If you're looking for solid green liriope, don't buy any, come get some at my house in Bowie!! Have you been to Collins' greenhouse on Old Rt. 450 (just over the bridge from 197)?? They have more annuals than perennials, but they have a nice selection and the prices aren't bad. Also, there is a farmstand/plantstand at the corner of Routes 450 and 424 in Davidsonville that has great veggies and lots of plants to choose from. And I haven't been there YET but there is a greenhouse/barn/farmstand just west of I-97's exit 12/New Cut Road in Millersville/GlenBurnie, I'm not sure exactly which town it's in.

Well I was going to have a pot roast and a new recipe, a Banana Cream Pie from a site I just found last night. It looks fabulous. BUUUTTT, as I just started heating the oven to stick the roast in, and was crunching the graham crackers for the pie, I heard a loud POP noise, and looked at the oven and saw it glowing red and sparks flying on the inside. Opened it up, and my element at the bottom of my oven was bright red and sparking, ready to catch fire. So we grilled out and had BBQ chicken, macaroni salad, garden salad, and green beans. And an ice cream cone from the freezer,lol. Oh well. It was good. Happy Father's Day to all the deserving men out there. Tammy Here is a link that might be useful: Banana Cream Pie

"Actually, there are a number of people who kill their husbands and get out after a few years, especially if the husband was abusive. It's not self-defense if she shoots him while he is asleep. I think the original poster sounded too upset to be making it up, not to mention the fact that she provided a lot of details that she probably wouldn't have bothered with had the story been false." TOS, as the original poster provided so many details (but missing the critical ones like the VISITORS?LIST on the VISITORS?ALLOWED MODULE) I don't think she would have forgotten to mention how many years her SM was in Jail for murdering her first husband or if she was convicted or even put to trial for it...She would have relished telling it. Anyway, details are not a guarantee of truth: as any mother or kindergarten teacher knows, the more elaborate the story, the more blatant the lie.

My first annual wage in 1953 was $1,900. (would have been $900. more [$1,100.? ... memory ain't what it used to be] had I been married). When discussing income with some folks/families while a financial consultant, I've asked some women how they'd like to work for, say, $2.00 or $3.00 per hour. When they, surprisedly, retorted that they wouldn't consider working for that, I'd say, "Well ... add up the cost of better clothing ... more cosmetics, at least part of the cost of the second car, plus much of operating costs ... plus the cost of day care ... and eating out more often, or buying more prepared food, due to your being really tired on a Friday ... ... plus the income tax on your income ... and your being lost as a deduction of your husband's income, were he the sole breadwinner ... ... and see what's left ... then divide that by the number of hours per year that you work. Let alone the time commuting, which, apart from auto operation costs (including work-relaterd fines, parking ,etc.), isn't costly financially. Many hadn't really done the figuring involved - don't know how many may have altrered their plans as a result. I feel fairly secure in terms of my self-esteem, and don't consider myself hugely egotistical ... but I do want my spouse and myself to be the caretakers of my children in their early formative years, rather than some unknown babysitter. There was some discussion of Sue abandoning her university career after three years of a four-year course, but I suggested that were we, due to my death or disability, to have need for her to be breadwinner after ten years of so, that three years toward a four-year degree would be about as good as nothing, so she'd better get her degree, and she did. When daughter went to kindergarten, Sue signed up for her required year of interning (in hospital diet), then found a position as second head of food service in a nearby psych. hospital (the one where Mom had spent several years toward the end of her life, actually). (It was some after that ... that we parted). ole joyfuelled