tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-226744902024-03-23T13:19:53.539-05:00Sayre SmilesSayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.comBlogger1520125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-33927015203796811732016-03-25T10:32:00.000-05:002016-03-25T10:45:47.448-05:00Dark NightThe clock just turned past midnight - it is officially my birthday. I've got a cup of tea to help me stay awake this one more hour - but I'm not sure I needed it, for I find myself curiously wide awake.<br />
<br />
Tonight, we had our Maundy Thursday service at the church. If you don't know this, it is the last night that Jesus got to spend free and with his disciples. It is the evening of the foot-washing, the Last Supper when Jesus defined the Eucharist as representational of his body and blood, and when he sat right next to and shared food with his betrayer. I find it a bit sad and strange that this particular service is not well-attended. It is all about the ritual that is central to our worship - Communion. This is where it began.<br />
<br />
A big storm moved in during the service. The lights seemed low and the large, yawning space of soaring roof and stained glass felt cozy in the evening storm - safe. After the service, but before the recessional, we stripped the altar. The cloth was removed. The candlesticks taken back to the sacristy. There is nothing left but a bare table with no adornment at all but for the cross that hangs above it, a stark reminder of what is about to happen 2017 years ago.<br />
<br />
And now, it is midnight. It is the hour I chose to sit vigil - to wait with Jesus during his darkest night. He knew... about Judas. About the soldiers in the morning. About all that was to follow a kiss from one of his closest friends. He didn't want any of it, asked that it not happen, but accepted it anyway. So I sat and waited too. I read all four versions of this night as remembered in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Most were quite short and not terribly detailed, but Luke spelled it out.<br />
<br />
For me, this was like time travel... I sat with him when his own friends and disciples slept. I sorrowed for his morning as I looked forward to my own future. How different we are, and yet how much the same. At the end of my hour of vigil, I turned off my light, knowing that I did what I could and slept soundly until my alarm went off this morning.<br />
<br />
<br />Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-28267645000791101872016-03-25T10:06:00.000-05:002018-01-08T08:23:21.693-05:00Before... and AfterNote: This was written back in February of 2016. <br />
<br />
It feels a little selfish to admit this, but I'm having a hard time here. I suppose some people would raise their eyebrows and say rather pointedly "YOU'RE having a hard time??? What about HIM?"<br />
<br />
"Him" would be my husband - and it's true, he's having a very difficult time of it right now. He's railing against fate and limitations that make him feel less like himself. Somehow, I think he didn't believe he would ever age, would never be mortal, would have physical failings beyond his control. He pushes back, risking everything. That makes me so angry - and scares the hell out of me all at the same time.<br />
<br />
5 months ago, he was in a car accident. He was driving through a neighborhood at a slow speed, knowing there were children in the neighborhood. Next thing he knows, there's a sheriff's deputy asking him if he's alright. He doesn't remember anything, but the front end of his truck is wrapped around a tree in someone's front yard. We don't know why this happened, but we suspect he may have fallen asleep at the wheel. The deputy seemed to think so. And husband has had a hard time getting rest lately. He woke exhausted after a night's sleep. Apnea seems a reasonable issue, so we pursue seeing doctors and getting a sleep study. He's supposed to get the results of that study next week.<br />
<br />
Things seemed to go back to normal. We bought a new-to-us truck that was in great shape and had low mileage for him to drive and we were set. Until last weekend.<br />
<br />
He got up early to go to work. He put the animals out so they wouldn't bother me, made some bacon and left the house around 6:30am.<br />
<br />
I got up just before 8 and was just sitting down with my tea about 10 after when the phone rang. Caller ID said it was the hospital. My mind raced. Mom? Dad? Which one of them had gone to the hospital? But when I picked up the phone, it wasn't them - it was my husband. A nurse told me that he was in the Emergency Room, that there'd been an accident. He'd just come around and they were trying to keep him lying on the table - I heard the nurse tell him to please lay back and don't move.<br />
<br />
I get there and my husband is sitting up in the trauma area. He's got IV's in his arms. He's in a hospital gown. He looks dazed and has the most impressive shiner I've ever seen blooming around his right eye.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDbtjxmJuVegyhhWYNpkDcOsEywqVD51RgU0o628T1gxXZbiP6R2hGM9qp4Pe3UBd1AVbMNSFl3ufNcrDSRzpdRjOvwOxilL0bGwjqft4_mPas2RJcc3EPf6e3URoPPZM8Sva/s1600/IMG_20160213_095304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDbtjxmJuVegyhhWYNpkDcOsEywqVD51RgU0o628T1gxXZbiP6R2hGM9qp4Pe3UBd1AVbMNSFl3ufNcrDSRzpdRjOvwOxilL0bGwjqft4_mPas2RJcc3EPf6e3URoPPZM8Sva/s200/IMG_20160213_095304.jpg" width="113" /></a></div>
<br />
He doesn't remember anything.<br />
<br />
Like the previous accident, he was driving along (about to get on the interstate) and then he was lying on a gurney in the hospital and he has no idea what happened between those two events. The police left just before I got there and they told him that he'd been in an accident. That he hit another car. That an eyewitness said he'd been having a seizure at the time of the accident. A seizure? This is new information to us. He's never had one before (that we know of). Could that be what happened in the first accident too?<br />
<br />
We are at the hospital all day. He gets intravenous liquids. They give him a loading dose of an anti-seizure medicine and a prescription for more to be taken twice a day. Finally, they say we can go. I get his bag of clothes so he can get dressed and there's no shirt. It had to be cut off of him because they were concerned about a neck injury. The nurse goes and finds him a shirt. It's a scrub shirt with some event logo on the back. He is now in style with a number of homeless men who have passed through the doors of the ER, whose shirts were ruined in one way or another.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNA3ikxllyIA-N4pfWacPZEEh5a3Kz8fwWOs8su4xNjQstf9Rk74GpQe9zc3UlUHHJGtoJH8Nuy-iQZ3yUTCX1gJfc5jfD9n2__vxIM4Q8Im9QV51mHTKB__Av1bnCPtWgaSFI/s1600/IMG_20160213_161102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNA3ikxllyIA-N4pfWacPZEEh5a3Kz8fwWOs8su4xNjQstf9Rk74GpQe9zc3UlUHHJGtoJH8Nuy-iQZ3yUTCX1gJfc5jfD9n2__vxIM4Q8Im9QV51mHTKB__Av1bnCPtWgaSFI/s320/IMG_20160213_161102.jpg" width="320" /></a>His stuff is still in the truck, including his glasses. I call the tow yard and arrange to meet someone there so we can get his stuff back. After a short wait, someone shows up and leads us through a gate to a space behind the building. There, we find his truck and the car he hit. From the secondhand description, I thought he'd rear-ended someone, but this car was hit in the side. Puzzling. Not sure how he managed that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQZk8zRRXrRA0l-PI-Znc57eG_6P-1VTEFvbevOqWL_IkuikXSFWP2962gEtygTmA6dBQ_CIBSMf6IorlBZ9V6MmY2kNwUxkas5UAnApX9FxrXBGfvpOmLzQVZ6w4qz5FszB9/s1600/IMG_20160213_161215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQZk8zRRXrRA0l-PI-Znc57eG_6P-1VTEFvbevOqWL_IkuikXSFWP2962gEtygTmA6dBQ_CIBSMf6IorlBZ9V6MmY2kNwUxkas5UAnApX9FxrXBGfvpOmLzQVZ6w4qz5FszB9/s320/IMG_20160213_161215.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The inside of the truck seems somehow compressed. The airbag went off. The rear-view mirror is sitting on the floor. The seatbelt is locked tight and cannot be pulled out from its retracted position. The passenger side door won't open at all. I get the distinct feeling that my husband is an extremely lucky and/or blessed individual. He should have been hurt far worse. Had he actually made it to the interstate, he might even have been killed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcz75QYWS8TWE6r_nOGiRzWE_KGJo4Zn-sIfWkJ_2ZemYi2O4GkUY54-SEFOqhXCrqOX7pXn5Fa0Fq0l78NPmvQyvH9I1qRTgPi8IrAERQU4E0es9wLQ4LSaCygd04zY0Za-oR/s1600/IMG_20160213_161046_burst_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcz75QYWS8TWE6r_nOGiRzWE_KGJo4Zn-sIfWkJ_2ZemYi2O4GkUY54-SEFOqhXCrqOX7pXn5Fa0Fq0l78NPmvQyvH9I1qRTgPi8IrAERQU4E0es9wLQ4LSaCygd04zY0Za-oR/s320/IMG_20160213_161046_burst_03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So now, life is changed. He can't drive, obviously. I have to take him or he rides the bus or his bike to get around. He walks. He is making the adjustment, but he's not happy about having to do it. Losing his ability to drive (at least for now) makes him understand his dad a little more. His father had his license taken away and felt like less of a person because his mobility and freedom to do things on his own had been taken from him. My husband CAN be mobile, but not in his own car so it's a little different.<br />
<br />
But it's still an adjustment. He's trying to make the best of things and putting the best face on it that he can - but it's still hard on him.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Z2DyCiGC1OvFJZfSS4lm8DQ6Pb_uufmH1bC9VOOI5HdUDwrhLMEl8tjO9ZGLVtsb5lHR-um94J1B7minAHqrjBNkzq9a66MpjR1IXhST34BKPCRMtZXe0UDLeO8fnDFY3vUs/s1600/IMG_20160214_092926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Z2DyCiGC1OvFJZfSS4lm8DQ6Pb_uufmH1bC9VOOI5HdUDwrhLMEl8tjO9ZGLVtsb5lHR-um94J1B7minAHqrjBNkzq9a66MpjR1IXhST34BKPCRMtZXe0UDLeO8fnDFY3vUs/s320/IMG_20160214_092926.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
And on me.<br />
<br />
UPDATE (March 2016): He is adjusting well. He's surrendered his driver's license, saying that he just doesn't want to drive anymore. He gets around on his bike and is probably the fittest he's ever been. The medication that they gave him in the hospital seems to work really well and he has had no more creepy feelings or seizures while on it (they took him off briefly and the seizures returned, so he's back on and has had no more since). He feels pretty good and is rather proud of his reduced carbon footprint. <br />
<br />
UPDATE (January 2017) He was going to get his license back in May. We bought a little Ford Ranger for him to drive when he did. A week later, he had another seizure at work. Back to the hospital and the doctors - where he admitted that the medicine made him feel sleepy and that he wasn't taking it "as directed", but rather skipping doses here and there. He was told in no uncertain terms that taking the medication as prescribed was absolutely necessary if he didn't want to have seizures. He has since been doing as he was told and has had no more problems. He'll be getting his driver's license again in March and HE gets the honor of teaching our granddaughter to drive. He doesn't want to mess that up.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-62917068796790219322015-12-02T13:18:00.000-05:002015-12-04T10:52:50.924-05:00Christmas SpiritI have reached that fairly comfortable place in my life where there is little I want or need for Christmas. A book is nice, but I have lots of books that I haven't even read yet.<br />
<br />
Today, as I drove to pick up my lunch from a nearby sushi place, I was flipping through radio stations in my car (why, oh why is Prince the first thing I hear on almost every station???) when I accidentally pressed the button that turned my favorite station into 24/7 Christmas music. Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas music - but I don't want to hear it from <i>before</i> Thanksgiving all the way to Christmas Day. Start it up on December 15th or even the 20th. That's plenty of time... but I digress. So, I accidentally pushed that button and "The Little Drummer Boy" was playing. It was at the part where it goes "... a child, a child, shivers in the cold. Let us bring him silver and gold..." and I teared up.<br />
<br />
Yeah, sometimes I'm a sap. Songs and commercials get to me. But this.... this triggered a whole series of thoughts about children and cold and homelessness and hunger. It also started me thinking about the the way the world is today. All those borders that are being closed to refugees. People being shot for being teens or cops or trans-gendered or just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. These people who commit all these atrocities against other people - were they cared for as children? Did they have enough to eat? Were they warm enough? Have they had enough opportunities to make something of themselves? Were they loved?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjsa_uOdjJkjUQUH1aLXrUmhj6HafQH2XhWCalk1fa_E1ef3frl5G1RO0RYcQwGi9KiuFVKsHlpiWk1QhPZJN7vvsIpKh2NvEFusFzH2feoz12YQn5JoejSM2MDluhWLfgI9i/s1600/Homeless+children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjsa_uOdjJkjUQUH1aLXrUmhj6HafQH2XhWCalk1fa_E1ef3frl5G1RO0RYcQwGi9KiuFVKsHlpiWk1QhPZJN7vvsIpKh2NvEFusFzH2feoz12YQn5JoejSM2MDluhWLfgI9i/s320/Homeless+children.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I was one of the lucky ones. I was always loved, always fed, always housed. I did well in school because I was smart, but also because my stomach wasn't empty and I had a loving home to return to at the end of the day. No one was beating me or telling me I was worthless or sexually abusing me or depriving me of sleep so I couldn't focus on school.<br />
<br />
