June 2008


Prince Charming and I met online eleven years and three months ago.  We lived 1000 miles from one another.  I was living alone after being divorced at age 32, after a 3-year marriage.  (I had been divorced a couple of years.)  It was a dreadfully boring Saturday night (a concept I cannot begin to imagine at this point in my life), so I decided to check online to see if there were any e-mails I could answer.  None.  I was relatively new to the internet and started poking around.  I found something called “Love at AOL.” 

 

 

 “What could it hurt?”  I thought to myself.  “I’ll just look around a little.  It should be amusing.”

 

 A search for men in my region of the country with some similar interests brought up S.  I e-mailed him.

 

 My blog was only a week old yesterday, but some of you may have already figured out that when I write, I write a lot.  I explain things a lot.  Being 32 and divorced (never mind completely new to online dating), I wrote him a long e-mail explaining me.  I did not want pretense.  It was sort of a “this is who I am, let me know if you are interested in more.”  I do not remember what I wrote at all, but it was probably 4 or 5 typewritten pages.

 

I did not hear back from him for a couple of weeks.  That was fine; I just figured it was not something that would happen, and I did not need to waste time worrying about it.  (Later I would learn that it took so long because he was, let’s say, “overwhelmed” by my e-mail.)  Apparently after he got over the length and depth of the thing, he was impressed by how different I was from everyone else who had responded to his ad, or whatever it was called.  

 

 For the next 3 months we e-mailed, IM’d and talked on the phone on-and-off.  Then right after Memorial Day weekend, we decided that we were going to talk more.  And meet.

 

 I was getting ready to go on a trip to see some cousins.  I had a new car (which I still miss, but it wouldn’t hold the dogs AND the kids after they came along) and some vacation time built up.  S and I decided I should make a slight detour to meet so we did not build “castles in the sky,” only to potentially be disappointed when meeting later.

 

 I had never driven 15 hours before.  I decided to stop after 12 and do the last three hours the next day to not be so tired when I got there.  

 

 We had done a LOT of talking so we would not be misleading one another.  He had also been through a divorce, and due to our histories, we both thought it was important to just be ourselves when we met.  He did a really good job of that.  I almost did, but will admit to spending 30 minutes curling my hair the morning I began the final 3-hour leg of the journey at 5:30 a.m.

 

 When I met him on June 1, 1997, there was no chemistry for me.  He was definitely not “my type.”  He was wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt and had on glasses with frames that were just a little too big.  My heart sank a little, but I was careful to keep it hidden. 

 

He worked at a college and was on-duty.  However, it was summer, so there was not much going on.  He took me for a tour.  Somewhere on that tour, the chemistry kicked in.  It started to not matter that I liked “tall,” and he was “not-so-tall.”  It started to not matter that I liked “lean,” and he had a football player’s body.  (Three of his undergrad years had been funded by a football scholarship.)  It started to not matter that I liked dark, thick hair, and he had medium-brown, ordinary hair.  I cannot explain it, but by the end of the tour, I liked him.  And I could imagine liking him a lot more.  It must have been the Prince Charming qualities that would take years for me to fully realize.  (I am actually sure I have not realized all of it yet.)

 

 We spent 4 days together.  He visited me two weeks later.  After that we saw each other on the 1st day of every month until the following April.  We were engaged in February (the trip in which he visited over the 1st day of March), and got married on June 30.  We wanted to get married July 1 because we clearly had a thing about the 1st days of months.  But we got married in Canada, and July 1 is a National Holiday there.  And we did not think it would be easy to find a random person to perform the ceremony for “foreigners.”

 

 We each only had one witness.  Mine was my favorite cousin.  His was his very best friend. 

 

 S made all the arrangements for the wedding which was in Winnipeg.  He had driven up there from North Dakota one long weekend to check out things and start on the arrangements.  I did not have to do anything.  He was not controlling about it; he would have let me do anything I wanted.  In hindsight he probably wishes he would have made me do some of it because he set a precedent which has never been broken.  Louise. does. not. make. travel. arrangements! 

 

 Our honeymoon was spent moving him from North Dakota to my home in Missouri where he would begin graduate school.  Little did I know that the 2 years for a masters’ degree would turn into 4 years for two masters’ degrees.  (The only reason he is not working on/does not have his PhD is that he got a real job and that had to go on hold–at my insistence.) 

