Girl on Film

I don't know what I must have looked like but due to the horrendous conditions up here, the farm has turned into a mud bath and I went arse over tit whilst trying to make my way back to the house.  Wellies unable to grip, sunk and slid until I eventually lost my footing and having nothing to hold onto, allowed my hands to take the fall.  I was a cross cookie, muttering, "for fuck's sake" under my breath at the mud. When I got back to the house I smiled, realising no one had seen me and the local paper were probably taking photographs elsewhere at that particular time.

My mum arrives on Thursday armed with bags of food and Easter eggs.  I only hope she doesn't bring her ivory sheepskin jacket and remembers we live on a farm.  Every time I look in the mirror I think about that hair dye I desperately need to apply and recollect my days as a townie when I used to take pride in my appearance.  Now I just have a shower and let the mirror do the talking.  I'll let you know when it says I'm the fairest of them all.  Might be a while.

Before I go, you might have noticed the MADS icon on my side bar.  If any of you lovely people are feeling kind would you click on it and nominate me for the Blog Writer Award, pleeease. 

Keeping it Together

A few daffodils have peeped through around the garden, sown once by an old farmer looking forward to their vibrant colour and spring-like feel.  I wonder if back then a weather forecast of heavy rain and snow threatened their growth, the way it does now, for the third spring in a row.  One could be forgiven for thinking we are living through a bleak midwinter, yet the daffodils reassure us otherwise.  My own lovely Farmer has no time to sow, having more work than in recent years once more due to the poor weather we experienced throughout the genuine winter months.  For the grass contains little lushness while the ewes have been unable to provide adequate supplies of colostrum, leaving weak lambs which need to be hand reared.  And so, together with the potholes, severe road conditions and school closures which we all experienced in the January snow falls, the weather has forced the sheep farmer to spend twice as much on lamb's milk and hours more on work.  But believe me, when you assist a birth, knowing you have saved the life of a helpless creature, the rewards are as beautiful as the daffodil which flourishes like a miracle in winter.

A little video of an orphan lamb being fed

Lambs aplenty

A little view of the maternity ward

This is one of triplets.  Unfortunately, one died shortly after birth and the other sibling will probably not last the day.  However, this one seems to be feeding okay so we're doing everything we can to keep him fit and healthy.

               And this is a single born yesterday afternoon, tucked into mum for warmth.

The ewes with orange and green tags in their ears are called 'Gimmers'.  This is another name for a young female sheep reared for breeding purposes.  We bought 40 gimmers in October last year and put them in the field ready to join the "Jigsaw Farm family"

I dedicate this post to the beautiful little sweetheart who is the daughter of Diary of a (not so) Single Mum  and I promise to have a video for you soon.

Dancing the Night Away

The first twin lambs born at Jigsaw Farm on 25th March 2010.  I couldn't get any closer, mum was a little nervous and lambs were very much staying with her!


And here's a close up of Molly; the most laid back collie in Northumberland.

Fortunately, the fog has cleared today and we have been able to move the ewes into our front field, which means we can watch them all the time.  Our new assistant, Emma, has settled in well and has just let me know that six ewes have given birth over night.  I will of course update my blog with photos. 

Amy went to the school disco last night and had a whale of a time.  She dances the night away each time, last night having found a dance partner who apparently told her she is beautiful.  "He's got a crush on me," she announced, "but I just want to be friends."  Quite right too, I told her.  Before reminding her that she's 10 years old and there's plenty time for all that when she's, ooooh, in her 30's perhaps?  Only joking; I didn't say that, but I did think it...

Now I'd like to ask you all a favour; a lovely lady known as Jo Middleton who blogs for Cuddledry has very kindly published a guest post of mine today of which I wrote about Amy's early diagnosis of autism.  If you have a couple of minutes to spare, please nip over and read it here, it's very short and would mean a lot to both Jo and I.  It's Autism Awareness Day on 2nd April so I shall post something further then.  Many thanks xx

Lambing Time

The first twin lambs were born at 7.30 this morning.  Somewhat of a water birth due to the state of the fields, but the Farmer came rushing in the house, excited and satisfied in a sheep sort of way, that both lambs are fit and healthy.  I don't have a photograph right now but hope to have one for you tomorrow.