Shivers in the cold. Not just little kids either. Teens are a huge homeless population. So are veterans and people with mental health issues.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7sTTfKXuBYWDNhs5ygJ7ap8j2XCKaFY_D9eQzwgOHWnjnOaXAI_4i43YIFLwm9txZhbwAxqKkHXWshW4PiIccHwKf4_BjxAULy5VmJfVOq_9ZxYa8VlT-MsvMcqgoLoqDECK/s1600/Homeless+teen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7sTTfKXuBYWDNhs5ygJ7ap8j2XCKaFY_D9eQzwgOHWnjnOaXAI_4i43YIFLwm9txZhbwAxqKkHXWshW4PiIccHwKf4_BjxAULy5VmJfVOq_9ZxYa8VlT-MsvMcqgoLoqDECK/s320/Homeless+teen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I am only one person and I am not rich. I cannot fix the world by myself. But because I am in this place where I don't want/need Christmas presents, I have a request of you. If you are someone who might normally give me something, would you instead do something to support a shelter or a food pantry or a program that helps the homeless and/or underserved? Something big, something small - it doesn't matter. You don't even have to tell me - just do it. Below, I've posted some organizations around Tallahassee that can use some help, but if you're not here, feel free to explore organizations in your own area. This is, unfortunately, not a local problem. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.ccys.org/" target="_blank">Going Places</a> (supports homeless and traveling teens)<br />
<a href="http://www.gracemission.net/" target="_blank">Grace Mission</a> (feeds/clothes homeless and underserved, programs for children)<br />
<a href="http://tallahasseeleonshelter.com/" target="_blank">Kearney Center</a> (homeless shelter)<br />
<a href="http://www.goodnewsoutreach.org/" target="_blank">Good News Outreach</a> (food ministry, elderly)<br />
<a href="http://echotlh.org/" target="_blank">ECHO</a> (people in crisis/poverty)<br />
<a href="http://refugehouse.com/" target="_blank">Refuge House</a> (domestic violence)<br />
<br />
And I'd like to add <a href="https://orphansheart.org/" target="_blank">Orphan's Heart</a>, which feeds undernourished children in Guatemala and all over. <br />
I know of this one personally through another blogger who goes there as often as possible and helps out at the Malnutrition Center in Guatemala. Because of her, I've gotten to see a tiny boy named Bili grow from a weak, tiny child to a strong, robust one who started school and moved home with his family this past year. To read about it, visit <a href="http://fromaheavenlyland.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">From a Heavenly Land</a> and search for Guatemala.<br />
<br />
P.S. Our new program, LOCAL ROUTES on WFSU-TV recently featured a story on Going Places. <a href="http://video.wfsu.org/video/2365601058/" target="_blank">Take a look</a>. <br />
<br />
These are but a few. I'm sure you can find more. Part of me thinks (hopes) that if we can care for the people out there, young and old TODAY, perhaps the future can be more about love than hate and anger and me-first. Thank you. And Merry Christmas.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-29374168369104901872015-09-21T11:15:00.003-05:002015-09-21T11:15:32.991-05:00In the PinkI had an EVENT to go to Saturday night. It was a fundraiser for Grace Mission, which feeds and clothes the homeless and/or disadvantaged and also offers tutoring and mentoring to at-risk children.<br />
<br />
I was home Friday night moaning over a sore belly when a friend facebook-chatted me asking if I'd like to go - she had a spare ticket. I've been to a couple before, so gave her an enthusiastic YES. Saturday was a quiet day, and I decided to start getting ready around 4. Then I looked at the invitation - Cocktail Attire.<br />
<br />
What? Cocktail Attire? <br />
<br />
I only have one dress that might qualify, but I had no shoes! My shoe wardrobe consists of my running shoes and a pair of "hippie" sandals. Neither are new, and the sandals tended to smell like feet when it was warm out (it was in the 80s). That left my running shoes. If I had any other shoes, I couldn't find them (having rearranged my closet and room a few months ago).<br />
<br />
So. Running shoes.<br />
<br />
What could I wear that would work for this fundraiser AND my running shoes?<br />
<br />
Finally, I settled on a pink t-shirt with a crazy purple and pink and white skirt. The trim on my shoes is pink, so that actually worked! <br />
<br />
As I approached the party, I saw lots of people in slinky black and high heels, floaty chiffon tops over sleek black pants. Everyone looked so beautiful and dressy! I felt a bit under-dressed in my t-shirt and running shoes. While I was standing there, taking it all in, a car pulled up and a woman jumped out, came around and handed out a tiny old woman and her rolling walker. The woman asked if she'd be okay to wait there while she parked the car. It was hot. The sun was still hot on the skin, so I offered to walk the tiny woman towards the party while her daughter parked the car. <br />
<br />
We walked slowly, chatting - and found a bench in the shade just before the table where you turn in your tickets. We sat and I learned her name was Jerry and that she ran a pharmacy. At 90 years old, she still goes every day. I was thoroughly enjoying our talk when her daughter came to claim her. We said goodbye and I realized that how I was dressed wasn't going to affect how much I enjoyed talking to the people I'd be with.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, the men in their suits and the women in their heels weren't as comfortable as I was. There was a silent group sigh of relief when it was time to go in and sit down for dinner. Pastor Amanda, who heads up Grace Mission had actually ditched her shoes altogether by then and spent the rest of the evening walking around in her lovely dress barefoot.<br />
<br />
It was a very good night.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-90859904757058353672015-09-03T13:41:00.003-05:002015-09-03T13:41:50.434-05:00Peaceful Surroundings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
In the morning, after our 5 hour journey to the hotel room, we got up, had a lovely breakfast in the hotel diningroom and set out for North Wales. We had two choices - we could go the coastal route or we could cut through the middle and drive through the mountains. We chose the mountains. I figured that if we got lost or had trouble, it would be better to do it on our way down than to have an issue when we were trying to get back to Manchester to catch a plane.<br />
<br />
I've always approached Llanbedr from the southeast, driving up from London. This was my first time seeing the northern part or driving through Bala (a semi-resort area about halfway between Manchester and Llanbedr). I must say, it is even more beautiful than the southern route. <br />
<br />
Now that I actually have the hang of driving in England/Wales, I can enjoy the drive! We took our time and stopped when the mood struck us, and rolled into Barmouth (south of Llanbedr) and drove around in there for a bit. I showed the guys where the summer fair was and the train station and the grocery store I shopped at the last time I was here. I took them along the beach road and we got out to stretch our legs a little before climbing back into the car for the last leg of our journey.<br />
<br />
We stopped briefly in Dyffryn and bought some eggs, milk, bread, butter, cheese and ham before continuing on... <br />
<br />
I knew the way from Barmouth and truly enjoyed the drive without worrying about maps. Corky and Z were minorly concerned, but soon relaxed as they realized I knew what I was doing. I talked about the various landmarks between and told them we'd be very close once we crossed the bridge over the Nantcol and turned at the Victoria Hotel. When those two landmarks turned out to be real, they started getting excited! We started heading uphill, made a sharp right and crossed another bridge, and when it seemed the road was ending, I turned up a steep drive and headed into the woods. The single lane road was quite roller-coaster-y and I tooted my horn a couple of times coming up a totally blind hill or around a blind corner. We passed through a stone wall and back out into the open fields and continued up a dirt drive, passing the Thomas' farm before finally arriving on family property. I told both Corky and Z that if they opened a gate, they had to close the gate. Nothing irks people faster than having their livestock roaming free. Cattle grates can only do so much. Z hopped out and opened three gates (and closed them) between the property line and the dooryard. In the first field, we saw lots of sheep - ewes and lambs who came running, thinking that we might have food.... The guys were charmed before we even got out of the car.<br />
<br />
Cousin Ben had not arrived yet, but Aunt Pip left the key in the door to Y Bwythn (literally The Cottage) where we would be staying. We unloaded the car and headed upstairs. Z set up in the bedroom with the twin beds and Corky and I headed for the king in the other room. Once we were settled, we went for a walk.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOAeK8zKmwp2PVNf0xnNoGugZ-8sTKawn8ufi9mD8zuzQS3GuLCHAsb-w_Yc74PGcrEx0_LE_J1lluo_gl2duj8FzIONj65gJUq6CAXTns9hunIy2K4LLyWrNVM-3Jx_sXZPx/s1600/Wales+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOAeK8zKmwp2PVNf0xnNoGugZ-8sTKawn8ufi9mD8zuzQS3GuLCHAsb-w_Yc74PGcrEx0_LE_J1lluo_gl2duj8FzIONj65gJUq6CAXTns9hunIy2K4LLyWrNVM-3Jx_sXZPx/s320/Wales+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I took them down behind the piggery. A big storm had blown through a while before and there were huge trees knocked down all over.<br />
<br />
One appeared to be resting on the roof of the piggery, but clean up from that storm seemed to be progressing slowly. After inspecting the little stream and the downed trees, we walked back up to the field behind the main house.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVcRsHZtN1mAkeoSAYYpm-W9z4Zhlq9PrKVqp0R-ayUhCTmR6UhUMyKcA2FmNZ6H2L8zgx_LsmH2BTDUzhqvMRSkX-yxFG4wE-F1AsqFLvdmyRu8XYVsQxWnTLrDzWMrcuLbdl/s1600/Wales+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVcRsHZtN1mAkeoSAYYpm-W9z4Zhlq9PrKVqp0R-ayUhCTmR6UhUMyKcA2FmNZ6H2L8zgx_LsmH2BTDUzhqvMRSkX-yxFG4wE-F1AsqFLvdmyRu8XYVsQxWnTLrDzWMrcuLbdl/s320/Wales+008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
There are varying stories of how old this house actually is. When I was a kid, I was told it was 800 years old. Recent geneology rememberances put it at around 400. It's built of the fieldstone around the property (you can see a bit in the grass lower right in the picture above) and when I was here in 1980, they were about to build on a new kitchen (bottom right of the house), so Dad and I joined with Uncle John in his quest for rocks to build it with. It was fun and interesting and involved a dynamite guy called Daffyd the Bang to blast rocks out of the ground. At one point, we were in the woods and Grandma was there with us - Daffyd set the charge while we hid behind trees. After the explosion, Grandma stepped out to see, just as bits of rock started raining down. Uncle John yelled "Get back behind the tree - it's not the bang that kills you!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUT8cBUnZK22t0VFPAhjjJrGkQMJYGzlYcBunbeXRyNX7Iu-lOpd7IcLqvN6ivZ3N5eDtPSwyEOnLegzx-eScebwMMIDwx4PSgiYMksnmX4pqLIxaIVtL4dcPmZNcWsGPZUuS/s1600/Wales+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUT8cBUnZK22t0VFPAhjjJrGkQMJYGzlYcBunbeXRyNX7Iu-lOpd7IcLqvN6ivZ3N5eDtPSwyEOnLegzx-eScebwMMIDwx4PSgiYMksnmX4pqLIxaIVtL4dcPmZNcWsGPZUuS/s320/Wales+010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We walked up the lane (the driveway into the dooryard) and back through the field we'd driven through and headed down towards the woods. It looks so cool, dark and inviting just beyond the wall...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gmOMgKr7hPnxUMs9nmWwCR_ACyff0igX__YUDXe4WcfohVSceCTRHQNfygRa7FSm3JPNtcCVzJZyLfXUsZMJh8hkeg5tNZK71zBCalQIUx67mgeAuuMbyZ3JjAzhKs5qI2QM/s1600/Wales+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gmOMgKr7hPnxUMs9nmWwCR_ACyff0igX__YUDXe4WcfohVSceCTRHQNfygRa7FSm3JPNtcCVzJZyLfXUsZMJh8hkeg5tNZK71zBCalQIUx67mgeAuuMbyZ3JjAzhKs5qI2QM/s320/Wales+019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And we walked in a bit before turning off the road and onto a path.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YGivt-i0jVLRbpArRBydKHY8FZH4I1zaidOMD6ooNHj-fBAyL6yjS6_ei9Pss0MfLOnqH52kl_UHVdP88VvO3zOIEBHYA1_io4nuFfNDlmzxzn-Zfn1lCbllL_L63Xrxsjg9/s1600/Wales+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YGivt-i0jVLRbpArRBydKHY8FZH4I1zaidOMD6ooNHj-fBAyL6yjS6_ei9Pss0MfLOnqH52kl_UHVdP88VvO3zOIEBHYA1_io4nuFfNDlmzxzn-Zfn1lCbllL_L63Xrxsjg9/s320/Wales+015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It led us a bit deeper in until we started downhill and came upon a small reservoir formed by a dam.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqtIvZgVtB6iMF3YCiEkLqG6ITGejrItl6YbV1XwVLh9pM56xnAD_Af9lF0IEQjfbeDmk17lfZhd21oH5MAbzTsa39je8B-dxxviNVA5kFQsCyCueiWtKR4cQGTcH_jzZEbO4/s1600/Wales+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqtIvZgVtB6iMF3YCiEkLqG6ITGejrItl6YbV1XwVLh9pM56xnAD_Af9lF0IEQjfbeDmk17lfZhd21oH5MAbzTsa39je8B-dxxviNVA5kFQsCyCueiWtKR4cQGTcH_jzZEbO4/s320/Wales+016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The water supply for the farms on the mountain and down in the village. I asked Grandma once where the tap water came from and she said it was God's own water off of God's own mountain. There was no problem drinking water from the tap back then, but these days there's occasionally ecoli in the water supply, so if you're not a native, bottled water is suggested for drinking. Ben keeps large jugs of bottled water in the Cottage for guests as well as a Brita water pitcher which we ran tap water through before boiling for tea.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-7aQVTmoKAQEmegiAh_1XJRATyuOFaaQC1XPRQ-OqBM-QNJHYicDyWqdr9YU2lcHqvUenfBcpinaaF_GM-YJvocjS630cTxHH6RbASTOlONQvBvjwnujvPNueOci3OMoOM4X/s1600/Wales+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-7aQVTmoKAQEmegiAh_1XJRATyuOFaaQC1XPRQ-OqBM-QNJHYicDyWqdr9YU2lcHqvUenfBcpinaaF_GM-YJvocjS630cTxHH6RbASTOlONQvBvjwnujvPNueOci3OMoOM4X/s320/Wales+020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
