.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37HDFfhDH5g0URb8UeKikUg0Zeri5v1rlmEFSSGBqWK1yGyJDcxbDxKo_lJh8d0CgbgiZMy5UHBILtOp5dNewgsnHbY5F85eeo-3VIfCTlHLSh0OhKMuLi13vDK_wBOeDSoD05w/s320/puppies+391.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293209509253164306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wuffle.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOFcJWtqsxdbWFH93tOYIvkEEW_8tvfUiZIoKw_vYgzDIv2Wh5Dafpq7gEXqr9v3or7DpYaaMbQsOiHrWEW0J7zgrQW_UQcuK06227LBCDNftYZaFBw5WtkOqsjawHJyidoEJ7g/s1600-h/DSC04097.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOFcJWtqsxdbWFH93tOYIvkEEW_8tvfUiZIoKw_vYgzDIv2Wh5Dafpq7gEXqr9v3or7DpYaaMbQsOiHrWEW0J7zgrQW_UQcuK06227LBCDNftYZaFBw5WtkOqsjawHJyidoEJ7g/s320/DSC04097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293217367086576146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">You see, I have a thing for peanut butter.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsMwRdoEkA4Ba6uyFBF6WJnkQfOx5ychKMVmZStKd5IaXHNg04N2r6mjRCKQQ-BlU0q5hPWYJIPb1CsjUfvLgeFssK49PMTWbRWj4ZmWa8iKtJ-h_NUK3psCJc6LvM469ORFbSQ/s1600-h/DSC04090.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsMwRdoEkA4Ba6uyFBF6WJnkQfOx5ychKMVmZStKd5IaXHNg04N2r6mjRCKQQ-BlU0q5hPWYJIPb1CsjUfvLgeFssK49PMTWbRWj4ZmWa8iKtJ-h_NUK3psCJc6LvM469ORFbSQ/s320/DSC04090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293213059299588402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">All it takes it the crack of a lid. My heart races, my paws tingle and my taste buds dance with joy. When I see that knife slathered in rich, tasty peanut butter, I literally jump for joy.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhscA5oifLddJAvrZYU_kt2Jl1uQ3UxfmQLWgphxbpvAg1ntVNhg1fWEXzVXB8EoZ3tCxUMamdGpbf2aU8V6-sAbfwLNLW4XPadvandHkUKD1ylcpbJUSHUPKkFYGG9GP2BN9OzVA/s1600-h/DSC03829.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhscA5oifLddJAvrZYU_kt2Jl1uQ3UxfmQLWgphxbpvAg1ntVNhg1fWEXzVXB8EoZ3tCxUMamdGpbf2aU8V6-sAbfwLNLW4XPadvandHkUKD1ylcpbJUSHUPKkFYGG9GP2BN9OzVA/s320/DSC03829.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293217705382544418" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'll give up Ben's famous bellyrubs for a peanut butter puppy cake.<br /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I love peanut butter. I adore peanut butter. I can't live without it.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVirQrYyFa7RDz-JrMgfqMs8yfYZ3CzBk-_3RNgz9ESaJU95bkjs5OPukgST3TtVaDP1E15394BgILRepdpVQbJTtr1Shx99xV8STcdk9lX9cdqqur5FLzCMi0E8ZDe20bXpYtQ/s1600-h/puppies+257.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVirQrYyFa7RDz-JrMgfqMs8yfYZ3CzBk-_3RNgz9ESaJU95bkjs5OPukgST3TtVaDP1E15394BgILRepdpVQbJTtr1Shx99xV8STcdk9lX9cdqqur5FLzCMi0E8ZDe20bXpYtQ/s320/puppies+257.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293218271662471602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'll try the ostrich technique of solving problems...<br /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And how can I have a good birthday party without a peanut butter puppy cake?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyOMVGbRq_oadg_k_GQ8JIdEBI79pOOZN5rBkdk4a1vrKuobvyjRoFg3Bkyhnr-qDrrnihi2TJ0rlLochcXnRzEMSWLkUfOFw_CWnCIMh-0j2Fpl5BP07r93hDL1pXOCyPxP1Rg/s1600-h/puppies+457.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyOMVGbRq_oadg_k_GQ8JIdEBI79pOOZN5rBkdk4a1vrKuobvyjRoFg3Bkyhnr-qDrrnihi2TJ0rlLochcXnRzEMSWLkUfOFw_CWnCIMh-0j2Fpl5BP07r93hDL1pXOCyPxP1Rg/s320/puppies+457.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293215102794530258" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wuffle.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkfgMTeQnc0LJfAMwdACoON7K_2GDR9FTLLC69ulgzUqdn2JDP3Teljr0HyM56IAsD7bjdActOUoqTDOe96wGPDb6b1ikmkP9GPwmuMzf3abp1to0R0z3Xah6HPwJMBQ5nT-Mz9Q/s1600-h/DSC05025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkfgMTeQnc0LJfAMwdACoON7K_2GDR9FTLLC69ulgzUqdn2JDP3Teljr0HyM56IAsD7bjdActOUoqTDOe96wGPDb6b1ikmkP9GPwmuMzf3abp1to0R0z3Xah6HPwJMBQ5nT-Mz9Q/s320/DSC05025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293218938612024066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">So you see, Invisible Friends, I need some help here. If you need me, I'll be hoping for a peanut butter puppy cake by Jan. 29 in time for my birthday. Big enough for Bitty and I to share with my friend the dolphin and the moose.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztiht8LcsD0MLw0i5DawPVzXC8uyTafSFUUg9pZQpyh2Iv9pK-FAhJVIe3oczOzn5yMDl1LkHqOeTzoBKQEPr1sZu9Qo_UO-aL9WWfIuoiFSEfj8ZWSrojTSipMz8ZMqzopQF8g/s1600-h/DSC01554.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztiht8LcsD0MLw0i5DawPVzXC8uyTafSFUUg9pZQpyh2Iv9pK-FAhJVIe3oczOzn5yMDl1LkHqOeTzoBKQEPr1sZu9Qo_UO-aL9WWfIuoiFSEfj8ZWSrojTSipMz8ZMqzopQF8g/s320/DSC01554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293219193454846194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I'll be hoping for world domination.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOztdDrMlv1gXANA5IWhZG5OUX9gSG8ceBzJUWvAj3cTtYj2it-yDEI1bxzTrS-Jc29V6NYb-AlbWSQPdwz4A4gjfVTujaV597QPnttbVNdQM2xPeBj7eKhZGhhzTCR5cRVpxOMw/s1600-h/puppies+287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOztdDrMlv1gXANA5IWhZG5OUX9gSG8ceBzJUWvAj3cTtYj2it-yDEI1bxzTrS-Jc29V6NYb-AlbWSQPdwz4A4gjfVTujaV597QPnttbVNdQM2xPeBj7eKhZGhhzTCR5cRVpxOMw/s320/puppies+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293208834129284706" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wuffle.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Love,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bear</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a new Twirl tomorrow and a offering from the New Recipe Series on Thursday. And on Friday, we'll find out how the Fuzzy Duck's date went with the Rubber Chicken. Stay tuned!</span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com76tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-17155334243856712092009-01-19T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-19T07:38:06.057-08:00The Gift 6<span style="font-family:georgia;">Stop! <br /><br />Did you read my <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/confessions-of-blond-duck.html">confessions</a> Friday?<br /><br />Did you read the special edition of <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/special-edition-twirl.html">Twirl</a>?<br /><br />What about the s<a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/candy-animals-2-and-awards-for-all.html">econd candy animals and another set of confessions?<br /></a><br />Ok.<br /><br />Proceed.<br /><br /><br /><br />To read the previous edition of the Gift, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/gift-5-and-sussies-for-all.html">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Rouge?" Jeremy poked his head in from the other room. "Who's Rouge?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Rouge?" Cleo stumbled in from her room, holding a hand over her mouth as she yawned. "Who's Rouge?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Rouge?" Samantha stared at Ashley in horror. "No. It can't be."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Yes, Rouge," Ashley repeated, jabbing her finger at the computer screen. She pointed to the Celtic love pendant image on the screen, then at the diamond and blue topaz version in her hand.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9VpIbsGDIVb_7Z-d1uxIFHDXYXRYD5-gxF-w-Ylkjy2EuQ1ESDtM8S2JMAMmNFk8faOE2VD84cic57lonwVg4PQSh-DrjvYQeVDTE1Nkurj2Cah7-hjxec-KmfpfPSCROsJ-TA/s1600-h/sterling-silver-celtic-love-knots-filigree-circle-pendant.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9VpIbsGDIVb_7Z-d1uxIFHDXYXRYD5-gxF-w-Ylkjy2EuQ1ESDtM8S2JMAMmNFk8faOE2VD84cic57lonwVg4PQSh-DrjvYQeVDTE1Nkurj2Cah7-hjxec-KmfpfPSCROsJ-TA/s320/sterling-silver-celtic-love-knots-filigree-circle-pendant.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292838043541515666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">"It's got to be Rouge," Ashley repeated, dangling the pendant in front of Samantha's nose. Samantha snatched it away from her with a glare.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Rouge? Who's Rouge?" Jeremy demanded, stepping into the kitchen with a scowl. "How come I haven't met Rouge?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Do I know Rouge?" Cleo asked, blinking sleepily up at Samantha.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Ashley shook her head as Samantha stared at the pendant. "Rouge was Samantha's best friend in high school and the first year or two of college," she explained to Cleo, ignoring Jeremy. "He came from Ireland with his parents in the ninth grade. All the girls in school were crazy about him. But he only had eyes for Samantha."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"No, he didn't," Samantha scoffed. "We were just friends."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Jeremy's forehead furrowed closer as Ashley laughed. "They were inseparable. The three of us went everywhere together. Even when Samantha dated guys, Rouge had to approve. Of course he never did, so the relationships never lasted long. They were voted Most Likely to Get Married at prom."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"It wasn't like that," Samantha protested. "We were just best friends. You're blowing this out of proportion."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Jeremy huffed and leaned against the wall. "I had a ton of girlfriends in high school," he muttered. "I dated the head cheerleader for a year." No one paid attention to him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Why don't I know him?" Cleo asked, running her fingers through her dark hair. "Did you two have a falling out?'</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Samantha shook her head. "Sophomore year of college, he called me really excited and said a relative had left him a ton of money. He said he was going to drop out of school and do what he had always wanted to do. I tried to talk him out of it, but he said it would be perfect and I would love it. It was a surprise. Then I never heard from him again. I called him several times, but his cell phone had been changed and his parents had moved. No one knew where he went."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"It was really weird," Ashley agreed. "Samantha even got her daddy's big time government buddies to pull some strings, see if he had been deported or hurt or anything. But no one knew what happened."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"This can't be Rouge," Samantha protested. "I haven't seen him in almost four years! Besides, how would he know we're here in my parents cabin? They didn't have it until two years ago. Plus, we're two hundred miles from my hometown."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"You know, this plot you girls have cooked up is really ridiculous," Jeremy burst out. "I'm sorry about the DVDs, ok?