tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78410791288917280432024-03-05T02:02:11.788-05:00CathyBA giant portion of grandbaby love. A heaping helping of family and friends. A super serving of faith. A sprinkle of humor. It's my life. And I'm so blessed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger453125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-33837100931370834382017-08-15T20:28:00.001-04:002017-08-15T20:28:30.764-04:00A Teachable Moment Lost (And Why I Was Relieved)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Several weeks ago when my younger grandkids were here for a
sleepover, I noticed that To Kill A Mockingbird was playing on Netflix. Long a favorite of mine, I decided that I
would share the classic with them.
Shortly after the movie began, I started to feel a little
uncomfortable. How was I going to
explain to them the events they would see?
They are too young to yet understand the racial tensions of those
times. What could have been a teachable
moment passed by when they fell asleep early on, before things got
serious. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I must admit that I felt a sense of relief that I wouldn’t
have to talk to them about what was an ugly time in our history. In pondering this, I became acutely aware of
the generational changes within even my lifetime. My granddaddy, and I’d venture to say the
majority of men his age, would fairly fall into the racist category. Did he know he was a racist? Was he born into it, or did he choose
to be that way? I’m not sure. It was just the way things were in those
days. Part of the culture. Is that an excuse, or does it make it
right? No, of course not. When I was growing up, I do remember comments
and the attitudes of my grandfather, but they were not present in my home. Yes, there was still a cultural difference,
there was still segregation. But, my
brother and I were not brought up to hate black folks. Use of the “N” word was common,
but it wasn’t typically used as a derogatory label, the way it is now. It was simply an adjective to describe a group
of people. Was it also used by some in a
hateful way? Yes, of course it was. Same as the word "bitches" can be used by a group of women about themselves or their friends, sometimes even in an endearing manner, yet can also be used in a hateful way. </div>
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When I was in second grade, the first waves of
integration began, and I remember the first black children who came to our
school. Granted, I was just a little
kid, and little kids are better at adaptation than older kids. In my second-grade world, it was more like
bringing a new pet into your home. At
first there might be some standoffish moments, maybe a little growling and/or hissing, but soon they get to know each other, learn to get along, and share the home. I remember some moments of curiosity among both black and white children, and some
grumbling among my grandaddy’s generation, but before long, we got used to each
other, and found our new normal. Now, to be fair, I really don’t
know how things went down between the older kids in high school. Perhaps the tensions were more evident
there. But in my happy little world,
integration was early enough that by the time I was in 6<sup>th</sup>, 7<sup>th</sup>,
and 8<sup>th</sup> grade, we all played well together, both on the playground
and on the basketball court. We rode the
bus together, and accepted each other. I
do remember, though, a diary entry from when I was in probably 8<sup>th</sup>
grade, that said all the “white” cheerleaders spent the night with
so-and-so. Yeah, we had come a long way
in learning to get along, but there was still somewhat of a disparity between
us. They weren’t offended by it… they
probably wouldn’t have even come if they had been invited. Both sides seemed happy enough to get along,
but there was an invisible line that neither group seemed eager to
cross. My school became fully integrated
over time, and we spent our years up to 8<sup>th</sup> grade together. Rodney King would have been proud of us, in
our small southern town. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I went to high school in the 9<sup>th</sup> grade, it
was a little different, and there were some times when racial tensions ran
higher than at others. There would still
be years of growing pains as result of the Civil Rights Movement, as blacks
were struggling to find their place in a previously white-dominated society,
and as whites struggled with acquiescence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By the time my daughter was in school, the disparity was less,
and interracial dating, sleepovers, etc., had become more the norm. By the time she was grown, her group
of friends were as comfortable with their black friends as they were their
white friends. We had come such a long way!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fast forward to today- we are currently entangled in what
appears to be the beginnings of all-out racial warfare. This is so very sad to me. We have become such a politically-correct
society that Freedom of Speech seems to no longer exist for some. Most of us are respectful of other people,
and try not to say hurtful things, and just behave like decent human
beings. Others, who choose to make comments
about any particular group of people, are called upon to “renounce”, “denounce”,
and “apologize” for offending folks. And yet others, it seems, can hurl all sorts of verbal abuse without consequence. And to call them out on it would be considered intolerant. It
has reached so far that even the company who makes Tiki Torches felt the need
to declare that they do not support the actions of the protesters in Charlottesville. I wonder if Nike, or UnderArmour, or any
other company whose products were worn by the protesters, or the makers of the
cell phones who captured the videos will feel the need to do the same? It’s all so absurd. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Can we see how far we have come, when I found myself
grateful that I didn’t have to explain a movie to my grandchildren? Yeah, there are lots of things about our
history that suck. But does resurrecting
the hatred now change that history? Nope. Instead, it darkens the future. I just don’t
understand. Maybe it’s because I’m a
white, straight, conservative, person of faith.