After exploring the reservoir and woods for a bit, we headed back up the road towards the farm. Z was captivated by the view - it was like nothing he'd ever seen before.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGS_2_Qy5hK40mBoqkOHXsV_xTCU88LCYzXP22r3i4zGYZVHVHRQlYth-RGVMnLzfrGV-j9tc7C8J_ems_jtUfxDnQZEhOAP3-bcLCFLtsmfbudhVdYKbtOeglYOaRGgKtWvXL/s1600/Wales+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGS_2_Qy5hK40mBoqkOHXsV_xTCU88LCYzXP22r3i4zGYZVHVHRQlYth-RGVMnLzfrGV-j9tc7C8J_ems_jtUfxDnQZEhOAP3-bcLCFLtsmfbudhVdYKbtOeglYOaRGgKtWvXL/s320/Wales+012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Corky was also busy falling in love with the place. The rock walls spider everywhere all over the mountains and valleys, marking properties and containing sheep and other livestock.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGJiWjWKrZMuLX7e2g-HPOPrwvIu3thrF24OyDJIGx8mWFvzKW9_chqNYX_pKiDU1dGV1-CKsUqhVqaeRrJ52FlsowEYP3ZH2WUYNGF8DD0AflgkFyYhQpYfHvpX0wZvRKA4g/s1600/Wales+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGJiWjWKrZMuLX7e2g-HPOPrwvIu3thrF24OyDJIGx8mWFvzKW9_chqNYX_pKiDU1dGV1-CKsUqhVqaeRrJ52FlsowEYP3ZH2WUYNGF8DD0AflgkFyYhQpYfHvpX0wZvRKA4g/s320/Wales+022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
As the sun began its slow descent (the sun doesn't set until nearly 10pm at that time of year), we headed back to Y Bwythn for a simple dinner of eggs, ham, toast and tea before watching a little telly and finally climbing the stairs to bed.<br /><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-76354647974186959962015-09-01T14:31:00.003-05:002015-09-01T14:31:56.686-05:00World Travelers...School is back in and my son is taking an ACT/SAT prep course. He's actually getting into this class. It's making him think about what he wants to study, where he wants to go to college and what he might like to do to earn a living in the future. My little boy is suddenly behaving a lot like a man - which is a good thing.<br />
<br />
On the first day of class, his instructor asked if any of them had been overseas during the summer. He admitted to me that he was absolutely thrilled to be one of two students to raise his hand! <br />
<br />
This past summer, I decided it was time to introduce my son and my husband to my favorite place in the world. It is NOT in the United States. I've been numerous times, and every time I came home, I would say wistfully that I wished I didn't have to come back (much to my husband's consternation). Now, he understands.<br />
<br />
I started saving money last year, thinking we might do this - my grandmother who lives there is 96. She's still chugging along, but I realized that my opportunities to see her and spend time with her were becoming extremely limited. It was time to act! I got the guys downtown to apply for passports, and told Z that from now on, he should always have a valid passport because when opportunities to travel crop up, you want to be able to GO!<br />
<br />
School wrapped up and the following weekend, we drove to Orlando to catch our plane. My friend Jennifer babysat our car and took us to the airport. <br />
<br />
It's only been a couple of years since I flew to England, but things have changed already... You can pre-purchase specific seats for an extra fee (a rather hefty one at that). If you don't, you can choose your seats for free 24 hours before the flight - but if you're not on the ball, you won't get what you want. I did manage to snag a couple of extra legroom seats for Corky and Z, but I wound up sitting several rows up, squished between a snoring little Indian woman and a very large man. It was not the most comfortable way to spend 9 hours..<br />
<br />
We flew into Manchester rather than London, since it was relatively closer to the part of Wales we were headed towards. I'd already rented a car and booked a hotel room because I knew we'd be too tired to drive down after the flight.<br />
<br />
The car I booked was a stick shift, but I realized, having never actually driving in England, that I would rather have an automatic transmission so I could concentrate on the actual driving rather than working clutch and stick in an unfamiliar configuration while trying to navigate the streets. In the end, we wound up with a Mercedes hatchback (!) for way too much money - but as it turned out, it was a very good move on my part. Another good move was having traveler and rental insurance (more about that later). <br />
<br />
Having arrived, settled our car and loaded our bags, we set out for our hotel with directions from the rental place. Now let me tell you this - road signage is NOT something the British road system is very good at. And many, many intersections are round-abouts with between 3 and 7 roads to possibly exit onto (but not labeled well) made navigating difficult to say the least. It's easy to lose your bearings when going around in circles. The hotel was a Holiday Inn in West Manchester, in an area called Salford - supposedly about 8 miles from the airport. FIVE HOURS LATER, after having stopped in a library in Eccleston and getting directions, we finally found the Sainsburys on the corner<i> near</i> where we were supposed to wind up. It was enough to go on, and we finally found our un-signed road and the hotel with the sign hidden in the bushes. Life is different in Manchester than in the US. In the US, there would have been signage screaming everywhere - STAY HERE! Just up the road a little more and you're THERE! This journey felt like we were tracking down a national secret - and when we finally staggered into the hotel after being awake for over 24 hours (for me), it was a huge relief. I can't even remember what we did about dinner (I think we walked to Sainsburys for cheese and crackers just to make sure our legs still worked), but when I hit that bed, I felt like I'd landed in a cloud and slept soundly (and, according to the guys, loudly) for at least 10 hours.<br />
<br />
More to come.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-41454132784907888492015-08-19T15:32:00.003-05:002015-08-19T15:32:44.031-05:00Taking Charge of My HealthIf you know me, you know I'm a big girl. Not tall-big... round-big. I've been fighting it my whole life and a couple of times, I passed by "normal". The first time was as a teen and an anorexic. The second time was while I was dating my second husband and we were ACTIVE all the time - riding bikes, climbing, hiking, walking... ALL.THE.TIME. When I got pregnant, that was pretty much all she wrote - I couldn't get rid of the extra. I tried dieting; I tried exercise; I tried, well, everything. And I was tired. So I got bigger and bigger.<br />
<br />
I'm always shocked when I look in the mirror. The outsides sure don't match my brain's image of myself. I forget that I'm as big as a house until I look in a mirror - and I rarely look in the mirror. I don't buy clothes, so I don't have that guide much either.<br />
<br />
I turned 53 this year. I wanted to go visit my grandmother in Wales while there was still time (she's 96), so I took my husband and son and introduced them to my favorite place on earth. To do that, I had to fly, which is pretty uncomfortable when you're as big as I am. And while we were there, I found I was limited in what I could do because my body hurt so much. No problem going UP hills, but coming down made my hips scream. I couldn't climb the mountain this time. I had to wave goodbye to my guys as they set out to visit the cairn on top.<br />
<br />
That trip made me realize something. I might be 53 years old, but I can still change my life. So I've started. I'm blogging about that little adventure over at <a href="http://53andchange.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">53 And Change</a>. You can visit if you like. Just be nice, okay? I've said enough mean things to myself already. It's time for a change.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-25428153804349974052015-08-12T13:11:00.002-05:002015-08-12T13:11:45.299-05:00Posts are comingI suddenly feel like there is a lot to write about. Boredom. Aging and Alzheimers. Maturing children. So much has been going on that I rarely feel like I have time to write - but I realize that some of this stuff just needs to be put down before my head explodes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslzrA6-q4V-z16ytrlijWjcpVA9ttlKw_wHI4MecrFxW0Kx2KyDNqlO4PbvLSbbEkTEjdaiD7Zfhx96orXDEDqJkOhsB8lCtrmC6hyphenhyphenAaX7Z4W-uCpsZ6NjlqjIkb6KSmI6kSm/s1600/Keep+Calm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslzrA6-q4V-z16ytrlijWjcpVA9ttlKw_wHI4MecrFxW0Kx2KyDNqlO4PbvLSbbEkTEjdaiD7Zfhx96orXDEDqJkOhsB8lCtrmC6hyphenhyphenAaX7Z4W-uCpsZ6NjlqjIkb6KSmI6kSm/s1600/Keep+Calm.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Probably after this weekend...Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-43560066488401864892015-04-23T21:06:00.001-05:002015-04-23T21:06:02.409-05:00Yes. I'm a Nerd. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today is April 23rd - Silence Day. In the spirit of things, I show up at work with a couple of hash-marks on my arm. As the day goes forward, a few more show up. Then a few more.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWwm19zqS5KH3e1grMw8q9h72RD4xDxyIW8BBPfo0rDUDrsm38CyPQytVEGW_7o83ThPcblWzwGObUY5VmZVS29Fm7fyfEKMydjPHvDWjqZgPNVhnKdKWR8Xl6ljPPom1FK50N/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWwm19zqS5KH3e1grMw8q9h72RD4xDxyIW8BBPfo0rDUDrsm38CyPQytVEGW_7o83ThPcblWzwGObUY5VmZVS29Fm7fyfEKMydjPHvDWjqZgPNVhnKdKWR8Xl6ljPPom1FK50N/s1600/020.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABbiMHt7ByH4uv2OjgR_7ZCrWjEXS7W7ayK7TVLMMOQIr8nYUWxVQ7INJDAu59Ii60jPcYdKnOoSw2TPF8JMcUnuUtxrlIfxwZhGBTDmKKbWnklK6lSPZsHM47G0lgiPyrAuO/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABbiMHt7ByH4uv2OjgR_7ZCrWjEXS7W7ayK7TVLMMOQIr8nYUWxVQ7INJDAu59Ii60jPcYdKnOoSw2TPF8JMcUnuUtxrlIfxwZhGBTDmKKbWnklK6lSPZsHM47G0lgiPyrAuO/s1600/021.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My supervisor emails me - "Should I be concerned?" Other people wonder but don't ask, and one asked me if I was being marked up for surgery and wow-what-kind-of-surgery-would-that-be??? On FaceBook, there were lots of "likes" and comments for me and for other people who also showed up with hash-marks on their bodies around the world. Mine were quite tame. It was obvious to me that not all the world is a fan of Doctor Who.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This got me to pondering fandom. What is the allure? Why do some things catch our imagination so strongly when other things you think would - don't? What do we get out of it?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I realize, now that I'm actually thinking about it, that I've been a fan-girl for most of my life. It started with a show called <i>Star Trek</i>. Dashing, fearless Captain Kirk - leading his courageous crew on a five year mission in space, while removing his shirt and getting the girl every chance he got. Alien Mr. Spock was his first officer; a Scot was his chief engineer; Russian navigator and Japanese pilot. His communications officer was a black woman. Very forward-thinking for the later 1960s... </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFCYSou7ZRuIHCdOhmuVaL5M6zho5Fo29N6VNUcJWhqdcKzOn1Is9t8dykgm9v5RjFMGFurArNNFsX9gJO9ivX4cszDHBoBOmTNE1eXGwmwMzguuR6USB2WlwhFgIwQjG9KkB/s1600/Star+Trek.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFCYSou7ZRuIHCdOhmuVaL5M6zho5Fo29N6VNUcJWhqdcKzOn1Is9t8dykgm9v5RjFMGFurArNNFsX9gJO9ivX4cszDHBoBOmTNE1eXGwmwMzguuR6USB2WlwhFgIwQjG9KkB/s1600/Star+Trek.png" /></a></div>
<br />
There were many versions of <i>Star Trek</i> - different casts, different uniforms, different ships. My mom was a huge fan of "The Next Generation". I liked, but couldn't stick with "Deep Space Nine". "Enterprise" may be worth a look, but I haven't gotten around to it, and my family watched the entire "Voyager" series last year but tried to stretch it out because it was so good.<br />
<br />
And then there were the movies... with the original cast, then later with the Next Generation cast - and finally, a prequel to the original series that was probably the best prequel I've ever seen.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjOyrd-d2wlWD91vbmszhEGz7wTrypLQTQZU3-vAz8jRSe-zuUzbi0k28zZ7Zq9GwAzwjMt4u1ND1feSe17MogxoAlMKUrzFNqTE9WgqT0eNl9RdfTGex2PR642va89YBwbYi/s1600/Star+Trek+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjOyrd-d2wlWD91vbmszhEGz7wTrypLQTQZU3-vAz8jRSe-zuUzbi0k28zZ7Zq9GwAzwjMt4u1ND1feSe17MogxoAlMKUrzFNqTE9WgqT0eNl9RdfTGex2PR642va89YBwbYi/s1600/Star+Trek+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Star Trek</i> fired the imaginations of people everywhere. Adventure, romance and GADGETS! A lot of the technology we have today was dreamed up for Star Trek and made into reality by scientists and engineers inspired as children by this show. Not a bad legacy for my first fandom.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJqzRHI2wx77e-vU11ENCxoOjONxqI8JtbmwtNeKlJ0l0VQWf1Itsyt7PulcstlCdBrSPkuS3aBmZVeU5megC1f2TXh1Xps9C2LAwC9pcXZl1i7fZY4qooOgFB3lHCjF8kngW/s1600/star-wars-episode-7-release-date1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJqzRHI2wx77e-vU11ENCxoOjONxqI8JtbmwtNeKlJ0l0VQWf1Itsyt7PulcstlCdBrSPkuS3aBmZVeU5megC1f2TXh1Xps9C2LAwC9pcXZl1i7fZY4qooOgFB3lHCjF8kngW/s1600/star-wars-episode-7-release-date1.jpg" height="165" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>Star Trek</i> lasted a long time, but then came <i>Star Wars</i>! I actually can't remember the first time I saw a Star Wars movie - though I do remember seeing <i>Return of the Jedi</i> in the theatre. I don't think I actually became a fan until I had my son, whose fascination with robots and armor and space ships was catching. We watched the original three movies over and over again and saw the next three in the theatre soon after release. I know it's not cool, but I confess that I love ALL of the <i>Star Wars</i> movies. We've had posters and Lego sets and shirts and figurines - if it was related to <i>Star Wars</i>, we owned it, including our own R2-D2 (yes, that one in the video is ours - and that's Z asking the question).<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JnRTCjtbiLA" width="420"></iframe>
