How sad to be one of those people who find their miracles in what they can afford to acquire, who sees their paycheck as a measure of their happiness. Sometimes eyes glued to stocks and bonds reports and bank statements will lose sight of the miraculous to be found in life as they rejoice in the penny they lost.
As a child I didn’t think much about miracles happening to me. Of course I read about saints, healing shrines and visitations of the supernatural to other people but would never have related these hard-to-explain events to my own life. You get a few minutes past age thirty, however, and you start to get introspective. You begin to wonder about arrival at this particular point in life, how you got here and whether you should and/or deserve to be here. You look back and suddenly realize you didn’t get here under your own steam.
I try not to wish people luck. Praying they are given blessings seems so much more fulfilling as life progresses and youth is no longer an option. And as you speed through increasingly higher numbers each birthday, you begin to remember and understand how many beautiful, miraculous and blessed events shaped your formation to the now of today.
The day before I was married, I suddenly remembered an event from my childhood. I was dropped off after school on the right side of a usually quiet road. I was about to race across without a second thought as I did most every afternoon. For some reason, as I turned to dash across the street, I couldn’t move and hung suspended in time for a brief span. In that short moment, a car, seemingly out of no where, raced by. I felt the wind rush past my face and would not have had to reach far in order to actually touch the automobile as it speeded off. If I had been in my usual place that afternoon, I would have been in the direct path of that car. As I completed last minute preparation for the wedding, I finally gave God a long over-due thank you for letting me come to wedding day.
My hardest lesson in life as a married woman was using my time in an organized manner. Even though marriage freed me to be my own boss in a way, certain responsibilities had to be met in order to keep family and marriage on an even keel. It wasn’t an easily learned lesson and I often rebelled against doing what I had to do before indulging in what I wanted to do. I arrived at a Saturday morning one day, eager to spend a couple of hours at the fabric store, taking advantage of the sales. I also had an empty pantry and needed to go grocery shopping. My initial inclination was to enjoy the morning and do the menial later, much later! My Guardian Angel must have been on overtime that day. I found myself doing the right thing (even with lots of mental protests and sulking.) and spent the first part of the day planning the menus, shopping and stocking the cupboards. I was at the grocery store at ten o’clock instead of crowding in the fabric store when it opened at ten. When I got to the fabric store that afternoon, I found out it had been robbed and several of the people had been hurt by the thief. The ones who escaped hurt, had the horrible memory of hiding and praying it would all be over soon. What time did this crime occur? At ten o’clock when the store opened.
One morning I was walking with my then two-year old daughter down a early-morning quiet street. Suddenly two large dogs loomed ahead. I said a quick prayer and calmly crossed to the other side of the street. One of the dogs crossed over and I silently implored my Guardian Angel for help. The dog passed us by and as I breathed a sigh of relief, he doubled back, grabbed my daughter and pulled her from my arms! I screamed but this was an unusually quiet street with zip to zero traffic on a busy day. Suddenly a business truck braked to a stop on the opposite side of the street. The driver chased the dog away and waited until help came and then was gone before I could gather my wits to thank him.
Years ago,now, I miscarried our baby Matthew at four months. We were devastated but had to carry on with the day to day life as a family. While I was paying my bill at the doctor’s office, the receptionist and I were joking about my three little ‘monsters’ that papa was trying to keep under control during my appointment. When I came out of the office, a gentleman who had been in line behind me asked as I joined my family, “Are these your little monsters?” As I affirmed this, he went on to say, “They aren’t little terrors! They are beautiful, little angels, but there should be four of them!” Since Matthew would have been number four, this twisted in my heart. I had only lost him two weeks before. Trying to maintain control, I replied that there were only three and turned to leave. My husband and I had gone several yards when the gentleman called out, “Sir! Sir!” My husband turned to him and the man said, “I will put a good word in for you!” A little more than a year later, I had my fourth little angel.
Whenever the day to day physical side of coping with life wears on my spiritual and I feel to the extreme the pains of being merely human, it helps to take a moment and remember the unexplained episodes of the past. When these times, both good and bad, are viewed as the building blocks of our life, we begin to fathom some of God’s reasons and trust in His Will in dealing with the instances we can’t understand.
“I should not be a Christian but for the miracles.” (St. Augustine)
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
How to get a rise out of your family and memories . . .