(Although…. It seems my demographic has become a popular target for
bullying and hate speech as well!) Perhaps
if I had walked a mile in their shoes, I’d feel the same way they do. I can’t
know the answer to that. But I gotta tell ya.
All this crap that is going on in our nation today makes me sick. I want to scream for everyone to just shut up
about it, and in another generation, we’ll hardly be able to tell the
difference. There are trashy white
folks, and there are trashy black folks.
Trashy folks of every color. That won’t ever change. Only by changing our behavior toward one
another will the stereotypes be erased. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If all this protesting, and knocking down statues, etc.
could make things better, then perhaps in the long-run it might be worth it. But, from my point of view, it only makes it
worse. It is resurrecting hate and
resentment. It is making racism
worse. And it makes me very, very sad to
know that my grandchildren, and your grandchildren, will learn about racism and
hate. Not from reading about it in a history
book, but by living it themselves. Their
little minds and hearts haven’t been taught to hate each other, like the hearts
of my grandaddy and those of his generation.
How tragic that these children who have grown up as friends will likely
one day hate each other because of the way our society is behaving today. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Don’t get me wrong. I
absolutely acknowledge that slavery really sucked for the slaves. And it sucked that they were looked down upon
by white folks for many, many years. It
sucks that some white folks still look down on them. Their leaders worked very
hard to gain acceptance and rights for them.
I guess it just confuses me that they are not able to see how much
things have changed. Oh yeah, and it
really sucks that some redneck, stupid, bigoted protesters still feel the need
to march and stir up emotions. I just don’t get that. But, while white folks are admonished not to judge all black folks by the behavior of some, black folks need to not judge all white folks by the behavior of these haters. And, as much as it angers me to see either
side saying such hateful things, we need to remember that both sides have the
First Amendment right to do so. I just do not understand how a monument, a carving, or a street name, can be offensive. And if I am offended by it, perhaps I should take it as an opportunity to be reminded that I have overcome whatever it is that offends me? I mean... are there not monuments, highways, airports, parks, etc., named after black leaders? That doesn't offend me. If it did, would they be taken down? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Really, just leave the statues and the carvings alone, will ya? I mean, seriously? It’s history.
We’ll be renaming Jackson Square in New Orleans. George Washington was a slave owner. Shall we tear down the Washington
Monument? Shall we remove the faces of
former slave-owning presidents from our money?
Should the names of cities be changed? Schools?
Streets? Where does it end? And by all means, shouldn't we rename "The WHITE House?" If we are to remove memorials of all men who have
done bad things, or have skeletons in their closets, then we will be removing
all of them, except the ones of Jesus Christ.</div>
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Yes, I am from the south, and thankful for it. I come from a very long line of southern folks,
and have ancestors who fought in the Civil War right beside some of those
people who are so hated now. As a
nation, we’ve been through some dark times.
I hope we can wake up soon, before we enter into another, more dark than
before. Come on, people. Do we really want our great nation to fall
because of in-fighting? It is when we
are fighting amongst ourselves within that those from without will have the
great advantage. A house divided against
itself will fall. We’ve seen enough
division, both political and racial. The
only thing I can hope is that we can live by the quote “Be the change you wish
to see in the world.” Let's not poison our children and grandchildren with hatred. Oh, and,
yeah. Leave the monuments alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These are my thoughts.
Yours may be entirely different.