<br />
Harry Potter has been a favorite since he was first written. When my son was born, my aunts in England bought me paperback copies of the first two books and sent them to me for him. I read them to him before he had any idea I was reading. His early lullabies were the sound of my voice reading <i>Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone</i>. He grew up enjoying HP, but I <i>loved</i> all the books and all the movies. I was heart-broken when JK Rowling decided she was done with Harry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVKMWEbEc-Cg3fV32a48wwSA-HPORM5Sw-UqmHtif6DsLOeDyCqAPDlDascwfa4ywTHqkaD1Nj7I1n5W3ypioKRrEh3QxRkSDhYC-zeRu1Mx3IbtEsxU0gH639yl3kwZBlkqf/s1600/potter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVKMWEbEc-Cg3fV32a48wwSA-HPORM5Sw-UqmHtif6DsLOeDyCqAPDlDascwfa4ywTHqkaD1Nj7I1n5W3ypioKRrEh3QxRkSDhYC-zeRu1Mx3IbtEsxU0gH639yl3kwZBlkqf/s1600/potter.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And I was thrilled to hear the rumor recently that she might write another book featuring those same characters as grown ups. I don't know if this will happen or not, but I really do hope so!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Then there are the <i>Avengers</i>. I'm late to this party, really only got here for the movies, though I know there are comic books. I've seen most of the Avenger movies now and am looking forward to the new one that comes out next week. My son and his friends are going and I asked if I could come too. This was greeted by a sigh and an eye-roll, but he said I could come if I sat far away... </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2yavITIvX5-kddsPyUDFrXmESKtCu7aWYwv8JlghxUXHSRjpSue7QRsga3fPvUIWW6-NBZ7YvfZFVtezjd44t-9wY1YD5DAz0Fkm0NOLOzqQm3AdFmdivpVvJhFAQyFJtUhg/s1600/Avengers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2yavITIvX5-kddsPyUDFrXmESKtCu7aWYwv8JlghxUXHSRjpSue7QRsga3fPvUIWW6-NBZ7YvfZFVtezjd44t-9wY1YD5DAz0Fkm0NOLOzqQm3AdFmdivpVvJhFAQyFJtUhg/s1600/Avengers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2yavITIvX5-kddsPyUDFrXmESKtCu7aWYwv8JlghxUXHSRjpSue7QRsga3fPvUIWW6-NBZ7YvfZFVtezjd44t-9wY1YD5DAz0Fkm0NOLOzqQm3AdFmdivpVvJhFAQyFJtUhg/s1600/Avengers.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Not long ago, another comic book franchise came out with a movie - <i>Guardians of the Galaxy</i>. I'd never heard of them, didn't know what to expect, but I really enjoyed the movie and if another came out, I'd go see it. Not sure that qualifies as fandom though.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrmQwV6UY5TW4lWKfuUXot9xIVvnvazwXpro0QhGwJ2eKzeQvVLRQT_5uXsIKYbYE38eTBICNFZcPB41QWYGmp8VIvqbHFVo7RSh-tFn8KgwtPLlm5ErtFmRoOx6H26yvK93f/s1600/Guardians-of-the-Galaxy-deleted-scenes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrmQwV6UY5TW4lWKfuUXot9xIVvnvazwXpro0QhGwJ2eKzeQvVLRQT_5uXsIKYbYE38eTBICNFZcPB41QWYGmp8VIvqbHFVo7RSh-tFn8KgwtPLlm5ErtFmRoOx6H26yvK93f/s1600/Guardians-of-the-Galaxy-deleted-scenes.jpg" height="165" width="320" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My love for Doctor Who does! Again, late to this party, but I'm the one dancing on the table. I haven't see the classic ones - I began with the reboot at number 9 with Christopher Eccleston and Rose. Everyone seems to have a favorite Doctor and if pushed, I'd say Nine, but really, I love them all. All the companions too. And River. I was thrilled to actually be in London when the 50th Anniversary episode aired. I sat in my grandfather's house with the British Whovians in my family and thoroughly enjoyed the moment.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74BwbaxhO2SIoVNFTIullx7LaAJreT-7EDgJYFcn8GAjJhGToggcWne25YOJ3mGy90Q0r_Tzi7C6bSPfIWZzA7NGq00JoBpvqdUsSqDE9tneRqq2H3wq25VbgQUFR49DQD4zF/s1600/Tardis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74BwbaxhO2SIoVNFTIullx7LaAJreT-7EDgJYFcn8GAjJhGToggcWne25YOJ3mGy90Q0r_Tzi7C6bSPfIWZzA7NGq00JoBpvqdUsSqDE9tneRqq2H3wq25VbgQUFR49DQD4zF/s1600/Tardis.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
So... fandom. Is it a phenomenon that pulls misfits together? People who are part of a fandom seem to be regarded as "other" by the so-called normal people. I don't know if that is true across the board, but speaking for myself, it gives me something in common with other people. I've never been very good at making friends. I have some, but I guess I'm not the kind of friend one calls up to hang out with. I'm good at problem-solving and listening, but a night out drinking or dancing? No one calls me for that - and I'm kind of glad. I don't enjoy those things much. I'd rather hang out with people who want to play board games and eat pizza and have conversations. <br />
<br />
Perhaps the thing about a science-fiction fandom is that you DO think differently. I have ideas that don't fit in with what the world regards as normal, but in my own little fandom all things seem possible. It's one of the things that makes me want to write, those ideas. Would anyone read? I have no idea. Maybe my family would... That would be them in the next picture.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolW0IjC_Mizlr4fdNDIlHLwGO_OuovcdlHExTFRpKm2lC56UTSIdjs-ck2UH78Og0wFuda4StcR-Dn152jt8T4awRpahfJe3sSGWcioiZxbHf6fnB5VC-nsimKyjq9mFlAsFQ/s1600/Thanksgiving2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolW0IjC_Mizlr4fdNDIlHLwGO_OuovcdlHExTFRpKm2lC56UTSIdjs-ck2UH78Og0wFuda4StcR-Dn152jt8T4awRpahfJe3sSGWcioiZxbHf6fnB5VC-nsimKyjq9mFlAsFQ/s1600/Thanksgiving2012.jpg" height="198" width="320" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The right way to celebrate Thanksgiving! </div>
<br />Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-47502087604423527122015-04-07T15:46:00.001-05:002015-04-07T15:46:23.025-05:00Just a Few of the Women Who Inspire MeWhen I was growing up, the most artistic person I knew was my mother. She would tackle things like photography and oil painting and once she'd mastered it, she stopped doing it. The only exception to this was sewing, which she did until her eyesight wouldn't let her do things like threading the needle. Her work was always awesome. Being a mother to six kids, I'm sure she needed some kind of outlet, an escape from the craziness of mothering that many kids, but she couldn't go far, so her outlets were artistic.<br />
<br />
I never thought of myself as being particularly creative. The only thing I really felt like I could do was write. Give me a blank sheet of paper and tell me to draw something and I'd still be sitting there a half hour later trying to come up with an idea. Give me the same blank sheet and tell me to write something and I'd have both sides filled up and ask for more within 10 minutes.<br />
<br />
These days, I'm trying all kinds of things. It's not that I have more time on my hands - I don't. It's not that I suddenly feel like an artist either. But as my circle of friends on FaceBook widened, I realized that I am attracted to creative people. Some of them were "friends" before FaceBook - blog friends who would post about this or that, but WITH FaceBook, I've come to realize just how daily their creation is. They always have a paint brush or a crochet hook or a wooden spoon in their hands - not just during great gasps of inspiration.<br />
<br />
Thanks to these wonderful women, I've been inspired to do things daily myself - and I'm trying everything!<br />
<br />
<b>Christine</b> started out as a blog writer. She would bring me to tears on a regular basis and I wished I could write as beautifully and movingly as she did. Once she felt like she'd said what she needed to, she stopped writing that blog and I missed her so much! Then I found her on FaceBook and I absolutely love what I see her doing these days!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1us25lGAa-M9IP3fcNDGUXvzoFkYB-3huk8Fmh67SlKYmSRCwS_YNq3JD_yfiBnYKi4ststgUFBPJsmnN9VYhKnA8oCNLbS0-bY1IgZVY1L3UzSXs-_G6tekfTUa-L6RDUoH8/s1600/Christine+Art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1us25lGAa-M9IP3fcNDGUXvzoFkYB-3huk8Fmh67SlKYmSRCwS_YNq3JD_yfiBnYKi4ststgUFBPJsmnN9VYhKnA8oCNLbS0-bY1IgZVY1L3UzSXs-_G6tekfTUa-L6RDUoH8/s1600/Christine+Art.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loved this and bough it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9Qquv5KUxach5J1AW80PjT0uCuJ6XQtEa7NqcsNjZ2si-GaXGaWpP2YL2H1qZynXq5i3mmAC9t_ZvVUkpk67FcBE4PksV6ae4yat2nSFjhZGZ67ZNfuS53ZjUvM4luZEw6S5/s1600/Christine+Art+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9Qquv5KUxach5J1AW80PjT0uCuJ6XQtEa7NqcsNjZ2si-GaXGaWpP2YL2H1qZynXq5i3mmAC9t_ZvVUkpk67FcBE4PksV6ae4yat2nSFjhZGZ67ZNfuS53ZjUvM4luZEw6S5/s1600/Christine+Art+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love these. I've asked her to make me an oval ring for my Mother-in-Law.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b>Lisa</b> has moved around a lot and done some traveling. Her hands are always busy though! She knits some beautiful things and seeing her stuff made me want to try my hand at crochet again. She's also a wonderful photographer! Her blogs and FaceBook page are full of her marvelous pictures. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37b-IOFKkeZqipMsnMaGUblGd_dUbU2z92SfGfCaJnecUjt7Px_sa9KW7qXcR0loexA_Bc0Qhn0wYL4CnmXTw_nTt8sW62elLBTld01WUQDLCEJIifHEd0Jj9jO-bJ211Gjoc/s1600/Lisa+Art+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37b-IOFKkeZqipMsnMaGUblGd_dUbU2z92SfGfCaJnecUjt7Px_sa9KW7qXcR0loexA_Bc0Qhn0wYL4CnmXTw_nTt8sW62elLBTld01WUQDLCEJIifHEd0Jj9jO-bJ211Gjoc/s1600/Lisa+Art+3.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beautiful picture - timely for Easter season</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvmr2lkGygbfL4TG8x9EIUAc7LJ7JzJgL00VGhZ7lBnHjlRZ-_uefR493uhNEF9xMAQgQBGpkly82O_JWs_qHkBmpJFaK8Qnqdd19dENdWl-UidBCDJY5k1a6fJskxEuIqq_b/s1600/Lisa+Art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvmr2lkGygbfL4TG8x9EIUAc7LJ7JzJgL00VGhZ7lBnHjlRZ-_uefR493uhNEF9xMAQgQBGpkly82O_JWs_qHkBmpJFaK8Qnqdd19dENdWl-UidBCDJY5k1a6fJskxEuIqq_b/s1600/Lisa+Art.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This blanket is just amazing</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Karisma</b> is also a master of the yarn arts. She crochets and knits and makes beautiful tiny things for babies as well as hats and sweaters for bigger people. She also has an amazingly green thumb and a lovely garden that she harvests to feed her family.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhko7AxLb-IOyn1BX0kszRZrsBfsSWX5qkkGInkDMgurcHxPhy-FbbHmzZ3wabAcMXykP_Mbo7T-rWX1OXEBSFXbvLypNMGzoF7BLV6cYAfpmXgNffnToYLtgIcXr_rxmLzTfCJ/s1600/Karisma+Art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhko7AxLb-IOyn1BX0kszRZrsBfsSWX5qkkGInkDMgurcHxPhy-FbbHmzZ3wabAcMXykP_Mbo7T-rWX1OXEBSFXbvLypNMGzoF7BLV6cYAfpmXgNffnToYLtgIcXr_rxmLzTfCJ/s1600/Karisma+Art.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I admit this makes me a little jealous of her skills!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFclpm6_elaTOJ57orPyTY_9WH3xIVoZgT_wGOWvviZ7VI5pBI7LLA9hhRvvuoFAlTnhUxY9sUeUQLOEKObF_S_m8rTufGFJQjndlVyKwZZlgc3xvo1Zbp4B-OHwDeWOyLyHQ/s1600/Karisma+Art+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFclpm6_elaTOJ57orPyTY_9WH3xIVoZgT_wGOWvviZ7VI5pBI7LLA9hhRvvuoFAlTnhUxY9sUeUQLOEKObF_S_m8rTufGFJQjndlVyKwZZlgc3xvo1Zbp4B-OHwDeWOyLyHQ/s1600/Karisma+Art+3.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish I had her green thumb!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Memory</b> has been a watercolor artist for as long as I've "known" her. She comes by it honestly - her father was also an artist of some renoun. She has her own style though and it really speaks to me. She was my first artist that I bought art from and I still love my painting. In recent years, she married a wonderful man and they opened a restaurant together. Now, in addition to painting, she cooks and sings at the restaurant. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWe52LYNxUh1DYkBqc0nwpvs7mwiEqYs6reH08boExCbRPuQkA-Lhehr6Rg3Eqai9sp9yLhRU0_nu0-Qd8DfQ0LXQXh95y7W0OOs5b_Xy2F3ACIvRku5ZysxMYxNRIc1c_8o5/s1600/Memory+Art+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWe52LYNxUh1DYkBqc0nwpvs7mwiEqYs6reH08boExCbRPuQkA-Lhehr6Rg3Eqai9sp9yLhRU0_nu0-Qd8DfQ0LXQXh95y7W0OOs5b_Xy2F3ACIvRku5ZysxMYxNRIc1c_8o5/s1600/Memory+Art+3.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just love her style</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaf81zUkgkihObpSMLUEpgTA4OqrOaKB0Vbcva8BsQDVLXLVqyaj1Lxo8ZAnJ4XIZPSeeE3cZ_SBFTOdkeMNsjtpBzb4PQ3XubShS7Zs9Umls0zTkKYfXCXv9oDMgbFSaJpzK/s1600/Memory+Art+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaf81zUkgkihObpSMLUEpgTA4OqrOaKB0Vbcva8BsQDVLXLVqyaj1Lxo8ZAnJ4XIZPSeeE3cZ_SBFTOdkeMNsjtpBzb4PQ3XubShS7Zs9Umls0zTkKYfXCXv9oDMgbFSaJpzK/s1600/Memory+Art+4.jpg" height="229" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bought this one - perfect for my bedroom.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzDj4FhBypHre1eGwOXBN4PWzA7r7mgw4pj9nCXxLTVBJjOfhk7ZiZH4WkYGRxFPOjvOKY3UA-wcMd2cCSLwepFZlBUtrpuMyqZRBTOkiMGfIz5QDver8xtoXPwsHZDL6tQYb/s1600/Memory+Art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzDj4FhBypHre1eGwOXBN4PWzA7r7mgw4pj9nCXxLTVBJjOfhk7ZiZH4WkYGRxFPOjvOKY3UA-wcMd2cCSLwepFZlBUtrpuMyqZRBTOkiMGfIz5QDver8xtoXPwsHZDL6tQYb/s1600/Memory+Art.