Bring Me That Horizon

Welcome to jennyweber dot com

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Home of Jenny the Pirate

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Our four children

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Our eight grandchildren

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This will go better if you

check your expectations at the door.

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We're not big on logic

but there's no shortage of irony.

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 Nice is different than good.

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Oh and ...

I flunked charm school.

So what.

Can't write anything.

> Jennifer <

Causing considerable consternation
to many fine folk since 1957

Pepper and me ... Seattle 1962

  

In The Market, As It Were

 

 

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Contributor to

American Cemetery

published by Kates-Boylston

Hoist The Colors

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Insist on yourself; never imitate.

Your own gift you can present

every moment

with the cumulative force

of a whole life’s cultivation;

but of the adopted talent of another

you have only an extemporaneous

half possession.

That which each can do best,

none but his Maker can teach him.

> Ralph Waldo Emerson <

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Represent:

The Black Velvet Coat

Belay That!

This blog does not contain and its author will not condone profanity, crude language, or verbal abuse. Commenters, you are welcome to speak your mind but do not cuss or I will delete either the word or your entire comment, depending on my mood. Continued use of bad words or inappropriate sentiments will result in the offending individual being banned, after which they'll be obliged to walk the plank. Thankee for your understanding and compliance.

> Jenny the Pirate <

A Pistol With One Shot

Ecstatically shooting everything in sight using my beloved Nikon D3100 with AF-S DX Nikkor 18-55mm 1:3.5-5.6G VR kit lens and AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.8 G prime lens.

Also capturing outrageous beauty left and right with my Nikon D7000 blissfully married to my Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D AF prime glass. Don't be jeal.

And then there was the Nikon AF-S DX NIKKOR 18-200mm f:3.5-5.6G ED VR II zoom. We're done here.

Dying Is A Day Worth Living For

I am a taphophile

Word. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Great things are happening at

Find A Grave

If you don't believe me, click the pics.

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Dying is a wild night

and a new road.

Emily Dickinson

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REMEMBRANCE

When I am gone

Please remember me

 As a heartfelt laugh,

 As a tenderness.

 Hold fast to the image of me

When my soul was on fire,

The light of love shining

Through my eyes.

Remember me when I was singing

And seemed to know my way.

Remember always

When we were together

And time stood still.

Remember most not what I did,

Or who I was;

Oh please remember me

For what I always desired to be:

A smile on the face of God.

David Robert Brooks

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 Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.

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Keep To The Code

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You Want To Find This
The Promise Of Redemption

Therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not;

But have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God.

But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost:

In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.

For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus' sake.

For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;

Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;

Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.

For we which live are alway delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.

So then death worketh in us, but life in you.

We having the same spirit of faith, according as it is written, I BELIEVED, AND THEREFORE HAVE I SPOKEN; we also believe, and therefore speak;

Knowing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, and shall present us with you.

For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might through the thanksgiving of many redound to the glory of God.

For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;

While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.

II Corinthians 4

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THE DREAMERS

In the dawn of the day of ages,
 In the youth of a wondrous race,
 'Twas the dreamer who saw the marvel,
 'Twas the dreamer who saw God's face.


On the mountains and in the valleys,
By the banks of the crystal stream,
He wandered whose eyes grew heavy
With the grandeur of his dream.

The seer whose grave none knoweth,
The leader who rent the sea,
The lover of men who, smiling,
Walked safe on Galilee --

All dreamed their dreams and whispered
To the weary and worn and sad
Of a vision that passeth knowledge.
They said to the world: "Be glad!

"Be glad for the words we utter,
Be glad for the dreams we dream;
Be glad, for the shadows fleeing
Shall let God's sunlight beam."

But the dreams and the dreamers vanish,
The world with its cares grows old;
The night, with the stars that gem it,
Is passing fair, but cold.

What light in the heavens shining
Shall the eye of the dreamer see?
Was the glory of old a phantom,
The wraith of a mockery?