That’s okay. These are mine, and
I own them.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-33777583304639781052016-11-24T12:26:00.004-05:002016-11-24T12:30:19.139-05:00A Thankful Heart<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;">I am a thankful person by nature. Life can throw unexpected curve balls, and often I neither like nor understand when things go wrong. But I have learned to be thankful, even through the dark times. This past year has presented many unpleasant changes for my family. My dad's illness and loss of mobility and diagnosis of bone cancer, the devastating loss of my job, and all the emotional and financial effects of that. Things that make no sense and are simply not understood. Yet today, we remain thankful for all of our blessings. My dad is an amazing rock star patient, and has rehabbed to an almost full recovery, is walking some with a cane, very mobile with a Rollator, driving the car, and has even cut grass several times. AND just yesterday he had a great report from the oncologist that cancer markers continue to decrease! He is whooping cancer's butt!! He has had no unpleasant effects from the chemo, and has not had to add any further chemo agents to his regimen, (which would have been the kind with bad effects.) </span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;">Being unemployed for four months allowed me to take care of my parents, help out with a seriously ill uncle, and spend time with my cousin and help her pack up for a move across the country. <span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">I was hired by an awesome oral surgeon, working with a fabulous group of co-workers, and I'm very happy there. I never thought I could have another job that I would like better than the one I lost, but this job is very well suited to me, with a much better compensation/benefits package as well. </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">To say we are thankful on this day is an extreme understatement. We are beside ourselves with thanksgiving to our family, friends, and to Yaweh God for all that He has brought us through</span></span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; clear: right; float: right; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span><span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </span></div>
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If you don't get the Barrow News, here's a copy of my article for this week. It echoes my thoughts above, but it never hurts to hear messages on thankfulness more than once. </div>
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<i><b><u>A THANKFUL HEART</u></b></i></div>
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<i>Before the Halloween candy had disappeared, the shopping
malls were putting out Christmas decorations, and small towns were hanging
their holiday lights, preparing to usher in the season. Christmas ads on TV seem to come earlier each
year, and bell-ringers start standing outside the stores in mid-November. It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas up
in here…. And we still haven’t had Thanksgiving! <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>At church on Sunday, the pastor asked us to reflect back to
this time last year, and think about all that has changed since then. My family has endured some difficult times
since last Thanksgiving. My dad was
diagnosed with multiple myeloma, after a catastrophic pathological fracture in
his spine rendered him unable to move his legs.
After surgery to decompress the spinal cord and several weeks in rehab,
he was able to return home, where he continues to recover. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>During this time I lost a job that I loved, and was
unemployed for four months. Losing a job
at my age, with a 40-year career in healthcare, I felt my choices at starting
over were limited. It was a very
depressing time, facing both my dad’s illness and the desperation of finding
work. Only in retrospect was I able to see that losing my job could be a
positive thing. I stayed busy, attending
doctors’ appointments with Mom and Dad, visiting Dad in rehab, and helping out
at their house. Also during this time I
was able to stay at the hospital with my aunt, when my uncle was very seriously
ill. My cousin was packing up her house
for a move to Arizona, and I was able to spend lots of time with her before she
left, and packed lots of boxes while she worked. An extra bonus was spending time with the
grandkids during the summer. God’s
timing is always perfect. I was hired at
a great office, and I’m very happy there.
My first day at the new job was also the first day the kids started back
to school. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>For my family, it’s Thanksgiving every day. We rejoice at the progress my dad has
made. He is able to walk short distances
using only a cane, and for longer distances using a Rollator. He has been driving for a month or so, and
even cut grass a time or two. His cancer
markers have trended downward, and there have been no side effects from the
chemotherapy. We are so thankful. My job
is awesome, and is better in so many ways than the one I lost, and for that we
are thankful. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>There’s a saying that goes like this: “It’s not happy people who are thankful, it’s
thankful people who are happy.” I’m sure
that there are many happy people who are thankful, but I know that being
thankful goes a long way to ensure happiness.
A very special man I know recently told me that he doesn’t celebrate
holidays. He lived most of his adult
life in prison, and he is just thankful to be alive, and to be free. He lives each moment as though it is his last,
and is thankful to God to be free from prison, thankful for his clemency, and
thankful for having his very basic needs met.
