tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73300302095765155082024-02-22T13:43:57.333-06:00Achieving ClarityBecause life's little headaches make us appreciate the good times.Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-18629194180703059192019-11-03T00:30:00.000-05:002019-11-04T08:16:06.328-06:00Market Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Every Sunday in Malakoff, France the circus comes to town. Actually, it is the weekly market, but it has the feel of a circus. Inside a large building individual vendors bring their produce, seafood and other delectable foods and treats. People walk to the market from all over town pulling their personal grocery bag on wheels behind them in anticipation of filling it with delicious foods for the days to come. The locals know just which vendor they want to buy particular items from and head straight to their usual spots. We wandered through the whole place first to get our bearings and decide what we wanted to pick up for lunch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When we stopped at the stand selling olives, different Greek spreads, and hummus, the vendor was being harassed by a jolly woman with decades of experience dealing with guys like him. She was talking him out of sample after sample of his goods. He had just loaded up a hunk of croissant with feta cheese and sun-dried tomato when we walked up. She made a crack, and he shifted his aim handing the sample to my daughter instead. The woman threw back her head and chortled, her mouth wide open.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That salesman may have been more savvy than she gave him credit for. Not only did she end up buying a container of the feta spread, we did too. In addition to the feta, we bought a ball of chèvre rolled in golden raisins, some fruit, a baguette, and some marinated olives. I don’t know how much the experience added to the flavor of the foods, but we had one of the best lunches I have had in a long time and a little dinner theater thrown into the bargain.</span></span></div>
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-2742625765325102472019-11-02T00:30:00.000-05:002019-11-04T23:11:59.594-06:00Celebrate Someone Else’s Beauty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 19px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It takes a mature heart to truly celebrate someone else’s beauty. For some reason we fear that there is only so much good- be it love, admiration or joy- to go around. If we give too much away, there may not be enough left for us.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kSyYrSg0_N8-64TA863hk6mNfyzgoiXCMhZU88fPYU5LLRfqJ-Is48biZN3I5kYC-U4klgAJxm4xRt2J4n8_mqh7GJeOMy8xbW9_f1WumKMeRR_OhRGC8PuaJxakwvDM85nV6o225oFC/s1600/eiffel2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1207" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kSyYrSg0_N8-64TA863hk6mNfyzgoiXCMhZU88fPYU5LLRfqJ-Is48biZN3I5kYC-U4klgAJxm4xRt2J4n8_mqh7GJeOMy8xbW9_f1WumKMeRR_OhRGC8PuaJxakwvDM85nV6o225oFC/s640/eiffel2.jpg" width="482" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 19px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Paradoxically, the more good we give, the more we receive. When our heart is open enough to celebrate the beauty in another, it is better able to take in more goodness for itself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 19px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To celebrate another’s beauty, we have to take the focus off ourself and place it on another. We have to honestly care about someone other than ourselves. We expend energy in celebration of their good fortune. When that celebration is genuine, we lose awareness of our own petty desires. Ironically, in that moment we have never been more beautiful.</span></span><br />
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-30907789754955334592019-11-01T12:45:00.000-05:002019-11-01T13:02:42.091-05:00All Saints Day<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 19px;">These are some shots from a walk through Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, resting place of several famous people, including Gertrude Stein and the composer, Frederic Chopin. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 19px; text-align: start;">The oldest people buried here are a husband and wife, Abelard (1079-1142) and Heloise (1101-1164). Many graves have been added since that time. The most recent I saw was in 2011, but most are very old. Many are moss covered or strewn with cobwebs; some have sunken over time.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhVRX16JqozsjHN0xnQ9FYLqRqBhc2EoCtPelTX23ZnMKYNs-8ZXiKxV7S1MjbIH_sWgP8Ov_kBdU1EErnJd_-Vu58wS4VcePW4VFIfVmNTlvRWza33RWimcELSDRKluLAn-nLqKpcIAF/s1600/pere7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1415" data-original-width="1600" height="564" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhVRX16JqozsjHN0xnQ9FYLqRqBhc2EoCtPelTX23ZnMKYNs-8ZXiKxV7S1MjbIH_sWgP8Ov_kBdU1EErnJd_-Vu58wS4VcePW4VFIfVmNTlvRWza33RWimcELSDRKluLAn-nLqKpcIAF/s640/pere7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">Lots of the family plots are marked by crypts where the bereaved can come to pray. The smell of incense and flickering of candles can be found at several graves. As sunlight shines through the stained glass that appears in the back and sides of many of the crypts, color can be seen through designs cut into the doors in their fronts.</span></div>
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After all these years, I still felt as though I was witnessing the grief of the bereaved looking at these graves. Seeing how they attempted to preserve the likeness of a loved one, or tell something about their lifestyle in the memorial they chose, I understood the desire to make sure the one they lost was not forgotten having experienced that same feeling.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAP20-cd_Roery_r6Zz_6NnTz9JOeeuqd71c_zixqqIUbCh1OfvMFojW36WX_b1PrIkVbHBHoG9g8QYyFF3IebDqZU2cXVV-hJEPB_jI2pF-8eh9ZmYbpGilFGZMp0Tidymb7cBogyY2WR/s1600/pere3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1430" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAP20-cd_Roery_r6Zz_6NnTz9JOeeuqd71c_zixqqIUbCh1OfvMFojW36WX_b1PrIkVbHBHoG9g8QYyFF3IebDqZU2cXVV-hJEPB_jI2pF-8eh9ZmYbpGilFGZMp0Tidymb7cBogyY2WR/s640/pere3.jpg" width="572" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;">Grief is such a painful process; it overwhelms us leaving both body and soul spent. Once you have lost someone, I don’t believe you ever really stop grieving. I think the best you can hope for is to find peace.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Peace to all who are mourning.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">https://www.mamakatslosinit.com</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;">Never have I seen a ghost; but if I did, I am pretty sure it would be here.</span></div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-20145621601860519362019-10-24T11:39:00.000-05:002019-10-24T11:39:30.503-05:00What I am Reading This Fall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5L4uHr2tJF4GiMOHrLENN6xf8fgdK1epIYg1nqj3XRpivV892z6v02kpfL468Zp6kGIHFyGDMwdYV0vbNHU1q1oiDxzGFXpV2ewRtPyVghyphenhyphenXP2iWzZnzq85bjgmqw4Lwb6AIH3iUlf-8p/s1600/IMG_9047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5L4uHr2tJF4GiMOHrLENN6xf8fgdK1epIYg1nqj3XRpivV892z6v02kpfL468Zp6kGIHFyGDMwdYV0vbNHU1q1oiDxzGFXpV2ewRtPyVghyphenhyphenXP2iWzZnzq85bjgmqw4Lwb6AIH3iUlf-8p/s640/IMG_9047.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The temperatures are falling, the daylight hours shrinking. Time to gather reading material for fall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Secret Diary of Hendrik Green, 83 1/4 Years Old</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A resident of a nursing home chronicles daily life in Amsterdam. The author, Peter De Smet, was not credited on the book adding to the sense this is truly Hendrik's diary. Characters are presented with humor and sympathy that evokes compassion in the reader. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Packing My Library</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>An Elegy and Ten Digressions</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is one of the books sent as part of the Year of Reading program at Shakespeare and Company bookstore in Paris. Alberto Manguel wrote this book as he reflected on the process of packing up and whittling down his 35,000 volume library while preparing to move to a new continent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Being Mortal</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Medicine and What Matters in the End</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My friend, a doctor, has just come through a year of loss. She recommended this book to me after finding it personally moving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>A Walk Through Paris</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>A Radical Exploration</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I picked up this book at the wonderful <a href="https://commonplacebooksokc.com/">Commonplace Books</a> the last time I was in Oklahoma City. A mix of history and geography of Paris, the chapters are dotted with vintage photographs and hand-drawn maps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Exit West</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Another selection sent through the Year of Reading program, this book has been labeled "an instant classic". It was released in 2017, and Barack Obama featured it on his books of the year list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Maid</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Hard Work, Low Pay, and a Mother's Will to Survive</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My younger daughter loaned me this book. She mentioned it every time we talked while she was reading it. The book takes an honest look at the working poor in America. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">My next six books.</span></div>
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-65187623483609456712019-08-12T18:37:00.001-05:002019-08-12T18:37:14.942-05:00The Meadowlark<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Noto Serif', serif; font-size: 17px; margin-bottom: 28px;">
<em>The following was written in response to a RemembeRED writing prompt asking for a piece about a memory of a smell or sound. </em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgle3KIY8lA6Q_0D6p4DRzm6RAbDsixd1LxysfmshAxKYxrNDOsmQCO3KyBvI2c88kKthAb83455dLXoL5-te0HFu4YcgSztmyLaO-Cr8e7ba1ova7sC3hC4wWpKq7AY-x9FkX2dvvU5zv7/s1600/wldflower4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="1600" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgle3KIY8lA6Q_0D6p4DRzm6RAbDsixd1LxysfmshAxKYxrNDOsmQCO3KyBvI2c88kKthAb83455dLXoL5-te0HFu4YcgSztmyLaO-Cr8e7ba1ova7sC3hC4wWpKq7AY-x9FkX2dvvU5zv7/s640/wldflower4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I was glad to be done with my shift at the drive-in. It was too hot for carrying out meals to people in cars parked on sizzling pavement. I hurried home and changed into shorts and a little cotton top, threw on my flip flops and jumped back in my car.</div>
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My boyfriend had gone fishing with his friends earlier in the day. No one answered the phone at his house so I assumed they must still be out at Trexler’s Pond. I headed North out of town singing to the radio, windows rolled down trying to work up a breeze.</div>
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I turned into the field at Trexler’s farm, driving slowly across the dirt roadway that led to the gate that separated one high dirt trail from the rest of the pond. I was in no hurry so I turned the car off and walked to the top of a crest. Looking down towards the pond I didn’t see the guys so I went to open the gate planning to move on to the far side of the pond. I had been at the pond so many times, first fishing with my dad and brother-in-law and more recently hanging out with friends.</div>
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I absolutely loved this pond. It was about the most peaceful place I had known just far enough out in the country to offer seclusion. The only sound was the occasional call of a meadowlark. That call had come to represent peace and relaxation to me. It must have been too hot for even the meadowlark on this day. The sun was beating down and the air was very still- a rare thing for Western Kansas.</div>
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I used both hands to maneuver the latch on the gate. It required some negotiation but I managed. I turned towards my car and ran smack into a man who had been standing far too close behind me. Where had he come from? Hadn’t I just been thinking how quiet this place was? Yet, here he was and he had arrived in a car which was parked directly behind mine, blocking it.</div>
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Knowing that I must not panic, I began talking as though it were perfectly natural for him to be here, for him to approach me so stealthily and to be standing so close that I could smell him in the heat. As I talked, I wracked my memory. He looked vaguely familiar, but I did not know him. I moved slowly towards my car walking backwards so that I would not lose sight of him for even a second. It hit me then-the drive in. He had been in several times. I had heard talk of drugs and problems with the law.</div>
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As I moved, he moved with me never uttering a sound, never responding to a direct question. Even if I got to the car how could I get in while keeping him out, let alone get it started, turned around and past his vehicle. It was then that the back of my thigh hit the front corner of the car. Time for action. I half turned and desperately attempted to run to my door.</div>
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He was on me instantly, pinning me to the hood of my car. His face hovered inches from mine, and our eyes locked. I am sure when he looked into my eyes he saw terror; when I looked in his I saw darkness. There was a blackness in those eyes, thickly opaque. There was no way to look deeply into them; it was as though he stopped at the surface. I remember thinking that what I was seeing was pure evil, and in that instant my thinking shifted. The planning and scheming ceased and I began to pray. I prayed not to feel pain. I prayed for the people I love. I prayed for my soul; I prayed for his.</div>
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Suddenly, there it was, the call of the meadowlark clear and pure. It startled me. It broke the silence, and distracted me momentarily. I must have looked towards the sound because I remember turning back and finding that this man was backing away from me. Still wordless, he walked back to his car staggering slightly. I watched as he got in and drove away.</div>
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I don’t know how long I stood frozen in place before I slowly got into my car. I turned the key in the engine and began to cry.</div>
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written in April 2011</div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-9361169452727505392019-01-02T09:57:00.000-06:002019-01-04T22:41:14.888-06:00Build<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVUWfQJ1QYNKvSoZqfUisSNOK05J2mmTXQEQP8yGkVONXX9P4sN-VjPB59aVzEDKZUpqssab8LrsGTs6234hCUYDWh05v3NLOlywcgSV36Pszbx4pIeybpwT-vUO6mTBHDJkSqxGjbsW9/s1600/Build.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVUWfQJ1QYNKvSoZqfUisSNOK05J2mmTXQEQP8yGkVONXX9P4sN-VjPB59aVzEDKZUpqssab8LrsGTs6234hCUYDWh05v3NLOlywcgSV36Pszbx4pIeybpwT-vUO6mTBHDJkSqxGjbsW9/s320/Build.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Rather than resolutions, for several years I participated in the movement that espoused choosing a single word to encapsulate my goals for the coming year. It has been a while since I have mustered that kind of focus, but this is a year when I feel the need to hone in on what matters to me intently. <br />
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Reading Michelle Obama's <i>Becoming </i>this morning, I was struck by a passage she wrote about observing her husband early in their relationship. He was working with a group of church women in Chicago urging them to band together in their efforts to make positive change.<br />