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's probably a good thing I live far away - I'd eat at her restaurant every night!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Pattie</b> is also a painter. She caught my eye several years ago when she donated some work to my tv station. It was displayed in the lobby and I just loved her chickens. Dad had just started keeping chickens and I wanted to get him one for Christmas. It was not to be - then. Now I have several of Pattie's pieces and every time she tries something new, I love that as well. She's local, so I've actually met her and spent time with her. She donates her time to our public radio station, and often she donates some of the proceeds from her art to various animal rescue agencies. She loves animals and it is very obvious in her work. I have a set of pictures she painted of my own animals and I love them.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18_Q8j9wtGnwaQc1U3BRkPZuT6KoGQRIPAABaQot0rEPjHDIfwdgAv7eY7vFJszacDkJDVuNXiYYYxJSw-fAMmjycbpyMhhABrCau7fVmWie74E0m4qdDorewaaob6mIN8SGH/s1600/Pattie+Art+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18_Q8j9wtGnwaQc1U3BRkPZuT6KoGQRIPAABaQot0rEPjHDIfwdgAv7eY7vFJszacDkJDVuNXiYYYxJSw-fAMmjycbpyMhhABrCau7fVmWie74E0m4qdDorewaaob6mIN8SGH/s1600/Pattie+Art+2.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I want one of her owls someday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiiOlMouf8aolgm0WTjmgME8bC7LFvSzzS8szDIqyWb_ZYDzfMXDjflpatJVzD4j2VIPYJm1RFEzhyphenhyphenIMhAfhDKjSe9Rp7zLW39eDRd93_HDpdKGzrv-oIgPNntnNVW2lpxymA/s1600/Pattie+Art+3(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiiOlMouf8aolgm0WTjmgME8bC7LFvSzzS8szDIqyWb_ZYDzfMXDjflpatJVzD4j2VIPYJm1RFEzhyphenhyphenIMhAfhDKjSe9Rp7zLW39eDRd93_HDpdKGzrv-oIgPNntnNVW2lpxymA/s1600/Pattie+Art+3(1).jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the exact chicken I gave to my dad, but close!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzAWHBpXUn-jumALibDb2YqmH0mKeLHATfFNH6ylHxUcBr6JtKhqgc-VRpEbVe8excR-8W4SInuj-vuPZFECGWXX-yTkabKAwvJfzVMvojmyDG8Ad-9As6TwjyK2dGZe8X5SF/s1600/Pattie+Art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzAWHBpXUn-jumALibDb2YqmH0mKeLHATfFNH6ylHxUcBr6JtKhqgc-VRpEbVe8excR-8W4SInuj-vuPZFECGWXX-yTkabKAwvJfzVMvojmyDG8Ad-9As6TwjyK2dGZe8X5SF/s1600/Pattie+Art.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pet portraits - Pattie is pretty famous for those!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There are more women out there who inspire me every day to be more creative, more spiritual, healthier and happier. If I wrote one blog post about all of them, you'd never get away from me. So I'll start with these four remarkable, amazing women. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!<br />
<br />
And thank you, Christine, Lisa, Karisma, Memory and Pattie. You have no idea how much I treasure each one of you.<br />
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-2E3AeQP_rGQ%2FVSQ7_H9DO9I%2FAAAAAAAAE78%2FiYQY4UMhU3k%2Fs1600%2FChristine%252BArt%252B2.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9Qquv5KUxach5J1AW80PjT0uCuJ6XQtEa7NqcsNjZ2si-GaXGaWpP2YL2H1qZynXq5i3mmAC9t_ZvVUkpk67FcBE4PksV6ae4yat2nSFjhZGZ67ZNfuS53ZjUvM4luZEw6S5/s1600/Christine+Art+2.jpg" -->Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-43757361166274576432015-03-27T08:55:00.002-05:002015-03-27T08:55:22.974-05:00Life, Death and Getting OlderMy birthday was Wednesday. I'm 53 years old now. This is not a bad thing - in fact, it's a very good thing! I look at every day, no matter what is going on, as a blessing and I'm here to witness it.<br />
<br />
It's been a year of loss. My friend Alison. My father-in-law Roy. My Korean "Sister". My uncle. There have been others... friends gone far too soon or in some cases, exactly at the right time. I've been thinking about all of these losses and when my uncle died unexpectedly, something finally clicked and I made this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnH6q3RME2tU54qOcYQ1adljovlip7iXOIWl0qX9HBR1BRi03E19Zb4zWS-2UjLlpOJntflw4O2giZYLFUpdMNgJPErUskhhmgvBiLwRW5XI1NVc5EBcLL6RCOA_UL3yMtyyQ/s1600/Tom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnH6q3RME2tU54qOcYQ1adljovlip7iXOIWl0qX9HBR1BRi03E19Zb4zWS-2UjLlpOJntflw4O2giZYLFUpdMNgJPErUskhhmgvBiLwRW5XI1NVc5EBcLL6RCOA_UL3yMtyyQ/s1600/Tom.jpg" height="233" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I must have been loving quite a lot this year.<br />
<br />
It also reflects how I really feel. I'm not sure when this shift happened but I feel quite calm about life and death and all the things that happen in-between. Is this because of my faith? Or is it one of those things that happens when you reach a certain point in your life and no one tells you about it? <br />
<br />
Whenever it's my time, I know I'll be ready. I will have done whatever I've needed to do and will greet my next adventure with enthusiasm. You have no idea how freeing a feeling that is. I feel like I can really live now because I'm not hindered by fear. Well, except for heights. That still bothers me a bit.<br />
<br />
We went to the farm for dinner last night to visit with New York cousins Carol and Ed and to celebrate my birthday as a kind of side-bar. Mom gave me a gift - a book called "642 Things to Write About". When I opened it, I laughed and asked if she was trying to spur me to do more blog-writing again. And she said "Yes!"<br />
<br />
So here I am, Mom. Writing again. It's probably about time.<br />
Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-85444133118915727602015-03-13T14:10:00.001-05:002015-03-13T14:10:10.303-05:00Saying Goodbye in all the waysThe world has changed since I was a much younger woman - massive changes even in the last 10 years. Once, blogging was the new frontier - the <em>it</em> thing that hip people did.<br />
<br />
For me, it started with an email from my mom's cousin containing a link to someone's blog. I didn't know what that was, exactly, but I clicked on it and before long, I had a bunch of blogs that I liked to read. It wasn't much of a leap to start my own from there. I didn't think that anyone would ever read it, but before long there was a faithful little troop of followers. Blogging seems so intimate. Pictures and stories about our lives and the things that go on around us. My blog would probably be classified as a "Mommy Blog" since a lot of what I wrote about was being a mother, my son, and our family. Being a mom was a new experience for me (as opposed to sister or daughter or wife or employee), and one I was pretty sure would never be repeated.<br />
<br />
Then came FaceBook, with it's quicker, hipper mode of communication and blogging started to fall away for a lot of people. I admit that includes me. My postings here are sporadic at best, whereas I am a nearly daily presence on FaceBook.<br />
<br />
FaceBook can seem superficial and blogs are more personal and in-depth... but FaceBook does have a place. When news needs to be spread as quickly as possible, FaceBook is the way to go. Chances are that the people who need to know are also your "friends". You can make it a private message so it's not on other people's feeds or you can announce to the whole world.<br />
<br />
Never is this more apparent when there is a death in the family. The private messages go out first (if you aren't on the phone-call list), then once "enough time" is perceived to have passed for people to get their messages, someone will usually post something kind of vague and innocuous to the newsfeed and the people who weren't called or PM'd find out.<br />
<br />
That's how it was when my uncle died a couple of weeks ago. I got a call and was asked to notify some of the others. Inevitably, someone doesn't get the message or a call doesn't happen and they FIND OUT ON FACEBOOK. That used to be a terrible thing, but I think now it's become just another mode of communication. What follows is a wonderful outpouring of condolences and support and in turn, we, the mourners are able to widely and publicly acknowledge our loss and comment on what a wonderful person the dearly departed was. Weirdly, this cycle is quite satisfying to the soul.<br />
<br />
I loved my uncle very much. He was always friendly and supportive and happy to see me. Time in his world moved differently from mine though. His time was fairly laid back and loose. Mine is full and always busy. There was no such thing as dropping by for a short visit when it came to him - a half hour cup of coffee easily turned into 3 hours of conversation. I loved the times I could actually do this, but as life got crazier and crazier, they happened less and less. So I have regrets. That I didn't see him often enough; that I wasn't able to spend enough time with him. There are stories to tell about him - like when he and Dad (nicknamed Laurel and Hardy) managed to sink a sailboat. <br />
<br />
Or the beautiful aquamarine he gave me when I was just 12 and I carried with me my whole life until my husband asked me to marry him. I am not a diamond girl, so for an engagement ring I asked him to put my aquamarine in a setting for me. On the day he died, I went and got it out of my jewelry box and looked at it. It is still beautiful and my weight-loss goal is to be able to wear that ring again. That has always been my standard - but it has more meaning to me now.<br />
<br />
There are things about him I'll always remember... the smell of his pipe when I was little, that he was the reason we ALWAYS had rutabaga at Christmas and Thanksgiving (which I do <em>not</em> care for), that he was game for almost anything, whether a long chat or playing dress up with wigs - when we were all adults! He loved woodworking and gardening and flying and all things Puerto Rico (including his wife). <br />
<br />
I'm always going to miss you, and I'm grateful that I knew you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3IN6t25mfQO8s-LhjdKXtBXdOU4hHnQpHESdgXZIGMrycvp8sYMKz2L2Xi6qc61uPpqeCgHtPnRo1i_Vv6DpLDczNpkrwPV0BiyQko1crseNzZLwrCYNMhptZp8MbfzqJNXRV/s1600/Tom+and+plane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3IN6t25mfQO8s-LhjdKXtBXdOU4hHnQpHESdgXZIGMrycvp8sYMKz2L2Xi6qc61uPpqeCgHtPnRo1i_Vv6DpLDczNpkrwPV0BiyQko1crseNzZLwrCYNMhptZp8MbfzqJNXRV/s1600/Tom+and+plane.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-15743977966507964822014-12-31T11:07:00.002-05:002014-12-31T11:07:38.844-05:00Goodbye, 2014This is one of the rare years when goodbye is rather enthusiastic. It's not that it was a terrible, terrible year (though parts of it were), but that there was not a lot of positive to set it apart. The days rather plodded from one to the next.<br />
<br />
I am not alone in feeling this. I'm not sure why it seems such a global feeling. The economy seems to be doing a bit better. Gas prices have dropped. Yes, there is conflict out there, but there is ALWAYS conflict out there. <br />
<br />
Locally, we seem to have shootings and stabbings on a near-daily basis. It reminds me of when I first moved to Oklahoma and was so shocked that there was murder done every day and reported on the news. I really felt I had moved to the wild, wild West - but really, all I had done was move to a place that was a little ahead of my own home town in that regard. People are more connected with each other but more disconnected with the present. This is never more evident than when driving around town. I am beginning to think I'd like to give up driving and rely on my bike, my feet and the city bus. Driving is no longer pleasurable to me because there are too many people who drive right through the red lights or into my lane. I feel like I'm going into battle every time I get behind the wheel of a car and just trying to stay alive until I reach my destination. I don't even live in Atlanta or New York or London where the drivers are even crazier.<br />
<br />
Celebration seems beyond me - at least the kind with cheering and waving of arms and loud, crazy laughter. My celebrations this year have been quite tame, devoid of glitter and cheer but full of thought and reflection. Is this a function of getting older? Or is it because of the things that have happened to me and to my loved ones this year; that the crazy enthusiasm has been replaced by a tamer sort of gratefulness?<br />
<br />
So tonight I will bid farewell to 2014. I won't make it to midnight or hoist a glass of champagne as confetti rains down and fireworks go off. I'll be asleep in my bed, dreaming of a better tomorrow and making plans to see that it is, indeed, better.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-20196444962351165962014-09-28T16:45:00.000-05:002014-09-28T16:45:05.696-05:00I'm sorry... did I say it was crazy? Little did I know there was more crazy ahead.Oh, my. I thought there was crazy when all the "mirroring" was going on at work which developed so many technical issues that we stopped mirroring so that the folks in Jacksonville could work on them. I don't know when things will be resolved to the point where we'll be able to make our switch, but in the meantime, we'd let all our "extraneous" employees go - which probably shouldn't have happened until we'd firmly switched, but bureaucracy really likes deadlines and when that one came, out they went... The result is that my husband and I are working some pretty wacky hours that rarely coincide unless the son is in school. And we're all getting tired. <br />
<br />
We thought THAT was crazy. We didn't realize that family drama would also need to be accounted for.<br />
<br />