As a former convicted murderer, armed robber, ex-convict, cancer
survivor with a heart problem, his life would seem abysmal to some. But because of his past, he is thankful for
every day that he is allowed to live, and to serve God and other people. That, my friends, is a truly thankful
person. And he is a happy person. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>My wish for you is a thankful heart, not only for this week,
but for each and every day. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-84245151936446474852016-09-10T18:47:00.002-04:002016-09-10T18:47:54.314-04:00WBHS – First Away Game<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jTmmSJdLR4_rdYKgBJ044WNgNKxrOX-gMf96FKo88DAcklfKzGyE2357GHFDXQLSCKA91QzSNys3BFxmJUmm3-9Z2dsRzZTjRieA64lWvWq1vsmcD6jwxwXMpTFMG-jXYCNUXm_l6dEr/s1600/Bulldogg+Band+Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jTmmSJdLR4_rdYKgBJ044WNgNKxrOX-gMf96FKo88DAcklfKzGyE2357GHFDXQLSCKA91QzSNys3BFxmJUmm3-9Z2dsRzZTjRieA64lWvWq1vsmcD6jwxwXMpTFMG-jXYCNUXm_l6dEr/s1600/Bulldogg+Band+Logo.jpg" /></a>Last night was a night off from football, but the band had an exhibition show. Can't wait to see them perform the entire show next Friday night!!! </div>
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Here's my account of last week's away game:</div>
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This past Friday the Doggs, Cheerleaders, coaches, support staff, and the DoggBand loaded up and headed to Duluth for our first official away game. Whitney and I had signed up to be bus chaperones, and it was like going back in time 16 years ago to my first bus chaperone trip when she was in 9<sup>th</sup> grade. All the hustle and bustle in the band room, inspections, and dismissal. What fun memories!! </div>
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What I had forgotten about was the actual school bus ride. I think buses have shrunk in size since those days, and the backs of the seats are higher. This is not good for a person with claustrophobia. In the olden days, I got my very own personal seat that I did not have to share with anyone. Part of this reason was I was also Keeper Of The Medical Bag in years 2, 3, and 4. This year the buses are full to capacity, and I actually had to share my seat. Thankfully, it was with Whitney. Unfortunately, I got on the bus a bit sooner than necessary. No movement, no air flow, I couldn’t see over the seat in front of me, nor the back of my own seat. As one by one the bodies came on board, it felt like the world was closing in on me. I was by the window, so at least I was able to scramble up and hang my head out the window for a bit and get some fresh air. Once we started moving, it was fine… as long as I kept my mind off of the tiny little section space that I was wedged into. The trip took a little longer than expected, because of a detour made necessary by a train stopped on the tracks. </div>
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Aside from the claustrophobia, it was great being on the bus with the band kids again! The major difference this time around is that Whitney actually claimed me as her mom, and even sat with me! It seemed really odd not knowing the other chaperones or the kids. I found myself looking for *my* kids, and every now and then I would see someone who reminded me of one of the 2000-2004 group. I love doing the chaperone thing with Whitney, but I sure did miss the old Friday Night Crowd – Nancy and Phil Stephens, Linda and Charles Perry, Karey Russell, Delores Smith, Kitty McCall, Christine Shaheen, Beth Savage, and all the other parents who made it so much fun.</div>
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The Doggs looked great on the field, and it was a very exciting game. Back in the day, I was more interested in band stuff than football, but this year the games have been exciting to watch. Here’s to hoping that trend continues, and the Doggs go all the way!</div>
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I’d love to say the band looked great on the field. Well, actually, they did look great on the field. We just had to watch from behind. The hosting school, Northview in Duluth, has a policy that doesn’t allow any visitors on their side of the field. I went to every away game from 2000-2001 to 2003-2004, and that has never been an issue. Chaperones, band support folks, parents, and students have always gone across to the hosting side in order to watch BOTH bands perform. We’d clap and holler for our kids, and when they finished playing, we respectfully watched the home team’s band play, and clapped and hollered for them just the same. It’s just what you do. We have seen some awesome bands from other schools, and always support them with our cheers and applause. </div>
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We were quite disappointed and upset that we weren’t allowed to go across at Northview. There were resource officers who simply would not let us pass. Not just WBHS, they said, but no visiting teams are ever allowed over there. We tried explaining that this was their first show to march, because of prior halftime shows being canceled due to weather, but no exception was to be made. A few parents went rogue and went the opposite direction and somehow made it across the gator-filled moat and past the fire-breathing dragon, and got into the stands, and were able to shoot a front-on video of the show. It’s on Facebook, if you want to see it. </div>