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<i>He was there to convince them that our stories connected us to one another, and through those connections it was possible to harness discontent and convert it to something useful. Even they, he said--a tiny group inside a small church, in what felt like a forgoteten neighborhood-- could build real political power.</i><br />
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In these words, I found <i>my</i> word. Build.<br />
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The past few years in America and too many other places have been about tearing down. Tearing down the norms of society and government. Tearing down the illusions of tolerance I thought existed in our country. Tearing down civil discourse. Tearing down alliances. Tearing down neighbors and people who don't look, live, or pray just as we do. An influx of violence and addiction devastatingly tear at the fabric of family. As a society we lack the patience to fix things and rely too consistently on wiping away altogether what is only in need of repair.<br />
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It occurs to me my life is about building. My professional work is about restoration of lives. My personal hobbies are about restoration of architecture, community, and beauty. I long to see things, people made whole. My motivation is to repair, restore, to build. <br />
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This year I resolve to build: my faith, relationships, healthy habits, community, and yes, political power. <br />
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-9921330549563018612018-12-29T13:30:00.000-06:002018-12-29T13:30:18.447-06:00TToT: Thankful for Reading<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another year is coming to an end, and I have much to be thankful for. One of the things that brings joy to my life is my abitilty to read.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am thankful for my parents who personally modeled reading regularly, for my mom who read to me all the time, for my teachers who helped me crack the code so that I could read the written word for myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am thankful for Goodreads where I can track the books I read each year, interact with other people who love an author or book as much as I do, and discover books I would never know about otherwise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am thankful for authors who can captivate me with their stories or even just the way they turn a single phrase. I am thankful they transport me to other places and times where I am encouraged to dream or blessed to escape the daily news.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am thankful for the Topeka Shawnee County Public Library which is absolutely top shelf...pun intended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>My Ten Favorite Books This Year</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Martian</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Bell Jar</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Nightingale</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fareinheit 451</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Girl Before</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eleanor Oliphant is Perfectly Fine</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'd Rather Be Reading</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fed Up</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Allegedly </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Woman Next Door</span></div>
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Ten Things of Thankful</div>
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-79384793729371913242018-09-23T18:40:00.000-05:002018-09-23T18:42:59.776-05:00Give Me a Break :TToT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">We are just back from Oklahoma City where we attended the wedding of a young man we have known for most of his life. It was a relaxing weekend in a city that holds special memories for us. Sometimes you don't realize you need to get away until you've had a chance to do it. I think the moral of the story is if you wait to take a break until you know for sure you need one, you're likely way overdue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><a href="http://tenthingsofthankful.blogspot.com/">Ten Things of Thankful</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The happy couple</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Good friends</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Good food</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Amazing architecture in a city that prides itself on its colorful and unique neighborhoods</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Commonplace Bookstore</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Pleasant weather</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Safe travel</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">A chance to unwind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Love</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Laughter</span></div>
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-55368337127274418572018-09-11T21:05:00.000-05:002018-09-13T20:51:42.542-05:00Stop the Glorification of Busy<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.6842em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">As a college senior I worked two part-time jobs in addition to student teaching. Hearing fellow students complain about the stress of student teachng without the added workload of the other jobs, I admit I felt superior. When my kids were small I took pride in juggling work, home and volunteer duties. I wore the bags under my eyes from sleep lost in order to allow more work hours into each day like dark, puffy badges of honor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Busyness becomes a god we sacrifice far too much to. Our health, our families, our friendships and our peace of mind all suffer when we continually push ourselves beyond what is reasonable. We develop tunnel vision looking only towards our goal and missing the blessings that surround us every day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There is danger in the pride that comes from living life as though we can do it all on our own. One day we look up and realize that is exactly how we are doing life–alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We will be much happier when we slow down, doing one task at a time and giving it our full attention. We will find more satisfaction in the work. Then to be truly happy, once that task is finished we should put it away and turn our attention–our full attention–to the people in our lives.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">Mama Kat</a> prompt: What were you writing about a year ago? Something I still need to remind myself!</div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-39158680288918158602018-09-10T00:53:00.000-05:002018-09-10T00:55:39.368-05:00The Rich Tapestry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">We all should know that diversity makes for a rich tapestry, and we must understand that all the threads of the tapestry are equal in value no matter what their color. --Maya Angelou</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A new mural covers the wall of a building across the street from the National Park's Brown v Topeka Board of Education site. We were given the opportunity to help underwrite the mural project and to paint on it some as well. The day we painted was memorable for me. As I worked, my family painted alongside me on the right, and some of my students painted with me on the left. I have worked with many students through my years in the Topeka Public Schools. We chose TPS for our own kids' education. USD 501 does not have a perfect history, but it does have the distinction of being the place where America attempted to right a wrong for a little girl named Linda Brown and all other children who would follow. Children deserve safe, welcoming, and adequately funded schools in which to learn. It is a priveledge to do my part to help see they get that in Topeka.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://tenthingsofthankful.blogspot.com/">Ten Things of Thankful</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A Supreme Court ruling that stuck down Separate but Equal</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The opportunity to work along with others--some I know and love, some who simply share the understanding of the importance of the Brown v Board decision</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A tapestry of colors </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My family. My students.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Beautiful weather that lures you outside</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cooperation that leads to a finished project</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Plants</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Love and support from the people in my life</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Stories--whether the lifestory of a person I know, a book that captures my imagination, family tales that I have heard a million times. Stories give life meaning.</span></div>