Whoever invented the idea of the clocks going forward at this time of year?  Don't they know it's lambing season, and shepherds need all the rest they can get?  I'd go so far as saying it had to be someone who is positively not a farmer.  The ewes are looking enormous as they struggle to make themselves comfortable in the fields, wondering when mother nature will take its course.  Having given birth myself, albeit not in the same league as a sheep, I always sympathise with the woolies that lounge around with their bulging undercarriage desperate to make an appearance.  It took me 36 hours from feeling twinge to welcoming my baby elephant girl into the world and even though 12 of those hours were spent on an epidural, I was more than glad when it was all over.  I keep telling the Farmer that he doesn't understand the delicacies of womanhood and if men had to give birth, the world would most likely come to an abrubt end.  He says I'm a big, fat meany.  I tell him I'm not mean.

But on the whole, I'm hoping these ewes will get a move on now.  Our lovely new assistant, Emma, has joined our little clan today and I would hate to pay her to do nothing.  Then again, if she can bake a cake...

                                                   This picture was taken last year

500 & a Vote

I'm not sure whether I should be celebrating or not as this is my 500th post.   I usually try to blog every other day but have managed to write something every day recently, which I suspect will now come to an end due to the lambing.  Every other day will have to do for now, unless I have an interesting picture or vlog to show you of course. 

There's hardly any time left before we start lambing.  For the past few days I have been thinking about all the rest I won't get and the lack of sleep the Farmer will experience.  Our new assistant, Emma, starts working for us on Thursday and I'm really excited about welcoming her to the farm.  During the day my main job is to make sure Emma and the Farmer have a hot meal at lunch time which I suspect will be more challenging for me than doing the actual lambing.  Amy breaks up from school next Thursday so I'll have enough on my plate then, trying to keep her entertained.  It makes it ten times harder due to the fact that I can't drive; a quick nip to the beach or a swim at the local pool aren't options this year.  My mum is coming for a few days over Easter which I'm really looking forward to.  I haven't seen her for such a long time.  She's already announced that she's bought us all chocolate eggs, and apparently Amy has been bought the biggest one of all.  

But right now, I want to have a vote.  I'm not sure my vlogs are as good as the written blog and I want you to help me make up my mind.  I'm not talking about content, or the fact that I'm dying to laugh all the way through, but at the actual idea; having to make the effort to upload a vlog is far more time consuming than just writing something down and pressing the publish icon.  My connection is pretty naff which causes pauses every few seconds and my worry is that if this is happening to you too, it could quite easily put the reader off.  Please let me know your thoughts.

Butty Bliss

Nickie and Farmer's Wife have asked me to write about 10 things that make me happy.  Many things have this effect on me but here is just ten:-

1.  Getting up in the morning.  Each day is a gift.
2.  Stroking my dogs as they stroke me back with their adoring eyes.
3.  My pink fluffy dressing gown.
4.  Getting the quarterly brown envelope that contains our VAT rebate.
5.  Having a full chocolate drawer.
6.  Amy's return from school.
7.  A cuppa.
8.  Assisting a lamb birth.  No matter how many times I do it, happy tears always flow.
9.  Daffodils.  They're a beautiful way to start Spring.
10. You.  Blogging.  Networking.  And the many websites I have become a member of.

 And, Sam has started a new weekly prompt on Food for Thought, which for me is rather a challenge.  Being very undomesticated and one of those lazy cooks who hopes the freezer will have all the answers, I thought I would give it a go.  The idea is she gives you a word prompt and the participant thinks of a recipe surrounding that food.  This week's food is "bacon".  So here goes: place two rashers under a hot grill (I don't do fried), butter two slices of bread, and place the grilled rashers on top of one slice of buttered bread.  Add a little tommy sauce if you wish, then eat.  The Farmer says they're scrumptious.  I don't eat bacon.  I hope you all feel a lot better now for being taught this massively difficult method of home economics.

p.s. Amy has posted a new story on her blog.  Please pop over if you can.

Renaming of the Dog-Vlog

 Picture courtesy of Google, these gorgeous little dogs were the topic of a conversation on our Saturday afternoon walk.  I fear our collies may eat one for breakfast should they get half the chance, but they are adorable.

Bear in mind that Amy thinks very literally, here's me to tell you about our interesting chat:

Where is Customer Service?