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Once again, the girls ignored him. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Why don't we look him up?" Cleo suggested, moving toward the computer. "He's probably on Facebook or MySpace."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I wish I'd thought of that," Ashley murmured, rubbing her stomach. "I need food to think." She looked pointedly at Jeremy. "Weren't you supposed to get breakfast?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Jeremy shrugged. "Where am I supposed to get breakfast?" he whined. "I don't know this town."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Ashley rolled her eyes. "Son, the workout DVDs are the least of your problems." Samantha snorted with laughter. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"> Cleo whooped and smacked the counter with her fist. "Bam!" she screeched, pointing at the screen. "I didn't even need his last name!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The girls immediately flocked around the screen, ignoring Jeremy as he tried to peer over them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"That's him!" Samantha cried, her voice giddy with excitement. "Oh my God! I'm so happy he's ok! He looks so good!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"What do you mean, he looks good?" Jeremy asked suspiciously.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Click on his profile," Ashley commanded. She elbowed Jeremy as he tried to lean over and he grunted.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"> Cleo clicked the mouse and squinted her eyes at the screen. "Oh my God!" she cried. "It says he owns a bar in your hometown. It's got it's own Web site." She clicked the mouse again and squealed. "Oh cute! It's a Irish-themed bar!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Samantha smacked her head. "A bar!" she and Ashley said in unison. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"> "He was always wanting to re-create his grandfather's pub," Samantha explained, catching the confused look on Cleo's face. "He said in Ireland his family had always owned a pub until they ran into tough times. His grandfather sold the pub to give his parents the money to go to Ireland and give Rouge and his brothers and sisters a better education and opportunities. Rouge felt like it was his duty to carry on the tradition."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"We should go," Ashley said, her eyes gleaming. "We could leave after lunch, shop for a bit and be there right after dinner."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"They're having a band play tonight," Cleo added, a wicked grin on her face. "For ladies' night."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"I'm not going to a bar 200 miles away," Jeremy protested.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Who invited you?" Ashley snapped. She leaned toward the screen and gasped. "Oh my God!" she whispered. "Samantha, look!" She pointed at the screen. "The club is called Until Sunset."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">To be continued...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a heart-warming plea from our favorite Wuffler and Wednesday we've got a new Twirl. We've also got a new recipe and a date with the Fuzzy Duck and Rubber Chicken! </span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-71977489258302277122009-01-18T08:00:00.000-08:002009-01-18T09:43:36.320-08:00Candy Animals 2 and Awards for All<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvEBOmmj5NJVUODdhg4IIHPsc3yg7P3rWxvxcdBuE4ttzMV5SySRPuvT-vx265MwsjH9dJojPvcw2nbpqVtL3y3osnB_DRW7_XQfSu5TfpdJRppQ33akJf0WWoFPt7Bjh0zD0SA/s1600-h/lemonade_award_from_Rhondi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfvEBOmmj5NJVUODdhg4IIHPsc3yg7P3rWxvxcdBuE4ttzMV5SySRPuvT-vx265MwsjH9dJojPvcw2nbpqVtL3y3osnB_DRW7_XQfSu5TfpdJRppQ33akJf0WWoFPt7Bjh0zD0SA/s320/lemonade_award_from_Rhondi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292666688032919730" border="0" /></a><br /><br />When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.<br /><br />And then turn it into an award to share with fabulous Invisible Friends!<br /><br /><br /><br />My dear friend <a href="http://ayearatoakcottage.blogspot.com/">Marie </a>gave me this fabulous award last week, and I can't help passing it on. Marie is a fabulous artist and cook. If I ever get enough saved up to go to England, I'm going to go visit her. She'll have to extract me from her cottage with the jaws of death, because I'll probably eat myself stupid on her good food and forget all about running and kickboxing.<br /><br />The rules state:<br /><br />1. Put the logo on your blog or post.<br />2. Nominate at least 10 blogs which show GREAT ATTITUDE &/or GRATITUDE!<br />3. Be sure to link your nominees within your post.<br />4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog.<br />5. Share the love & link to this post & to the person from who you received your award.<br /><br />And the winners are:<br /><br />1) <a href="http://a-nut-in-a-nutshell.blogspot.com/">Blue Violet</a><br /><br />2) <a href="http://jiggetyjigg.blogspot.com/">Jiggety Jigg</a><br /><br />3) <a href="http://adamandkristinapulsipher.blogspot.com/">Kristina</a><br /><br />4) <a href="http://3baybchicks.blogspot.com/">Francesca</a><br /><br />5) <a href="http://moreofajackie.blogspot.com/">Molly<br /></a><br />6) <a href="http://southerncollegegirl.blogspot.com/">Kristen</a><br /><br />7) <a href="http://fortheloveofcooking-recipes.blogspot.com/">Pam</a><br /><br />8<a href="http://kitchenlaw.blogspot.com/">) Cakelaw</a><br /><br />9) <a href="http://www.notquitenigella.com/">Lorraine</a><br /><br />10) <a href="http://smokymountaincafe.blogspot.com/">Katherine</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnB1fccHzu1GcmkasCi9UaNbNq82Rsa4pRY9jDo-IBuVaUnie3PfU2YVlCwfrA94x7eRIJsDAyLvqrpz_lxTb2XFgGqMokkEr6K_Ngjq5oJ4lKhzT_QoLW8EsYVIWObKuobAfpQ/s1600-h/Honest_Scrap_Award.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnB1fccHzu1GcmkasCi9UaNbNq82Rsa4pRY9jDo-IBuVaUnie3PfU2YVlCwfrA94x7eRIJsDAyLvqrpz_lxTb2XFgGqMokkEr6K_Ngjq5oJ4lKhzT_QoLW8EsYVIWObKuobAfpQ/s320/Honest_Scrap_Award.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292667050925713074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In addition, <a href="http://beeandrose.blogspot.com/">Bee and Rose</a>, <a href="http://shaleeclarkmarriedlife.blogspot.com/">Shalee</a> and <a href="http://flipper3964.blogspot.com/">Debra</a> all saw fit to give me the Honest Scrap award. It was so kind of you girls to think of me! If ya'll haven't had the pleasure of meeting these fine ladies, click on their blogs right away and check them out. They're fabulous.<br /><br />The rules state:<br /><br />1) List ten honest things about yourself, and make it interesting!<br /><br />2) Pass the award on to seven bloggers you feel embody the spirit of the honest scrap.<br /><br />Honestly, I can't imagine what else you would want to know about me after my <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/confessions-of-blond-duck.html">confessions </a>Friday.<br /><br />But for my Invisible Friends, I'll do anything. I'll give you seven new tidbits about me, one for each award winner.<br /><br />1) I really don't like weddings. I saw so many girls get married for the wrong reasons in college that the idea of going to a big white wedding makes me want to pluck my eyes out. But I always wind up there anyway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRc2VtbJPzp7sjUjQeWtv-LAR2mhWkUuxKDhdP9ckD-XHu6tkJDuPWOb9hhKeRrNoy7DLaMSas-uZ38Anc-cddZnPTP6jAzvmlGYdRZZGFnANyy_2KD-Sb0LN9Lt0XH7e1wR6FmA/s1600-h/DSC01692.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRc2VtbJPzp7sjUjQeWtv-LAR2mhWkUuxKDhdP9ckD-XHu6tkJDuPWOb9hhKeRrNoy7DLaMSas-uZ38Anc-cddZnPTP6jAzvmlGYdRZZGFnANyy_2KD-Sb0LN9Lt0XH7e1wR6FmA/s320/DSC01692.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292678420949110354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />2) I dance in public places. Wal-Mart, a parking lot, fancy restaurant...you can't take me anywhere.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsI1fNDTPwq_f1cKATPeUlNAUUbzIF2Zyo4AhoUOXgoORQ4g7NwilUBCm_wzmiJZ1avn9IzG6aI5Y2N3F56SyEwX1HcChYrWyvTpAFIKaqQK8x44vtPHYQR0HuRycsf5jT_sazbQ/s1600-h/Baseball+and+random+043.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsI1fNDTPwq_f1cKATPeUlNAUUbzIF2Zyo4AhoUOXgoORQ4g7NwilUBCm_wzmiJZ1avn9IzG6aI5Y2N3F56SyEwX1HcChYrWyvTpAFIKaqQK8x44vtPHYQR0HuRycsf5jT_sazbQ/s320/Baseball+and+random+043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292682300415049602" border="0" /></a><br />3) I talk to everyone. And everything.<br /><br />4) Amusement parks and loud, crowded places make me really nervous. Usually I have to leave because I have trouble breathing.<br /><br />5) One day, Ben and I want to start a rescue center for stray dogs.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdZX9qYy-Ffq58VVK_yYAPMOrOpnonotIcFoA0UiE0c1k74OV9t3b3rZVKZ8kA-84W9qU7-Vijd9trU0jbX5sSEqW6PALM-G99Dgwzow1So2pCmFZV5LMDa5aHOhPlJwg-fIyAg/s1600-h/DSC00525.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdZX9qYy-Ffq58VVK_yYAPMOrOpnonotIcFoA0UiE0c1k74OV9t3b3rZVKZ8kA-84W9qU7-Vijd9trU0jbX5sSEqW6PALM-G99Dgwzow1So2pCmFZV5LMDa5aHOhPlJwg-fIyAg/s320/DSC00525.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292685341629707874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />6) I'm very curious.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGAkyUlqnahj-iVZL4d81FBZHe_w5fv9RsWcNed3xMJhYHGhizboEp-AfaWjCg44acakGP_mEJC6lIPyysjLcj929VkdDxfFjp53NPU4N4HU4VIlKUNZakon1n12N_QGJ7qSbnQ/s1600-h/DSC_0316.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGAkyUlqnahj-iVZL4d81FBZHe_w5fv9RsWcNed3xMJhYHGhizboEp-AfaWjCg44acakGP_mEJC6lIPyysjLcj929VkdDxfFjp53NPU4N4HU4VIlKUNZakon1n12N_QGJ7qSbnQ/s320/DSC_0316.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292684716373385794" border="0" /></a><br />7) And just for you, another wedding picture.<br /><br />And the winners are:<br /><br />1) <a href="http://homesteadnotes.blogspot.com/">Theresa</a><br /><br />2) <a href="http://withlovesincerely.blogspot.com/">Maki</a><br /><br /><a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/">3) The Rambler</a><br /><br />4)<a href="http://sweetssavoriesetc.blogspot.com/"> Lucy</a><br /><br />5) <a href="http://gattifiliefarina.blogspot.com/">Natalia<br /></a><br />6)<a href="http://choosandchews.blogspot.com/"> Dee</a><br /><br />7) <a href="http://dishingupdelights.blogspot.com/">Esi<br /></a><br />In addition, the darling <a href="http://beeandrose.blogspot.com/">Bee and Rose</a> also tagged me with a photo tag.<br /><br />The rules are:<br /><br />1. Go to the 4th folder in your photo files on your computer.<br /><br />2. Find the 4th photo in that folder.