Although my mother didn’t bake ordinary bread very often, she did make a lot of sweet yeast breads, coffee cakes and pastries. She always seemed so confident. When I grew up, I never learned to fear the outcome of yeast! Of all the baking I do, I think bread permeates the kitchen with one of the most comforting smells. If there are plump, golden loaves cooling on the counter, there can’t be too much wrong with the world. I bake bread at least once a week and still get excited when I see the dough successfully pushing against the plastic-wrapped bowl. Bread has gotten to be such a part of my kitchen world, that I find myself continually thinking of new ways to bake the same old recipe!
As a mother, you probably find yourself the first one up in the morning. Take the uncluttered moment to mix up a bowl of bread dough before the crowds descend for their morning sustenance. Bread dough is very forgiving. Mix it and keep punching it down until you have time to bake it.
Basic Bread
1 tablespoon dry yeast
1/4 cup cold water
6 cups all-purpose flour, approximately
3 teaspoons salt
Water as needed
In a large mixing bowl, dissolve one tablespoon of yeast in a quarter cup of straight-from-the tap, cold water. Cold water will not kill yeast. Add about six cups of all-purpose flour and three teaspoons salt. Add enough water to form a dough. The dough should be workable and not too wet. You may end up getting into this process with your hands! Add flour as needed. Mix until the dough can basically hold it’s shape. Knead and work the dough on a floured board until smooth. Round it out and place in a greased bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise until doubled. This can take an hour to three depending on the weather. If it rises up quickly and you can’t get to it immediately, push it all down again. It will come back!
Remove the dough from the bowl and divide into two. Shape into loaves and place in greased bread pans or form round loaves on greased baking sheets. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Cover loaves with plastic wrap (it helps to spray the underside of the wrap with vegetable spray to prevent sticking). Let the loaves rise again until doubled. Slash across the top of each loaf with a sharp knife. Place bread in the oven and bake for about 45 minutes to an hour or until deep, golden brown. Remove from pan and cool before slicing.
My bread seemed to have a problem one day. Out of four loaves set to rise, one didn’t seem to be keeping up with the others. I had divided the dough equally between the pans yet this particular loaf refused to increase in volume. I was still bewildered as I prepared to put them in the oven. It was then I noticed the missing patches of dough on one side. Almost at the same time, my three year old appeared in the kitchen with sticky dough all over his hands, face and hair!
Once you master bread baking, you have opened the doors to creativity on a large scale. With the previous recipe you can make bread sticks, rolls, baguettes, fried bread and pizza crust. With a little effort in the morning, you have the means of enhancing your evening meal.
Rolls are simple. Divide dough into pieces half the size of your fist. Round them out and place them about two inches apart on a greased baking sheet. Let rise until doubled. Before baking, you can brush them with beaten egg white for shine. A sprinkling of poppy seeds, caraway seeds or sesame seeds earns you credit towards best mom in the world.
Bread sticks are just pieces of dough, rolled out about as thin as a pencil. These don’t need the second rising. Brush with egg white, if desired, and bake 8 to ten minutes until golden. Arrange these golden sticks in a fancy vase. You will have an edible centerpiece that won’t last long.
Baguettes are just long, thin loaves of bread. After they have had their second rising, make some diagonal slashes, brush with egg white and bake until brown. They are very nice served with salad or soup. No need to cut, just break off pieces and pass them along. Very continental!
Fried Bread is just that! Take small pieces of dough (no second rising required), roll them into thin strips and deep fry until golden. Drain and dust with powdered or granulated sugar. Cinnamon could be a thought, too.
Potato Bread always sounds intimidating. The secret to easy potato bread is a little foresight. The next time you boil peeled potatoes, save the water you drain off. Seal it in a container, refrigerate and plan to bake bread the next day. Instead of cold water, use the potato water. If there isn’t enough to get your dough started, supplement with more water.
Sun-dried Tomato Feta Baguette only needs a recipe of your bread dough, ½ cup sun-dried tomato and 3/4 cup crumbled Feta cheese. Divide your dough into four sections. Roll out one section, spread on one-fourth of the tomato and cheese and roll up into a long baguette. Seal the edges together. Let rise until doubled on a lightly-greased baking sheet. Just before baking, brush with beaten egg and sprinkle generously with poppy seeds. Continue with the rest of the dough. You can usually fit two loaves on a baking sheet.
Wheat Bread calls for the substitution of one cup of the all-purpose flour for a cup of whole wheat flour. If you like your wheat bread a bit sweet, you can add a tablespoon or two of honey to your dough.
As a mother, you probably find yourself the first one up in the morning. Take the uncluttered moment to mix up a bowl of bread dough before the crowds descend for their morning sustenance. Bread dough is very forgiving. Mix it and keep punching it down until you have time to bake it.
