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I've been to just about every home & garden store around. Martha Stewarts was nice but way too expensive..... i mean, they're cushions for god sake! Anyway,, I need 4 cushions for my high back chairs on my deck. I'm looking for bright colors....blues, yellows...etc. My deck railing is White, and we have light grey trek decking. It looks beautiful.
Any suggestions for a website I could look at for this?
I'm looking to pay around $20-$30 per cushion. Everything I like is over $40! LOL. Figures, right? Thank you.

http://www.target.com/Outdoor-Cushions-P atio-Furniture-Garden/b/ref=nav_t_spc_6_ 15/601-6448145-1656118?ie=UTF8&node= 296578011

2008-04-12 18:38:45 by Jackie

national-office-furniture.com Browse through the best outdoor patio furniture cushions tips and learn the latest outdoor patio furniture cushions ...

Bit of an odd question, but I was looking for a cushion for my 8 year old niece for school (they all use them as the school chairs are uncomfortable), but I can't find one that has a soft back to it as well as a cushioned seat if that makes sense (like the ones we'd use on our garden chairs except ones for kids). Does anyone have any idea where I could find one of these?

Dragons Den had one of these, which was a bag, and folded out to be a seat. It had elastic straps on and hooked on the back of the seat.

Maybe someone else can remember???

EDIT: took me a while but have tracked them down. They are £25 so quite pricey but maybe an option.

Here is the link...on a scooter site most bizarrely!!!

2009-01-23 08:13:14 by FancyPants

Price: $49.99

Protects your clothes from dirt and grass stains
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A favor was owed to the Priest of the local Church, he popped around and asked me to supervise a party held at the Diocese, where he lives.
Seeing as I humorously told his Mother he's taken up Rollerblading and hanging around with local upstarts, smoking and fannying around in the Town Centre, I couldn't say no.
Begrudgingly I went around armed with a gallon of Rum and Lemonade and a Bumper Packet of Monster Munch.
I knocked on the door, a wizened and ancient old Lady grasped my frame and placed me into a deep cushioned chair in the living room. I was greeted with a sight that pained the eyes.
"By Jimminy!" I thundered. Hastily standing up agog, only to be brusquely sent reeling back to the Chair I heaved, and promptly began quaffing my drink, to sully the pain.
With no warning, the Priest has certainly garnished his vengeance towards me, as I now had to endure an over fifties Belly / World Contemporary Dancing class.
Now, I have seen some wonderful things in my time, and the Army has granted me several heavenly sights involving belly dancing and World dancing, but those were the kind of saucy strumpets befitting any lad with red blood in his veins.
There was nothing for it, but to grit my teeth and suffer this humiliation, as these
white, respectful and seasoned Ladies and their bemused Chaps pissed about in front me dancing like opium-addled concubines, rapturously flicking wrinkly, veiny legs up the air, and swirling around, looking all coy and stuff. All this MultiCultural interest in Contemporary Dance and "Expression" has to stop, it's bloody stupid.
Take poor 87 years old Mrs Palmerston's attempt at some obscure and gymnastically challenging ancient Mandarin Fertility Dance, the silly old Sausage not only quacked off befouling the air, but got tangled up with a six stone Squid the Priest keeps in a massive tank.
Her Husband was no better, he must of thought he was Adonis himself as he waded into a Musical Dance piece reserved only for Young Navajo Braves, his stamping and thrusting must of got the better of him, being surrounded by all these fine Ladies of quality as he gained a frightful Lob-On, and had to be escorted to the garden. I think he went and tried to slake his thirst on the Gardner who sleeps in a Shed at the bottom of the grounds.
Suffice to say the Priest came back, no harm done. All had a good time. I'm only glad I was drunk the whole time, a fearsome experience it was too.
Glad to be of service VG.

Are you sure they were dancing old boy sounds like some sort Devil worshipping ceremony to me! You know what these types are like, vicars, jam makers, daily mail readers, the women's institute no less. A fouler bunch of degenerates I've yet to encounter probably trying to summon up Lucifer himself I bet for they're own sexual depravity no doubt. Tip top.

2008-09-01 14:29:59 by Victorian Gentleman

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Due to legal action against us, we were forced to change the name of our show. We must also admit publicly that Oprah Winfrey is not and has never been jealous of Fay Koprah, her clothing, her guests, her (questionable) talent or her ability to transform into any number of peculiar characters or write in any number of (utterly phony) accents, herewith and forthright and et al and all other legal wordage to be applied howsoever Miss Winfrey desires. We have also been ordered to stay at least 100 yards from Miss Winfrey and relinquish any and all tickets to her show.) Happy?

(disturbance at the door... security guards refuse entrance to three seedy characters, one of whom is wearing no pants. One cries, "Utter bil...!" while a tall, hairy man screams something about moist, mowed grass. The heavy door is closed against their frustrated screams as lights come up...)