<br /><br />3. Explain the photo.<br /><br />4. Tag 4 people to do the same.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_SYHVx7U4Lx63s3s_SajI9h9wQwFgB4EW2Djx359KW1vE-UGwJgc7iTOelix36zw7y8bVCjh5HQhvtesw7OSUUf71Wba7FNa3Bo8sD6JHjh6NphirDEhBv8H34NAR15EFcX0NQ/s1600-h/Miranda%2520San%2520Antonio%2520Berry%2520Wedding%2520018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_SYHVx7U4Lx63s3s_SajI9h9wQwFgB4EW2Djx359KW1vE-UGwJgc7iTOelix36zw7y8bVCjh5HQhvtesw7OSUUf71Wba7FNa3Bo8sD6JHjh6NphirDEhBv8H34NAR15EFcX0NQ/s320/Miranda%2520San%2520Antonio%2520Berry%2520Wedding%2520018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292672451549182706" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This was taken when I was in college. My friend Val (center) from high school was getting married and I was her maid of honor. This was a test shot so she could choose the dress I was to wear. Ben and I had been living in the Pond for about a month, so I missed the official fitting.<br /><br />I ended up wearing the one I'm wearing.<br /><br />I tag:<br /><br />1) <a href="http://ayearatoakcottage.blogspot.com/">Marie </a><br /><br />2)<a href="http://prairierunner.wordpress.com/"> Linda</a><br /><br />3) <a href="http://abbysweets.blogspot.com/">Abby</a><br /><br />4) <a href="http://itsbetterinhavana.blogspot.com/">Illegally Blond</a><br /><br />And now, for Candy Animals...For the previous edition, go<a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/candy-animals-and-mysterious-drawer.html"> here</a>.<br /><br />-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"What is it?" Bubbles cried. He and Sasperilla leaped on to the end of Callie's spoon and hurried over to join <span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third at the bottom of the hutch. Squatting down, Callie held the spoon over the drawer so they could peer into it.<br /><br />"I don't see a thing," Sasperilla complained, peering into the drawer. "All I see is dust."<br /><br />"And dead bugs," Bubbles pointed out, bubbles streaming out of his nose in disapproval. <br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third stretched his long caramel neck out and shook his head in disapproval. He tugged the drawer open wider, revealing delicate porcelain cups. Peeking around the corner of the cups was a bird. The other animals stepped back in shock.<br /><br />"What is it?" Bubbles cried, bubbles filling the air.<br /><br />"It's a bird!" Callie cried.<br /><br />"It's moving!" Sasperilla shouted. "It's alive."<br /><br />"It's an enchanted napkin ring," </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third snapped. He leaned his head down towards the bird. Peering closer, Callie saw the cranky caramel giraffe was correct. A long silver bird with blackened feathers etched into his back blinked up at her. It's wings tapered down into a steep curl that nearly connected with it's long feet. With it's wings plastered to its sides, it could merely blink and cock its head up at them.<br /><br />"Why, it can't fly!" Sasperilla cried. "How terrible! We must help him!"<br /><br />"How?" Bubbles asked, hiccuping as a bubble caught in his throat.<br /><br />"Are you the only one?" </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third asked the bird gently. The bird nodded, tucking it's beak under it's wing in shame. It motioned to the other dishes, all which were chipped slightly, the edges yellowed with years of washing and poor care.<br /><br />"Poor little thing was separated from it's set," </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third muttered, his face creased in concern. <br /><br />"How can we make him fly?" Bubbles asked.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third shrugged. "The only way to make him fly is to make him happy enough to fly. And after living in a drawer in the dark for so long, I'm not quite sure what would make him happy." The animals all hung their heads. The bird shuffled in the drawer, ashamed at being an object of pity.<br /><br />"A tea party," Callie exclaimed suddenly, her head snapping up. "We shall have a tea party! He can be the guest of honor! Would you like that?" she asked the bird. The bird's silver head bobbed up and down, and his beak popped open in delight.<br /><br />"Then a tea party it is!" </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third </span>declared.<br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The animals sprung into action. Sasperilla made her famous seaweed tea while Callie whipped up some tasty cakes and mini pies. Bubbles entertained the bird by making bubblegum animals while </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third set the table and wiped off the dishes. They spent the morning dining on chocolate and caramel cakes with rich butter cream frosting, and apple pies with crumbly toppings. The table was full of laughter and vivacious chatter, with plenty of teasing and kind jokes. <br /><br />The smile on the bird's face grew greater and greater. A shot rang out through the air. Without warning, he shot into the sky, his wings creaking as they flapped back and forth in the air. </span><br /><br />"He's flying!" Bubbles cried as pink bubbles surrounded the bird.<br /><br />"Hooray!" Sasperilla cried.<br /><br />Even <span style="font-family: georgia;">George Hambleton Leafton the Third seemed pleased. He leaned over to Callie and nodded his caramel head. "Thank you for making our new flying friend better, Callie," he replied. "It was a fabulous tea party. It's a shame you start school soon."<br /><br />The bird in the air trembled, and all the animals lost their smiles. Callie beamed. "Don't worry," she replied. "There's plenty of time on the weekends for tea parties."<br /><br />And that was a perfect reason for more cake.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have a new edition of the Gift, followed by a week of whimsical fun! We have a new recipe, a statement from Bear, a date with the Fuzzy Duck and Rubber Chicken and of course, a new Twirl! Stay tuned!</span><br /></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-30390488633239159112009-01-17T05:27:00.000-08:002009-01-17T06:18:46.997-08:00Special Edition: Twirl<span style="font-family: georgia;">Thank you for coming back after my long list of </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/confessions-of-blond-duck.html">confessions</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> yesterday. I'm surprised you're not saturated with pink glittery duckiness after all that.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s_cO9xWERZ3o6Ck-eBCrh3fPq3XXLnM2F-BDWc21wXx4K2uEz7T1v1kHRx1DPiXjU_SPWyi_KgSfjFNjXsTnLd-eY5xu3cV5buT3fBUhanckp5hh3UCnLHGgvLJtuDW7uqiKiw/s1600-h/DSC01159.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s_cO9xWERZ3o6Ck-eBCrh3fPq3XXLnM2F-BDWc21wXx4K2uEz7T1v1kHRx1DPiXjU_SPWyi_KgSfjFNjXsTnLd-eY5xu3cV5buT3fBUhanckp5hh3UCnLHGgvLJtuDW7uqiKiw/s320/DSC01159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292254385349064626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Like this.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">And before I forget, did everyone see the new date of the </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://7-7-7heavensent.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-little-love-can-do.html">Fuzzy Duck</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> and her lovely Rubber Chicken?</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjio6uP2ox92161j_buVuUMYJMn0RRJhM2OX1TAhzEMrlHdPMViPrMU9_g0_s_Jzf5BLmBoiH0g7qP0gFoOYlWEqoWg33Rqx_T-kJx4EJX2BwbZAOEpbbMv9999EIFklY6Eg-D1Sg/s1600-h/DSC04612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjio6uP2ox92161j_buVuUMYJMn0RRJhM2OX1TAhzEMrlHdPMViPrMU9_g0_s_Jzf5BLmBoiH0g7qP0gFoOYlWEqoWg33Rqx_T-kJx4EJX2BwbZAOEpbbMv9999EIFklY6Eg-D1Sg/s320/DSC04612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292256204657230290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A little birdie told me they're going on another date this week...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Get it? A little birdie? Moving on...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Tomorrow it's award season here at the Pond! You might win something!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But since you're here now, why not check out the special edition of Twirl? Since my mother threatened my life if I didn't tell everyone what was in the envelope (I got a BIG lecture Wednesday night), I'm going to tell you.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Right now.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">For the previous edition of Twirl, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2009/01/twirling.html">here.</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> For archives, go </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dancing">here</a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> and </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/search/label/dance">here</a><span style="font-family: georgia;">.<br /><br /><br />And if you're desperate to know what Twirl's about or want your own rough (very rough) copy of the developing story so far, <a href="mirkoerner@gmail.com">e-mail </a>me.<br />-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"The Dance Hall Dreamers?" Wade asked, scratching his chin. He smiled up at Hilda as she plopped down a heavy plate full of brisket, coleslaw, potato salad and beans in front of him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Is that a band?" Vivi asked. She thanked Hilda as the pigtailed 50-year old woman sat down the biggest sandwich she'd ever seen. She gulped as Hilda handed her a piece of pie the size of her head.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff refused to say a word until after Hilda had left. Leaning closer to the table, his eyes glittered with excitement. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"The Dance Hall Dreamers is an old legend," he whispered, his eyes daring back and forth as waitresses and diners swirled around them. "It's been almost forgotten over the years, except by old folks and historians."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He took a bite of brisket and chewed slowly. Vivi stared as he gummed the glob of meat.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"And?" she cried, shaking her hands with frustration. "What's the legend?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff swallowed and gulped down some tea. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he leaned back over their plates. It took all Vivi's willpower not to grab him by the collar and shake him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Back in the early 1900s, a few of the outlaws from the Old West were still hanging around," the sheriff drawled. "Of course, things were changing. Thieves couldn't just take over a town on horseback, and that's where Bullet Bill came into play."