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-21789163063137002862018-08-27T00:25:00.000-05:002018-08-27T00:25:43.764-05:00A New Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnwGasbM484EZLsaVACescXmogK5oQg40lpwdgn4eJmN_leShuj8562hkRUC2KwMEmbLo8E2pXgaM_yMWRGsh9pmqVaOih68C6Z3_X6Pr9l4XUeEQh6dfVgYhW1HAA2HEA9So927jh6mt/s1600/am2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1357" data-original-width="1600" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnwGasbM484EZLsaVACescXmogK5oQg40lpwdgn4eJmN_leShuj8562hkRUC2KwMEmbLo8E2pXgaM_yMWRGsh9pmqVaOih68C6Z3_X6Pr9l4XUeEQh6dfVgYhW1HAA2HEA9So927jh6mt/s640/am2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">He wakes again before the first real light, slipping away in that part of the day that still registers only in black and white. Experiences and interactions have yet to color this day for good or ill. It is still merely potential, and it beckons him from our bed.</span></span></div>
<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-3762207297725063022018-08-23T19:02:00.000-05:002018-08-23T19:02:05.268-05:00Making Do<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gti2BT1F0aUuJRlG9JgDpXil0znJ1ybmttKROz8jZglpkLh2vllTmgRe_GzDsJpVPTxBDTggEnveeBNFT_qh1ymjyQz57koDsF4MXFupzEZW68K3j7Nubm6lcxQhfx05pKTxhRV4EylN/s1600/Make+Do+and+Mend_pink+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="402" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gti2BT1F0aUuJRlG9JgDpXil0znJ1ybmttKROz8jZglpkLh2vllTmgRe_GzDsJpVPTxBDTggEnveeBNFT_qh1ymjyQz57koDsF4MXFupzEZW68K3j7Nubm6lcxQhfx05pKTxhRV4EylN/s640/Make+Do+and+Mend_pink+2.jpg" width="420" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://barbarabrackman.blogspot.com/">Barbara Brackman's Material Culture</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidoIzTdbmRFI0gly3G5ijLDsNrhjEIflsutWosd9yu9FFIFoDbj0LWTbO9q-htEdGw5VOB8HNAxZPcxnRZT8JPLtu5Tu3sqzIlmXTY5oaLXqIrCQYN-dvQi6laHzkj5f9D4h_ydM6scCTD/s1600/WW1_button.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidoIzTdbmRFI0gly3G5ijLDsNrhjEIflsutWosd9yu9FFIFoDbj0LWTbO9q-htEdGw5VOB8HNAxZPcxnRZT8JPLtu5Tu3sqzIlmXTY5oaLXqIrCQYN-dvQi6laHzkj5f9D4h_ydM6scCTD/s1600/WW1_button.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://myhappysewingplace.com/">My Happy Sewing Place</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Several years ago I came across these vintage promotional items on the internet. The button is from WWI, and the booklet came out during the Second World War. Materials and goods were scarce during wartime, and people drastically altered their lifestyles as a matter of patriotism. It is easy to romanticize those days, but the sacrifices people made were real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;">Times aren’t nearly so bad for me in present day Topeka, KS; still, these images speak to me. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;">Around the time I stumbled across the images above, we started to go through old photographs to cull pictures for the many “memory board” activities that preceded my son’s high school graduation. My kids began to point out how many of their childhood photos showed me in clothing I still wear today. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;">They give me a hard time about the twenty-year-old items in my wardrobe, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t care much about fashion as long as I look presentable; and if I am home painting or gardening even presentable becomes negotiable. Thumbing through those photos, an idea for belt tightening hit me. While the kids were all three in college or dental school, I followed the philosophy behind the WWI button: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><i>I am making my old clothes do.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was able to do this because:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: inherit;">I have always believed in buying quality. So, what is in my closet is well constructed from reliable, natural fabrics.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I do not follow trends. I choose things that have simple lines and classic design which keeps them from becoming dated too easily.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I personally don’t place a high value on fashion. Some people express themselves in what they wear which would make this choice harder. I express myself in art, writing and decorating my home. For me clothes are pretty much just functional.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hate to shop.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">For the past five years I have been embracing this lifestyle. It fits well in my overall life-simplifying plan. I play little games with myself to keep it light-hearted, choosing one garment at a time to </span><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">wear to</em><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">death</em><span style="background-color: white;">. As I write this I am wearing the current target, a blue striped Ralph Lauren shirt circa 1991. The cotton is worn, soft and comfortable, the collar and cuffs gently frayed at their edges. Its like an old friend I will miss when it is gone… just as I will eventually miss the peach shirt that steps into replace it or the lavender that will replace the peach.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wonder about the sense of gratitude I now feel for the literal shirt on my back. With each garment that passes to the rag bag, I feel a sense of satisfaction that it has served its purpose well. Would I even notice my old favorites slipping away, if I had not made the commitment to be conscious about fully using what I have before buying more? I suspect not. Five years ago I thought I was making a sacrifice, but instead I find myself content and more aware of simple everyday blessings. In the end, making do has been no sacrifice at all.</span></div>
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-87729411062942051542018-08-21T16:30:00.000-05:002018-08-21T16:30:07.933-05:00OK, Oklahoma<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size: 19px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.6842em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
OK, Oklahoma,</div>
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I am sending you my first born.</div>
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She has been dreaming of this moment since she was four. Then together we have dreamed this moment would take place right there in the heart of Oklahoma City ever since laying eyes on OU’s dental school campus with its green spaces and down-home-friendly folks.</div>
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Being a Prairie Girl myself, I know there is more than dentistry she can learn there. When the wind comes sweeping down the plain as it seems to with far too much frequency and voracity, she will learn resiliency. When knocked down, she will learn to rise back up.</div>
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She will learn to find beauty in the spare. Looking at the vast horizon she will see past herself and gain perspective of her place in the world. Looking into the star filled night sky she will make her wishes, and dealing with a land that can be harsh she will gain the strength and wisdom to make those wishes come true.</div>