Fay Koprah - (She is as professional as ever and not the least shaken by the disturbance.) Welcome to our fourth show! Today we have several guests, all of whom you will enjoy! Up first is poet extraordinaire, Shultzie! (prolonged applause)
Shultzie - Why, thank you. Thank you!
Fay - Shultzie, Dear, this week's topic is 'The Fruit of Harvest'; have you any comments or could you share your most profound wisdom.
Shultzie - I like corn, Fay. (applause) You wouldn't believe how loudly I wailed when I plucked the last ear from my garden.
Fay - You actually 'wailed?'
Shultzie - Loudly enough I disturbed my neighbor, Mek. He was in the middle of writing a poem, my wail startled him and his finger got stuck on the 'dot' button.
Mek (speaking out of turn) But it was fortuitous, Fay! I liked the look of the extra ellipses so well, I started using them as a signature in my writing. I have become known for dot dot dot dot dot dot dot dot my dot dot dot dot dot dot dot dots. Of course, they don't translate as well in the spoken word.
Fay - Lilly45, Dear, what are your thoughts on today's topic?
Lilly45 - I just love this subject, Fay, and guess what? I have the best illustration! Look! And I found it on the internet! (cheers, applause)
Fay - Isn't she just something? Elys?
Elys - Yalsie?
Fay - You are quite beloved among the bards and have that unique accent that flavors your writings! (extended applause) Surely you have no critics?
Elys - Wellsey, Faysey, I wouldn't exactly say that. There's one big, hairy dudesey who likes to use words like obtusey when he critiques me; I've learned to ignore him and moor my boat elsewhere. (standing ovation) Good Morning, yalsey! And thank ya kindly!
Fay - Wonderful to know! Now back to our topic, Elys?
Elys - I'd like to hand that question to Mizzy, please.
Mizzy - (applause) Well, Fay, the only thing I can come up with is a poem about some fruit. I read it this morning, but I've been too busy trying to explain its meaning to one of our poetry students and...
Fay - Pardon me Mizzy, please. Uh, What Is It To U? Dear?
What Is It To U - Uh huh?
Fay - Not the 'cushioned' chair, Sweetheart...
What Is It To U - Oh, I forgot!
Fay - Quite alright, Love.
Fay - Oh, I'm getting the signal, we're all out of time! And I wanted to slip the banana somewhere in today's topic; I hear everyone is talking about it... Well, until tomorrow, ba-bye!
You haven't escaped the line-up Cassie58... LOL
Coke, Pepsi, Root Beer, Orange, Grape, whatever you like, Gideon, seeing as how you...have not been overlooked.
Sin, what makes you think I didn't? LOL Most were flattered. My tires were slashed on a regular basis, however.
Giggles - you were a guest on show #3! Short-term memory loss or what? LOL
Happy, darlin', you are the only one who thought that was obliique, and I'm just funnin with ya anyways. (Best find shows 1-3 & get all current.)

Buk - I thought your banana required only a brief mention. If it had been the pear, I could have handled it.
I did not mean that the way it sounded. Apolgies.

I object to being obliquely referenced by that sometimes talented by always shopworn hag who VIOLATES MY QUESTIONS THROUGH PROXIES EVEN THOUGH I HAVE HER BLOCKED.

I do not find her behavior funny and I have a hard time laughing with her about me. As soon as I get this stick out of my @ss I am going to really give you a piece of my mind.

-Harmonious Hirsute.

2009-11-07 14:15:04 by bobby's girl

Father Unforgotten
I was 12 years old when my father disappeared and never returned. The house, once my father’s pride and joy, crumbled and creaked, as dust settled thickly on the bookcases and cabinets. My mother, wild with grief, grew unpredictable and distempered. My father, who had always loved me, would have cared for me until the end of the world, but my mother, who knew nothing about children, neglected me. I became thin, tired and tortured by my mother’s misery. I was confined to my room – the rest of the house was exhausted by my mother’s grieving – and I was only allowed out of the house to buy milk and bread.
The once beautiful garden was now overgrown, and all traces of the sweetpeas and pansies that had grown there before had now been overtaken by nettles and dandelions. The walls that had surrounded the gardens had long since crumbled away, leaving a nest of rocks and bindweed. The paths, that had once twisted and wound through the gardens, were homes to ants and beetles, who found the gravelled mud a perfect protection for their families.
The ancient, studded door that had once towered over me, standing proud and tall, was cracked and rotten. Once polished banisters were now worn from the passage of many hands that had passed across its smooth surface and sprinkled with dust. The kitchen was disused; the ashes from the fire years ago spread across the hearth. Pots and pans hung still and rusty, the blackened undersides of them mingled with an iron red. The whole house was neglected; draughts blew through the empty rooms day and night through the cracks in the windows and doors.