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Bullet Bill!" Wade exclaimed, slapping the table. "I remember this story now! My grandpa told it to me."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Keep your voice down," the sheriff hissed. "You don't want folks knowing we're talking about this!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Why?" Vivi asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff rolled his eyes and stabbed his brisket with a fork. "I'm trying to tell you!" he snarled.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"You're telling me about as fast as a turtle swimming in a river of molasses!" Vivi snapped. "Just tell us what it is!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Smearing barbecue sauce across his reddened cheek, the sheriff shifted in his chair and resumed his tale. "Well, back then a huge wave of Czech and German immigrants flocked to Texas, particularly here in the Hill Country. Towns were booming, stores were opening and the pioneer days weren't over yet. Bullet Bill realized the smartest thing to do would be to pose as a German settler traveling with his brothers, rather than another gang of outlaws. He went from town to town. Families would welcome him in and he would earn their trust over a few weeks, gaining access to their businesses and homes. In the middle of the night, he'd strip them of all their cash and valuables and be gone by morning, leaving as many as fifty families devastated and destitute."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Why did they call him Bullet Bill?" Vivi asked. "And what does this have to do with the Dance Hall dreamers?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I'm getting there," the sheriff snapped. "Damn Wade, is she always like this?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"We're both eager to hear the rest of the tale, sheriff," Wade murmured, sopping up some barbecue sauce with a slice of white bread. "If you'd continue."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff took a bite of coleslaw and continued. "Well, one day Bullet Bill and his gang came up on a real itty bitty town. Even for Texas at the time, it was small, but full of German families. Only this time, the mayor had a gorgeous 17-year-old daughter named Adelaide. Everyone called her Addy. She had long blond wavy hair, big blue eyes and"-- The sheriff cleared his throat and his cheeks colored. He looked at Vivi and mummured, "--a good figure."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vivi rolled her eyes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Anyway," the sheriff drawled, "Bullet Bill never knew what hit him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to go clean. He took one look at Addy and knew that he wanted to marry her. He waited until the night of the spring dance at the local dance hall to approach her. The legend says they danced all night until the early hours of the morning, just smiling and laughing. That same morning, he asked her father if he could marry her."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What did he say?" Vivi asked, her eyes wide.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"He said no," the sheriff replied. His spoon scraped against his bowl of beans. "Still, Bullet Bill didn't give up. He took Addy dancing every weekend. During the week, he worked at a general store and made plans to build a house. His gang was convinced it was a massive scheme, and were furious when Bullet Bill told them it was over. He split the stolen goods evenly and basically told them to get out of dodge. He wanted a clean life with Addy. You can imagine how his gang felt."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Well, after a few months, the mayor warmed up to Bullet Bill and gave his consent. A summer wedding was planned, and the whole town helped build their house. The barn was set to hold the greatest dance anyone had ever seen. It was all anyone could talk about."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"The night before the wedding, Bullet Bill's old gang went to the mayor and told them about Bullet Bill's past. They convinced him that Bullet Bill was going to marry Addy, strip her family and the town of its wealth and abandon her. The mayor was furious and ordered Bullet Bill arrested that night. When Addy heard of the plans, she hopped on horseback and rode to tell Bill about what was happening."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Bullet Bill wanted to do the right thing and talk to the sheriff, but Addy refused. She knew of her father's powerful connections. So Bill ran into the night, taking all his wealth with him."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff paused to drink his tea.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"That's it?" Vivi exclaimed. "That's horrible! What a terrible story!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"I'm not done yet," the sheriff snapped, setting his tea glass down with a clang. "Dang girl, hold your horses. I had to water my voice." Clearing his throat, he resumed the story. "Well, a few months passed and most people forgot about Bullet Bill. His gang moved on to other towns and everything returned to normal, except for Addy. Her heart was broken. Several men wanted to court her, but she wanted nothing to do with them. They say she spent all her nights in the dance hall, staring at the door waiting for Bullet Bill to return.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"One night, she went to the building that would have been their house. Tacked inside to a wall was a letter. You can imagine how surprised she was to see it was from Bullet Bill. In the letter, he told her he had made friends with a postman who would drop off letters for them at secret hiding spots. If she still loved him and wanted to marry him, they would find a way to be together. He told her the next letter was hidden in the old dance hall, and it would tell her how to find the money he'd left her so she could travel to him."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Is that what's in the envelope?" Vivi exclaimed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff slid the envelope out of his pocket. "It's a letter," he said, tapping the yellowed envelope. "But I don't know what it says."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Why not?" Vivi burst out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"It's in German," Wade guessed. "They probably wrote in German to keep other people from reading, right?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff nodded. "And it's old style German, which makes it harder to translate. I'm going to see an old historian that thinks she can translate it for me. You're more than welcome to come."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vivi nodded and Wade grinned. "So what's the big deal about a letter? Why are you so skittish?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The sheriff gave him a stern look. "This just isn't any letter, son. This is the key to a string of letters. And those letters lead to a massive fortune."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What fortune?" Vivi asked. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">"Well you see, by the time Bullet Bill had stopped stealing, he was the equivalent of a millionaire several times over today," the sheriff said. "Somewhere, he had to store all that wealth."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">He tapped the envelope. "And this will tell us where it is..."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To be continued....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;">Stay tuned tomorrow for a new Candy Animals and awards!</span><br /></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-69881074367274985552009-01-16T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-16T03:00:03.940-08:00Confessions of the Blond DuckIt's time.<br /><br />It's time for me to reveal all my secrets, answer all your questions and reveal more about the Pond than I ever have.<br /><br />Are you ready?<br /><br />I've listed the questions with the answer, as well as sprinkled in a few little fun tidbits to make you giggle (or scream.)<br /><br />I confess....<br /><br />And if you want more after all this, go <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/09/ask-me-anything.html">here</a>.<br /><br /><a href="http://dianatakesabite.blogspot.com/"><br />Diana</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">What’s your favorite movie?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTe5d7QFkx_-femBTWCzSbb-lUlsX1frUxtaOPAPKYKyDrjMSrrN2iCRgX5neBwXSht_vCFdOG3GigIDONzCu9lGHrnPqOka8DcAZL7j9Zy5_kyWH_VywFi_Ofp84BrjDJ33fq7g/s1600-h/legally+blond"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTe5d7QFkx_-femBTWCzSbb-lUlsX1frUxtaOPAPKYKyDrjMSrrN2iCRgX5neBwXSht_vCFdOG3GigIDONzCu9lGHrnPqOka8DcAZL7j9Zy5_kyWH_VywFi_Ofp84BrjDJ33fq7g/s320/legally+blond" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291712853323921906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Legally Blond</span> is my ultimate favorite movie. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Elle Woods is my idol</span>. And it all started at college.<br /><br />My first week away from home at college, I was in tears at a university bookstore. I’d never been away from home, I didn’t know a soul other than my cranky roommate and I felt like a complete outcast. I had leopard print from my bed spread to my slippers; all the other girls had whatever sorority colors they were rushing.<br /><br />At the counter, I looked down with watery eyes as the clerk bagged my text books. Suddenly, I heard a familar voice. My head snapped up to the TV over the clerk's head. <span style="font-style: italic;">Legally Blond</span> was on. It was the scene where Elle is crying to Paulette about her misfortunes at Harvard.<br /><br />At that moment, I knew it was a sign. And it was. For years, whenever I got down about myself or was moping about being rejected by another publisher, Elle Woods would appear. When my job made me cry all the time, Elle Woods was always on when I switched on the TV. No matter what was bad in my life, Elle was there. And whenever I saw her, I knew it was a signal I was going the right direction. I just needed to buck up, put on my cutest pink dress and keep going.<br /><br />My other favorite movies are <span style="font-style: italic;">Enchanted, Stranger than Fiction</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Muppet Christmas Carol</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwOmRh8C5BB-z0TT5nxULwB8riZW5DUyW9n9zcxtVJm2MXKp5kYzeIq5pub1hhULMrCKnQHzZOFOqp47KV3Sri5EUCYNyhtzlAFXYD6vsnKc9OPbNi-SY_i4SEplLRQA3Uo0lcw/s1600-h/pink+duck"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwOmRh8C5BB-z0TT5nxULwB8riZW5DUyW9n9zcxtVJm2MXKp5kYzeIq5pub1hhULMrCKnQHzZOFOqp47KV3Sri5EUCYNyhtzlAFXYD6vsnKc9OPbNi-SY_i4SEplLRQA3Uo0lcw/s320/pink+duck" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291714426897238722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.noblepig.com/">Noble Pig</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">What color duck would you be?