Basic Bread
1 tablespoon dry yeast
1/4 cup cold water
6 cups all-purpose flour, approximately
3 teaspoons salt
Water as needed
In a large mixing bowl, dissolve one tablespoon of yeast in a quarter cup of straight-from-the tap, cold water. Cold water will not kill yeast. Add about six cups of all-purpose flour and three teaspoons salt. Add enough water to form a dough. The dough should be workable and not too wet. You may end up getting into this process with your hands! Add flour as needed. Mix until the dough can basically hold it’s shape. Knead and work the dough on a floured board until smooth. Round it out and place in a greased bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise until doubled. This can take an hour to three depending on the weather. If it rises up quickly and you can’t get to it immediately, push it all down again. It will come back!
Remove the dough from the bowl and divide into two. Shape into loaves and place in greased bread pans or form round loaves on greased baking sheets. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Cover loaves with plastic wrap (it helps to spray the underside of the wrap with vegetable spray to prevent sticking). Let the loaves rise again until doubled. Slash across the top of each loaf with a sharp knife. Place bread in the oven and bake for about 45 minutes to an hour or until deep, golden brown. Remove from pan and cool before slicing.
My bread seemed to have a problem one day. Out of four loaves set to rise, one didn’t seem to be keeping up with the others. I had divided the dough equally between the pans yet this particular loaf refused to increase in volume. I was still bewildered as I prepared to put them in the oven. It was then I noticed the missing patches of dough on one side. Almost at the same time, my three year old appeared in the kitchen with sticky dough all over his hands, face and hair!
Once you master bread baking, you have opened the doors to creativity on a large scale. With the previous recipe you can make bread sticks, rolls, baguettes, fried bread and pizza crust. With a little effort in the morning, you have the means of enhancing your evening meal.
Rolls are simple. Divide dough into pieces half the size of your fist. Round them out and place them about two inches apart on a greased baking sheet. Let rise until doubled. Before baking, you can brush them with beaten egg white for shine. A sprinkling of poppy seeds, caraway seeds or sesame seeds earns you credit towards best mom in the world.
Bread sticks are just pieces of dough, rolled out about as thin as a pencil. These don’t need the second rising. Brush with egg white, if desired, and bake 8 to ten minutes until golden. Arrange these golden sticks in a fancy vase. You will have an edible centerpiece that won’t last long.
Baguettes are just long, thin loaves of bread. After they have had their second rising, make some diagonal slashes, brush with egg white and bake until brown. They are very nice served with salad or soup. No need to cut, just break off pieces and pass them along. Very continental!
Fried Bread is just that! Take small pieces of dough (no second rising required), roll them into thin strips and deep fry until golden. Drain and dust with powdered or granulated sugar. Cinnamon could be a thought, too.
Potato Bread always sounds intimidating. The secret to easy potato bread is a little foresight. The next time you boil peeled potatoes, save the water you drain off. Seal it in a container, refrigerate and plan to bake bread the next day. Instead of cold water, use the potato water. If there isn’t enough to get your dough started, supplement with more water.
Sun-dried Tomato Feta Baguette only needs a recipe of your bread dough, ½ cup sun-dried tomato and 3/4 cup crumbled Feta cheese. Divide your dough into four sections. Roll out one section, spread on one-fourth of the tomato and cheese and roll up into a long baguette. Seal the edges together. Let rise until doubled on a lightly-greased baking sheet. Just before baking, brush with beaten egg and sprinkle generously with poppy seeds. Continue with the rest of the dough. You can usually fit two loaves on a baking sheet.
Wheat Bread calls for the substitution of one cup of the all-purpose flour for a cup of whole wheat flour. If you like your wheat bread a bit sweet, you can add a tablespoon or two of honey to your dough.
A Good reminder . . .
Cemetery Watchman ...
My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a 'slightly larger' uniform.
Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace.. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.
I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.
Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.
I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.
I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.
'Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?'
She took long enough to answer.
'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.'
'My pleasure, ma'am.' (Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.)
She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?'
' Vietnam, ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'
She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can.'
I lied a little bigger: 'No hurry, ma'am.'
She smiled and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off.. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'
'Yes, ma 'am. At your service.'
She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out.. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X.Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944..
She paused for a second and more tears flowed. 'Two more, son, and we'll be done'
I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, ma'am. Take your time.'
She looked confused.. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.'
I pointed with my chin. 'That way, ma'am.'
'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.'
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out and more tears flowed.
'OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.'
Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'
She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines.'
She stopped! Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.
I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.
'Get to the 'Out' gate quick.. I have something I've got to do.'