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I am sending her with confidence knowing you will be good for her and to her. Knowing there is space enough on your plains for her to grow into the woman she is meant to be. Knowing in Oklahoma she will be OK.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDwP7lK10q7CquXMvkxkN4Ql0g0afK3Ni7f17hoSsfF9VxzFJbj9SjFsfHrN5BvUJcXL0Z58L3fKfmaRzoe-iNNcM9dL3dAhpIEHZ7Bp_qlSIVzYlRhnITTwGyevykuv2k_LcD2gsW0QM/s1600/annou1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1306" data-original-width="1600" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDwP7lK10q7CquXMvkxkN4Ql0g0afK3Ni7f17hoSsfF9VxzFJbj9SjFsfHrN5BvUJcXL0Z58L3fKfmaRzoe-iNNcM9dL3dAhpIEHZ7Bp_qlSIVzYlRhnITTwGyevykuv2k_LcD2gsW0QM/s640/annou1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">More of my look back to the back to school season five years ago.</span></div>
Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-67187522528779491712018-08-21T16:29:00.000-05:002018-08-21T16:29:46.186-05:00Oklahoma, Here She Comes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;">Another look back to that back to school season that took the Dentist to her training in OKC.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxOScY1_HYBxLRROnfO5h9I_CYW0BofvPeabOzQsXGvTjsI_WGm-CvvNci94XAhZnuxkOjQgJyeIA5UHauLiN3Ll9-aLo3Y8uk_bjJXYoDwbiWpudm_CwhCCerfEoibB1cVFilYd3U2B0/s1600/hapt2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1428" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxOScY1_HYBxLRROnfO5h9I_CYW0BofvPeabOzQsXGvTjsI_WGm-CvvNci94XAhZnuxkOjQgJyeIA5UHauLiN3Ll9-aLo3Y8uk_bjJXYoDwbiWpudm_CwhCCerfEoibB1cVFilYd3U2B0/s640/hapt2.jpg" width="570" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few days ago we loaded a mix of things passed down from family, found along the curb, or purchased for just this day into a moving van and headed into the new adventure that awaits our daughter as she begins dental school in Oklahoma.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The excitement was palpable. Everything she has worked for has been leading up to this day. What a joy that we were all able to help her out and be here to share it with her. And yet that darned van full of her stuff lurking out front did seem to mock me just a little bit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: inherit;">To me the hardest part of a move is always when you are looking at what you are leaving behind. Once we got there and started pulling the place together it was good times!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;">We arranged an explosion of mirror bubbles over her bed.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlV9PO2NnNoi8XZgpRCnny364TJ6faQHhND2s0wvG0GnWnMJfBvf448ygeFJT4nGsJkvNDDY2mV-WKlGStsj7Nsz8-DRWBL_r5ivSpq8orefOTpl5fcrT1DAoj4_njQ9i_y0F-j6w84Za/s1600/hapt5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1600" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlV9PO2NnNoi8XZgpRCnny364TJ6faQHhND2s0wvG0GnWnMJfBvf448ygeFJT4nGsJkvNDDY2mV-WKlGStsj7Nsz8-DRWBL_r5ivSpq8orefOTpl5fcrT1DAoj4_njQ9i_y0F-j6w84Za/s400/hapt5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And discovered much subliminal messaging in her art…a glittery golden Kansas outline, a reproduction of an architectural drawing of her high school signed by friends and teachers at her graduation, and a series of prints her father did in studio his freshman year of college documenting his own letters home.</span></div>
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<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.</span></em><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;">We found the perfect spot for this La Femme à la fête, a souvenir from her visit to a winery in France, to send her off each morning with a toast.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">Most of our time was spent hefting furniture and unpacking boxes. I will include more shots of the assembled apartment next time I get to visit. The place is tiny, but really wonderful. And adventure waits right outside her door.</span></span><br />
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<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-23526880065201413062018-08-21T15:18:00.000-05:002018-08-21T15:18:40.097-05:00The Spice of Life<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.6842em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="color: #2e2256; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Back to school can be a very nostolgic time for mom's of adult children. I find myself reading posts written as my kids were heading off on fall adventures all over again. This one conveys the nervous </span><span style="color: #2e2256; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">excitement of sending my eldest off to dental school, and the desire to do what I could to be of some use.</span></i><br />
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Over the course of the next several weeks we will be helping our first born set up her first apartment. The dental school has made it abundantly clear that their program is meant to be a full-time pursuit, and they don’t anticipate the students will be working jobs concurrently with their studies. This means her living expenses will be covered by student loans for the next four years.</div>
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I hate debt, so the thought of borrowing just to live makes me shudder. I have been looking for all the ways we can help her limit spending as she establishes her own little home. After all, we really have more than enough. So, we have been shuffling furniture, kitchen supplies, sheets and other sundry items her way.</div>
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This week I hit the pantry and the spice cabinet to stock her non-perishable items and staples. As I packed item after item into bags I had to smile at the thought of her using the things. I mixed spices into old shakers to give her the blends she likes when her dad grills burgers or I make Grandma Susie’s spaghetti sauce.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'noto serif', serif; font-style: inherit;">I sighed as I filled Boy Scout and Girl Scout tins with flour and sugar, and wondered how those Scouts could be heading out into the world so soon. Has it been so long since they sold me these tins of popcorn and mints?</span><br />
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The spice cabinet was filled with several sugar sprinkle containers half to a quarter full of the same kinds of sprinkles. When I worked at the church I had the children decorate holiday cookies for Ronald Mc Donald House, and the project called for many shakers for all the helping hands. I suppose last Christmas is <i style="box-sizing: inherit;">the</i> last Christmas for that tradition as well. So, I combined like sprinkles into single containers, then washed and filled the empties with spices for the new apartment.<br />
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So many times in life the new brings with it an ending to the old. In the pouring and filling of containers, I fought periodic waves of sadness at the passing of what had been. For the most part, I felt the anticipation and expectation for what was about to come. After all, I told myself as I measured the oregano and black pepper, change is the spice of life.</div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-81733950873776797762018-08-20T19:59:00.000-05:002018-08-20T19:59:36.036-05:00Mother's Dreams<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2256; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.6842em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">When this photo was taken my mother was young and single. She had no way to predict that she would be granted ninety-three years of life on this planet or be partner in a marriage that lasted over fifty years, ending only with the death of my father. She could have had no idea she would carry ten babies under her heart, but see only eight of them survive her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">She is so young in this photograph. The slight smile on her face and the gleam in her eyes hint at a heart filled with dreams. I will never know what those dreams were. Never know how many of them came true. I can guess that having grown up an orphan she was anxious to get out into the world to make a life of her own, but she never told me that. She offered very few glimpses into the life she had led before this photo was taken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">On summer nights we used to sit on the front stoop and look at the stars. She often talked about the dreams she had for my future. The world was moving fast then, and she saw fantastic changes in technology coloring the world I would know. She would make outrageous predictions, and we would laugh. As the laughter faded and she grew quiet, her gaze would return to the stars. We would sit quietly each lost in our thoughts. How many of her thoughts were of the young girl in this photograph and the dreams in her heart? She would not say, and I would never know.</span></div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-8838514815479605782018-08-20T00:47:00.000-05:002018-08-20T00:47:20.799-05:00Nine Pictures; Nine Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;">Nature</span></div>
