Yes, at last, I’m honoring the second part of my commitment to Nancy at f8hasit by bestowing the “Your Blog is Fabulous” award on the following five bloggers!
1. Susan at “A Walk in My Shoes” writes with insight and inspiration about her writing, and (like a good teacher) makes you think about your own writing. And she ties it beautifully into shoes in one way or another. Check it out, she lovingly makes you think!
2. Amber at “Airing My Dirty Laundry (One Sock at a Time)” keeps me in stitches with her recounting of life with two (totally gorgeous) kids and a hubbin in the military. She’s for real, and she provides a relaxing look at her life on an army post.
3. Amanda at “Mandajuice” is a remarkable writer who seems to have twelve plates spinning in the air at any given time. She is writing a novel, raising her kids, and keeping her husband happy, too. Her ability to share family life and the challenges we all face is uncanny!
4. JennyMac at “Let’s Have a Cocktail” is the most prolific blogger I know. She routinely posts six days a week, and they are truly all quality reads. She also has a habit of sharing some delectable recipes from time to time, and I can recommend several of them highly. She is a mighty clever writer!
5. “Swistle” writes about life with her husband and five kids in a way that you completely understand, yet leaves you spitting coffee out of your nostrils. She’s a total laugh riot and has a unique take on all phases of life. It’s a blast to read her blog.
So there you have it, my friends, the award goes to e) all of the above. Bravo to all of them for the wonderful job they do, and the joy and entertainment they provide. May I just say, to paraphrase the immortal words of the late Fernando, “Your blog is fabulous.”
His poetry totally rocks my world. He can make me laugh and cry both within the same poem. He sees things with clarity and insight and shares them like a ripe peach. Oh, please buy his books, read his work, and worship him as I do. We will be the Billy Collins cult. And The Lanyard will be our anthem. Or The Trouble With Poetry. Or The Poems of Others. Or The Man in the Moon. You will so love this man’s work. 
I love everything about it. Touching it, turning it, cutting it, ironing it. Wait—maybe not so much the ironing part. I started sewing when I was very young, and fell in love with what I could do with fabric. Make myself a dress, make curtains for my room, later make clothes for my kids, re-cover seat cushions to my liking, make fun purses, etc. When I discovered quilting about twenty-five years ago, a whole new world of fabrics opened up to me. Great and wonderful colors and designs are out there, and there are new lines and designers coming along all the time. Amazing things can be done, and one can never have too much fabric. That is axiomatic. You can believe the bumper sticker She Who Dies With the Most Fabric Wins. 
I know, this should have been first, not third, but I’m weak. I despise and detest injustice in all its many forms. I cringe, rail, and shake my fist in the face of any display of bias, discrimination or unfairness. I write letters to the editor, to my senators, to my congressman, to anyone I think can effect change in the face of some perceived wrong. I attend meetings, sometimes I organize meetings, letter-writing campaigns, or other means of protest when I think that justice is not being served. Right is right, and wrong is wrong, and who are we if we do not speak up when we witness an act of inequality? 
by Crockett Johnson. I have very vivid memories of riding the Elmwood-Darstdale bus to the Delmar Loop to visit our local library on Saturday mornings. I can (seriously) conjure up the smells of that wood, and the marble floors and the beautiful, and seemingly endless, shelves of books. I recall that I was allowed six books each week, and would read them over and over again until the next Saturday rolled around. I also remember that I couldn’t wait for my fifth birthday to come, as that was the day I was permitted to get my own library card. I printed my name on the line, and my mother attested to my age. This was perhaps sweeter than getting my driver’s license. A license to read. My driver’s license had more limits than a library card. I still couldn’t leave our metropolitan area at sixteen years old, but even at age five, with my own library card I had a passport to everywhere. I was reborn! (We should talk about The Elegance of the Hedgehog—have you read it?) 
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