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As a mom, a band chaperone, and Keeper Of The Medical Bag for three years, it was also concerning to me that our kids were on the other side of the world with no adult support. Well, they’re not really kids, and they certainly know how to behave, but you never know when someone might need something, have an accident, or any kind of incident that could require adult supervision. That in itself would seem to merit allowing chaperones/parents into the stands. </div>
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Oh well. Here at WBHS, we welcome visiting band supporters into our stands, and show our support to all the visiting bands. Our band kids are taught to appreciate the opposing team’s band, and show them the respect they deserve.</div>
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And on that note, if you are in the stands while the visiting band is performing, it would be really great if you would also show them the same supportive cheers and applause that you graciously show to our own fabulous WBHS Marching Bulldogg Band! <b>#HighRoad</b> Go Doggs! Yay Band!!</div>
<div>
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</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-58713380355524298722016-08-25T20:15:00.003-04:002016-08-25T20:15:32.870-04:00Boyz In The HoodNo time to write in the old blog any more, so I'm cheating again, and sharing the article from last week's paper. <div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6wjlC6i81HllQj7knDXQA4ZVuNKimbSC36RGglZezGEp7pbal_xuE7qbrTZawZWp7h-XoaM3AjqAB8l_rTdn-eIo6K8N_jLR_qpz42emannmFLYhB92svcgdR2RMpUvzCyWyYBobfgzP/s1600/neighborblessing.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6wjlC6i81HllQj7knDXQA4ZVuNKimbSC36RGglZezGEp7pbal_xuE7qbrTZawZWp7h-XoaM3AjqAB8l_rTdn-eIo6K8N_jLR_qpz42emannmFLYhB92svcgdR2RMpUvzCyWyYBobfgzP/s200/neighborblessing.png" width="200" /></a></div>
I’ve never lived more than 25-30 miles from the place of my
birth, the good old (old) Winder Hospital out on East Broad. Dr. Etheridge brought me into this world on a
crisp fall day many, many years ago.
Barrow County has been home for the greater part of my life, with a few
years spent in Oconee, with a couple of short stents in other nearby towns. But
I always found my way back to Statham. There really is no place like home!<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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We lived in Winder while Whitney was in middle and high school. I was working from home most of those years,
and the flexibility of my job made it possible to be an involved Band Mom, and
make sure that she was where she needed to be.
It was a quiet little neighborhood, and I had dear friends across the
street from me. We watched out for each
other, and traded chores whenever needed.
They later moved away, which broke my heart. There was nobody else in
the neighborhood that I befriended, and it was pretty lonely after that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Shortly after Whitney left for college, I decided to move
back to Statham. My parents are here, my
BFF is here, my church is here, and my crafting friends are here. I was very fortunate that my house in Winder
sold quickly, and I was able to purchase a home in Statham. I bought the house from my good friends, the
Johnsons, who had raised their kids here in The Hood. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I moved in, I inherited the most awesome
neighbors!! I still missed my friends
from Winder, but was so happy to have been accepted into the family of
neighbors here in The Hood. Most of the
families on my street have lived here for years and years, and they know each
other well. Some of them ride around in
golf carts, keeping a close eye on anything that might seem to be amiss. On any given evening, it’s not unusual to see
a convoy of golf carts going by, or see a group of them stopped in the driveway
of another neighbor for a visit. I don’t
get out and socialize with them as often as I would like, but it is very
comforting to know that there are at least six or seven Boyz In The Hood that I
can call on if I need a guy to help me do things. My BFF is at the end of the street, and her
husband is like my brother. One July 4<sup>th</sup>
morning I woke him up before daylight screaming for him to come down here,
something exploded in my house and I thought it was on fire. He was here in a flash – and after finally
convincing me the house was not on fire, and not to call 911, his diagnosis was
that a squirrel had chewed through one of the power lines coming to my house. This was
later confirmed by the Georgia Power guy, who worked for hours in a pouring
rain to get it fixed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My dear neighbors Arti and Tammy have been so good about
mowing my lawn. I can never thank them
enough. One summer I had a bad foot and
they kept it cut for me the whole season. They are awesome! One time we needed to move a wooden playscape
down the street. All the guys gathered
in my back yard and after much planning and conspiring, they loaded it onto
David’s flatbed truck, and safely transported it three doors down to the Melton
home. The guys followed on their golf
carts, and helped to unload it and shore it up for safe playing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m always bragging about my great neighbors on Facebook. I’m
so very thankful for my life here. It’s
