What is a monkeybox?

When I was a little girl, we had a pet monkey named Amanda. My Dad worked in the produce business, so each night he brought home that days culls in a big box - spotty cucumbers, pithy apples, limp celery, moldy oranges and the like. We called it a monkeybox. It was really just trash, but my Mom would take each piece of fruit and trim it, pare it and cut it up to make a beautiful fruit platter for Amanda. Even though it was deemed trash by one, it still had life left in it and was good for the purpose we needed it. That's how I live my life - thrifting, yard saling, looking for another's trash to be my treasure.

Sunday, September 11, 2011


Always Remember
Who could ever forget?


  1. Amen...many heavy hearts today. I printed shirts for a Mother whose daughter was in the second tower...she was never found. Mother was leaving for NYC on Friday morning...with the ten shirts in her carry-on for family members to wear at the memorial...and I shed tears on every shirt I printed...her daughter was 22 years old. Heavy heart indeed. *e*

  2. Thank you for saying that. I couldn't forget if I wanted to. I lost friends and co-workers that day.

    Today has been very hard for me with all the media coverage.

  3. Thanks for the tribute, Shara. My husband was at the Pentagon and I am so lucky he's here today.

  4. The media coverage ~ yes, it was everywhere yesterday. I found myself crying more than I anticipated. It brought back so many sad memories. I'm so thankful that nothing happened (as to the speculations of a repeat attack.)


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