Oh, man, with your soul that crieth
In gloom for a guiding gleam,
To you are the voices speaking
Of those who dream their dream.

If their vision be false and fleeting,
If its glory delude their sight --
Ah, well, 'tis a dream shall brighten
The long, dark hours of night.

> Edward Sims Van Zile <

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Freedom is a fragile thing and is never more than one generation away from extinction. It is not ours by inheritance; it must be fought for and defended constantly by each generation, for it comes only once to a people. Those who have known freedom and then lost it, have never known it again.

~ Ronald Reagan

Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Not Without My Effects

My Compass Works Fine

The Courage Of Our Hearts

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Daft Like Jack

 "I can name fingers and point names ..."

And We'll Sing It All The Time
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That Dog Is Never Going To Move

~ RIP JAVIER ~

1999 - 2016

Columbia's Finest Chihuahua

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~ RIP SHILOH ~

2017 - 2021

My Tar Heel Granddog

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~ RIP RAMBO ~

2008 - 2022

Andrew's Beloved Pet

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Sunday
Feb072010

Super Bowl Picketchard

Picketchard ... Original Recipe. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Picketchard.

It's not a fence.

It's not a protest.

It's not a lottery game.

No ... no, and it's not a new football player ... or a new play.

Before we go any further, let me state unequivocally, and not for the first (or last) time: I don't do football.

The thought of attending a tailgate party excites me about as much as the prospect of watching "Turbo" Tim Geithner, clad only in Jockey shorts and a wifebeater, cheat on figure out his income tax refund using cut-rate software with Windows 95 on a laptop roughly the size of Janet Napolitano's hin lap.

The idea of listening to the pre-game show, wherein zillionaire former NFL stars wearing $4,000 suits and $800 ties sit around a desk harping on the minutest details of every team, every coach, every player, every play, every contract, every statistic, fills me with the same sense of wonder that envelops me when I pluck mini lint-blankets from the mysterious hole-y landscape that is my clothes dryer's screeny trap.

Her eyes widen. She staggers a little.

The thought of sitting through the actual Super Bowl game interests me about as much as watching a horde of geriatric snails demonstrate their snappy ambulatory technique.

The idea of being forced to witness the halftime show inspires the same kind of dread I experience when contemplating a trip to Wal-Mart at peak traffic time the Saturday before Christmas or Easter.

Like, not at all, y'all.

And again I say: I don't do football.

But I have nothing against fun food, the type of which folks often enjoy on happy, sit-around-with-friends kinds of days like Super Bowl Sunday.

A little buddy of mine at church often teases me about my love of hot dogs. "What are you having for lunch today?" she asks me nearly every Sunday morning as we head for our cars, and home, and lunch.

"Why, hot dogs, of course, Gail," I say with a straight face, even if we're actually having brunch at Harper's or bacon and eggs at Cracker Barrel or barbecued chicken with mashed potatoes, green beans, and cornbread muffins at our own table.

In other words, I lie (sometimes) ... in church ... just to see the expression on Gail's face when I say "hot dogs."

Her mouth falls open. Her eyes widen. She staggers a little. She clutches my arm. "HOT dogs again, on a Sunday, you just had hot dogs last week, I can't believe you like hot dogs so much, why do you like hot dogs so much, what kind of hot dogs do you buy, how do you cook your hot dogs, we don't eat hot dogs all that often ... "

My Little Buddy Gail. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

She's priceless.

Today, after answering (truthfully) that our lunch menu consisted of hot dogs, baked macaroni 'n cheese casserole, and two kinds of snack chips, and watching my little buddy run through the full gamut of emotions prompted by that astounding revelation, I assured Gail that someday I'd tell her the secret behind why we like hot dogs so much at our house.

What I didn't tell her was, once I tell her, she'll have to enter the witness protection program. She'll have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life.

"Do you really want that, Gail?" I will ask when I finally decide to reveal the secret. Then I will howl inwardly at the half-amused-half-scared-serious expression which is sure to suffuse her cute little face.

