Sunday, July 8, 2018


My frustration level has maxed out.  Due to my techie ignorance or Blogger's I still can't get comments on this blog.  I'm to the point of scrapping the whole thing and calling it a day.  I've tried all the fixes that Jenny, Julie, Peg and Shez recommended. I've gone to the Blogger website and still nothing.  Oh, I get the confirmation emails that I will be getting my comments, but they aren't coming through.  I started this blog to meet quilty people around the world and over the years I've certainly done that. But for months I feel like I've been talking to myself and that's not fun.  I know you are sending comments because you who have my email say you have.  Yesterday I found somewhere in all the clicking in the bowels of Blogger a place that said I have 38 comments waiting for my approval except there was nowhere offered to actually approve them.  I could delete, declare them spam and refuse them but not accept them.  And now I can't even find that page.  My last resort: Chooky.  If she can't fix me, nobody can.  She's busy dealing with feeding cattle and sheep in a drought but I finally caved and sent her an SOS.
 To get my blood pressure back down I picked some daisies from the yard
 and brought my orange peels out to the back with an iced tea and a new book.  Sitting under the umbrella and watching the birds come to the feeder at my feet, I'll while away this perfect summer  afternoon.
 I checked this book out of the library and got maybe 20 pages into it when I realized I have to own this one. Amazon gift cards are so nice!  I ordered this Friday and it just arrived in time for my patio sitting.

PH joined me and set himself up with a plate of watermelon and his paperwork for the Planning Commission meeting tomorrow night.
 This is especially for Joyce and Marge.  I don't do Brussels sprouts. They stink.  But when Marge and Joyce order the roasted sprouts in a restaurant I'm always "encouraged" to take that No-Thank-You bite.  They stink. I have taken a teeny taste of a crispy leaf and didn't die.  My neighbor gave me two sprout balls (she, too, tried to convert me but I'm not buyin' it) and I peeled them completely down to just leaves.   Then I roasted them in the oven for a good long while to maximize the crispy.
 Then I drizzled some fig balsamic vinegar on them and while PH ate his watermelon I tried these. Well, what do you know?  They still stink a bit but the balsamic saved the day.  I ate them!  I lived!

No comments:

Post a Comment