Have you ever seen the big tall poles with a propellor on them. They produce energy and for most people who put them in they produce more energy then they use and they start getting a check from the electic company instead of a bill. Problem is for most people the amountof money they are saving is not even close to the cost of the generator. (Est. $10-20,000_ With a bill of $500 dollars a month it would pay for itself in four years and then your electric is essentially free. I don't know about electric heat, but I would imagine you may still need more power than a single wind generator can produce. If you plan on staying in your house for a while it may be a worth while investment. In my case (or my fathers case) it would take too many years for the generator to pay for itself than is worth while for us and we don't have that kind of money upfront. It is easier to pay for the electric bill each month which is a smaller cost than the wind generator even though the long term costs are higher.

On landscape shows, I've seen a special tool that is used to remove large trees to be replanted, it creates a root ball. But most roses aren't that large. I would water the rose every night for a few days so the soil is wet. Also take a shovel and mark out the circumference of the root ball, going deeper every day. Then lift the root ball from the bottom into a tarp or large pot. If the rose has been in the ground for awhile, you will probably have to cut large anchor roots that can span up to 10 feet away from the root ball. I moved 5-6 roses this way earlier this spring. Only one showed stress and defoliated but is now better. But if you do it when the plant is completely dormant, you really don't need a root ball. It is then a 'bare root' which is how most of us started our roses in the first place.

Thank you, everyone. Animal lovers are the best! There's another beautiful kitty at Rainbow Bridge today. You're right....you know when it's time. I probably should've taken her last night, but she still responded, and having seen her this way before (albeit before getting this old and such), I thought if there was the outside chance she was in recovery from her episode, I wanted her to have it. But this morning, I knew. I was supposed to drive hubby to the airport this morning, but told him I didn't want to make her wait any longer. He drove himself and I took her to the animal ER. I think it was easier, just me and her. I can deal with my own grief, but I wouldn't have been able to with his (his mom's dying too), so I guess it worked out as it should. I held her, cuddled in my arms, as the vet gave the injection, and they gave me a few minutes afterwards too. It was a peaceful room--sofa, low light, waterfall and soothing music in the background. I guess being an ER, they're more than prepared for this type of thing. If it'd been any other morning than Sunday, I could've made arrangements with my own vet clinic to have someone come to the house, but it just didn't work that way. I did call the ER and ask if they knew a vet on call who would make a housecall, but there's none in our area. Oh well....it is what it is. Now she doesn't have to make the looong move with us. Casey will always have a piece of my heart and always be my baby. She'll be the standard against which all future pets are measured. Now to have to answer family and friend's question "how are you doing?" I hate crying in front of people, but I can't imagine even mentioning her name without crying for awhile. Anyway, thanks SO much for all your support these last few months. I'll check back from time to time because I got used to following everyone's stories with their pets, etc. (even if I don't post much). I'll let you know when I get a new kitty to love, too. We'll get settled in our new location first, maybe take a trip or two since we haven't in about 4-5 yrs (since Casey got older and more "needy"). Gotta first find some wondeful neighbors I can trust to care for my pet when we're away....we have the best here where we are--I was sure going to miss them. Later, Tracey

Here is an interesting article that I ran across today...really speaks to this topic: ========================================================== One writer struggles to believe that a new house does not equal a new and better life. by Jodi Helmer Everything would be different -- if only I lived in that bungalow; the charming one with the gabled roof, dormer windows and wide front porch. I would throw dinner parties, sit on a leather sofa in front of the fire, bake biscuits in the kitchen, sip sweet tea on the front porch, wear colorful rubber boots to work in the garden and let the dogs run free behind the white picket fence. It's my own house -- too tall, too thin, too little charm and a neighborhood that's not hip enough -- that makes this lust so palpable. Or so I've convinced myself. I stand under a towering oak tree across the street and stare; I walk past after dark to peer in the lit windows for a better view of the interior; I search real estate websites for virtual tours. All the while, I imagine the life I could have if I lived in one of the picture-perfect bungalows. Things would be different. Cozier. Better. "When you covet a house, it's not the house you're after, it's a different version of your life," said Meghan Daum, author of the book Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived in That House. "We trick ourselves into believing that it's our house that's holding us back; if we moved into a new house we'd be a better cook, our relationships would be better, we'd be thinner, we'd entertain more..." I feel better knowing that I'm not alone in thinking a new house equals a new life. From the moment I signed on the dotted line to buy this townhouse in 2007, I had plans to sell. Maybe that's why I'm always looking over my shoulder at other houses -- because I've always believed that the house I own now is just a place to live until something better comes along. In fact, each time I think I've eyed the perfect house -- the one I'd cash in retirement accounts and inheritances to own -- I develop a crush on another one. Even if I'm fortunate enough to own one of the bungalows in my favorite neighborhood, I'm certain that I'll continue to lust after other houses. I'll develop crushes on houses in more desirable neighborhoods with bigger front porches, prettier gardens and more historic appeal. If there is one thing I know about house envy it's that the condition is chronic; the attraction to real estate never stops. A few months ago, I hatched a plan to move into the perfect house. One evening, while I was walking the dogs, I noticed that one of the little bungalows I loved had a "For Rent" sign in the front yard. I took a flyer and spent the rest of the week trying to figure out how I could move into that house. Once again, I was picturing myself hosting dinner parties, drinking sweet tea on the front porch and wearing rubber boots in the garden. A friend suggested that I rent out my townhouse and move into the little bungalow. It was the perfect solution -- and then I thought about what moving would really mean. The truth is, I would rather meet friends at a restaurant than entertain; I hate leather furniture almost as much as I hate baking and biscuits; I prefer Diet Coke to sweet tea; and the last time I had a garden, the plants were either overgrown or dead. While I am waxing poetic about wide front porches and picket fences, I am ignoring all of the things I love about the house I own: It's just the right size; there are French doors in the kitchen that lead to a private patio, an oversized bathtub in the master bedroom and loads of storage space. There are even dormer windows. Blinded by bungalow lust, I've forgotten one of the most important things about the place I live: It's more than just a house; it's a home. It's the place where I mourned the end of a marriage and celebrated the thrill of falling in love again. It's the place where I negotiated my first book contract and spent countless hours hunched over a computer in the office to meet the deadline. It's the place where I made Christmas dinner solo for the first time, cutting potatoes and carrots with a dull paring knife and checking the roast 20 times to see if it was cooked. It's the place where I fostered six dogs, doling out rawhides and cleaning up accidents until each one found its forever home. It's the place I retreat to; the place I feel safe. The house is not perfect. There are no hardwood floors, no built-ins and no picket fence -- but there are memories and each one is far more important than a big front porch and wide wood moldings will ever be. I know I'll never be cured of house envy. I'll continue to fall in love with a new house on each block but the next time I'm standing under a towering oak tree and peering in the windows of a picture perfect bungalow, imagining what life would be like if I lived there, I'm going to remember that it might be a beautiful house but it's not home.