 

 The day we got married, I was somewhat terrified.  In ways, I knew S better than anyone I had ever dated.  Our relationship was based mostly on talking, which we had done a lot.  We made a point to visit one another, but talking on the phone was what we did most.  (No free cell phones in those days, either.)  But in other ways, I felt like on that day I did not know him at all.  I was sitting in a car next to a man I had spent a couple of handfuls of days with, on my way to get MARRIED to him.  But I am not the type of girl to back out.  And I also know that I have very good judgment, but I often do not trust it when it relates to me.  So I went ahead with it, even though part of me said I could be a complete idiot making the biggest mistake of my life.

 

 It has been the best thing of my life.  I really do not know of many any men who could even come close to being the Prince Charming he is, especially with me.  I think I am a pretty good catch, but it is not just anyone who could appreciate all of my finer qualities.  He can.  He has.  He embraces them.  He is all the things I am not.  I am uptight.  He is calm.  I am a workaholic.  He is a lazy bum willing to stop and enjoy life sometimes and makes sure I do as well.  He does not play mind games, and does not acknowledge them if I do.  He will be honest with me unless it is to tell me that something makes me look fat.  We are a terrific team.  There will be a lot of posts in the future about his specific attributes, but for now my purpose is to let you know overall how wonderful he is and how happy I am to have been married to him for 10 years.

 

 So right now we are in Winnipeg, which is where we got married.  We are staying here, where we stayed on our honeymoon.  But I think he booked the best suite they have this time.  Remember HE makes all the travel arrangements.  Which is good, because I am the frugal one, and we would be staying in a cheap dump if it were up to me!  We will be here for 5 days—which is 3 more than we were here when we got married.  There is a certain market/mall to which we are excited to return.  There are some beautiful sites to see and the ruins of an old cathedral (an amateur photographer’s paradise).  We have some letterboxes to find.  We are having a wonderful time getting the honeymoon we never really had

 

 By Louise Cannon

 

One of the blogs I subscribe to is 10,000 Birds.  Though I am not a serious birder, I love to see birds, and see new ones, and sometimes identify the ones I am seeing for the first time.  The people who write for this blog are serious ornithologists.  Sometimes I feel like an underachiever when I go to that site because I do not get as serious about it as they do.  But I love to see what they are doing anyway.  Maybe when my life is different, I will spend entire days/weekends/weeks/months working on my life list of birds and knowing their scientific names.  For now, however, I go there for enjoyment.

 

Image Credit.  (I know this is in the wrong place, but I cannot figure out how to get it in the right place!)

 

Today they referenced an interesting article about the shortage of Clownfish that has happened since the movie, Finding Nemo,  was released.  People “needing” these fish as a pet are not the only reason for the shortage, but it plays into it.  It makes me wonder what people were thinking when they watched the movie.  Was it not about not harvesting wild fish to have as pets?  (OK, that was not what the movie was about, but the message was there.  At least I thought it was.)

 

Something you will find little (and I thought none) of on this blog is politics.  I really have no use for politics.  Politics often creates zealots, and I do not believe that I am one.  And truthfully, conversations with zealots (from any political persuasion) get on my nerves.  My opinions are my own.  I live by them and act by them and vote by them.  But I do not try to convince anyone else that I am right, or that they should believe what I believe.  In fact, I am guessing there are very few people in the whole world who really understand, or even know, my political opinions and persuasions.  Actually, probably only S, my Prince Charming husband does.  But even he and I do not discuss politics often because he can be a zealot (if for no other reason than he has a good time playing Devil’s Advocate), and I do not like those types of conversations. 

 

With all of that said, this post is probably a little bit political.  Let me make it clear that I am not judging anyone for owning a Clownfish.  I am guessing that most people who own them do not have any idea there is a 50% chance that theirs came from the wild.  My question is why do the pet distributors (or whatever they are called) go get them out of the wild to keep up with demand?  It seems to me that if they did not, the prices would go up, and eventually people would stop buying them.  Of course a market would be gone, or certainly not as lucrative as it is now, but what of it?  Does any market last forever?  Does any business that lasts have to find new markets and new products? 

 

Before I was a stay-at-home Mom, I worked for a manufacturer in the automotive industry.  I did not work for an automobile manufacturer, but a supplier of non-cosmetic interior parts—things that could not be seen and were therefore more generic than some components of the car.  Our business changed courses constantly.  We could not make the same thing and expect to keep in business for a year, let alone forever.  We could not even make the same  types of things and expect our business to grow, or even remain steady.  We were always having to find new ways to apply our product. 