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Beauty</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;">Recreation</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; text-align: center;"> Planting</span></div>
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(Photos: Antique salt and pepper shakers, cup of tea and cookie, grew-it-myself little tomato, spider web during a rainstorm, snapping beans, yellow roses, board game, stained glass window at Danforth Chapel on the campus of Kansas State University)</div>
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#314-322 of my One Thousand Gifts.</div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-6236928297405302472018-08-17T12:29:00.000-05:002018-08-17T12:31:55.524-05:00It's the Little Things<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">I was puttering in the kitchen a minute ago when a potted plant outside caught my eye. The pesky squirrels have been busy gathering walnuts from the tree above and ground near by the plant. In their frenzy they knocked the plant over. Annoyed at the interruption I headed outside to set it right. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">As I turned back towards the house I was greeted by the darting and hovering of a tiny hummingbird visiting the patch of impatiens blooming at my feet. Had those squirrels, my arch nemisizes and declared enemies, not bumped into the plant and tipped it over I would not have stepped outside at the precise minute the hummingbird arrived. I stood quietly for a matter of minutes while the hummingbird tasted the sweetness of each pink flower in the bed, flitted on to sample the plants filling the patio, and then headed out to the garden for a dessert of pumpkin blossom nectar before journeying on to brighten someone else's day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">I have to thank those dog-gone squirrels for helping me shift my focus from the annoyances I see in the distance to all the positive little things that surround me in abundance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><a href="http://tenthingsofthankful.blogspot.com/">Ten Things of Thankful</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Nature</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Particularly the hummingbird</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">And the squirrels--though I recognize that they still believe they have squatters' rights to my garden, and we will tangle again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The anticipation of watching tomatoes grow riper on the vine (slowly) each day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The lesson of patience taught in a garden</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Blessed rain that has fallen on our parched earth this week</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The deep and restful sleep that can be had during a rainstorm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The tinges of orange beginning to show on the pumpkins</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">A break in the intense heat and humidity</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">And the delight found in a plant that unexpectedly blooms in hearts</span><br />
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-55122282251222010892018-08-16T22:47:00.000-05:002018-08-16T22:47:49.788-05:00What I Miss Most<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2256; font-family: inherit; font-size: 19px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 1.6842em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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(<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This is the home of my husband’s grandparents. The photo rests on a quilt made my Grandma Olivia the lady of the house. )</em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I don’t have many photos of my childhood home or the people and rambunctious activity that filled it. Still, I can picture that place as if I had been there only yesterday. It was a two bedroom home–three if you count the unfinished basement occupied by all of the boys. It was far too small for the hordes of people who lived there. Under-insulated and heated only by two glorified space heaters, it was a meat locker in the winter. Without air conditioning, we had ample heat mid-summer though. On the face of it, my home should have been a miserable place to live. It was not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My dad was a short, stocky man of few words with a quick and wicked sense of humor. His name was Elwyn– Ellie to my mom, but Woody to the rest of the world. Few people really knew him, introverted as he was. He loved to read everything from <em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Popular Mechanics</em> to the poetry of such extremes as Ogden Nash and Robert Frost. He worked twelve hour days. When his long shift was done, he came straight home to all of us. I remember him coming through the back door at night. I would run to him and climb up on the steel toes of his size 13 EEE Wolverine work shoes, and tired as he must have been he would dance me around the kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He called my mother Bunny. Her real name was Susie, though she was known to our teenaged friends simply as Suz. My mom was as funny as my dad; I think that is one thing that kept their marriage strong. She was old school, waiting on him hand and foot when he was home. My mom had quirky mannerisms and butchered metaphors mercilessly. In turn, we teased her without mercy. She never took herself too seriously to be able to laugh along with us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The house where I grew up was loud. Stories of outrageous antics pulled by someone who lived there were recounted time and again. It was filled with laughter, and it was filled to the rafters with love. There are many things I miss about living in the home of my parents, but none of those things compare with how much I miss dad and mom themselves.</span></div>
Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-17011800261469392072018-08-10T11:59:00.001-05:002018-08-10T11:59:12.470-05:00And the Other Is Gold: TToT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQ0jn3z2CtHKyTHUmburM_y2JopfGM6oIROLqJamOfZFs9IUTScbooR-lKoA_EzTbuN3wpHNO5kUhyiyos3nCY4o6Nc2LPHRYPG-qKULfForTQ-TpLxgzJwWA1t6fIMGxs8evCfhFz0cp/s1600/gmasoftball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="1600" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQ0jn3z2CtHKyTHUmburM_y2JopfGM6oIROLqJamOfZFs9IUTScbooR-lKoA_EzTbuN3wpHNO5kUhyiyos3nCY4o6Nc2LPHRYPG-qKULfForTQ-TpLxgzJwWA1t6fIMGxs8evCfhFz0cp/s640/gmasoftball.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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My grandma (third from the left) with some of the friends she played softball with back in the day.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know if it is because I have reached a certain age, but recently circumstance has brought old friends back into my life after years of separation. I didn't part with any of these women on poor terms. Rather we became busy with the responsibilities of careers and families. In some cases moves put miles between us. In each case these were women I love who have enriched my life with laughter, shared tears, and immense wisdom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Early this summer a mutual friend told me she had been in touch with our old friend Beth. Completely in keeping with her fearless nature, Beth had signed on to donate a kidney to a friend. When it turned out that Beth's kidney also matched a different person awaiting transplant, and another donor matched Beth's friend a whole saga began. By the time the operations were complete, the circle had expanded to include ten people giving and receiving kidneys at KU Med Center in Kansas City. By the point I heard about all this, Beth was recovering nicely and was ready for visitors. So, we went, our lunch date extending into the night. Despite not seeing one another for fifteen years, we picked up the conversation as though it had only paused a minute earlier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">About a week later I ran into another strong woman friend in the grocery store...not my usual grocery, or hers either. It has been ten years since we have seen one another despite living in the same city. When we knew each other our daughters danced, and she and I did many volunteer activities together to support the ballet. Life handed her a series of misfortunes that she certainly didn't deserve, but unsurprisingly she handled them with courage and wisdom. I am sad that I had no idea she was struggling with these challenges and therefore did nothing to reach out. I am not surprised, however, to find her on the other side as positive and strong as ever. Coincidently, she is moving closer to my house now, and we've had the opportunity to enjoy each other's company once again--picking up the thread of our friendship just where we laid it down years ago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At the beginning of the month I received a letter from a high school friend who I have not seen in over twenty years. For ages we stayed in touched through long, colorful letters. Months might go by without hearing from each other when suddenly one of us would find a fat envelope stuffed with page after page of detailed stories of the latest off-the-wall experience one of us had. The last three or four letters I have sent over the years have missed their intended mark, and I had no idea how to find her. Out of nowhere a fat envelope stuffed with pages detailing her life fell through the mail slot in my front door one day and my heart soared.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday, I was at an inservice taking a break from a dry presentation when someone came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder. I turned around to discover an old friend, the mother of one my daughter's dearest childhood friends. Again, we hadn't seen each other for a very long time and hadn't gotten to actually visit in even longer. At the end of the day we got together and talked heart-to-heart for a couple of hours. What a joy to discover that her little girly-girl has grown up to be a chemical engineer who loves her work. My heart swelled with pride for her despite having not seen her for many years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I was a Brownie (about 1967) we used to sing a song at Scouts that declared <i>Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, but the other is gold. </i>There is no way that I could fully appreciate the meaning of those words in my Brownie Scout days, but today I know them to be the absolute truth.</span></div>
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My <a href="http://tenthingsofthankful.blogspot.com/">Ten Things of Thankful</a> this week:</div>
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Beth (and Gwen for reconnecting us)</div>
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Beth's brave contribution to the successful kidney transplants</div>
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Charleen</div>
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Robin </div>
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Kelly</div>
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Old friends</div>
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Good memories</div>
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Support, love, laughter, tears</div>
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That is more than ten, but I am blessed with an abundant life.</div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-58679579092573892622018-08-09T22:22:00.000-05:002018-08-09T22:22:55.967-05:00The Shared Bedroom<div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size: 19px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.6842em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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There is something to be said for sharing a bedroom with a sibling. Negotiation skills are forged within limited space. A person learns to share. Courtesy for another’s needs and feelings emerges in the give and take of how loudly music should be played and what time the lights need to be dimmed.</div>
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A shared bedroom is no place to nurse a grudge. A person can only tolerate a line of masking tape down the center of the room for so long before realizing amends must be made.</div>
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Not only does sharing a room with a brother or sister teach a person to consider the feelings of another human being, it also gives ample opportunity to practice asserting your own needs in an appropriate way as well. You must learn to stand your ground, or at least your floor space, effectively without flaring conflict.</div>
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Shared space encourages strong relationships. Living in close proximity to another person you witness their ups and downs. You’re given an intimate view of their dreams, successes, and failures as well as how they cope with each. Before you realize it, you find yourself pulling for the person who has driven you mad for so long. You feel real empathy for him when he is down and take real joy in his victories.</div>
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Our wisdom and our diplomatic prowess develop over time through what we experience in daily living. One thing I know for sure, when the leaders of the world gather to make decisions that affect us all, I want to be represented by someone who shared a bedroom with a sibling growing up.<br />
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Written in 2013. Even more pertinent today.</div>
Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-83639196728771641302018-08-06T20:07:00.000-05:002018-08-06T20:07:51.105-05:00In The Fullness of Time<br />
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Time has a way of leveling things out. Issues that once seemed insurmountable look less formidable in the rear view mirror. My son is currently in the midst of a break between undergraduate and law school. He finally took the gap year we considered back in 2013 as he was leaving high school.<br />
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His father and I are far more relaxed than we were when he was choosing what to do following high school graduation. He seemed ill prepared for college...until he attended, became engaged in his studies for the first time in his life, and experienced more academic success than it would have been prudent for us to hope for. It's encouraging to look back upon your troubles once they are resolved. Things are improved in the fullness of time. <br />
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Here's what we were thinking five years ago...<br />
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It is the last semester of my last kid’s last year in high school. Years ago I thought I would be a weepy mess by this point, but I am not. He is a great kid with a huge heart and good mind. He has two older sisters who have gone before him and shown me that a young adult can leave your home, but never leave your heart. So, much to my surprise (and no doubt his), I am getting anxious to see what comes next.</div>