So there I was, standing in a queue waiting to be served, eyeing up the cupcakes and crispies, when the man with the pram kindly moved aside so that I could reach for a chicken sandwich for the Farmer.  I thanked kind-daddy only to be faced with disappointment when I realised there were no chicken sarnies in sight.  "Oh well," I thought, "I'll just have to ask them to make me one up."  Two stressed out assistants ran back and forth, snapping at customers, "is there anything else?" and "can I help anyone?" when eventually it was my turn.

Seemingly-nice-lady asked me, "can I help you?"  "yes please," I answered, noticing kind daddy having already been served by seemingly-not-so-nice lady.  "Could you make me a chicken sandwich up please, there doesn't appear to be any on the shelf."  It wasn't a question.  It was a request.  I was the customer.

Not-so-nice-lady, who incidentally was serving someone else, looked at me and snapped, "that's because we're busy."  "Excuse me?" I replied.  She did not answer.  I don't like confrontation.  Never have.  I can't handle it.  And when one is faced with a rude shop assistant in the middle of a packed bakery, one turned around to face the other customers who were quite happily minding their own business, looking everywhere apart from at me.  Is it the customer's fault that the shop was short-staffed?  Is it the customer's fault that the rude and discourteous shop assistant might have been having a bad day?  Is it the customer's fault that there were no chicken sandwiches left?  Well bugger me, I forgot to ask for my chocolate crispie after all.

Ancient Holes

Once more, a team of archaeologists have asked to come and dig holes in our fields in the hope of finding out about our landscape thousands of years ago.  Now I'm all for learning about our heritage, discovering historical facts and visiting museums, but this is the third year running that the agricultural calendar hasn't quite fit into our archaeological friend's version.  Over the next few months, all our fields will be filled with gambolling lambs and frantic ewes enjoying their little slice of heaven and the last thing we want is to lose any down a hole which has been purposely dug to discover "if" that particular area was the river bed of which used to flow through this farm land seventeen thousand years ago.

The man in charge is a lovely guy, full of life and completely dedicated to his job, but right now, all we care about is getting a healthy lambing season over with, buying as many jars of mint sauce as possible, and keeping our profits up.  Lambs falling into holes isn't going to help.  And they don't cover the holes up until the job's finished - you know, until they've made the discovery of life in an age that didn't have mint sauce with its lamb chops.  If I'd have left it to the Farmer to give the go ahead, I think we'd have been in trouble.  Sometimes, I just wish that man would say "No".  Which is exactly what I did.  I don't mind them digging, they are careful in re-filling the holes, but not when we're lambing.  If our calendar doesn't fit into the archaeological one, it's simply tough shit.
 

Spring Steps

The atmosphere differs somewhat to that of a day time ambience; darkness overwhelms the dancing shadows as a moon struggles to break through a cloud soaked sky. The house always feels at peace during the late hours, whispering its gestures to a waiting audience.  I feel like a gatecrasher, standing on the outside of a restful gathering, waiting for a noise to disturb the silence.  Images stand in my view, their gentle pupose reminding me how the black of night can often obscure the purity of day.  Floorboards creak as my beating heart races to out-do the intensity of drowning sound.  Anxious, not scared; looking for something yet unsure as to its identity.

Telling whoever wants to listen about the gentleness of this house, how its arms are constantly wrapped around my family, is one of the things that makes me happy.  I love that I feel safe here, even in the dead of night when the Grandfather clock becomes a ghost standing on the landing in all its beauty.  The daffodils have started to poke through; green stems and tiny yellow buds fighting for exhibition.  They were planted many years ago, when the Farmer was a young boy.  I stood in the yard yesterday and asked Jim, "Did you plant them?".  "Some of them," he replied, as he encouraged me to look towards the rose bush, planted in his memory.

My Hooter & The Famous Five

A few weeks ago Bonnie, the more exciteable of the two puppies, charged at me in all her enthusiasm and bashed me in the nose. It bloody hurt. Enough that for the past few weeks I have been taking pain killers and nursing a very sore and tender nose. However, me being me, I thought, "it can't possibly be Bonnie's fault" and so I decided I had sinusitis! Stop laughing at the back.  Having never had it before I scoured the Internet for symptoms of which pretty much boiled down to the ones I had. Except today I couldn't stand it any longer and thought it best to see the doctor. So off I trudged, to his little TARDIS in the next village, and let him have a right good look up my hooter. Prodding and pressing, feeling and caressing, asking me about snot and things on my hankie, he confirmed that my sinuses are absolutely fine. "Have you knocked it recently?" he asked. "Oh, well one of my puppies did a bit since," I answered.  Some more feeling took place before he gave his final diagnosis. "You've broken your nose," he said. He explained how the bones and bits inside work and everything started making sense. It's slightly swollen but is now on the mend and apparently re-setting itself. And it still bloody hurts!