 

How much more important would it be to change directions and focus when the item in question is not a renewable resource like my company manufactured, but an animal that maybe our grandchildren (if you have small children like I do) will never get to see, and will especially wonder about, because I KNOW that movie will still be around in 100 years!

 

And one last thing.  Though it is my opinion that pet distributors have been irresponsible in this area, all of us need to be more responsible consumers.  Ignorance can be bliss, but only for ourselves. 

 

Off my soapbox for now.  I PROMISE not to be here very often!

 

By Louise Cannon

 

p.s.  My 10th anniversary is tomorrow.  I am probably already on an airplane by the time you read this.  I have some posts scheduled for my absence, but I will not have computer access while gone, so I will not be checking your blogs or answering comments.  I will catch up as fast as I can when I return.  (Monday’s post is about Prince Charming.  I know some of you can hardly wait for that!)

When Mrs. G asked the question about where the heart of our homes was, I had to think a moment.  The answer came flying into my head immediately, but I had to make sure it was right.

 

It could be the dining room.  Our family has a meal there together at least once a day—sometimes more on the weekends.  We spend a lot of time there talking, laughing, sharing.

 

It could be my bedroom.  Due to a surgery nearly 3 years ago where I was on the completely inactive list for 10 weeks, I slept in most days.  My daughters would actually wake up before I got out of bed, and I would allow them to get into bed with me.  That ritual has never died on mornings that are lazy for me.  My husband takes a picture of “all the girls” (which includes one of the cats) every New Year’s morning.  We have tickle parties there.  We read stories there.  We talk there.

 

But in the end, my first thought was right.  The heart of my home is my stamping room.  It is the largest room of the house and was intended to be a family room when built.  But until we move away, that will never be its purpose. 

 

It is the heart for many reasons.  It is where I spend more time than any place else.  My business is run from this room.  Classes are taught here.  Gifts and cards are made here.  I stamp with friends here.  My daughters enjoy stamping with me here, too.  The computer is also here in the corner which works as an office which means that I spend even more time here checking my e-mail, paying bills, and now, blogging. I am in this room a lot.  But just my presence does not make this room the heart of my home.

 

This room is joined to the kitchen as one giant room.  So when I cook (which gets equal to or more time than stamping), I am still a part of the room.  And the whole family is here as well.  There is the lunch/art table for the girls, where they do all kinds of projects whether I am cooking or stamping.  Here is also where the “clubhouse” is, an area under a work table that I have curtained off with old fabric.  And there is again, the computer, where my husband can unwind while playing silly computer games, surfing the internet and reading all the blogs that I tell him are funny or really good.  All-in-all, the whole family spends more time here than anywhere else.  It is creative time except for the video games and fun time.

 

A few months ago I bought some nifty storage units to organize this jam-packed room a little better.  It made me almost as happy as stamping does.  Everything is neat and organized (except for the desk which will never be is not even close to that state), and there is more room.  Of course that means more room for Pollys and Barbies and all manner of toys to be left to trip over, but that is part of what makes this room the heart of our home.

 

by Louise Cannon

 

Note:  For those of you who know me, do not for one second think I will be regularly posting this frequently.  This is a fluke, and I do not think I can keep up if it happens again!

 

Before I began my own blog, I started looking at several photography blogs that I found through “Sky Watch Friday.”  I thought to myself that if I ever started to blog, this was the perfect thing for me.  I like to take pictures of lots of things, but the sky is probably where I lose my head more than on anything else.  I take sky pictures almost every day.  I’m tempted to go outside and take some right now, but I’m restraining myself.  They’re just white clouds.  (However, Cloudbusting has many, many amazing photos of “just white clouds!”)

 

This is my first Sky Watch Friday post.  I truly appreciate Tom Wigley from Welcome to Wiggers World for hosting this.  Just in the few weeks that I’ve been hanging out there, Sky Watch Friday has grown tremendously.  If you like to look at great pictures, go take a look at some of the submissions and their blog owners.  I have found a lot of cool blogs this way.  (And Tom’s photos of the English countryside make me want to catch the next plane over to just wander about.)

 

This photo is from my back yard over the Spanish Broom, almost finished blooming.  (The header of this blog is the same bush when it is in fuller bloom.)  It reminds me of a picture I took walking up a mountain in Iceland many years ago (long before I had a digital camera).  The Spanish Broom reminds me of the mountain.  I like this because I live in the suburbs of a city where space is at a premium.  Our back yard does not qualify for a back yard in my opinion.   (I am from the Midwest.)  But this picture gives me the impression that there is nothing close to us.  It seems peaceful, as if I cannot hear the car driving down the street just a few feet away.  And for those of you who live in more humid (or smoggy) regions of the world, yes, the sky is that blue!