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My son comes from a long line of males on my side of the family who are late bloomers in terms of achievement matching ability. For several years now I have been promoting the idea of a gap year between high school and college. Recently, I think my son heard what I have been saying for the first time. Delayed entry to college makes sense to us all. So, the search has begun for an appropriate gap year experience.</div>
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Travel is educational and encourages maturation, but it comes with a price tag that exceeds what my son has available. His dad and I are not interested in working here at home to pay for our eighteen-year-old to be a jet-setting tourist.</div>
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I have found programs that pair international travel and earning college credits. If we aren’t going to send him to college in the USA in the fall because we think he could use more time to grow ready for the experience, how could taking classes half a planet away serve him well?</div>
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The third option we found online is a combination of international travel and service. This is the option that has us the most excited. Serving others is good for your soul. It makes you appreciate what you have as well as what others do to serve you. There is nothing like hard work at minimal wages to make you begin to see the value of higher education. Helping to pay your own way builds self-confidence. It gives you a clearer picture of the worth of a dollar.</div>
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I see by the application deadlines that we are arriving late to this party. So, we will be scrambling over the next several weeks in an attempt to make this happen for him. I have no idea what our search will unearth, but I trust that we will forge the best plan for his growth and development.</div>
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There is a big world out there, and nearly everything my son has done to this point has signaled his intention to explore it. His knowledge of geography surpassed mine more than a decade ago. His favorite classes are the three foreign languages he studies. His future holds the promise of great things. As his mother, I will do all in my power to give him the world.</div>
Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-23750160205108337992018-08-05T15:28:00.000-05:002018-08-05T15:30:35.203-05:00You Drown by Staying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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edwin louis cole</div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I found this handmade card at an annual art fair this summer. The words came at what must have been the precise moment I needed to hear them. The message grabbed hold of my heart and has not let go. The artist's doodles appear like ripples reminding me that each life decision we make effects all those that come after. This is a heavy message, but it comes with a reminder of hope. When we are in too deep--when we are in over our head--we don't have to stay there; and in choosing not to stay, we choose to live. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/2018/08/peanut-butter-and-chocolate/">Share a quote.</a></span></div>
<br />Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-17914746943990735472018-08-05T00:49:00.001-05:002018-08-05T00:49:36.375-05:00Flights of Fancy: Ten Things of Thankful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was working in the garden today when a fluttering nearby caught my eye. A beautiful moth the size of my palm flapped and stumbled across the blades of grass. Curious, I moved closer. The moth moved more frantically, but didn't fly away. After watching for a bit I was convinced it was injured and unable to fly. Worried for its safety, I moved it to the patio placing it in a potted plant. I finished the task I had been working on and hurried back to the patio to see what could be done for the moth only to discover it was gone, apparently of its own free will. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I thought about that moth long after it was gone. It's been a while since something so simple has made me stop and take stock this way. I let my imagination take flight with that moth, wondering, daydreaming, and remembering what it is like to be curious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That lovely winged creature left me feeling gratitude to a degree I haven't experienced in a while. Gratitude for the most simple of things. In the end they are the things that matter the most.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Curiousity</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Color</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nature</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Surprise</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Quiet</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Gentleness</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Creatures who ask nothing of me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Air</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Relaxation</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Beauty</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://tenthingsofthankful.blogspot.com/2018/08/ten-things-of-thankful-832018.html?showComment=1533448090506#c2922380546727423832">Ten Things of Thankful</a></span></div>
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Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7330030209576515508.post-72892365520931728342018-07-30T16:11:00.000-05:002018-07-30T16:11:45.905-05:00Summer's End<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Only one more day. I am due back on duty at school on August 1st. I am not ready. I have not stopped moving all summer long, working my way through my to-do list. I ended the school year really wiped out. I was certain I was more drained than I normally feel in May and I looked forward to the respite the summer would provide. Now that my summer break has dwindled down to a matter of hours, I am not sure how well I refilled my reservoir. Ready or not, I am heading back. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In reality I know it is true that as each summer draws to a close I feel the same sense of disbelief. The break always goes too quickly having been filled with far too many commitments to be truly refreshing. This time of year always brings with it a degree of letting go--a skill I am not particularly good at. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Below is a wistful look at summer's end a few years back...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">The calendar may not reflect it, but summer is nearly gone. I consciously will the pace to slow, wanting to hang on to each passing day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">When summer ends my girls will go. One to Tennessee; one to Texas. Both too far.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I love when we are all home. We work all day and play in the night. We are up too late and the morning arrives too early. And so it goes. But summer will end and my girls <em>must</em> go. Their life awaits.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">My tempo will be disrupted. I'll be off balance. I will wander through their rooms, summer's sudden end making my footing uncertain. My world will move in slow motion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I wouldn't have it any other way. The girls will be discovering their worlds and discovering who they are within those worlds. They'll have much to tell. Messages will fly in two different directions and back again from each. Rapid-fire reports of challenges faced and victories won.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">In time my footing will become more certain. My days will fill again. A busy patter of activity will make the days fly by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I'll wake one day to wonder where the school year has gone. Summer will be coming and my girls will be on their way home once more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">July 29, 2011</span></div>
Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03485338098212307793noreply@blogger.com0