And moving swiftly on, Amy drew out five names from her "see you, Jimmy" hat.  I will contact each one of you and ask for your address so that I can send a copy of my childrens book to you.  Here is the Vlog we did which shows Amy drawing the names from the hat.  If you didn't win a copy but would like to receive one, you can always buy one here.  Thank you for all your comments and for taking part in my little competition.

Being Autistic

What do you say to them when you realise that whatever you do say might not be understood.  Or will be, more times than not, a waste of time, and will make you feel worse than you probably do already.  Those beautiful malteser eyes stare up at me with huge great tears just bursting with volcanic resemblence, and I am supposed to decide in a split second whether this is an age issue, or one of autistic trait.

Last week I lost the plot.  I guess sometimes even mums are allowed to have a tantrum, and that was what I did.  The door took most of it, but I must have looked like a mad woman; completely crazed by a child's rudeness.  I couldn't cry.  Tears wouldn't come to the surface even though I was sobbing inside.  I knew having a tantrum in front of my autistic daughter was the worst thing I could have done, and I'm still reliving it seven days later, when she tells me how crazy I was.  But then the inevitable happened; word from elsewhere that Amy had been telling her friends about our little tete-a-tete.  I was wrong to do what I did, I'm usually calm and walk away from a situation where I know I cannot win, but just occasionally, that little wire snaps, and bingo.  I'm a gonna.

Of course things calmed down within the hour but I spent a few days beating myself up, thinking of new ways to tackle the issues which no doubt surround adolescence.  But what's not easy to get a handle on is adolescence vs autism.  As yet I do not know exactly what the next twelve months will bring, let alone the next five years of which I am sure will be just as hard for Amy as it will for me.  The school are helping, as is the school nurse, but right now, support is very thin on the ground.  And that, I am sorry to say, is nothing new.

p.s. Book giveaway draw will take place either tomorrow or Wednesday; am trying to persuade reluctant child to help with filming it!

Light at the End

Something amazing happened yesterday.  I knew at the beginning of the week that I was nearing the end of my novel, the one I have been writing on and off for the past two years.  The one in which I have fictionalised my own paranormal experiences, seeing them through Camilla's eyes.  I have lived her life, thought her thoughts, created her from my own imagination.  I have felt as if I owned her, as if she answered only to me.  I have visualised actors playing the parts of characters, Martin Shaw as the Reverand Oakley, Robson Green as Michael all verging on a complete fantasy of which I have seen played out before my eyes.

But yesterday I realised that I had reached the light which marked the end of my work in progress.  I had said everything that needed to be said, got to the point where stretching out the novel for the sake of length would have been wrong and most likely spoilt the whole effect.  And so I closed the file and finished it.  I haven't typed the words, "The End" because I am sure there will be much to add, and too much to subtract.  I have put my little memory sticks on which the book is saved, into a drawer and locked it.  After the lambing I will open that drawer and begin the editing process which I know will be hard, but will mean another step nearer to presenting it for potential publication.  I suspect finding a publisher will be the most difficult part, but for now I shall enjoy achieving my goal of writing my paranormal novel.

And so, in order to celebrate this achievement, I am giving away three copies of a children's book which I wrote myself and self-published.  The book, Adventures at Aaron Loch Farm, is a compilation of children's stories which I wrote a few years ago.  It's nothing fancy, but all my own work, including the book cover picture.  But I'm proud of it, because it was the first book I had published, albeit by myself.  I shall write all commenters names on a separate piece of paper then ask Amy to draw out three at random.  I'm more than happy to post anywhere in the world.  And if I get lots of comments I shall increase this giveaway to five copies, but if you would rather not receive a copy and you still want to leave a comment, just say, I won't in the least bit be offended.  You know me, I love my comments.  CJ xx

Sunshine Fields

We had one of those unforgettable family afternoons on Sunday.  The sky was blue, few clouds scattered in recognisable shapes, a distant micro-glider buzzing above the barley fields.  The Farmer was sawing down hedges, keeping himself busy in the Spring sun whilst Amy and I played hide and seek, her idea; mine was to sit down and play a board game.  One of Amy's hiding places was behind the greenhouse, made of glass. I had no problem finding her on that occasion.