 

by Louise Cannon

 

Note:  This is posted on Thursday, even though it’s Sky Watch Friday.  I think it is based on GMT, which works just fine for me because I am excited to have a chance to  participate in Mrs. G’s “heart of your home” post tomorrow at Derfwad Manor.

 

Washing dishes was something I never learned to do as a child.  Don’t get me wrong; my family was not rich.  I was not pampered.  It was the opposite.  My parents believed I should significantly contribute to the household (and outside) chores, and when I was young, my parents were poor.  Dirt poor.  Wrong side of town poor.  

 

So why did I not learn to wash dishes?  It was because my parents were poor that I did not.  They were terrified that I might break a precious dish that they could not afford to replace.  In fact, many of our dishes came from “green stamps” and from the county fair.  When I was little there was a place on the midway at the county fair where one could throw nickels and dimes at dishes.  If said coin landed on a dish, the person throwing the coin got to keep the dish.  My mother mastered a technique that won us enough dishes to get by.

 

(One might wonder if my parents were so poor, why did they spend the money to go to the fair in the first place?  I do not know.  I never asked.  I have a theory that the entrance fee was worth the dishes won.  I also believe that there was pressure from friends or family that all children must have this experience.  We went on Free Ride Day.)

 

But I’m getting way off track.

 

I remember begging to wash dishes, but to no avail.  My mother simply would not risk it.

 

When I was 10 years old, someone gave my parents a portable dishwasher.  That forever solved the issue.  I never learned to wash dishes.  I remember living in one house in which the dishwasher broke.  My brother and I had to wash the dishes one day.  It was horrible.  (I finally made him leave and did it myself so it would get finished more quickly.)  But having lived with a dishwasher for several years, my parents bought one the next day and had it installed as quickly.  (They also were no longer dirt poor.)

 

Every place I lived after I left my parents’ house had a dishwasher.  The last house I lived in had a broken-dishwasher-problem, but I took care of it as my parents had. 

 

My attitude about washing dishes, I will admit, has become a bit cavalier.  I love to cook, and loving to cook usually means getting a lot of dishes and pans dirty.  I do not care.  I put them in the dishwasher.  If it gets full, I run it.  I even will hesitatingly admit that I have been more than a little proud when the dishwasher runs 3 or 4 times in one day because I have made such a feast—and not on a holiday!  I do not hand-wash dishes unless it is of vital importance to re-use an item before I can get it back out of the dishwasher.  This drives my husband, S, a little crazy.

 

Monday night I was out of the house rubber stamping with some friends.  Oh, the bliss.  When I returned home, I could feel the tension in the house and my children were still up!  I must make it clear that Prince Charming never, EVER waits for me to get home to put the children to bed.  He does it every single day (whether or not I am  home) unless he is out of town.  Something was definitely wrong.

 

Our dishwasher was broken.  A part of me was relieved because I always hated that particular machine.  It came with the house and is the type that comes with houses that are put up in just 3 months, like all the houses on our block.  We moved into this new house just under 6 years ago, and we have never liked the dishwasher.  So this was our opportunity to go out and get one we liked better, even if we had to wash dishes a day or two.

 

WRONG!  Oh, so wrong!  WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS CITY???

 

We My husband did hours and hours sort of enough research online and decided on this model.    We found a reasonable place in town that had them in stock (and gave a discount for a military ID, which my husband has because he is in the inactive reserve), and went to shell out a fair amount of money.  Our plan was that by today we should have been washing dishes in a dishwasher again.  But NO!  So far we have not even received the call to SET UP the installation.  The sales person at the store said that they will call BY FRIDAY NIGHT, and then it will probably be another week before it can be installed.

 

Imagine the sinking feeling in my weary, little, I-do-not-know-how-to-wash-dishes heart.  Almost always S cleans up after dinner because I make the meal.  Mind you I clean as I go and do not leave the kitchen a disaster area, but I clean up by rinsing and putting everything into the dishwasher.  Now I have to WASH DISHES all day long.  And I have actually washed the dinner dishes the last two evenings because no matter what a Prince I’m married to, he just doesn’t wash dishes fast enough.  (It reminds me of washing dishes with my brother when I was younger.)  Needless to say, my lifestyle has been disrupted, and I am more than a little cranky.