</span><br />I would be a pink duck with glittery eyelashes and a fluffy tail that looked like a tutu.<br /><br /><a href="http://cupcakesandallthingssweet.blogspot.com/">Sugar Fairy</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">What is your ultimate holiday destination?</span><br /><br />Anywhere I can swim with dolphins. Ben promised me when we got married he’d take me to the beach to swim with dolphins. I haven’t forgotten. HINT. HINT.<br /><br />I’d love to travel to Europe (and see <a href="http://www.ayearatoakcottage.blogspot.com/">Marie</a>!) and explore all the places fairy tales and literature sprang from. But if I could have a vacation home anywhere, it’d be Colorado. We went in the summer for years when I was growing up, and I loved it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5ixAoUhiwk5GcwLStHt1okOr83y9TPFqXctWPiZPj5dsR2PP2vwB9Bqj7OCsKrKaojML9kGFv7ZrHfUvqk_k6HrBXZHc6Y65sihEJBC7hq8T5e4tnnLR2kPh7D6dzcEbbBpkYg/s1600-h/DSC03263.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5ixAoUhiwk5GcwLStHt1okOr83y9TPFqXctWPiZPj5dsR2PP2vwB9Bqj7OCsKrKaojML9kGFv7ZrHfUvqk_k6HrBXZHc6Y65sihEJBC7hq8T5e4tnnLR2kPh7D6dzcEbbBpkYg/s320/DSC03263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291715104905034562" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And I really like the moose in Alaska.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEuG2HiqbRURsleuDRiezUZgsS8r4iVgsZ3Vt4RwJhzO9rig7yIJKVkv_6l0g8jXvMxwvSKC4oVq-deLj7TLrpdhj-01zGDwR_sCCWK0phydzcriIBsWI1Bz0GHjz13ihZveO1w/s1600-h/birthday+07+006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEuG2HiqbRURsleuDRiezUZgsS8r4iVgsZ3Vt4RwJhzO9rig7yIJKVkv_6l0g8jXvMxwvSKC4oVq-deLj7TLrpdhj-01zGDwR_sCCWK0phydzcriIBsWI1Bz0GHjz13ihZveO1w/s320/birthday+07+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291715566538191714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Impromptu Confession: I've always wanted to be a bellydancer.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"> Or a least take classes. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinb9Rog8T-VMObPt90XR0a120qCfkJTc_St9Om-IXjQCDCX5Utma9HCWBPXXejhu3XIiMxUalRt9OOdlakGoZJaCqZmWwfPZpkCHAJaCIJqJ9JC8U_fh9d_0XnPts2EA9TF15TUA/s1600-h/DSC01613.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinb9Rog8T-VMObPt90XR0a120qCfkJTc_St9Om-IXjQCDCX5Utma9HCWBPXXejhu3XIiMxUalRt9OOdlakGoZJaCqZmWwfPZpkCHAJaCIJqJ9JC8U_fh9d_0XnPts2EA9TF15TUA/s320/DSC01613.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291716281808715618" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://3baybchicks.blogspot.com/"><br />Francesca</a> asked about this fabulous little picture. She asked: W<span style="font-style: italic;">hat is the crazy contraption that you are standing in? Also, the photo of you in the big, white mattress pad...is that from Halloween? What are you? A marshmallow?</span><br /><br />That was a makeshift Christmas tree skirt I made for our first tree in college, the <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/12/merry-christmas-from-pond.html">notorious spider tree.</a> An old mattress cover had been sitting in Ben’s closet forever and wouldn’t fit on his bed. So I cut a hole in it and began dancing about the living room in it.<br /><br />I get distracted easily.<br /><a href="http://lisasmagicsprinkles.blogspot.com/"><br />Lisa Magic Sprinkles</a> asked a ton of random questions:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Heels or flats</span>? Cowboy boots<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Chocolate or vanilla</span>? Vanilla. I’m allergic to chocolate.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Email or stationery</span>? Both. I e-mail causal notes but mail thank you notes on stationary.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">First day of spring or first day of fall</span>? I love the first day of spring for the baby animals.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyStzE6axJYN73X_M3Lv13f94URPReYFQzrksfsGGBIYFL_yn_0zbKIFgeYPZ8cLLS8LWYjfmgJmRacPZJVeim5lgXIJnc2mcOR21iVdqYbhs0ZWwk8dDvtM2klOW9ksIq5ed0VQ/s1600-h/petting+zoo+050.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyStzE6axJYN73X_M3Lv13f94URPReYFQzrksfsGGBIYFL_yn_0zbKIFgeYPZ8cLLS8LWYjfmgJmRacPZJVeim5lgXIJnc2mcOR21iVdqYbhs0ZWwk8dDvtM2klOW9ksIq5ed0VQ/s320/petting+zoo+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291718194312054050" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Blond Duck is never too old for petting zoos.<br /></span></div><br /><br /><br />But since it’s warm here most of the year, I also love when fall starts. Even though it’s hot until December, fall always feels like the the beginning of the year because of school starting.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Pens or pencils?</span> Pens. I am the queen of blacked out writing and swirlies over words. But pencils for my menu scheldule for the week since I change it constantly.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tastes great or less filling</span>? Tastes great.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Colgate or Crest</span>? Whatever. I love all toothpastes just as they were created.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Whipped cream or cool whip</span>? Neither. Ice cream!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Biking or hiking</span>? Hiking. Biking kills my knees.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Favorite song</span>? “You know me better than that” by George Strait.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Favorite color</span>? PINK!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Favorite magazines?</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Pscyhology Today </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Taste of Home</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Shoe siz</span>e? 9, narrow. I have the biggest arch. It’s really hard to find shoes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicICIZFQESCOiKDBXV2mwdM6V_eFhKBCD3KtnUaDUhphJuIsalx6QLH74vsJpS6mIjoALfuq-pw8UwABV_cs8WslpIQingpoY0ePj7kQcI6GupW6k9ne0LkgnCwJIm2EUyDaB8sA/s1600-h/Winter+042.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicICIZFQESCOiKDBXV2mwdM6V_eFhKBCD3KtnUaDUhphJuIsalx6QLH74vsJpS6mIjoALfuq-pw8UwABV_cs8WslpIQingpoY0ePj7kQcI6GupW6k9ne0LkgnCwJIm2EUyDaB8sA/s320/Winter+042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291739846777170242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Barbeque</span>: beef or pork? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beeeefffffff</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What publication are you the editor for</span>? A local children’s magazine for a local newspaper group. I was also the editor of a tourist publication until December. Right now, I mostly write for our other publications because the children's magazine is on hold. My company started out as a small community newspaper group, but was bought out by an international media company two years ago. I don’t want to give the name because I don’t want them to find me. They’re very skittish about blogs.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgQFKAPBaGQOHLOGiYiVhAE9jULDzjTOTmEmQcl7TV3Va2lgZA0oIcrojO1ouSO8DMNvA4jN6ahyAeKUxxrV7HhIZCzmlbea2u8CX586GOVMC_AuGyTPt6Ka9Vzhe6bPwZF-CHQ/s1600-h/Mom+and+Karen+Bday+160.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgQFKAPBaGQOHLOGiYiVhAE9jULDzjTOTmEmQcl7TV3Va2lgZA0oIcrojO1ouSO8DMNvA4jN6ahyAeKUxxrV7HhIZCzmlbea2u8CX586GOVMC_AuGyTPt6Ka9Vzhe6bPwZF-CHQ/s320/Mom+and+Karen+Bday+160.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291716657403202258" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Impromptu Confession: I once g</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ot so annoyed with my sister I shoved her out of a treehouse. But it's ok. She threw a rock at my head that made a major hole in the drywall. She also left scars on my arm from raking her nails into my skin during tantrums.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">And she bit the dog. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What time do you get up in the morning</span>? 4:30 a.m. weekdays, 6 a.m. on weekends.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What time do you go to sleep</span>? 10 or 10:30 p.m. weekdays, 10:30 to 11 p.m. weekends. If I’m lucky, I can get to bed at 9. But there’s always so much to do…<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What's your favorite exercise / aerobic class</span>? Kickboxing! I do it two to three times a week and run three to four times a week.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why are you called Duckie</span>? <a href="http://www.ayearatoakcottage.blogspot.com/">Marie</a> started it. I think it comes from the Blond Duck and people just liked it. You can ask her! Personally, I love it.<br /><br /><br /><br />Speaking of Marie, she asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">Who kissed who first? You or Ben? What was your first kiss like? Did fireworks go off? When did you know HE was the one?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWm5PsaDCTkCRtSCRrgA4-9v2R38ybKl5CbZHWN1PbWsiRiJvVx9vrI2q5rukdebdWGPHCVGI2UlObWBfyCvtZLU81hshN8h5CP_048dvJY_4ZqKnLwTtKrEaMtAy_9691RwAPg/s1600-h/aDSC00267.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWm5PsaDCTkCRtSCRrgA4-9v2R38ybKl5CbZHWN1PbWsiRiJvVx9vrI2q5rukdebdWGPHCVGI2UlObWBfyCvtZLU81hshN8h5CP_048dvJY_4ZqKnLwTtKrEaMtAy_9691RwAPg/s320/aDSC00267.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291719707318699266" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">First picture ever of the Blond Duck and Ben, dating one month<br /></span></div><br /><br />Ben kissed me first. We were standing outside his truck on a country road. Since we went to Baylor and had dorm visiting hours, most of our dates were driving around or going to I-Hop or Whataburger. He was showing me a spot where he and his racing buddies went all the time to “test their engines.” And it was toe-tingling and heart-thumping, yes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZzDuEnhwINwWpya7t8fj1pggb6fhM1KYgBRWhbE8dteogUeCExBgAz97XSkww-ozLYMp2jFJuxkOasIxJtyaeEoM_P46m9Q6riqbqkzAv6YzFPrSqDcKEyh2Svdu8qcvGrwxGQ/s1600-h/B+and+C%27s+wedding+044.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZzDuEnhwINwWpya7t8fj1pggb6fhM1KYgBRWhbE8dteogUeCExBgAz97XSkww-ozLYMp2jFJuxkOasIxJtyaeEoM_P46m9Q6riqbqkzAv6YzFPrSqDcKEyh2Svdu8qcvGrwxGQ/s320/B+and+C%27s+wedding+044.