We decided to join the Farmer in the end, walking down the field to be greeted by 4 excited collies, bounding towards us.  I couldn't miss the opportunity of taking the camera and the camcorder, so here's a little vlog snippet for you, it's only a minute in length, without my ugly mug, so quite safe to watch.

Locked Up

A long time ago, when I lived in the South East, I did some contract work for the Crown Prosecution Service; a very interesting job but one I couldn't have undertaken as a permanent post.  I saw many harrowing files, witnessed cases being brought to court, and even sat in on a murder trial to assist one of the law clerks.  It was pressure all the way, and even though I was young, married to my first husband with no children, I just wasn't cut out for the responsibility in which the job demanded. 

Unfortunately, I made few friends and was quite relieved once my contract came to an end, lucky enough to find a permanent job not long after at Rothmans where I did make friends and felt much more at ease.  But even though my temporary post at the CPS didn't work out, I have always been interested in law; attending college to get the Institute of Export qualification thus making my job at Rothmans more successful.

Now I find myself asking a question; as a defence lawyer, knowing your client is guilty, with strong evidence to prove it, how would you defend them?  You have a murderer or the like standing in the witness box, having just sworn on the bible, and refusing to accept responsibility for their actions, yet the lawyer knows otherwise.  Does the lawyer get his client off and risk that person being back on the streets to murder again?  What is classed as winning a case so far as the defence team are concerned? 

Grandma's Picture

When I was a little girl I used to love visiting my grandma.  She lived in a 3 bedroom 1930's semi on the outskirts of a small town.  The house also had a large back garden, seeming much bigger when I was a child.  We always used the back door which opened into a little porch, or lean-to as is sometimes known, which went straight into a small kitchen.  I remember the units being similar to the ones we used to have in the farm house kitchen before it was renovated.  Two doors in the kitchen, one leading into the back room which was used most of the time and the other going into the front room, a large sitting room with a sideboard, gramophone and a few other pieces of furniture of which I can't quite recall.  I do remember however, the photographs of which grandma had on display, sitting proudly in their frames on the sideboard.

I used to love this room; I would spend most of our visits playing on my own with the brass ornaments grandma had on the fireplace.  I often got told not to touch but you know what kids are like.  But I was always so proud of the baby photo; I used to stare at it and ask my mum to tell me what I was like as a baby. The reason why I look so chubby was because my parents left me with my auntie for two weeks not long before it was taken.  My dad had to go to Germany on business and mum decided to go with him, taking my almost 4 year old brother with them.  When they returned they were shocked to see me as I lay in my pram, the only explanation being my auntie had fed me on bananas for the whole duration.

Having been passsed the baton by Trish of Mum's Gone To, I now proudly present it to my taggee who can be found here.  This is a picture of the person in question, a little clue for you on the photograph.

Parallel Universe

No matter how many times we wish we had the better option, we are always able to make do with what we have.  I have learnt over the years that the challenges and obstacles of which I have been faced with have not been bestowed on me because I couldn't cope.  We go through many testing times throughout our existence, some of us are faced with more than others, but these are only times which we can deal with, only tests in which we will, eventually, pass.

We need people in our lives to help us cope with the days that we wish our parallel universe was a little nearer to reality.  It isn't easy sailing through life having nothing to worry about, and that is something most of us will never experience.  I worry if I haven't got something to worry about.  The responsibilities we take on during the course of our lives are often so great that it isn't uncommon for one to feel we are in it way over our heads, incapable of getting through a day.

Life is a precious gift; imagine how incredible it would be if there were two of us.  A parallel existence in another universe could be all the things we always wanted to be, it could do everything we planned to do, visit all the places we want to see, have the perfect job, live in a perfect house.  Even though this wouldn't be reality, what would you want for your life in a parallel world?  Putting aside your contentment in this life, imagining you could choose another You.