 

Today’s menu featured one of the biggest meals I make all year.  (My menu planning might be on another post.  Maybe.  No guarantees.)  I was really busy today checking my blog and reading other blogs getting ready for a stamping class I am teaching tomorrow night, plus swimming lessons and some swimming laundry, and I sort of forgot to start dinner early—which is required for me.  So I thought I should just make it anyway and stop goofing around on the computer being productive in other areas.  Then I remembered the dishwasher.  This meal would require a great many dirty dishes and pans.  Even if we were to eat on paper plates (which we did last night), the clean-up would be a nightmare.  I was tired just thinking about it.

 

So as I write this, S and the girls are at Burg*r K*ng getting food to bring home.  What a wimp I am!

Red-and-gold jewels

 

There are few foods I love in this world more than Rainier Cherries.

 

It escapes me when I first discovered these delectable delights.  I might have been single in the mid-90’s grocery shopping for Lean Cuisine frozen “meals” when these striking red-and-golden jewels caught my eye.  It may have been after I married S.  (I actually did do the grocery shopping for our household for several years of our marriage.  But that information is for later posts.)  Although I cannot remember exactly when the love affair began, I know it changed me as only true love can, and I have never been the same since.

 

The problem with Rainier Cherries is that they are available for 4-8 weeks a year.  And if it is for 8 weeks, it is not continuous through that time.  Well, not in Missouri or New Mexico, at least, which are the places I have lived since my discovery of them.  They are usually prevalent in July, possibly beginning late in June.

 

But imagine my UTTER DELIGHT when my husband, S, brought home TWO POUNDS to me after his grocery shopping trip on June 8! 

 

My personality is complicated, but most people would consider me a controlled person.  There are, however, a few things in life that can cause me to make a complete fool of myself bring out a screech of delight from me.  Rainier Cherries on JUNE 8 would be one of those things.  (OK, the first time I see them every season would be one of those things, but JUNE 8????)

 

Where did you find these,” I breathlessly asked?  He had been to one of the warehouse price club stores that day.  They had them.  And even though it was June 8, they only cost $10 for two pounds.  (I have happily paid $9/lb when I have seen them early in the season at a grocery store.) 

 

This all happened outside our front door.  I may have been watering plants.  I may have just been sitting admiring all the blooming trees.  I may have been warming up because my house is notably cold.  I cannot remember because the cherries eclipsed all else.  I ripped the precious bag from his hands, sprinted into the house and put about a pound of them in a colander for cleaning.  I would like to tell you that the picture with this post was from that first pound of cherries, but alas, I did not care about taking pictures at this point.  The only thing in my brain was, “I have two pounds of Rainier cherries on June 8!  I can eat them for two months!  I can eat them now!”  I cleaned them as quickly as I could and gobbled down the pound.  I did not even try to savor every bite because I had another pound.  And did I mention that it was only June 8?

 

Oh, the delightful bliss.  My girls and I had just returned from a 2-week+ trip to visit family in another state.  Vacation–then cherries.  It was going to be a good summer.

 

The picture you see is from the second pound of cherries, which I ate the next day.  By this time I had enough control to see how beautiful they were in the bowl with the morning light coming in.  I grabbed my camera and got the picture, which I’m actually quite happy with.  (By the way, I do not alter my pictures other than occasional cropping.  I do not have any software to do so, and I do not have a clue how to do it anyway.  Those cherries looked just that good all by themselves!)

 

Tuesday came along, and I was happy enough.  My cherries were gone, but I could wait until Sunday when S went grocery shopping again.  And if there were a real crisis, I could go myself during the week. 

 

But NO!  There.has.not.been.one.single.Rainier Cherry.to.be.found.in.this.city.since.then.  NOT ONE!  S frequents three different shopping establishments.  None in any.  Often we he needs to pick up something during the week, so other establishments have been checked.  Nothing.  NOTHING!  My sad, greedy self is craving those cherries.  It is bad enough that I can only have them for such a short time each year, but to be falsely led to believe I would have a longer cherry season this year has been torturous.  Maybe, had I known, I would have been a little more careful about eating the first ones all at once.  (Maybe not. OK, there is not even a chance of that.)

 

Would it have been better if I had not had the first taste so early?  Maybe.  Maybe I would not be sitting in anguish each week for S to come home with cherries, only to be disappointed. 

 

BUT, there is good news.  The actual Rainier Cherry season is almost here.  I should be feasting on these little treasures within a week.  And it should last about 4 weeks.  The time is almost ripe.

 

By Louise Cannon

Welcome!