Maybe drama is too strong a word - this happens to every family everywhere at some point. We lost a member of ours. My father-in-law passed somewhat unexpectedly, with burial arrangements down in South Florida so we all had to trek down there for our goodbyes and then come home and figure out what to do about my mother-in-law. There was lots of culling and donating and selling and shuffling things around, but I think we may be settling down a little. I hope these aren't famous last words.<br />
<br />
All this to say that I hope to do some posting soon. It feels like a respite from the crazy is right around the corner and there are things I want to say...<br />
<br />
See you soon!Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-1032375360209883222014-08-19T08:02:00.001-05:002014-08-19T08:02:13.186-05:00Life is Crazy<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are in the midst of a huge overhaul at work (details to come, if you're interested), which means I've been working 9-10 hour days, sometimes longer, and coming home exhausted - just enough life to eat dinner and be a zombie in front of the tv for an hour or so before falling asleep.</span></em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Ironic, because I've been thinking things (possibly profound, who knows?) that I'd like to get down here but just haven't had the mental power to do anything but work stuff. I'll be back. Probably by the end of the month (God, I hope it's all settled down by then!).</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Sayre</span></em><br />
<br />
Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-7101850475431181532014-07-23T09:04:00.000-05:002014-07-23T09:04:52.288-05:00Majestic Ships Leave Wide Wakes When They PassDear Alison,<br />
<br />
You have not gone far from my mind since I knew you'd left this world behind to join with God in the next one. You are with me in my car, at the store, sitting at my desk and in my dreams.<br />
<br />
I have known you for 25 years, ever since I came home from Oklahoma to start over again. I'd heard about you before I came home though. My parents often wrote of you in their letters to me, and a little jealous spark existed because you seemed to have moved into my family "spot" in my absence. That spark disappeared as soon as I met you - I knew exactly why they loved you. You were fun and bright and your personality just fit in so well with my family. It felt like they'd gone out and FOUND me a sister (goodness knows, after 6 boys they quite trying to produce one for me).<br />
<br />
Over the years, we had varying degrees of closeness. Sometimes very, sometimes not so much... life gets busy sometimes, but we were always friends. <br />
<br />
I was your maid of honor when you got married. You looked just beautiful in your wedding gown! I was sorry that, as it turned out, it was not a good match, but overjoyed when it produced your beautiful daughter!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0DtmQPzfT6WYED23II863l_X1oW5PpEGcVrZv2smgz4jwHXGmFpZNO5UiMnE0lk4TpRayY3779ksORW-nusPd_GTx1pHvIIZagPP0CVJbjR46DUSFj2clfBMjOs92hqyA44C/s1600/Alison+on+her+Wedding+Day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0DtmQPzfT6WYED23II863l_X1oW5PpEGcVrZv2smgz4jwHXGmFpZNO5UiMnE0lk4TpRayY3779ksORW-nusPd_GTx1pHvIIZagPP0CVJbjR46DUSFj2clfBMjOs92hqyA44C/s1600/Alison+on+her+Wedding+Day.jpg" height="320" width="248" /></a></div>
<br />
Do you remember... We lived over by the stadium and you used to let us babysit when you had your community chorus events? We loved having Cecelia. You'd bring her over after work. Sometimes we'd have dinner if she hadn't eaten yet, play a little, read a story and she would go to sleep under the Christmas lights we had strung around our bedroom. It was always so sweet to see her sleepy curls bobbing on your shoulder as you carried her out to the car after coming to collect her.<br />
<br />
I'd say that there were three things in your life that you absolutely loved: Cecelia, music and your church. <br />
<br />
Cecelia is obvious - your daughter was the light of your life. You poured everything you had into raising her to be the beautiful, strong and amazing woman she is today. I am so impressed with her and I know you were too. In fact, there were times when you couldn't believe that she was a part of you. She is though. You gave her all the most wonderful attributes you possessed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUeNoNkccr4tT-ktvhBEjYtRPZWCZ78uwQuiB5hGWu4dZGIiUw8wFrzXCu7UO17VOeF8Xz6FfVF_Ng2UvPKrjHcqaBUM8vmbzBEovfK59aGOhsG9pwP59JchTZ8YfcXg9Wz5o/s1600/Alison+and+Cecelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUeNoNkccr4tT-ktvhBEjYtRPZWCZ78uwQuiB5hGWu4dZGIiUw8wFrzXCu7UO17VOeF8Xz6FfVF_Ng2UvPKrjHcqaBUM8vmbzBEovfK59aGOhsG9pwP59JchTZ8YfcXg9Wz5o/s1600/Alison+and+Cecelia.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
You loved music all your life. I think you got that from your mama. You played and taught piano to my youngest brother James AND you tried to teach my own son. He was quite enthusiastic at first, but in the end decided that the piano was not really the instrument for him. You and I both were sad about that because we thought he had a gift for it. I loved your voice. Recently, when I was painting your apartment, you were organizing your music cabinet and singing arias and hymns while you worked. I was mesmerized and thrilled. It was the best painting music I'd ever worked to. That day felt so special to me and I still think about you singing in the living room while I painted the dining room. You also played the French horn (which I found quite impressive - horns seem so difficult to me) and I truly enjoyed going to the concert you played in out at TCC.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_-w1mBwPEU_2bk4ow5ebpo2mMUV0xWdZESmDy3ifPR9nMUqIlrVEEWbEOcBNdwHH3e_s0k2aqwXHwDFVi-MkIUIjPspi1LOYjNVixKP5lUKDcYgzWTBsPs-q9urS7AnxAanE/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_-w1mBwPEU_2bk4ow5ebpo2mMUV0xWdZESmDy3ifPR9nMUqIlrVEEWbEOcBNdwHH3e_s0k2aqwXHwDFVi-MkIUIjPspi1LOYjNVixKP5lUKDcYgzWTBsPs-q9urS7AnxAanE/s1600/029.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And then there's church. My parents met you when you started going to Advent as a young FSU student. I don't remember exactly when it happened, but you moved over to St. John's and found a church home that included amazing music. Two things you loved in one place! I've been to several Evensong services there because you were in the choir and I enjoyed just closing my eyes and listening to you making beautiful music with the rest of your choir. I know you felt at home at St. John's and you were so excited about going to Oxford, England next summer to be the choir-in-residence there. Somehow, I think you'll still find a way to be there.<br />
<br />
I know you probably never thought that one person could make such a difference to so many people - but you did. Driving in my car this morning, one word kept popping into my head when I was thinking about you. If you were here now and I told you, you would blush, then laugh, then kind of wave it away because you wouldn't think that this word applied to you at all. The word is FIERCE. You may have been the quintessential lady, fond of romance novels, floral prints, hats, Desert Rose china and tea parties - but you. were. fierce. Fiercely loyal. You defended people's rights in love, politics and insurance fiercely. You had a strong sense of right and wrong and would fiercely argue when you felt the need. You were fiercely generous, giving as much of yourself as you could to those you loved - and you loved fiercely too. My mom thinks you were intense, but in my mind, you are fierce.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8_N29zfILsbhGheRK9p2tm6GV9w85N-USQgU-lGjd4O8l0nbIbZVbvs_C-kQHSgH6qyeXpWtGTMpZYkti8bzvjkXdWrKezmaDR601VemLlzz3nQbde4tkyOWvVZO7cIOTLI6/s1600/Alison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8_N29zfILsbhGheRK9p2tm6GV9w85N-USQgU-lGjd4O8l0nbIbZVbvs_C-kQHSgH6qyeXpWtGTMpZYkti8bzvjkXdWrKezmaDR601VemLlzz3nQbde4tkyOWvVZO7cIOTLI6/s1600/Alison.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
You have been such a friend, such a force in my life that it's hard to say goodbye. I am comforted in knowing that when you left, you left all your worries, all your stress, and all your pain behind and took with you only love. The love of your daughter, of your mother, and all the other people, including me, who loved you. Go sing with the angels, Alison. God is listening and He is pleased.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-15488300903620514312014-06-26T21:32:00.002-05:002014-06-26T21:32:25.913-05:00Finding my Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
My church has a small group of people who meet on the 4th Thursday of the month to paint together. It's not a class, just people bringing whatever project they're working on. I decided I wanted to give it a try so I bought some paint and some brushes and went.<br />
<br />
I thought I'd try watercolors. I had no idea what I was doing. My first effort was this dragon. It started with a line and turned into this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGcjwKYrJT2UdbseYIkbwv62VlczZlGRYfYv7fcvUVGOO3wSLF44xvYqpLvZt_7Frhzfv4HezQ0SvNh2y9gAGcWDQ3OH6e319TVSKVGVnV7k6Z1FW1hyT_G7CLLvWXZA1aBFY/s1600/066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGcjwKYrJT2UdbseYIkbwv62VlczZlGRYfYv7fcvUVGOO3wSLF44xvYqpLvZt_7Frhzfv4HezQ0SvNh2y9gAGcWDQ3OH6e319TVSKVGVnV7k6Z1FW1hyT_G7CLLvWXZA1aBFY/s1600/066.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The second time, I tried something a bit more deliberate. Still not what I was looking for.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioayTg1j3urZkVA2WMmOWyr-Ep68UxN80ZhIH92t6XyjTW2jzwMjeS7yQee4a-1TI5aazjxNXpbYmxhNA-3lLBz_PwTi2ePofyM4AyV1ghSqNBu8F0gBM-KJW3yC7lvQ1_4QiN/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioayTg1j3urZkVA2WMmOWyr-Ep68UxN80ZhIH92t6XyjTW2jzwMjeS7yQee4a-1TI5aazjxNXpbYmxhNA-3lLBz_PwTi2ePofyM4AyV1ghSqNBu8F0gBM-KJW3yC7lvQ1_4QiN/s1600/001.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I thought about the stuff I'd done that I liked. How I did it, what materials I used... I remembered this thing. In my pictures list it's called "Womb". I also call it "Onion". It's not my favorite.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRx-Patd7u__RF_vL6FKY0MmVpSc-uKf38wIm7AJTh9GcZKyaXLU2c00zkSa4f7EOO-25Exk16TmkhBNUL71VIbphZPmayqagIGw1uoeSOWAr2PdJv6P9KBCH8uZ5pXBHbPVoN/s1600/2607838402_dfc5d0f0a9_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRx-Patd7u__RF_vL6FKY0MmVpSc-uKf38wIm7AJTh9GcZKyaXLU2c00zkSa4f7EOO-25Exk16TmkhBNUL71VIbphZPmayqagIGw1uoeSOWAr2PdJv6P9KBCH8uZ5pXBHbPVoN/s1600/2607838402_dfc5d0f0a9_b.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Then there's this. I call it "The Music in Me" and it started with a line, drawn with my eyes closed. Then another and another and finally, I opened my eyes and decided what it looked like to me. I LOVED this one:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xPKROe-hL-2r9YOnK2TzoycyM6Mzl2Fj9U1Tz9bxcKkpiv4XTc0GLwl3Z9vm2pDCuwQWVyDL43VHTmnydu8Vqb0sKugqOYbZ5lAMofprEO4_z7KQXLODjwXZGhymNDQRpEnQ/s1600/2607838962_a6b8d97a08_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xPKROe-hL-2r9YOnK2TzoycyM6Mzl2Fj9U1Tz9bxcKkpiv4XTc0GLwl3Z9vm2pDCuwQWVyDL43VHTmnydu8Vqb0sKugqOYbZ5lAMofprEO4_z7KQXLODjwXZGhymNDQRpEnQ/s1600/2607838962_a6b8d97a08_b.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
So a couple of days ago, after my newest nephew was born, I was thinking about this new little person in my family and closed my eyes. I drew a line. And then another one. And another one. I opened my eyes and it looked a bit like a swaddled baby being held in someone's arms. So that's what it became. Tonight I took my doodle and turned it into a painting.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-Der2I_l7JCDteHPdV2Bhi7KAHE83vcEgMFL3Lb-BmEQdRlXp-4IcAU8kxwpsF6rLIzFuV0jnzxlIyPZNHF8IhOGntwVxU2tiwYA6KKBd2CXnMGkrhVamzqIeMhYD59fdGX7/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-Der2I_l7JCDteHPdV2Bhi7KAHE83vcEgMFL3Lb-BmEQdRlXp-4IcAU8kxwpsF6rLIzFuV0jnzxlIyPZNHF8IhOGntwVxU2tiwYA6KKBd2CXnMGkrhVamzqIeMhYD59fdGX7/s1600/008.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I think I may have found my style.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-66415868926559874672014-06-23T14:23:00.002-05:002014-06-23T14:23:57.454-05:00Fun Monday, June 23, 2014 - Your Latest ProjectSometimes it feels like my whole life is a project! I'm always crocheting, sewing, painting, rearranging... something is always going on. THIS is the latest one...<br />
<br />
When we moved into this house, my son was 8 years old. He loved our old place in Wakulla, and was fond of the one we'd just left - but he felt a little dubious about the new house and his new room. One day, he came to me and confessed that he missed his forest room from the Wakulla house. Could we paint something like that in his room here? We did. (Other pictures <a href="http://sayresmiles.blogspot.com/2009/10/room-update.html">here</a>.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOe9OKShD1SiuovsCiR-yFrIM8mQuWg-nU5PiIckMq2BsQ8hOhPC_PDPRhqY1N_V_eLoduOg1sticv_nzC72g4YKhTJ7spelRKEjJEs9sACNaePIWBCYlcjpClyqkRTO0KDvqI/s1600/ZRoom+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOe9OKShD1SiuovsCiR-yFrIM8mQuWg-nU5PiIckMq2BsQ8hOhPC_PDPRhqY1N_V_eLoduOg1sticv_nzC72g4YKhTJ7spelRKEjJEs9sACNaePIWBCYlcjpClyqkRTO0KDvqI/s1600/ZRoom+001.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7a3DWybMsQNME_q_qIds5P15aOfAr59PG7agaTC0PoqkqRb9ieHTghiPFnxdG9OfOpMnNRQpMy49lpy2c1fUFbb-JzG47JL22BBiOjzwuYKKS76qt7gY538A32zgQLE2sdjCw/s1600/ZRoom+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7a3DWybMsQNME_q_qIds5P15aOfAr59PG7agaTC0PoqkqRb9ieHTghiPFnxdG9OfOpMnNRQpMy49lpy2c1fUFbb-JzG47JL22BBiOjzwuYKKS76qt7gY538A32zgQLE2sdjCw/s1600/ZRoom+003.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4plsGy8zVqaO3dmQr45ymXIl02VxKO_9_2TeKwljNHGm30UVbYy5_4lb1X_t6TCSOigvKT3OLhUK5msJUUvAxDpm7suFNlA7LHUXZPSO54_hLTH_pBwVECi8lyitnM7IBimi/s1600/ZRoom+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4plsGy8zVqaO3dmQr45ymXIl02VxKO_9_2TeKwljNHGm30UVbYy5_4lb1X_t6TCSOigvKT3OLhUK5msJUUvAxDpm7suFNlA7LHUXZPSO54_hLTH_pBwVECi8lyitnM7IBimi/s1600/ZRoom+002.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Vk_zozgbaJTba_WY1Lfo8dsUidDVhBTt0wepjWzV6HrmTWXr3K2Sw6twbeClyek8s-JKhhsKapC8Nq-L8rwy7W0Cw3basnSjIiok-RgGxVdzO9KJZ_SKzzGdhATpwmCV5vVs/s1600/ZRoom+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Vk_zozgbaJTba_WY1Lfo8dsUidDVhBTt0wepjWzV6HrmTWXr3K2Sw6twbeClyek8s-JKhhsKapC8Nq-L8rwy7W0Cw3basnSjIiok-RgGxVdzO9KJZ_SKzzGdhATpwmCV5vVs/s1600/ZRoom+005.jpg" height="227" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Well, he's not a little kid anymore... One day he rather sheepishly asked if we could paint his room and get rid of the mural. It looked too much like a kid's room and he didn't want his friends coming over and seeing it. It made me sad, but it's his room and he's NOT a little kid anymore.<br />