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291721863856502066" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I knew I was going to marry Ben during an argument after we’d been dating about a year. I was sure he was going to dump me because we were having an argument and was bawling. He took me by the shoulders and told me there was no reason to be so upset, that we would have plenty of arguments and we were going to work through all of them. This was just a bump in the road and he never stopped loving me. At that moment, I knew we were both committed to this for the long haul.<br /><br />It’s romantic, I know.<br /><br /><a href="http://kittbo.blogspot.com/">Kitt </a>asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">At what time of day do you do most of your writing? Do you have a general writing routine/schedule?</span><br /><br />I write early in the morning and late at night. I used to take my laptop to work and write during lunch, but they made a no-laptop policy and I don’t trust company computers. Now I write during breakfast on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On weekends, I write from half an hour to two or three hours in the morning, depending on what’s going on that day. And I write my blog entries at night while Chihuahuas tapdance on my head and Ben wuffles for a foot rub.<br /><br />It’s a exciting life. And If I could, I’d write more. I never get tired of it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh7kvafViDvdJKbyqSBHOiwGHRd4irvCGNdaQXAI2KMFRHvf7N2r_AhKz0a6BtUNxenmEZxBL2l-6GWjXs28Y6a8woSZ8mMKKCyBM1bTCZewyeC6ysMa9TPYIS8Y_4UwrHygdY4Q/s1600-h/Alaska+287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh7kvafViDvdJKbyqSBHOiwGHRd4irvCGNdaQXAI2KMFRHvf7N2r_AhKz0a6BtUNxenmEZxBL2l-6GWjXs28Y6a8woSZ8mMKKCyBM1bTCZewyeC6ysMa9TPYIS8Y_4UwrHygdY4Q/s320/Alaska+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291728850539550914" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Impromptu Confession: I fall asleep after being in any car for more than thirty minutes, no matter what time day or night. I never have to drive on road trips.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.baseballbakingandbooks.com/"><br />Ingrid</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">Were you a dancer gowing up and how long did you train? </span><br /><br />I was a dancer! I did ballet, jazz and tap from 3 until I was 18. I also took country western dancing classes at 16 and went dancing at a local dancehall with all my friends on weekends. That’s where Vivi came from. For awhile, I even wanted to go to Texas A&M University just to join the competitive country dancing team. I always wanted to join a dance team in college as well, and seriously considered it at Baylor.<br /><br />The problem is I soon realized in college that my dancing was best suited to flailing about my living room or a dancehall. And no one wants to pay to see that.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What made you decide on "creative" writing?</span><br /><br />I actually majored in journalism-public relations with a minor in corporate communications. I never wanted to work for the university newspaper because of the scheldule and I thought all the news writers were rude snots. Junior year, I discovered a creative writing minor and would have done it if I could have gotten all the classes I needed in time.<br /><br />A lot of people think I should have majored in English, but I never was interested. I don't care about grammer. And while I loved discussing books and their themes and plots, I could never apply it to my own work. Whenever I try to analyze and break down my stories, they get bad. That's what I did when I was hitting the traditional publishing route. Everything you see is technically a rough draft. I don't try to think of plots or suspense or dialouge. I usually sit down over eggs and toast and basically bleed it out.<br /><br />I'm still amazed ya'll like it.<br /><br />To be truthful, I am toying with the idea of a masters in creative writing. But I'm not sure how useful it would be and am concerned it would water down my natural creativty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIz9tYK62i6ly9zrvFLcWdOgbNSufALBwWTvIOkCpyNenANhxE9iZa-bhyphenhyphen6Q_3wxRWfo_Y1kTahm39l3-W2__9UxsoF07qr0DFQ1qP6jUcmTkZ1LftuMawckxN36_dkxQv285Hg/s1600-h/Halloween+and+engagement+049.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIz9tYK62i6ly9zrvFLcWdOgbNSufALBwWTvIOkCpyNenANhxE9iZa-bhyphenhyphen6Q_3wxRWfo_Y1kTahm39l3-W2__9UxsoF07qr0DFQ1qP6jUcmTkZ1LftuMawckxN36_dkxQv285Hg/s320/Halloween+and+engagement+049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291724393346066898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Impromptu Confession: Ben and I picked out my engagement ring together a few days before Halloween and got engaged on my Dad's birthday in the fall of 2005. He was very gracious about it. I would have been mad.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">But I drag my birthdays out for a month.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://just-me-a-dutch-girl.blogspot.com/">Princess of Pink</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">From whom did you inherit your writing talent?</span><br />No one. I’m the only one!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Francesca</span> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">What is the process for you publishing a book like Twirl? Are you close to doing so?</span><br /><br /><br />The problem with <span style="font-weight: bold;">Twirl</span> is I've been writing it post by post. I know in my head what the end is, what will happen and the big secret of Vivi's dad, mom and Mrs. Angelson. I just don't know how they'll get there.<br /><br />So I've got two choices: pull it off the blog, write it and have you all get bored or kill me; or write it, give it a quick edit and polish and publish it through lulu like I did with T<a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/5350775">he Twelve Tales of Christmas. </a><br /><br />I'm thinking I'll probably go with the second option because currently, I'm finishing the last details for the first <span style="font-weight: bold;">Land of the Flowered Bed</span> Book and putting together <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/12/end-of-kitchen-magic.html">Kitchen Magic</a> in book form. Then next up, I've got <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/10/miss-pickles-knows-when-its-time-to-go.html">Miss Pickles</a> to print!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">She</span> also asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">Are you only able to write in your free time or is working on your novel(s) a part of your daily job responsibilities as a magazine editor?</span><br />My free time. There's only a few people at work who know about my blog and the stories I write. I keep it very quiet.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9nzDudYwWJwRY1-4tG6EM4mJBuXjwIOuovsraQ7xk1jXRADDPDFnRY4JBVLu1KFShIe0GAzyV0wpQRaBVsZIQ2z33NdbbYL5D29AcF8eimq0YFIwZLAdwfigelPU1oSjykV0dg/s1600-h/Birthday+047.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9nzDudYwWJwRY1-4tG6EM4mJBuXjwIOuovsraQ7xk1jXRADDPDFnRY4JBVLu1KFShIe0GAzyV0wpQRaBVsZIQ2z33NdbbYL5D29AcF8eimq0YFIwZLAdwfigelPU1oSjykV0dg/s320/Birthday+047.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291741174526741250" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Impromptu Confession: I wear a tiara on every birthday for a week straight. And I'm not at all ashamed or embarrassed.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.tatertotsandjello.blogspot.com/">Jen</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">I want to know how you find time to write all of those fun stories? How do you keep all the stories and plots straight?</span><br /><br />My brain is like standing in the center of a movie theater. There's one main screen and ten other screens behind it. Imagine running into the theater and watching 15 to 20 minutes of a movie at a time, day after day. All these movies are swirling in your head and the story is revealed to you one bit at a time. But if you sit and watch the whole movie at once, you get tired and overwhelmed and hungry.<br /><br />As far as time, Ben and I don't go out a lot and I make my writing a priority. I'll give up a lot to make sure it's done. It's my passion in life.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://itzyskitchen.blogspot.com/">Erica</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">What's your favorite color and top three meals?</span><br />PINK!!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmnbpDqQN2SVHV9_TI0o6Fxqnup-L497NmOQj2MIKTtIaPlF2WeYYAPIFrFtTsuFf_zyl2jvFo8ps3W6wwGUDH_pYIsN7TWFZSxk_oUOT3Ce1aqtyEMFDEgfTxZzprCzespBofg/s1600-h/DSC05068.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmnbpDqQN2SVHV9_TI0o6Fxqnup-L497NmOQj2MIKTtIaPlF2WeYYAPIFrFtTsuFf_zyl2jvFo8ps3W6wwGUDH_pYIsN7TWFZSxk_oUOT3Ce1aqtyEMFDEgfTxZzprCzespBofg/s320/DSC05068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291727670100131874" border="0" /></a><br />Meal 1: Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, green beans and wheat rolls glistening with butter and apple or peanut butter pie.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviv4YZr_1b5_-qnlVueGpD6KEEnqgx3A2z4jYQnP-skYcCpHLXJW8Qu9o5LXYZCezv2vI8YNx0PB-_5NmjT0TdzZ6gmj3pTA7WA3n694CtDJ1qAo4WSwLGffXE8NUQeCZAhGkqQ/s1600-h/bacon+cheeseburger"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviv4YZr_1b5_-qnlVueGpD6KEEnqgx3A2z4jYQnP-skYcCpHLXJW8Qu9o5LXYZCezv2vI8YNx0PB-_5NmjT0TdzZ6gmj3pTA7WA3n694CtDJ1qAo4WSwLGffXE8NUQeCZAhGkqQ/s320/bacon+cheeseburger" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291728143894390338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Meal 2: Bacon Cheeseburger, Fries and Apple Pie.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3E2PHC6iwykJcRVb7BWIZMFyXnVMUFB5o_6_iXVFEENvwBj56d9xox2edMDq0X0p4K-N2UMKrQh481JJoiYZOfTSFzUQ3VoiHW4a-9oL0IzPWycurCmOwV9SCpz_sPMqcBM9MYg/s1600-h/DSC04150.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3E2PHC6iwykJcRVb7BWIZMFyXnVMUFB5o_6_iXVFEENvwBj56d9xox2edMDq0X0p4K-N2UMKrQh481JJoiYZOfTSFzUQ3VoiHW4a-9oL0IzPWycurCmOwV9SCpz_sPMqcBM9MYg/s320/DSC04150.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291728469082240754" border="0" /></a><br />Meal 3: Barbecue. Ribs, brisket, sausage, chicken, baked beans, wheat bread with honey butter, potato salad, coleslaw, creamed corn, banana pudding and pecan pie.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.yummydietfood.com/">Juliet </a>asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">What is your most favorite story and why?</span><br /><br />Story I've written: Twirl, because it's got all my favorite things: dancing, horseback riding, cowboys, pie, mystery and suspense.<br /><br />Story I've read: <span style="font-style: italic;">The BFG</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Wrinkle In Time</span>. Or <span style="font-style: italic;">The Frog Prince Continued. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Also, what is your most favorite picture that you've posted and why?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhca48t8g5PNTQ-ozK7HJ7H-6eyMK2fUEeA81HSZpeaiXvyOAKT27nvG36dhUBfdG9gmn-loP4OsWXpGX8vclr3iWmBw9SlqQzcIudQHFwdWGF9jfZSD1EqBnY0s2B0aRupSQFTAA/s1600-h/puppy+12.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhca48t8g5PNTQ-ozK7HJ7H-6eyMK2fUEeA81HSZpeaiXvyOAKT27nvG36dhUBfdG9gmn-loP4OsWXpGX8vclr3iWmBw9SlqQzcIudQHFwdWGF9jfZSD1EqBnY0s2B0aRupSQFTAA/s320/puppy+12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291731098432344642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This one.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2n5kMP_1zb8ZyXoCVFG7aWsmd5BtcOurk3BIiIXN77FghzS8nZz92vDoHfToLy7iXPt1pBrHXCIwjYoMKzNm9c8svYKV_1rK8Od7CDIzER2kEa7u2m6DgPo_IoDTUZeBH5gTOQ/s1600-h/puppy+23.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2n5kMP_1zb8ZyXoCVFG7aWsmd5BtcOurk3BIiIXN77FghzS8nZz92vDoHfToLy7iXPt1pBrHXCIwjYoMKzNm9c8svYKV_1rK8Od7CDIzER2kEa7u2m6DgPo_IoDTUZeBH5gTOQ/s320/puppy+23.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291731609630725938" border="0" /></a><br />Or this one. I think it says it all.<br /><a href="http://www.chadintheazdesert.blogspot.com/"><br />Chad</a> asked: D<span style="font-style: italic;">o you write the entire story out ahead of time and then post it in pieces, or do you write each post individually as you go along?</span><br /><br />Post it as I go. I write down notes about ideas I have, but I tend to change things. Every time I try to write outlines I just end up throwing them out, so I quit worrying about it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.pumpkinandspice.net/">Pumpkin</a> asked : <span style="font-style: italic;">What's the best vacation you've ever been on, and why?</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguP4_GsjeXwTOfLzEBYrpxMrEmZMFVh2M1C8s04Sr8_UIyfo0Xdc8tKkpD77ub2KjCeiFmLsM8-ra1xUU9-avIzZoD_vS4JmfTBJRBKUy5NlBmE5J8qx4gPgLFtp0Dfq9vj4F8AQ/s1600-h/alaska+352.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguP4_GsjeXwTOfLzEBYrpxMrEmZMFVh2M1C8s04Sr8_UIyfo0Xdc8tKkpD77ub2KjCeiFmLsM8-ra1xUU9-avIzZoD_vS4JmfTBJRBKUy5NlBmE5J8qx4gPgLFtp0Dfq9vj4F8AQ/s320/alaska+352.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291733315074930818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I think it was last summer when we went to Alaska. It was just really fun going somewhere so different with my family and Ben and being able to appreciate it. When I was younger, I never fully recongized the great things my parents did for us.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What's your dream car?</span><br /><br />A silver Jetta. I had one when I was 16 and now I have a grey Jetta. I like what I like.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And, it's not really a question, but I wanna see a wedding picture!</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKZLM56e02UaNksdstz-2fHyDn0GKikQkryhDEIrkexT3HG8T8uks217lWpoGCnzlYrYtAKp05UoJd4xffY1RgXr9M_Lkf6Bz942DfIq-UJXQnrW6uUTrw36f7db7g5r0kqF17A/s1600-h/DSC_0307.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKZLM56e02UaNksdstz-2fHyDn0GKikQkryhDEIrkexT3HG8T8uks217lWpoGCnzlYrYtAKp05UoJd4xffY1RgXr9M_Lkf6Bz942DfIq-UJXQnrW6uUTrw36f7db7g5r0kqF17A/s320/DSC_0307.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291734121312114146" border="0" /></a><br />Your wish is my command!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiGrHG7vsl0Bk_qi-_E4rxc0G6EuhKA6eC3j1GOoMGD63KoG9llYZmmywUs2BfvhPikAajUrtR2JxjCs1WEM_TwGzy2TpGiJeeNB-RWG5E1fR4w2XOsfl8XewJL6Yy3TnH2e1zg/s1600-h/DSC_0542.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiGrHG7vsl0Bk_qi-_E4rxc0G6EuhKA6eC3j1GOoMGD63KoG9llYZmmywUs2BfvhPikAajUrtR2JxjCs1WEM_TwGzy2TpGiJeeNB-RWG5E1fR4w2XOsfl8XewJL6Yy3TnH2e1zg/s320/DSC_0542.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291734723452727458" border="0" /></a><br />And yes. I really did get married at a barbecue restaurant and eat ribs in my dress.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.noblepig.com/">Noble Pig </a>asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">When do you sleep</span>?<br /><br />I don't sleep. I plug into a wall and recharge until the green light comes on.<br /><br /><a href="http://cliobaby.blogspot.com/">Karen</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">What was your earliest writing assignment that you remember?</span><br /><br />I had to write a fairy tale in the third grade. It had a lot of princesses, a mean king and a horse. I really wanted a horse.<br /><br />Then I had to write my autobiography. I rewrote it three times so my teacher could read my terrible cursive.<br /><br />I hate hand writing things now.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://cupcakesandallthingssweet.blogspot.com/">Sugar Fairy</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">Who is your favourite author?</span><br /><br />I have three: Elizabeth Peters for her Egyptology mysteries (I'm fascinated with Egypt), Raold Dahl and Madeline L'Engle.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> What is your all time favourite book?</span><br /><br />That's too hard to answer. I'd have to say <span style="font-style: italic;">A Wrinkle in Time, A Ring of Light </span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">The BFG.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />What is the weirdest food combo that you like to eat?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOTTRJDGdwce-XdjIGtyLVtxMmqq7YUJ8WRYWk6JHMCvQvpJ8TNsb9r3yg4mCzxfueY367ejmfkaHjXgQAcU7Cman2ESFiFaUTkOiKAe9yUhxvJNamV3ixImk_A0AtfbfcSAUcQQ/s1600-h/Cheez_Its_RPP.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOTTRJDGdwce-XdjIGtyLVtxMmqq7YUJ8WRYWk6JHMCvQvpJ8TNsb9r3yg4mCzxfueY367ejmfkaHjXgQAcU7Cman2ESFiFaUTkOiKAe9yUhxvJNamV3ixImk_A0AtfbfcSAUcQQ/s320/Cheez_Its_RPP.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291734855494598546" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Cheese Its and Gatorade, though I haven't had it since high school due to the fact I can't control myself around Cheese Its or Goldfish.<br /><br /><a href="http://itsbetterinhavana.blogspot.com/">llegally blonde</a> asked: What age did you begin writing and when did you realize that writing is truly your passion?<br /><br /><br />I wrote and produced little books when I was 7, all about <a href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/09/things-dont-change.html">Mr. Bunny</a>. But in 4th grade, I decided I wanted to be a writer and illustrator of children's books and needed a job to support that.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd02vrUTVPPCG6j0hj8T0KPcMxoX0KfRkBDNObswdbfHJGasJhJspkB6PPjSQoNOCFJT2M10SB_y8Ts1Ot1PEYzoMSCppm8Z0me4uS9MFzsNZlppDli3DiWOR9XGGZcKG3u0kP1Q/s1600-h/scan0007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd02vrUTVPPCG6j0hj8T0KPcMxoX0KfRkBDNObswdbfHJGasJhJspkB6PPjSQoNOCFJT2M10SB_y8Ts1Ot1PEYzoMSCppm8Z0me4uS9MFzsNZlppDli3DiWOR9XGGZcKG3u0kP1Q/s320/scan0007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291735742994417138" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I just have to master the illustration part.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://danielandwhitneyking.blogspot.com/">Whitney</a> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">How many stories do you work on at a time? How many do you post on your blog? </span><br /><br />I usually work on two to three for the blog and two to three not on the blog. Since I do this all week long at work, it doesn't confuse me. I get bored just with one story and tend to obsess, overthink and overwork a story.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Marie asked</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">Do you dream in colour?</span><br /><br />Yes. But I daydream in a mixture of words and images. It's odd.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">If you could have a dinner party and invite anyone you wanted, living now or an historic character, who would you invite?</span><br /><br />Well, Ben, the Babies, my family and you for one. And most of my Invisible Friends. I'd also invite Madeline L'Engle, my father's mother that I never knew, Shannon Hale, Roald Dahl, Teddy Roosevelt...<br /><br />I don't want to invite any celebrities. They're boring.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When can you come over to visit me?</span><br /><br />As soon as someone starts paying me to write books all day.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thrilled by the thought</span> asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">Where do you get your imagination from?</span><br /><br />Everywhere.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a special edition of Twirl this weekend where you will find out what's in the envelope. I swear. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. We also have a new candy animals, a new Gift and a week of whimsical fun! Stay tuned!</span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com82tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30076632.post-18355329270728422252009-01-15T03:00:00.000-08:002009-01-15T03:13:08.493-08:00Comfort in the Pond: Chicken Pot Pie and Oatmeal Raisin Cookies<a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Wqbq3UhGdAlCpGkDg2Io-qAnUjGN9983tbnbQSplNSTwMC0r5j36pY9uiByGxsvKTCscon4R3b7OmfZcawtRI2WOBzfKR8VLh5wXEvOgHOuzdEAGKLgm8P2p0JFIVYX5WfZWww/s1600-h/DSC04986.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Wqbq3UhGdAlCpGkDg2Io-qAnUjGN9983tbnbQSplNSTwMC0r5j36pY9uiByGxsvKTCscon4R3b7OmfZcawtRI2WOBzfKR8VLh5wXEvOgHOuzdEAGKLgm8P2p0JFIVYX5WfZWww/s320/DSC04986.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290981388600309922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">You're all familiar with my attempts to re-create the </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/11/pie-i-left-behind-me.html">world's best chicken pot pie from Alaska. </a><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHLGjaUn1IKGwKws0lvetToULvtR2-AC93Ki16qf0K2UfE-wV75141stt7zNF3LD9mDoE2kZzXdvLMRCt5gUb0J4C_TBY1G4v5juiIHTK-5TyBEHadaqS2QzQ1mcEtHpB4Twlog/s1600-h/DSC04987.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHLGjaUn1IKGwKws0lvetToULvtR2-AC93Ki16qf0K2UfE-wV75141stt7zNF3LD9mDoE2kZzXdvLMRCt5gUb0J4C_TBY1G4v5juiIHTK-5TyBEHadaqS2QzQ1mcEtHpB4Twlog/s320/DSC04987.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290982329825272466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And before we get started, I have a confession. Mom and Mama K, I know you both bought me gorgeous ramekins for Christmas. But I just couldn't help myself. Ice cream dessert bowls and mini-chicken pot pies just seem to go together.</span> Don't kill me.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Moving on.