Esquire Coffinberry's Great-Grand-Niece

This is my desk. This is my study calendar. I am So Sick of Studying. Is it next Tuesday yet?

Sitting here, studying, 4:00 pm, when someone starts banging on my study-room door. "Who is it and whaddaya want!" I growl. The door bursts open... Eek! I am kidnapped. This is where they took me: And this is what I saw: I've been to Coors' Field many times before, but this was the first time (as best as I can recall) that I saw the Rockies win in person! Go Rockies! Thanks to Sharon (who won the four-pack of tickets from KOA's Mike Rosen) , Dave, and Jeanne for the kidnapping. I had a great time.

Perhaps my bias is evident in the fact that my cell-phone bill shows I used only four minutes last month (but son two racked up over 1500 text messages!), but the above named title of this blog entry has been bugging me for a couple of days now (the author of the aforementioned blog and I once got into a bit of an argument over the importance of emotion management in business; we most certainly respect one another, but do not see eye-to-eye on priorities of life). I find it hard to imagine why everyone would need , let alone want , an iPhone. I can see why anyone might want one. But I can't see why everyone needs one or should want one. It doesn't feed anyone. It doesn't shelter anyone. It doesn't clean the environment, or reduce poverty. It doesn't grow any flowers or create beauty or perform any labor. It doesn't rock any babies to sleep at night, or hold anyone's hand when they're dying. Yesterday during my walk, I was recalling my teenage years. W...

Saw this at a friend's blog, had to try it. 56 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test! There's also a test for husbands.

Sometimes, local wildlife just has a hard time adapting to modern amenities. Like basement escape windows. Which allow humans inside the basement to escape, but not animals who inadvertently find their way in. For them, it's more like no-escape windows. Daughter found this: And Son Three found this:

Mr. Coffinberry took apart the dishwasher door this morning, and removed the rinse-aid dispenser. Sure enough, it still had considerable dish soap in it (it has a much larger capacity than one would think!). But all is well now that he's cleaned it out, dried it off, and put it back together again. If you are reading this because your rinse-aid dispenser got filled with liquid dish soap, take my advice. Just take it apart (or have someone who knows how come over and do it for you), so you can be sure that all the soap is out. There's just no way to get it all out by rinsing and syringing.

Last night, when we finished playing on the new Wii and had had scriptures and prayer, I asked our two teen boys to do a load of dishes before bed. After a very small whine (just enough to let me know that they are too big to be bossed, but not too big to obey), they both scurried up the stairs and got busy. A little while later, I came upstairs and Son Three stood up from where he had been bending over the dishwasher door fiddling with a small screw-in plug: "I noticed that the Jet-Dry dispenser was empty, so I filled it up." "Thanks," I said. Then I noticed the bottle in his hand. "Did you fill it up with that ?" I asked, pointing to the small bottle of clear Palmolive concentrate. "Yeah, why?" Oh dear. Or, as Piglet would say: Oh d' d' dear dear dear. It's like those bar exam review questions testing on the function of intent in a common law intentional tort or specific intent crime. Absent intent, no tort and no crime. What do yo...

Stress seems to pack on the pounds, and other than parenting, I've discovered nothing so stressful as studying for the bar exam. So late last month, I took to walking in the early hours of the morning. Not so early that it's dark, mind you. Just so early that it's still cool. (July Colorado sunshine can be brutal!) I've discovered that my favorite routes for walking include alleyways. Now, my own back yard doesn't have an alley, given that our particular plat was laid out in the late 1970's after alleys had passed from fashion. All our utilities are buried underground (thus the utility companies have an easement in gross over our back yard, and our yard is the servient estate... the easement having been duly recorded at the courthouse and appearing in our record of title... oops, not a bar exam question. Moving along...) and the trash is picked up in front of the house, instead of behind it. Neighborhoods from here north generally don't have alleys. But star...

Gee, I wonder why? Since I last wrote, I graduated and Son Two graduated and Son Three was off at Ben Delatour twice. Bar Review continues apace. It amazes me that there is so very much to know, and that someone actually expects you to know it. All. Aargh. It's a regular tortoise race, I think. Slow and steady, slow and steady. Three weeks to go. So, anyway, having been inspired by my sister-in-law and mom with their spectacular blogs, I shall get back to writing on mine, maybe, sometimes. And I shall begin with a photograph of Son Two. Oh, and if you want to see a picture of Son One, he is the only one not looking at the camera here .