<br />
I let him pick the paint - Blue Ribbon from Lowes:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg676MgS40lY71MZrwfxtwL0hOg9nzs5RxT-HHKL-axfmo-yTJVU5CDpFLHcKcEtqyFCdveyG_luBVz-Z9YNCJKxVe-JdURiTiXnu5XczFRU9vmM6lfQABUthAdigWK6b8d49YM/s1600/blue+ribbon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg676MgS40lY71MZrwfxtwL0hOg9nzs5RxT-HHKL-axfmo-yTJVU5CDpFLHcKcEtqyFCdveyG_luBVz-Z9YNCJKxVe-JdURiTiXnu5XczFRU9vmM6lfQABUthAdigWK6b8d49YM/s1600/blue+ribbon.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But it looks TARDIS blue to me...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfUpnEPqWjXSxPPwMrn6Nn7cl54P23kNDWg_rAlecRAUP6w2SlDtj4PkoK_suWctZDVQgzS67u7qfa6eCj6pnwRoj_GzSUv68R5y_QK2r48iPeaK9kK68jw8p3y_3dAnoJJXm/s1600/Tardis.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfUpnEPqWjXSxPPwMrn6Nn7cl54P23kNDWg_rAlecRAUP6w2SlDtj4PkoK_suWctZDVQgzS67u7qfa6eCj6pnwRoj_GzSUv68R5y_QK2r48iPeaK9kK68jw8p3y_3dAnoJJXm/s1600/Tardis.png" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
He says quite vehemently that is NOT tardis blue (not a Dr. Who fan).<br />
<br />
Anyway, I got him his paint (with primer) and we painted. It looked awful. Splotchy and uneven and <em>dark</em>. The smell was pretty intense, at least to me, and I knew it would be a while before I could bear to open that can of paint again.<br />
<br />
Fast forward a few months. The kid has gone off to camp, so I told him I would paint his room while he was gone. In preparation, he pretty much cleared his room of clutter and donated a bunch of stuff (so proud of him!). After he left, I started. It took a couple of days because I painted walls AND woodwork, but the second coat did the trick - it actually looked good! I put up new curtains and rearranged his room a bit but it definitely looks like a young adult's room now. He is VERY happy with it!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjR4HP5yiiAafBKRrNQQ4H4GGvDxH2ULKZbWZV3clijqiH0yKOqf5W6PVJEHUa-iOU98KROJ61_aymxb2UbDFA1C9wFp6T80rY0nJp-M6OPiK2YXpES1-4inqqk9Wlt5AoQbUS/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjR4HP5yiiAafBKRrNQQ4H4GGvDxH2ULKZbWZV3clijqiH0yKOqf5W6PVJEHUa-iOU98KROJ61_aymxb2UbDFA1C9wFp6T80rY0nJp-M6OPiK2YXpES1-4inqqk9Wlt5AoQbUS/s1600/019.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0WTLSFb38ClY-MOnJNbeMBNsmZiGMXatI05GzC4ouy6UqaMqP3lAgkU3Oboxak3gaadH_dDh6TP1evTx0WwQXiYzMDMRrPGkCXGSKx9X60J12iCD-hsq2omEIX-fIksZjspd/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0WTLSFb38ClY-MOnJNbeMBNsmZiGMXatI05GzC4ouy6UqaMqP3lAgkU3Oboxak3gaadH_dDh6TP1evTx0WwQXiYzMDMRrPGkCXGSKx9X60J12iCD-hsq2omEIX-fIksZjspd/s1600/018.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
That's what I've been up to - what have YOU been doing?<br />
Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-23810933481910464292014-06-16T11:21:00.000-05:002014-06-16T11:21:10.251-05:00Fun Monday - June 16: When I grow up...I always envied the kids who had a clear-cut idea of what they wanted to be when they grew up. My high school graduating class has numerous lawyers, a few doctors, business men and other varied careers. The closest I ever came to knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up was a veterinarian.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiWSzq0f-caEIR_aL75Q1OgjflhNlbIig34XmIZRyGDFrivJEmWRTtZmzNAq86WVnNLcHrFWz1XRTlTwRB9eeq4B8uwGzXF5GZ1G6A02BfyiylRTSa_-GbVhh4fFk7O9FpJO9/s1600/Vet1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiWSzq0f-caEIR_aL75Q1OgjflhNlbIig34XmIZRyGDFrivJEmWRTtZmzNAq86WVnNLcHrFWz1XRTlTwRB9eeq4B8uwGzXF5GZ1G6A02BfyiylRTSa_-GbVhh4fFk7O9FpJO9/s1600/Vet1.png" /></a></div>
<br />
And mostly, that was because of this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMyGd_rOLO-WamO1_2SJIkmmXKo3XU0zlOZSZ5tOyYejIQUoc3FITgD9rKlOadADT7_TpxrcuoUe94OjAnO0Y-MA75amUDgOxoGmLgQ61p0BdmY-4HZSinnkdOyi9_BbYFl0gP/s1600/Vet2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMyGd_rOLO-WamO1_2SJIkmmXKo3XU0zlOZSZ5tOyYejIQUoc3FITgD9rKlOadADT7_TpxrcuoUe94OjAnO0Y-MA75amUDgOxoGmLgQ61p0BdmY-4HZSinnkdOyi9_BbYFl0gP/s1600/Vet2.png" /></a></div>
<br />
I LOVED James Herriot. I wanted to BE James Herriot - even with his arm disappearing inside a cow. I thought this was my path in life and even spent a summer working at a vet's office caring for animals, cleaning cages, holding them and even watching surgery. I think it was the smell of blood during surgery that made me realize that being a vet was not for me. It didn't make me sick, but it was unpleasant enough that I didn't want to be around it every day.<br />
<br />
All of this left me at a loss. A few years went by while I tried on different ideas and discarded them all. My actual "career" was an accident. <br />
<br />
Being in the "gifted" program at school, I did a lot of different things, but when I was in high school they decided to try an "Executive Internship" program, where the student would leave school for 6 months and try out a career for school credit. The other people got spots in the Governor's office, the Forestry division, at the newspaper... and I couldn't figure out what to do. On the last day before I had to forfeit my spot, my dad called the general manager at the public television station and asked if he could use a free employee for a while. When he said yes, Dad told me to jump on it and make that my internship. I did.<br />
<br />
As it turned out, I loved doing it. Not just running a camera or floor directing or running the audio board, editing or doing graphics... I loved that I worked in public television. I did that internship and when I graduated from school in January, they hired me in February. I continued working there until I got married, then moved to Oklahoma where I did that for a while at a commercial station. I added film-editing and paid voice-work to my resume there, but it wasn't public television. <br />
<br />
I worked for the FAA for 5 years at their Air Traffic Control Training Academy as a word processor. I briefly contemplated becoming an accident investigator, but my then-husband was dead set against it. He was pretty much against anything I wanted to do, so eventually I left and came back to where I grew up and got a job in television production again, doing local news and commercials for the CBS affiliate because that's who was hiring. When I heard of a spot opening up at the public TV station though, I went and applied. A friend from long ago was doing the hiring and when he asked me if I could do Traffic, I said yes. Then I asked what that was. Luckily, he knew me well and knew that if I said I could do it, I could. I've been doing this for 23 years now. I still enjoy it and I still love working for PBS. I don't make a lot of money doing this, and I'm not changing the world with my career, but I like to thing that being a cog in the machine that brings you PBS programming, I'm doing my part to make the world a better place.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-2061054668633148882014-05-22T16:46:00.001-05:002014-05-22T16:46:14.560-05:00Trying something newIn spite of the pictures in the last post, I now have thinning hair. You can see the curve of my head under my hair from the front and according to my son, you can see my scalp quite well from the top.<br />
<br />
This is most discouraging. I don't mind the wrinkles or gravity-laden skin nearly as much as losing my hair. I have been tempted to just cut it all off in a buzz cut and wear a wig, but wigs are HOT and ITCHY and I'm already hot and itchy enough, thank you.<br />
<br />
Last week, I was up unusually late and caught a 10pm airing of the Dr. Oz show. I wasn't paying much attention to it until he got to his home remedies section and said "thinning hair". A woman came up and explained that she was concerned because her hair was thinning (it looked fine to me) and was there anything she could do about it. He said that olive oil, blended with fresh rosemary, warmed and dabbed on the thinning spots and then massaged and left on for 10 minutes to an hour would help with hair regrowth. REALLY???? <br />
<br />
Apparently the rosemary is key to the regrowth part, so I put out the call on FaceBook for local friends who grow rosemary. As it turns out, a fair number of my friends have tons of it in their yard. I went to see one of them and brought home several branches of the stuff. Today, I pureed olive oil and rosemary (it took a while - the rosemary didn't want to chop up very small at first), poured it into an old honey jar and put a bit on my head.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRa4UBgNdNlzShY5GrEMdOvxNJVVsSukR5F_s1BahU_U4HSBEiFBUMBoQF4FCwYUaDxyABq7sflFLm0dX96OTCRQ8QxQlYDahKctxRg05kCiyPGVeGpMqq3xNj9tvt9xanZsw3/s1600/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRa4UBgNdNlzShY5GrEMdOvxNJVVsSukR5F_s1BahU_U4HSBEiFBUMBoQF4FCwYUaDxyABq7sflFLm0dX96OTCRQ8QxQlYDahKctxRg05kCiyPGVeGpMqq3xNj9tvt9xanZsw3/s1600/056.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Um... yeah. Not only is it oh-so-attractive, as the oil warmed on my head, it dripped everywhere. If you try this, wear grubbies, a towel around your shoulders and don't be trying to get anything done because a little trail of rosemary-scented olive oil will follow you around. I left it on for about 45 minutes, then showered and washed my hair. <br />
<br />
I don't know if this will work (but what can it hurt?) - but I will tell you that my hair is wonderfully soft!<br />
<br />
This was also something I was interested in from the show. The following was copied from Dr. Oz's website:<br />
<br />
<i><b>The Dr. Oz Show</b> hosted its very own version of Shark Tank for its home-made remedies to various health issues. In the challenge judged by Dr. Oz, self-made millionaires Lori Greiner and Daymond John (the latter two’s photo in this recap), the all-natural concoction of deodorant cream won based on its practical application.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Mary’s <b>All-Natural Deodorant Cream</b> was highlighted by lemon and vinegar, two ingredients which Dr. Oz noted to be effective in lowering the body’s PH level and incidence of body odor. Mary estimated that a batch of cream can last for a week; this entails 1/2 teaspoon baking soda, 5 drops of essential oil, 2 tablespoons of coconut oil, 1 teaspoon of white vinegar and the juice of half a piece of lemon. The ingredients, bought in full packaging, can yield a big batch that can up to about 6 months.</i><br />
<br />
I'm trying to eliminate some of the chemicals in my life. I figure every little bit helps!Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-54264019882558164432014-05-12T21:32:00.001-05:002014-05-12T21:32:13.328-05:00Fun Monday, May 12th - Mother's DayIn honor of Mother's day weekend, the challenge is to either talk about what you did on Mother's Day or to share a picture of you and your mom. Since I've already put my Sunday all over Facebook, I'm going with the picture of me and Mom.<br />
<br />
I really had to wrack my brain to come up with one, honestly. I could only think of one picture of the two of us. Most have lots of other people in the picture and she and I are not the point of those pictures. And usually it's either her or me holding the camera the rest of the time. When I went searching for the one picture, I did find another. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGPTMm_4dnsRWbLkpERlq4q4fVrT1y7A1yLJ2ASjbkXSpay3sR2wQAkOlJ4LcltBab3Ugu4awjIobOB1siDjHbtdEIsU1a08h0o2tM85H9reTsWzsmv4GCozY1xbtVHT3h_w2/s1600/Mom+Smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGPTMm_4dnsRWbLkpERlq4q4fVrT1y7A1yLJ2ASjbkXSpay3sR2wQAkOlJ4LcltBab3Ugu4awjIobOB1siDjHbtdEIsU1a08h0o2tM85H9reTsWzsmv4GCozY1xbtVHT3h_w2/s1600/Mom+Smile.jpg" height="320" width="220" /></a></div>
This was taken after my first wedding 32 years ago (gasp). I'm showing her my brand new wedding ring. <br />
<br />
And this one was taken probably less than a minute after:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEc5hAexKxUXQZRYfDA3sDZ_5zMfMGsbw4MdD4FzGfB8_b2F5nKAIQw7u3P5I6Q59OzZM2M092bOEy8Io9XHcsISifEVflRm8PA3pFGG2sMa_TDD8S-DRXzqv9cC0ZokbguRu/s1600/Mom+Hug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEc5hAexKxUXQZRYfDA3sDZ_5zMfMGsbw4MdD4FzGfB8_b2F5nKAIQw7u3P5I6Q59OzZM2M092bOEy8Io9XHcsISifEVflRm8PA3pFGG2sMa_TDD8S-DRXzqv9cC0ZokbguRu/s1600/Mom+Hug.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
<br />
This is the one picture I always think of when I think of one of Mom and me. All those years ago, even though I didn't know it at the time, she was saying goodbye to her baby girl and hello to her daughter, the woman. Holding tight before letting go. <br />
<br />
I hope I am as graceful about it when it's time to let go of MY baby.<br />