Positive Review

I had Amy's statement(of special education needs) review recently. The first one at her new school. I came away with a spring in my step, totally in awe at the incredibly keen interest of which the school have taken towards her welfare. They can't do enough for her, ensuring she gets the maximum enjoyment and educational support she possibly can. I had my report to submit, along with reports from the school and her communications officer. And what I found comforting was the fact that we are all on the same wavelength. Nodding heads and lots of "yes, absolutely"'s and I felt good inside. Amy's growing up, and the school are acknowledging that head on.

As you know, she has started doing life skills which comprise of swimming, helping at another school, cookery and soon to be helping at a library and possibly a nursery. The nursery arrangement concerned me a little due to Amy's difficulties in dealing with younger children (she gets very aggressive towards them) but the school once more came up trumps and ensured me she would be observed and supervised at all times.

The current statement stipulates 26 hours support per week, but the authorities were suggesting that this be reduced to 20 hours as from 1st April. The school are in total disagreement with this plan and are insisting that 26 hours remains, if not to be increased. I was almost jumping up and down with thanks. It's so important that Amy doesn't lose any hours because, as the school agreed, the reason why she has been doing so well at middle school is because she has a good level of support. But it's all about funding. People don't matter anymore; and that's what we need to change.

Love Is ......

...... when your husband sacrifices his evening cup of tea because he forgot to buy a bottle of milk.  That's what the Farmer did.  We get two bottles on Monday and two on Friday, occasionally having to buy another bottle midweek.  But this has become the Farmer's job since I surrendered my driving licence last November.  Only this week, he forgot.  When I went to get the milk out of the fridge in order to make my mashed potatoes, I had no choice but to leave the smallest amount, meaning not enough for two cups of tea.  Where we live it isn't a case of walking to the corner shop.

Most nights at around 9.30, he makes us both a cuppa, occasionally gracing me with a plate of biscuits.  But it meant only one cup.  And he, being the perfect gentleman, insisted that the one cup should be mine.  I didn't marry him for his money, nor did I marry him for his romantic gestures; but I did marry him for love, and of course his night time cuppa.  What is love for you?

I wonder if you would spare a few moments to vote for Sparky in the Boomerang Favourite Pets competition. Amy set it up and she and I would be so grateful. Here's the link : Sparky Huge thanks xx

Farm Walk

Amy asked me recently; "when was grandma born, was it in 18 something?"  I had to laugh.  I sometimes wonder if it was 18 something myself.  I haven't seen my mum since my birthday last December.  We speak to each other regularly on the phone and she's been taught a hundred times how to text, but it does't sink in.  I guess some understand, some don't.  I suspect it's from her that I get my unbelievable lack of technical knowledge.  Being born in 18 something can't have helped towards the understanding of the mobile phone, or indeed t'internet. The last time my mum came to the farm she brought her best ivory coloured, sheep skin jacket.  She spent an hour stood at the sink washing off dirty paw prints.

Amy helped me to do a vlog; a conversation about cameras and dogs, and apart from the end where it gets particularly dodgy and Amy almost has a meltdown, most of it has come out relatively okay.  (Minus makeup, in regular dirty farm clothes, and Amy talking too. Amy did the filming and I think she's done a really good job.)

Friendly Chat

Over the last few years since I began blogging, I have become acquainted with many fascinating people.  When I first started out writing this blog I was often nervous about commenting on other blogs, wondering if I was saying the right thing; sometimes struggling to find the right words because I didn't know enough about the blogger.  But as time went by, I soon came to realise that what really mattered was my visit and appreciation of the post.  During the past 3 years I have read so many amazing blogs which have inspired me to write a post of my own, and some have even given me ideas of a post of which has turned out to be hugely popular; Amy's interview for one.  I have been incredibly honoured to receive awards from many excellent bloggers, and had my blog linked on many occasions; each time making me feel deeply appreciated. 

I spend a lot of time blogging, getting to know people, most of whom I will never meet.  But last week when making my first vlog, I realised something very special: when I was talking to the camera, feeling a little like I was talking to myself, it came to me that I was actually talking to friends; my friends from around the world.  It felt personal, as if I had invited you into my home for a cuppa, and we were simply having one of our regular chats.  When a news reader reports on the days events, they talk to a camera, addressing the nation.  But I was addressing friends.  Even though my face was to be broadcast on computer screens across the globe, I felt as though I knew the people who sat in front of them.  That is the biggest reward I have had since I first created my blog in May 2007. And so to you, I wish to present an award. Please accept it and place it on your blog.  You all deserve it.