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road fast. We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.
'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post
When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!'
I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.
She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice far beyond the realm of most.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End,' just think of 'Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.'
Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.
'In God We Trust.'
Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!
If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!
You are required to pass this on NOW!!
My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a 'slightly larger' uniform.
Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace.. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.
I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.
Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.
I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.
I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.
'Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?'
She took long enough to answer.
'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.'
'My pleasure, ma'am.' (Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.)
She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?'
' Vietnam, ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'
She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can.'
I lied a little bigger: 'No hurry, ma'am.'
She smiled and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off.. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'
'Yes, ma 'am. At your service.'
She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out.. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X.Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944..
She paused for a second and more tears flowed. 'Two more, son, and we'll be done'
I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, ma'am. Take your time.'
She looked confused.. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.'
I pointed with my chin. 'That way, ma'am.'
'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.'
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out and more tears flowed.
'OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.'
Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'
She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines.'
She stopped! Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.
I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.
'Get to the 'Out' gate quick.. I have something I've got to do.'
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road fast. We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.
'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post
When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!'
I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.
She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice far beyond the realm of most.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End,' just think of 'Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.'
Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.
'In God We Trust.'
Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!
If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!
You are required to pass this on NOW!!
Weird change of events . . .
One of my daughters is slated to graduate in December of this year from a Catholic college. Although she has basically enjoyed her time there, we have run into a few things that would have made us think twice about sending her there . . . if we had known. They are prone to changing policy with insufficient note to the students. Because of a tight budget, my daughter had been staying on campus during the annual Spring Breaks. Last Spring, she got four days notice that they had 'changed the policy' and students would no longer be allowed to stay there during the break. Have you ever tried to get a flight during Spring Break when every college student in American is trying to get home or somewhere to celebrate the vacation? The only flight home we could find for her cost $1,000 for the round trip when the usual fair would have been under $200. Sure saved some money that year, didn't we?
Now, she has been informed that December graduating seniors will not be allowed to remain on campus. The reason? Because when they leave in December, it leaves empty places in the living quarters and takes away from the 'community spirit'! Huh? Isn't banning students from campus living taking away their 'community spirit'? The policy sounds like our federal government these days; "Sure you pay and support us but we won't be seeing to your needs."
The college has also changed policy on graduation requirements which might further prevent my daughter from graduating. She is having a meeting today about this and I'm praying they 'grandfather' in the students caught in the middle on this but it doesn't look hopeful. You have to wonder if this is their way to get an extra semester of tuition out of us if she has to go beyond December to get her degree.
Oh, and the college is in a small town so finding an off-campus place could be up to a mile or more away and she and her friend do not have a car plus both sets of parents don't really have the money to pay $500 or more a month for off-campus accommodations.
Anyone with students checking out colleges had better see how much they can get down in writing about how things will actually be when their child heads into their senior year and graduation.
As you can imagine, we are upset and worried that after taking out loans and making payments on a good education, my daughter may walk away from there without a diploma.
Now, she has been informed that December graduating seniors will not be allowed to remain on campus. The reason? Because when they leave in December, it leaves empty places in the living quarters and takes away from the 'community spirit'! Huh? Isn't banning students from campus living taking away their 'community spirit'? The policy sounds like our federal government these days; "Sure you pay and support us but we won't be seeing to your needs."
The college has also changed policy on graduation requirements which might further prevent my daughter from graduating. She is having a meeting today about this and I'm praying they 'grandfather' in the students caught in the middle on this but it doesn't look hopeful. You have to wonder if this is their way to get an extra semester of tuition out of us if she has to go beyond December to get her degree.
Oh, and the college is in a small town so finding an off-campus place could be up to a mile or more away and she and her friend do not have a car plus both sets of parents don't really have the money to pay $500 or more a month for off-campus accommodations.
Anyone with students checking out colleges had better see how much they can get down in writing about how things will actually be when their child heads into their senior year and graduation.
As you can imagine, we are upset and worried that after taking out loans and making payments on a good education, my daughter may walk away from there without a diploma.
These gave me a grin this morning!
"Have you ever observed that we pay much more attention to a wise passage when it is quoted than when we read it in the original author?"
-- Philip G. Hamerton
"The significant problems we have cannot be solved at the same level of thinking with which we created them."
-- Albert Einstein
"Of those who say nothing, few are silent."
-- Thomas Neill
-- Philip G. Hamerton
"The significant problems we have cannot be solved at the same level of thinking with which we created them."
-- Albert Einstein
"Of those who say nothing, few are silent."
-- Thomas Neill
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