<br />Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-15823434520302670872014-05-05T08:11:00.002-05:002014-05-05T08:11:48.132-05:00Fun Monday, May 5th (Cinco de Mayo!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Happy Fun Monday!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today we're sharing our favorite Mexican food. My all time favorite is a shredded beef quesadilla with a side of sour cream.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu6En_N72CYc-OOaZslzbXQ9rzeV1J6Q6PvX1gbbeuMfBhYksXrvMbED9BqD5vPQgc3zofDRKdSURrYPU2R-4Dq6mQ6XxFSOP4VFQKX2I2cDtLhbnyBEMNH6eCfTyOa0Q1sVg/s1600/quesadilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu6En_N72CYc-OOaZslzbXQ9rzeV1J6Q6PvX1gbbeuMfBhYksXrvMbED9BqD5vPQgc3zofDRKdSURrYPU2R-4Dq6mQ6XxFSOP4VFQKX2I2cDtLhbnyBEMNH6eCfTyOa0Q1sVg/s1600/quesadilla.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I really love all Mexican food, but it doesn't really like me much any more. I adore flour tortillas, but as I have now gone wheat-free, much of the foods I like are now off-limits to me.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Luckily, there are still corn tortillas! Tacos are my newest love. I like the ones we make at home - and they're stuffed with more than meat and cheese. I also add refried beans, lettuce and sour cream.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3_xj2N95DfdI3OY1-L-N_p_t0kYY6ll4dx6BZLKzXJO5BWBSPRJWvnYIz0zFCaYwD3NuEurHnSxer-4HEAvpFh205fIlCosCYtJcuQLW3QMELmttU_XILo4cNifmuwrL4zjD/s1600/tacos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3_xj2N95DfdI3OY1-L-N_p_t0kYY6ll4dx6BZLKzXJO5BWBSPRJWvnYIz0zFCaYwD3NuEurHnSxer-4HEAvpFh205fIlCosCYtJcuQLW3QMELmttU_XILo4cNifmuwrL4zjD/s1600/tacos.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I miss the full range of Mexican food, but the parts I'm allowed are still delicious!</div>
<br />Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-12945002083340316092014-04-28T21:42:00.001-05:002014-04-28T21:42:17.678-05:00Fun Monday, April 28th - Me, me, me!Today, we're telling a little bit about ourselves AND including a selfie shot. I can tell you that I am not of the hip, here and now generation because I am terrible at taking selfies. Half the time I'm not even in the picture. I don't know where to look. Occasionally though, I get lucky and manage to not only get my whole face in there, but to have my eyes open and be looking in the lens too! I actually pulled it off today, after several tries at various times of the day:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijppTTTPF_4DDw3lH06xs8vWlp6zJaKS_x5PioM7lsVCQc-1mDxLuX7fN0ms-S1lSbFWaEXCg5VDN4x5fXxHIJksOJ-7MZrNkZKp92L8ZTYmVack5tDgsIXBeq-GKgcqps1hq0/s1600/DSCN0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijppTTTPF_4DDw3lH06xs8vWlp6zJaKS_x5PioM7lsVCQc-1mDxLuX7fN0ms-S1lSbFWaEXCg5VDN4x5fXxHIJksOJ-7MZrNkZKp92L8ZTYmVack5tDgsIXBeq-GKgcqps1hq0/s1600/DSCN0303.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
No makeup, except the eyebrows (which are invisible if I don't draw them on). Long day, but here it is!<br />
<br />
I have reached a comfortable age. That doesn't mean I'm rich, or even that I have much money at all, but that I am comfortable with who I am. Not much embarrasses me, much to my son's eternal delight AND chagrin. I call everyone by their first name because they all feel like peers to me - from the college kids and older teens to the 90+'ers. If you're over 90, you do get a Miss or Mr. in front of your name though. I guess that's my southern upbringing. I don't know who people are talking to when they call me Mrs. S. Our youth leader insists on it, even after I told him it was okay to use my first name only. That boy was raised right! Still... it feels odd.<br />
<br />
I'm married (19 years tomorrow) and have a son (15 years tomorrow) and a granddaughter (13 years last February). They are my little world. My next-biggest world includes my parents and my 5 brothers and their wives - a niece, two nephews, and a nephew-to-be sometime in June. We are a fairly international family. My cousin is part Puerto Rican. One brother married a Korean girl and another one married a girl from Egypt. I also have in-laws of various flavors, but I don't see them as often. The next ring of world belongs to my church, my friends and my work. They help keep me grounded and busy and sane all at the same time (Lord knows I need the help some days). <br />
<br />
I have always wanted to be a writer, but since my job keeps me tied to a computer screen most of the day, my brain just can't face more concentrated time in front of one and has turned to other pursuits to express creativity. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRPNos0V4jZf_y816CKnyL_T2CMJmzhwE7VQ0U8XLvmJZxs0-3AFjZDbUCNKYUMGJ3VfxrvjmXmIWHOvgLBt-RDJMabccBhA3HcotJMvwpbzNXna3QZOsf9ujnSWi_sVQNu_0/s1600/Dragons+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRPNos0V4jZf_y816CKnyL_T2CMJmzhwE7VQ0U8XLvmJZxs0-3AFjZDbUCNKYUMGJ3VfxrvjmXmIWHOvgLBt-RDJMabccBhA3HcotJMvwpbzNXna3QZOsf9ujnSWi_sVQNu_0/s1600/Dragons+002.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sometimes I make figures out of felt.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyC3fLSzMpAO2_byFtSeZ8MkNNQmqoCa9ajj1zepovVe6maPHTcXd_LL3qsfM7Q4lE_ehjNfByXr0lyBGYvyV_xqOhjUk9_DeF6yNXjXgYJlO5NtJs1SqegHv3pE-F0QLVyfVk/s1600/Crochet+Hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyC3fLSzMpAO2_byFtSeZ8MkNNQmqoCa9ajj1zepovVe6maPHTcXd_LL3qsfM7Q4lE_ehjNfByXr0lyBGYvyV_xqOhjUk9_DeF6yNXjXgYJlO5NtJs1SqegHv3pE-F0QLVyfVk/s1600/Crochet+Hat.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sometimes I like to crochet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I like painting furniture and rooms and recently pictures. I want to try throwing pottery. Actually, I'd like to try everything.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Mostly though, I'm pretty happy. Even when my son paints my face.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhrRVgWpD4idyhk-8eSs4SzUG6nR1q2xVUT0q_6gGoMNKxd4zpq2D3AgPw6BCWNOnK4CdpX6_8jqeFOj9AF0zkOG1v1dLSj9-XOQH7XANDTukO6ib4yxvSlkHBtDTuj7ihw33/s1600/DSCN0276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhrRVgWpD4idyhk-8eSs4SzUG6nR1q2xVUT0q_6gGoMNKxd4zpq2D3AgPw6BCWNOnK4CdpX6_8jqeFOj9AF0zkOG1v1dLSj9-XOQH7XANDTukO6ib4yxvSlkHBtDTuj7ihw33/s1600/DSCN0276.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-17049259526484188442014-04-21T07:09:00.001-05:002014-04-21T07:09:21.611-05:00Fun Monday! April 21, 2013Fun Monday has been resurrected (at least for a while), so on this Monday after Easter, the challenge is to show your front door - or the view <em>from</em> your front door.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj348qtbtSQQ_RJFHW8JcgiL6F-RjXIoEPrLxcHlqFeq1iXmhwB7Q3jkphOA6fSppDRfEAFFVVyBZHwl_yqh4gXODHjKQwoArkIfwPqTanMZZJ8_x8Al8B7vnJvtccOKSn-WLn2/s1600/DSCF8061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj348qtbtSQQ_RJFHW8JcgiL6F-RjXIoEPrLxcHlqFeq1iXmhwB7Q3jkphOA6fSppDRfEAFFVVyBZHwl_yqh4gXODHjKQwoArkIfwPqTanMZZJ8_x8Al8B7vnJvtccOKSn-WLn2/s1600/DSCF8061.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Straight out my door - my flower bed. I don't know how old it is, but the landscape timbers are crumbling and it's time to redo it. It's a daunting task, being full of things that can stick you. Our six baby aloe plants have multiplied like crazy and taken over the bed! And they are SHARP. Also, three rose bushes with thorns..... I may wait until fall to do that - too many other things need doing around here. Straight out front is the lemon tree my dad gave me a couple of years ago. It's grown a lot and I'm hoping for some lemons this year.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziJOESai5xba1ZJIM3NQmDfsOVsHkHK_NFnwUCoRTcso2pBFYsuksf_ZsynciPU0Fwnwl9bUJ0zJSd1VaN5R9RFQa_SkRAF8ssciaYDsO833mS3dK36zhjmjuTnwD-E-P_WGu/s1600/DSCF8062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziJOESai5xba1ZJIM3NQmDfsOVsHkHK_NFnwUCoRTcso2pBFYsuksf_ZsynciPU0Fwnwl9bUJ0zJSd1VaN5R9RFQa_SkRAF8ssciaYDsO833mS3dK36zhjmjuTnwD-E-P_WGu/s1600/DSCF8062.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Turning slightly to the left, you can see my driveway. Just past the post is a tea olive that we brought from Wakulla. It was a gift when our son was born (almost 15 years ago). It didn't do well in the sandy soil there and it was still only about thigh high when we planted it here 7 years ago. Now it's taller than the porch roof! It gives you a lovely whiff of scent as you pass by several times a year.<br />
<br />
There's my Fun Monday! If you want to join in, go to Facebook, search for "Fun Monday" and post your pictures there. I'm linking my blog there.Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22674490.post-5527535070188915242014-04-14T09:42:00.000-05:002014-04-14T09:42:03.768-05:00Fun Monday - My Favorite BirdMany years ago, I lived in Oklahoma. While I was there, I became an avid birder. I LOVED birds and my back yard was on the migration routes, so I had opportunity to see a lot of them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_UbCYHXZ56MRDvAJZYzbNOVhC7XplTiLEIKDoBEeQpw_U0VDMjR18rD9pIqIW9s5h0ir2Ksnh9VDFrUa59rsuOS3_TbKo4UY0OzlMRnrLsM7dksHn7fE2aGrHsBKSezjP02Nj/s1600/Birds2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_UbCYHXZ56MRDvAJZYzbNOVhC7XplTiLEIKDoBEeQpw_U0VDMjR18rD9pIqIW9s5h0ir2Ksnh9VDFrUa59rsuOS3_TbKo4UY0OzlMRnrLsM7dksHn7fE2aGrHsBKSezjP02Nj/s1600/Birds2.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
My favorite, by far, was the Oklahoma state bird - the Scissor-Tailed Flycatcher. I love flycatchers in general... they are dainty of feature and amazing to watch in the air - the Scissor-tail won my heart. In flight, it looks like an angel. So incredibly graceful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuwQLso8StLkSkzaHONF8ziCIcYBLjRO3Tzf9afc4LJUbG9kJu2bZQMEjNgrk5XUSEb20MsfllaDapI7txuD-C73cIv9NeRk5-uWZwVrR0pVATD1YR-dl8K0lC0MRTXaVWIn0/s1600/Birds1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuwQLso8StLkSkzaHONF8ziCIcYBLjRO3Tzf9afc4LJUbG9kJu2bZQMEjNgrk5XUSEb20MsfllaDapI7txuD-C73cIv9NeRk5-uWZwVrR0pVATD1YR-dl8K0lC0MRTXaVWIn0/s1600/Birds1.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Their looks, however, hide a fairly aggressive bird. It defends its territory in much the same way as the more familiar blue jay, especially during nesting season. The rest of the time, it's a pretty friendly bird. They hang out on fences and posts and eat all manner of bugs (which is always a plus in my book!).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59ZPTxs955PD-Pm7Eyk99TZolthTWWE_Zx6VWUlyn2wGAkpDHisaNC939NkNxZOKMzsU-UjPJ0gl_0lxjwgEb17-1DBXxChVRSOgE4SG1FeUgajBo0abFSqp06n5AIIHTtcxg/s1600/oklahoma-quarter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59ZPTxs955PD-Pm7Eyk99TZolthTWWE_Zx6VWUlyn2wGAkpDHisaNC939NkNxZOKMzsU-UjPJ0gl_0lxjwgEb17-1DBXxChVRSOgE4SG1FeUgajBo0abFSqp06n5AIIHTtcxg/s1600/oklahoma-quarter.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
It's also featured on the back of the Oklahoma commemorative quarter - which shows just how highly valued this symbol of the state really is!<br />
<br />
Scissor-tailed flycatchers are probably the thing I miss most about living in Oklahoma.<br />
<br />
Official description:<br />
<table border="0" style="width: 300px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><div align="center">
<b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Scissor-tailed Flycatcher</span></b></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td><div align="center">
tyrannus forficatus </div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="center">
<center>
<table border="0" style="height: 203px; width: 463px;"><tbody>
<tr><td align="left" height="116" valign="top" width="328"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>Description: </b>14" of which more than half is a very long and deeply-forked black and white tail, adult has bright salmon-pink sides and belly, head, upper-back and breast pale grayish white</span></td><td align="left" height="116" valign="top" width="377"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>Habitat:</b> Open and semi-open country, roadsides, chaparral, ranches. Often seen perched on utility wires or fences. </span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" height="55" valign="top" width="353"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>Nesting: </b>5 creamy brown-spotted eggs in a bulky stick nest lined with soft materials placed in a solitary, isolated tree</span></td><td align="left" height="55" valign="top" width="352"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>Range: </b>breeds from eastern Colorado and Nebraska south to Texas and Louisiana, winters mostly south of border and southern Florida</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" height="24" valign="top" width="353"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>Voice: </b>a harsh <i>kee-kee-kee-kee!</i>, also chattering notes like that of Western Kingbird</span></td><td align="left" height="24" valign="top" width="352"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>Diet: </b>Almost entirely insects; few berries.<b><br /></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</center>
</div>
<div align="center">
<center>
<table border="0" style="height: 76px; width: 461px;"><tbody>
<tr><td height="35" valign="top" width="453"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>Notes: </b>Spirited defender of territory against crows, hawks, etc. Gregarious in non-breeding season, Male performs acrobatic <a href="http://www.birdsofoklahoma.net/State%20bird.htm"><span style="color: blue;"> "sky dance"</span></a> during courtship which even includes a few reverse summersaults in mid-air!</span></td></tr>
<tr><td height="35" valign="top" width="453"><span style="color: #000099;"><b>When present in Oklahoma: </b>statewide during summer, south, southeast in winter months</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</center>
</div>
Sayrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16350593991157139017noreply@blogger.com3