Rhonda at Dizzy Stir   nominated me for the Liebster Award, which is making the rounds to participants in the April 2013 Blogging from A to Z  Challenge.  Thank you, Rhonda!  Like all blogging awards, the Liebster is a way to get readers to discover and explore other blogs that may interest them .  So, I truly appreciate your nomination, Dizzy Stir .  The Liebster Award The Liebster Award has been around since 201 0, and over the years the requirements have changed. That's to be expected.  I f you'r e interested in its origin, check out this link .  These are today's "rules" for accepting the awar d. I say "rules" because no one is required nor obligated to do a ny or all of the following steps to accept the award.  Post the award on her/his blog.  Thank the nominator and link back to his or her blog. W rite  11 random facts about yourself . Answer 11 questions about your self that the nominator has asked . Nomi nat e 11 fellow blog

Check out other A to Z Challenge participants by clicking here .  I never heard the parents address each other by their names.  They also didn't refer to each other by name when they talked about the other. The Mama would just say lakai which was old man in Ilocano, while the Daddy would say baket for old lady. For many years, I wondered if they even loved each other. When I became curious about how they met, they said they had an arranged marriage. The Daddy said, "Your grandmother said she liked the daughter who lived next door for me. 'Okay,' I told her." The Mama said, "My mother said to marry your daddy. 'He's a good man. You're old. This may be your last chance to marry.'" Both the Mama and the Daddy lost their fathers at a young age. So, it was their mothers who met and discussed the terms of the dowry. Several weeks later, the Mama and the Daddy were married. It was not until I went to the Philippines with the Dad

C heck out other A to Z Challenge participants by clicking here . This post was originally entitled "Talking About Sex with the Mama" and was published on June 18, 2010 on my previous blog, This and That. Here and There. Now, Sometimes Then . Yesterday the mama asked me to explain something she was reading in an AARP flyer. It was a short article about what a woman can do about vaginal dryness so that intercourse isn't so painful. Uh. The mama is a voracious reader. She likes to learn. Both things I didn't know until the husband and I became her roommates several years ago. English is not her primary language, and I would say on a scale of 1 to 10, her English reading comprehension is about a 4, more or less. She doesn't let complicated or unfamiliar words get her down. If she's interested in a story, she plows through it. If she's really interested in what words mean precisely, she asks me. So, she asked me.  Hoo boy.

Check out other A to Z Challenge participants by clicking here .   Ready for a few jokes. Here's one I made up the other day. In what area of a community might you find dull horses? A neighhhh-bor(e)-hood Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.  I've been editing this joke for a few years now. What was the American revolutionary's favorite poultry dish? Chicken Catch-a-Tory. Ba-dum Chinggg! The Husband likes this joke of mine. What a guy. Pablo and his tia were eating lunch at a Mexican restaurant. As his auntie was taking a bite into her burrito, Pablo noticed a rip in her sleeve. He pointed at the tear and said, "Tore, Tia? He-he.  Until tomorrow, dear readers.   

Check out other A to Z Challenge participants by clicking here . In 1985, I spent several days camping in Havasu Canyon with the First Husband-to-be. Havasu Canyon lies just outside of the western border of the Grand Canyon National Park.   The Havasu campground is on the Havasupai Indian Reservation and run by the Havasupai tribe. Havasupai means people of the green blue water.   Havasu Canyon is kno wn for its gorgeous waterfalls that run down to the Colorado River. And , yes, the pools of water were a spectacular green-blue color when we were there. I've seen photos on the Internet that show they stil l are. To get to the campground back then, you either flew in on a helicopter or h iked the winding 10-mile trail down to the canyon floor. I was (and still am) a slow walker, so the First Husband-to-be got to the campground office before me. The reservation was under my name so he and the office manager patiently waited for me to get there. The two men were talk