But you? To you I shall reveal all, and let the chips (make mine wavy) fall where they may.

If they fall on the floor, Javier'll snap 'em up. No harm, no foul. Six points.

Serve with hot dogs and wavy chips.

The secret is picketchard.

You take a bowl ... it doesn't even have to be a super bowl. It can be a plain bowl.

You take some mustard and squeeze a bunch of it into the bottom of the bowl, until you're tired of squeezing.

You take some ketchup and you squeeze a bunch of that on top of the mustard ... about twice as much ketchup as mustard is best.

You take some large-dice sweet pickle relish and on top of the mustard and ketchup you plop several heaping tablespoonfuls of the pickles.

Stir well and heat in the microwave for a couple of minutes, until piping hot.

Serve with hot dogs and wavy chips. It's good on both.

Real good.

Picketchard.

And now you know.

Reader Comments (10)

See? Deep down inside, you actually DO do football. Lemme 'splain: your very use of the word "picketchard" is not only -- in the words of that supreme verbal gymnast, Tommy Smothers -- "psychoceramic", it defines THE key play of last night's Super Bowl: "Manning drops to throw...the pass...and THE SAINTS PICKET OFF AND CHARD 74 YARDS TO A TOUCHDOWN! WHO DAT!"

You had this in mind, all the time, didn't ya? ;-)

February 8, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterSkunkfeathers

@ SF ... WHO DAT sayin' I do football after all? Oh ... skunky ... well, when you put it that way it sounds rather reasonable! Interestingly enough, I DID see that long fast touchdown made by one of the Saints players (who dat?) after Peyton Manning threw an unfortunate interception. That was a vaguely exciting moment. BTW I just HAPPENED to be walking through the room when that transpired ... but you quoting Tommy Smothers? Priceless!

February 8, 2010 | Registered CommenterJennifer

For comedic sake, I was going to pretend I didn't understand the entire message of the first half of this post (You don't DO football) and ask you a dozen questions related to last night's Super Bowl game. But then I remembered that you are my friend and that I do not wish to have a bowl of picketchard tossed at my head from several states away.

I will give picketchard a try next time I have hot dogs. If it kills me, I promise not to blame you or haunt you from the great beyond.

February 8, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterkev

@ Kev ... LOLOL may I remind you we inhabit contiguous states, my man, and if I have to I'll throw a semi-long Paytonesque pass and you'll be picking picketchard out of your teeth for a week! LOLOL seriously, try some. I promise you'll like it. Good on hamburgers too!

February 8, 2010 | Registered CommenterJennifer

Um... yuck. But this isn't the best time to mention, well, food of any kind. I'm on soup and cough drops for a while. (Of course, everyone knows you put pickles on hamburgers, NOT hot dogs, lol! Well, everyone except the relish eaters. And my mother, who SUPPOSEDLY has a weak stomach, but actually EATS sauerkraut!)

February 9, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterrosezilla

Yum, makes me want some right now...dripping off of a burger. That stuff is gold.

February 9, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAudrey

I'm late to the party, however....

There are a few things that if I could somehow be certain I would never have to do again, ever, I'd be perfectly fine with. One of those things is attending a football game. At any level. Anywhere.

Football just does not interest me. I work with a guy who finds that attitude utterly foreign. He cannot wrap his brain around my total apathy towards football. You'd think I'd have told him I wasn't interested in breathing.

February 17, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterJT

@ JT ... speaking of the party, welcome to it, such as it is. Now pass the picketchard ... oh and by the way, AGREED ... football ain't breathing. Not even a close second. I do not relate to those who seem able to wrap their brains around a football in the first place, not to mention wrap it around a football and virtually nothing else.

February 18, 2010 | Registered CommenterJennifer

Add some sliced velveeta and onions to that before it goes into the microwave. Tastes yummy and the cheese makes the concoction stick to the bun!

March 22, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterChris

@Chris ... I'll be sure to give that a try! Sounds wonderful.

March 22, 2010 | Registered CommenterJennifer

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