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Although most of my fabulous Invisible Friends think I spend my life inhaling pie and ripping meat off of ribs, I do attempt to eat healthy. Poor Ben is trying to eat healthy, and I keep making cinnamon rolls.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">So I decided to throw him a pie, instead of a meat bone. A delicious, </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >low-fat</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> chicken pot pie.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzX1O1iCBHhJR79zzfY26bF1yc44MeNqmQ3BGv-z5f63jbazdSeGYLDpUkbd2icuTZyrWY_YrMFa0BbcXR8zmFFkfu52d76Jxt4rYxWZX0NwjY641kHbamNNZiHXmMFjEUBQv9UQ/s1600-h/DSC04991.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzX1O1iCBHhJR79zzfY26bF1yc44MeNqmQ3BGv-z5f63jbazdSeGYLDpUkbd2icuTZyrWY_YrMFa0BbcXR8zmFFkfu52d76Jxt4rYxWZX0NwjY641kHbamNNZiHXmMFjEUBQv9UQ/s320/DSC04991.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290982938935004178" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">That's right. </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >Low Fat Chicken Pot</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >Pie.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I got this recipe from </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Taste of Home: Healthy cooking Dec/ Jan issue.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And it's nice and simple. And low-fat. Did I mention that?</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOb4EFfoOOsFwc7t0MwSmX6Ct4Od7OzzrfBLDRG8f4z6WLHtudoXePso-MXRklpBaWUqRVkluUi76jpoVC9QKz-_Zr5HAB-4oqhyrsh0rQPDfURjkrDNWp8lEiEg-GxLQJBEkHQ/s1600-h/DSC04983.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOb4EFfoOOsFwc7t0MwSmX6Ct4Od7OzzrfBLDRG8f4z6WLHtudoXePso-MXRklpBaWUqRVkluUi76jpoVC9QKz-_Zr5HAB-4oqhyrsh0rQPDfURjkrDNWp8lEiEg-GxLQJBEkHQ/s320/DSC04983.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290982671448265394" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">You simply make a roux, cook tasty chicken and vegetables...</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGg-INf52qh6UVQyzsOwwOoyLlgyyG2BAg_oyXZmBZEUeDV-adMh2rTpUTn_w12lxSpjXpCvfE_cLHqL7shlqhhESCPTSfTlJ3v-GzTM3k767qVrYYtl5blnVeivgz7UoGCiy4kg/s1600-h/DSC04984.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGg-INf52qh6UVQyzsOwwOoyLlgyyG2BAg_oyXZmBZEUeDV-adMh2rTpUTn_w12lxSpjXpCvfE_cLHqL7shlqhhESCPTSfTlJ3v-GzTM3k767qVrYYtl5blnVeivgz7UoGCiy4kg/s320/DSC04984.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290983667753326258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And roll out a low-fat crust to top them.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7u1uZLv-2AxMoRPFIZN3Yxk9MyKBjxkI5wFeZZerjpmNSpODgoM5Hllf3x8DLm7rwcdITpZ-YYGLmS2fBL4jH_oDF5YEXevMu-UROFQ-g3bqrvwucTH8tMOXpQ-PL0zC_pPRzQ/s1600-h/DSC04995.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_7u1uZLv-2AxMoRPFIZN3Yxk9MyKBjxkI5wFeZZerjpmNSpODgoM5Hllf3x8DLm7rwcdITpZ-YYGLmS2fBL4jH_oDF5YEXevMu-UROFQ-g3bqrvwucTH8tMOXpQ-PL0zC_pPRzQ/s320/DSC04995.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290984128269812530" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Pop them in the oven for 20 minutes and you have four yummy pot pies at </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >443 calories each</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Just in case you were wondering--it's good. It's really good. Creamy, rich but not too rich and pure comfort. </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And since we have all those calories left over...</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QV5A5yjPMwZvSRvQG3vlehwY9p8rWRkhyphenhyphenCRWCnCsXUxCgbGo89LavPFx4-_AIX4u4VugxhMdkpCcejkZZtYfpPHOLBW14Vo8SD2ju5lAv_5TnqirGRME6WpsKYiPV7RGiyZisw/s1600-h/DSC05043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QV5A5yjPMwZvSRvQG3vlehwY9p8rWRkhyphenhyphenCRWCnCsXUxCgbGo89LavPFx4-_AIX4u4VugxhMdkpCcejkZZtYfpPHOLBW14Vo8SD2ju5lAv_5TnqirGRME6WpsKYiPV7RGiyZisw/s320/DSC05043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290984448525372978" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">We can have a cookie. Or two. Or ten.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I'm just trying to keep it balanced, ya'll.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC85TQsGMFAUlkyO7dO3RazUjLWfK4OP7jwxkOL8Py_leQkt7V3cGQo3GkiPN2M8sr_K0Egy5rUogc_mmRVJe0b5atIzBoV4w_io8FQHGDVykcg1CNTXPZpC9uMPB_dT6JKEyzdw/s1600-h/DSC04990.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC85TQsGMFAUlkyO7dO3RazUjLWfK4OP7jwxkOL8Py_leQkt7V3cGQo3GkiPN2M8sr_K0Egy5rUogc_mmRVJe0b5atIzBoV4w_io8FQHGDVykcg1CNTXPZpC9uMPB_dT6JKEyzdw/s320/DSC04990.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290983279584619602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Taste of Home: Healthy Cooking Chicken Pot Pie</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 cup plus 2 tblspns all purpose flour, divided</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/4 tsp. baking powder</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/4 tsp. salt</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">3 tblspn. cold butter divided</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2 tblspn buttermilk</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 tblspn canola oil</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 to 2 tblspn cold water</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">4 medium carrots sliced</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">3 celery ribs sliced</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 onion, chopped</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2 1/2 cups reduced sodium chicken broth</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2/3 cup fat free milk</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2 cups cubed cooked chicken breast</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 cup frozen peas</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/8 tsp. pepper</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 egg white</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1) Combine 3/4 cup flour, baking powder, salt. Cut in 2 tblspn butter until crumbly. Add buttermilk and oil, toss with fork. Gradually add water, tossing with fork until dough forms ball. Cover and refrigerate for 1 hour.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2) For filling, melt butter in large skillet. Stir in carrots, celery and onion and cook until crisp-tender. In small bowl, combine flower with broth and milk until smooth. Stir into veggie mixture. Bring to boil. Cook and stir for 2 min. or until thickened. Stir in chicken, peas and pepper. Transfer to four 16 oz. ramekins and set aside.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">3) Divide dough into four portions. On lightly floured surface, roll out dough to fit ramekins. Place dough over mixture, trim and seal edges. Cut decorative center or cut slits in pastry. Brush with egg white.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">4) Place ramekins on baking sheet. Bake at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes or until crusts are golden brown. </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QV5A5yjPMwZvSRvQG3vlehwY9p8rWRkhyphenhyphenCRWCnCsXUxCgbGo89LavPFx4-_AIX4u4VugxhMdkpCcejkZZtYfpPHOLBW14Vo8SD2ju5lAv_5TnqirGRME6WpsKYiPV7RGiyZisw/s1600-h/DSC05043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QV5A5yjPMwZvSRvQG3vlehwY9p8rWRkhyphenhyphenCRWCnCsXUxCgbGo89LavPFx4-_AIX4u4VugxhMdkpCcejkZZtYfpPHOLBW14Vo8SD2ju5lAv_5TnqirGRME6WpsKYiPV7RGiyZisw/s320/DSC05043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290984448525372978" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >Ben's Oatmeal Cookie Recipe </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">(He consented to give it to you, dear Invisible Friends. But in return, Ben demands all positive feelings, good things, promotions, Porches and lottery winnings that come as result of his culinary creation of these cookies are subject to his "cut." Yes, he really said that.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 stick butter</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/2 cup brown sugar</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/4 cup sugar</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1 egg</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/2 tsp. vanilla</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">3/4 cup flour</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/2 tsp cinnamon</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/2 tsp salt</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1/2 tsp baking soda</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2 cups oatmeal</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2 small boxes raisins.</span> (About a cup to 3/4 cup)<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">1) Preheat oven to 350 degrees.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2) Melt butter and stir with sugar in bowl.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">3) Add egg and vanilla.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">4) Add cinnamon, salt, baking soda and flour.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">5) Stir in oatmeal and raisins.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">6) When mixed thoroughly, scoop out golf-ball sized balls on greased baking sheet.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">7) Bake 10-12 minutes at 350 degrees. Don't worry if they look gooey; they'll set.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7qSMgJ8o32M_v-SAY7C9TX7pW1A-cu0Q0O37B0nbetT8hZqYNB6Uv_8czLsvmenUPaBg2VsQHBM540GAfO4IeE0HaidEld00j-ZiWzRXTlg55BFvVBxp0RStgl2yMakjBoG2FQ/s1600-h/bunny"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7qSMgJ8o32M_v-SAY7C9TX7pW1A-cu0Q0O37B0nbetT8hZqYNB6Uv_8czLsvmenUPaBg2VsQHBM540GAfO4IeE0HaidEld00j-ZiWzRXTlg55BFvVBxp0RStgl2yMakjBoG2FQ/s320/bunny" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291342640713136866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERifzm1Ay6ByzkYKUANviyJ5rBbD09VAmTdvipSy3ABK1suwmIoKwRaWxsk3miCBcHZnrMWfItkj6CGQUOqMWniCj8SN37sB-4XD5ISJtxhjwSSW-wo_zunlzNO_Jr1_MabKw9Q/s1600-h/bunny"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >But if you bake these, beware....</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! Tomorrow we have the Blond Duck Confessions!! Get ready to learn things you would have never guessed about me! </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Saturday, we have the second part of candy animals and Sunday, a <span style="font-size:130%;">special edition </span>of TWIRL! And yes, you'll really learn what's in the envelope and who the Dance Hall Dreamers are.<br /></span></span>The Blonde Duckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085499120024055465noreply@blogger.com56