About a year ago I heard the term “blog.”  I thought it was silly.  I do not like slang.  I did not think about it again.  (Mind you I knew about blogs before that, but did not know they were called “blogs.”)

Almost six months ago, my cousin started blogging. So I started reading it. I really liked reading her blog; she is an excellent writer. And she’s funny. And she spends every second more time than I have the patience for finding cool, current things to write about. She has great links and images and YouTube stuff. Really, she blows me away. She mentioned that her sister, Ducky, would help me get started blogging, too. I laughed. I laughed HARD. There was no way I was going to blog. I did not have time. I barely had time to read my cousin’s blog. I just. couldn’t. do. more.

Then I started reading a few other blogs. Most were linked from my cousin’s, but I found a few others by following those to other links.  THEN MY COUSIN E-MAILED ME HOW TO USE GOOGLE READER! Amazing! I no longer had to hang out on her website to find the trails to the other sites I liked. It would just tell me when there was something new! It saved so much time! It was so exciting! I thought, “Maybe, I can avoid more work and household chores handle this.”

There has been a struggle in my mind as to why would I want to blog? What do I have to put out there that anyone has not already seen or would even care about seeing? I cannot write poetically like my cousin. I cannot be absolutely hilarious with illustrations like June Cleaver Nirvana has. I cannot have the most sage and intellectual viewpoints like Mrs. G doles out. I cannot make potty training and sports hilarious even to the Girliest Girl Mom like Laid Off Dad does. I do not have deadpan humor and heart-wrenching thoughts like come from Madge. I cannot BEGIN to write like (or have the “interesting” experiences) of Awalkabout. And I certainly cannot be witty and take such amazing pictures AND post something like 4 times a day like Authorblog is/does. And then there are the photography blogs.  I am not even close to being in the league of a lot of those.

So why am I doing this???? The answer is still completely beyond my comprehension a little fuzzy. I know I like to take pictures, and I like for people to see them. I know I love to rubber stamp (mind you, get my ideas from other people’s designs, but still make incredible things), and I like to show people. And I like to write. Even though I will likely never write like the people on many of the blogs I read, I still like to write when certain things move me to do so. In fact, one of the reasons I went ahead and took the leap into blogging is because of Weekly Anamnesis. When I am short on blog fodder, that will be an easy way to come up with a topic.  Ducky (thanks, Ducky!) let me use her blog to make an entry, and there are several more from Weekly Anamnesis I want to do, so now I can do it here!

This blog will have photos and memes and rubber stamping projects and stuff I just feel like talking about. (Aren’t you on the edge of your seat wondering what those things will be?) And maybe as I go, I (and it) will grow.

So what should the first entry be about, other than to give a little explanation as to why I am doing this? I had lots of ideas, but again, inspiration came from my cousin with a Flickr mosaic meme. Her’s was really cool.  My husband made me asked me to do one for myself. So I did. (By the way, I do not even know what “meme” stands for. I know what it IS, but I do not know from where the word (acronym?) originated.  If anyone is reading this and would choose to comment why it is called a “meme,” please do not hesitate to enlighten me!)

Here’s how this meme works:

Answer each of the questions below.

  • Surf over to Flickr (set up an account if you don’t have one–it’s quick and easy) and type your answers (one at a time) into the search bar.
  • From the choice of pictures shown only on the front page, click on the one that moves you.
  • Once the page with your picture opens, copy the URL.
  • Surf over to the Mosaic Maker, set up your mosaic, and paste your URLs.
  • Click “Create!”

The Questions:

  1. What is your first name?
  2. What is your favorite food?
  3. What high school did you attend?
  4. What is your favorite color?
  5. Who is your celebrity crush?
  6. What is your favorite drink?
  7. Where would you go on your dream vacation?
  8. What is your favorite dessert?
  9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
  10. What do you love most in life?
  11. Choose one word to describe you?
  12. Your Flickr name?

Mine looks like this:

//www.flickr.com/photos/rubybayan/2483516376/

1. one with the sea, 2. Cherry Tomatoes and Shallots, 3. P1010131, 4. Morning Best Wishes, 5. Daniel Craig, BAFTA 2007, 6. A Glass of Water, 7. Bridge of Sighs, 8. homemade apple pie, 9. We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is a real friend., 10. Sunny Side Up, 11. (0395) Giza Plateau Egypt, 12. Take me! Take me!

And just so you know, the answers to questions 9, 10 and 11 are not at all clear by the pictures.  But I like the pictures, so what do I care if there would be no way to tell the answers by looking at them?!

Come again!

by Louise Cannon