It was a bleak day. I looked out of the window; the chill of the morning seemed to lie upon my very soul. I gazed around the colourful walls of my room, decorated by my father and myself. Birds, horses and flowers floated round the outer limits of my room, whispering their sympathy into my ears. I sighed. The paintings were fading, like my memories of my father. Perching on the edge of my desk, my lips formed the last words I remember spoken to me by my father. ‘There’s a reason for everything. Don’t let yourself go.’ A solitary tear dropped onto my dry lips. My tongue brushed it away, leaving the skin wet behind it. I blinked to rid my eyes of the moisture threatening to overflow; this was no time for grieving.
*
The light reflected small particles of dust that dispersed into the air as my bare feet stepped over them. The floor creaked where I stood, as if awaiting my next move. The grimed window panes rattled as I reached forward and took hold of the wooden banisters. I made my way slowly downstairs, stepping carefully over gaps in the rotting woodwork. The petticoats of my dress rustled against my legs with each step. The cold, wooden floors made my feet freeze, numbing my toes of pain. My hair slipped forwards and into my face, strands hooking themselves round my nose and mouth. My bare forearms were streaked with filth, and my hands with dust as I slid my palms down the banisters.
I stepped onto the floor below. I could hear the floor groaning as it held my weight. The draught slammed the door shut, muffling the grieving sobs of my mother. I tiptoed silently to the door, praying that my mother would not become aggravated. I pushed the door open a crack. On Father’s old chair, dusty and rotten, sat his cushion; a velvet, deep red cushion that held all of Father’s magic and secrets. Although it was old and tired, it still glowed with the magic of my father’s presence. Opposite, my mother sat, crying into a lace silk handkerchief. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the rug below. Her feet were also bare, settled onto the worn rug. Swallowing my nervousness, I stepped into view. My mother looked up, startled, a look of hope etched onto her worn out face. Her hope vanished as she realised it was me.
“Mother?” I whispered. She looked up again, tears still creeping from her eyes. Mother stared at me, her eyes widening.
“Where has Father gone?”
“My child,” she whispered. “He has gone away with the fairies, my child.” Her voice cracked and renewed tears ran down her face.

He has gone away with the fairies.
*
I stood in the garden, watching the grey clouds draw closer and closer to our crumbling abode. I faced the sky as the first few drops of rain pattered down onto my face. I took one step towards the garden gate. Spots of rain darkened my path towards the street. Birds flew around the garden, their wings spread as I watched their shadows pass over the house. The breeze lifted the hem of my dress and my bare feet froze to the path. The distant sound of my mother, crying her sins to the world, moaning her grief to the wind touched my ears as the silence closed in on me. I walked over to the gateway that led to the streets. Grey buildings stretched endlessly into the gloom before me. Where would my father be? He could be anywhere. I walked fearfully across the dirt road, as if at any moment, someo
someone – or something – would jump out at me.
My feet made little noise as I made my way to the inn. Opening the door, I looked into the dim room. Tables and chairs stood still, gathering dust that dispersed rapidly as I padded softly over to them. He was not here. Turning back towards the door, shoulders slumped, I left.
What felt like hours passed. I stumbled around, calling, crying, begging for my father to return. I sat upon a stone step, looking at the dry mud soaking up the rain like cotton cloth drawn under water by the dolly stick. I got to my feet and turned to go home. I traced my footsteps back to the garden, where I paused. Looking back, sighing, I pushed at the unsteady gate. Wandering up the path, I made my way towards the door. As I did so, I spotted a flower; one tiny white snowdrop, resting in a haze of green. My heart thumping, I realised home was the place where my father would be. I was sure of it.
Racing through the house, my mind searched for the place where
where Father would be hidden. Then I found it: Father’s study. I slowed to a walk. Just outside the mahogany door, I paused. Then I pushed the door gently. It slid silently open to reveal father’s study. His desk, nestled comfortably in the fibres of the red carpet, shone, giving off an ethereal glow, as if the light from other worlds was upon it. My eyes searched the room for my father. Then I espied it: one single piece of parchment, ink spots fading into the aged paper. Slowly, my hand shaking, I picked the letter up. My heart shuddering fearfully, I began to read.

My Dearest Child,
I am sorry to leave you so soon. Please look after you mother. Do not grieve for me. You will see me again one day. I promise. There’s a reason for everything. Even my death. Don’t let yourself go. It was surely not meant to be this way.
I am truly sorry for…
There was no ending. My mind was blank, like a mist had just descended on my thoughts. My father. Dead.
I turned around again, facing the door
. Still shaking, clutching the letter to my heart, I stepped out of the doorway. For the first time I noticed that the window at the end of the hallway was open. On the ledge lay a single snowdrop. Walking to the window, I picked up the flower. A sudden movement from behind me made me turn round. My hand tight around the delicate stem of the plant, I looked up. My mother stood in the doorway.
“From the fairies, my child.” She said.

And then we both smiled.


The End

This is one AMAZING piece of writing ... Honestly.
I don't think any more emotions are needed to be put in.
What there is in the story seems perfect as everything is consistent and going with a flow.
I simply luuuuuuved this story =D

2009-11-02 07:47:43 by Charlie/Lucy