{Originally published on inside emblem}

Our second time in Canmore and the second time the weather dropped in on us, covered the spectacular mountains, and rained a sad grey rain. But despite the rain, Alissia and Travis kept on with the plan. The ceremony started perfectly but, of course, the rain came and sent the chairs wobbling as everyone raced for umbrellas, brave wedding party and pastor standing strong, unmoved.

{Originally Posted on Clotted Cognition}
When my mother moved back to Dallas in 1989 she bought this town home. It’s a gorgeous place, one that almost takes your breath away when you walk in. The street was one that had been taken over by architecturally designed town homes that were mostly higher end and populated by people without children. In general, the people in those town homes were older, retired, or better off young professionals. It was close-ish to the predominantly gay area in Dallas, so there were several gay couples as well. The street was named Travis Street and it was also the street on which my first home stood, 40 years ago last month.

We used to see one of those gay couples out walking every day. Well, one would walk and push the other in a wheelchair. Their love and devotion to each other was clear and I remember thinking that I hoped I would find that sort of devotion someday, too. Unless you’ve experienced what it’s like to take care of a once healthy partner, I don’t think the sacrifice is truly imaginable. This couple continued to take their walks, to slowly make their way down the street to get a glimpse of the life outside, traveling the street as any couple would who had been together for a long time.

And then, the man in the wheelchair died. This was sad enough and devastating, I am sure, for his partner. But the sadness was not to end to there, nor was the devastation going to be small. Instead of being allowed to grieve in his own home, surrounded by his own memories of times had in loving company, the family of the man who died, the man who owned the home and its contents in legal name only, unceremoniously kicked the grieved partner out onto the street. How could they do such a thing? Easy: with all legal recourse. They didn’t care that the man they were throwing out onto the street has cared for their relative when they were nowhere to be seen; he had assuredly cleaned up after the inevitable failures of the man’s body and had still found a way to push him down the street every single day. They didn’t care that the man they were throwing out had loved their relative as they clearly never had, nor did they care that this man was a human being.

Today’s Nosh Notes from the Editor will be light and simple as we have two sweet treats (okay, favors) for your temptation:

1) Check out today’s Featured Post for a new project by one of our own editors, Dr. Karen Rayne. And how appropriate for Blog Nosh that it’s all about tummies!

2) Sneak over and vote for Blog Nosh Magazine for Best New Blog in the 2008 Weblog Awards!

We are thoroughly honored that our delectable little site here has made it to the finals for Best New Blog. Introducing a new blog is hard enough, but introducing a new concept for a new blog has been incredibly challenging, making this recognition all the more delicious. For that, we thank you.

Now we need your help to lift us out of the graham cracker crumbs and place us on top as the cherry you know we are! The more readers that discover us, the more readers that discover you… Vote for Blog Nosh Magazine for Best New Blog at the 2008 Weblog Awards! Only two days left to vote, so… Nosh on!

Nosh Notes by Publisher and Editor-in-Chief Megan Jordan from Velveteen Mind

{Originally published on The Belly Project.}

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59 years old, 1 pregnancy (baby given up for adoption 40 years ago)

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22 years old, 0 pregnancies

{Originally published on Writing Roads}

I’m not sure if there is such a thing, but I’ve decided that today is make up a new word day. Honestly, as a writer, every day is make up a new word day. I feel totally fine with bending, twisting and manipulating the English language (and some others as well). My newest word is ’sarcasticate’ and it means: to make something sarcastic. It’s a verb. I like it so much, I’m writing a whole post about it, and here it is.

Sometimes, I wish I could write code or do computer programming. First of all, it would make me smarter and more able. Secondly, it would help me with an issue that I keep running into.

You see, I can make things bold. I can italicize. I can underline. I can even strikethrough. But, I can’t sarcasticate.

Even using those smiley face emotive icons, there isn’t one that means sarcastic. They have sad, mad, kissey, sick - all of those are easily visible states of being. But sarcastic? Not so much.

It seems that sarcastication, while writing on the internet must actually be conveyed through words. There is no help. And, while I do think it’s safe to say that I have the sarcasticating gene, I also think that the reader has to have that gene too…and some brain power. Not to mention the fact that you must have actual reality downpat before you can get the sarcasm. So, conceivably, my sarcastications could be missed by some readers because of their own ineptitude or because I might be having an off day.

Without the sound of my voice, I rely on my written words…because I’m a writer…that’s the point, I get it. And, I’m thrilled that while code and program can’t currently help me sarcasticate, I can mold my meaning with my words (those that are real and those that I’ve composed).

{Originally posted on Catnip and Coffee.}

If you’ve read much of this blog, or if you know me irl, you are well aware that cleaning is my least favorite thing to do on the planet. Seriously. When I told DH I was going to be working on the Homemaking Channel for Blog Nosh Magazine he actually laughed and said “well, maybe you’ll learn something.” (Don’t condemn him, it’s no worse than I thought myself AND he helps around here way more than most husbands!)

Anyway, DH took the boy to t-ball awhile ago and I decided to stay home and try to accomplish something. Something immensely productive. I needed to clean the family room. This is the room where the boy and I spend most of our time during the day. Many of his toys and craft items are here, and my work stuff is all here. This fact will be important later - I work sitting in the middle of the couch with all my shit stuff spread out around me. (Mostly because my desk is too cluttered to actually work at. Sigh.) You might already know, but I am a freelance photo editor. That means I always have manuscripts, layouts, pens, highlighters, a water bottle, a coffee mug (well balanced of course), paper clips, date planner, etc. next to me at all times. Yeah, on the couch. It drives DH crazy because he can never come sit next to me. I digress.

I needed to clean because I have overnight company coming it was dirty. As I’m vacuuming it occurred to me that someone might need to sleep on the couch later this week, and god forbid someone might pull the cushions off of it. So I bit the bullet and decided to clean under the cushions. Oh. My. God.

Needless to say I am sitting on a very clean couch as I type this.

Confession time. Here is the horror list of what I found, not including Hershey Kisses wrappers just regular trash.

• Popsicle sticks. At least 20 of them. Now one or two and it wouldn’t haven’t even made the list. But 20?
• Pens, highlighters, markers. A good thirty or so total. This is the part where you say, “You dumb shit, you work sitting on your couch. What did you expect?”
• Crochet hooks. Three of them! This is why I stopped crocheting last winter, I couldn’t find any hooks.
• A pot holder. Yeah, really, a Christmas themed pot holder.
• White-Out. A whole bottle, luckily closed up tight.
• A cordless phone. (!) Apparently the back of the couch has this really deep area that I’ve never seen before. I’ve been looking for this phone for, well, let’s just say a long time. I’m trying to charge it up now, to see if it still works.