a wonderful place to be, and I am so blessed to be surrounded by The Boyz (and
girlz) In The Hood!!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-42897712985840040732016-07-14T01:19:00.000-04:002016-07-14T01:19:10.505-04:00All Lives Matter<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmejcv0wduh8t28l70SyleLV40ccjTRrBiF3R-9drVpqom2GhCLHMOuXOrZZubRQ6ip8ZlAmjtzIPCkdwNThHElwjGsRrLZWsDCcZ4NHIK702WfNL6CrFIbD6KIwUjF1RVPIRo6b1VrmC1/s1600/flag.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmejcv0wduh8t28l70SyleLV40ccjTRrBiF3R-9drVpqom2GhCLHMOuXOrZZubRQ6ip8ZlAmjtzIPCkdwNThHElwjGsRrLZWsDCcZ4NHIK702WfNL6CrFIbD6KIwUjF1RVPIRo6b1VrmC1/s200/flag.jpeg" width="200" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
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The fireworks have faded, and the picnic baskets put away
for another year. The red, white, and
blue decorations are discarded, and some people have even removed the flags
that waved proudly from the front porch only a few days ago. The outfits celebrating the holiday are
cleaned and hung in the back of the closet, with hopes that they will still fit
next year. It’s back to work as usual
until the next holiday. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Holidays like Christmas, Easter, 4<sup>th</sup> of July,
Memorial Day, etc., are days that we set apart to recognize, commemorate, and
celebrate certain events in history. It
is a good thing to bring special attention to these events, right? Yes, of course it is. But my favorite people are the people who
remember these events every day! People
who fly their flags 365, not just patriotic holidays. I suppose there could be the argument that
flying it every day would lead us to become immune to its presence, and make it
less special. Perhaps that is true for
some. When I’m inside my house, I don’t
see it. But each time I go outside, or
turn into my driveway, I see it, and am thankful. And, when driving through the streets of my
community, I LOVE to see it waving from the side of your house! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Exactly one month after the 9/11 attacks, I had the
opportunity to travel to Boston with Mrs. Thompson’s AP US History class. We weren’t even sure we would be allowed to
fly, but thankfully, air travel was allowed to resume before our departure
date, October 11, 2001. We flew into
Logan airport, the origin of those flights that brought about the tragedies of
9/11. <o:p></o:p></div>
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History was one of my least favorite subjects in school, and
I remembered very little of what I learned.
Visiting the sites of the events that would shape our nation awakened
within me a new feeling of pride in my country, and a sober realization of the
real cost of freedom. Visiting the graves of some of the founding fathers felt
like walking on sacred ground, and my heart was full of gratitude. Sitting on the cool grass in the Lexington
Green, and walking across the (replica) Old North Bridge, we were taken back to
the first days of the revolution. I
could almost smell the gunpowder. It
changed me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Needless to say, the trip had more of an effect on me than
it did the students, and I learned (and felt) so much. In their defense, had I been an upcoming 10<sup>th</sup>
grader on a “history trip”, I probably wouldn’t have been as caught up in it
either. I hope that someday they will
remember having the honor to visit the pages of history. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We live in a very troubled world today. The past week, even in the shadow of our
celebration of freedom, we have seen so much ugliness within our nation. Our government is spiraling out of
control. Our presidential candidate
choices are abysmal. Martin Luther
King, Ben Franklin, John Hancock – what would these men think and say if they
could see what we have become? What does
Jesus think? How can we fix this? <o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw a post on Facebook that said something like this: “If you weren’t saying ‘Black Lives Matter’
yesterday, how can you say ‘All Lives Matter’ today?” Huh? I
didn’t say “Black Lives Matter”, or “Blue Lives Matter” yesterday or the day
before. Because I DO BELIEVE that All
Lives Matter. Until everyone embraces
the fact that All Lives Matter, then things will just continue to
deteriorate. And as we continue to kill
and hate each other within the borders of our nation, we will prove Abraham
Lincoln’s words that “A house divided against itself shall fall.” (Also Mark 3:25) <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes I just wish Jesus would hurry on up and come get
us. But that is the coward’s way
out. There is still work to be
done. We tend to think that there is
nothing we can personally do to effect the change our world needs. And there’s probably not anything that we can
do on a global level. But I can make a
change in my heart, in my household, in my family. In my small little world where I live. And so can you. In the words of Gandhi – “Be the change you
wish to see in the world.” And the words
of Michael Jackson’s song, start with “the man in the mirror.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I love this nation, and what she once stood for. I pledge my allegiance to a flag that
represents that which upon we were founded. Today’s America is not the America for which my
heroes fought, bled, and died. But we must maintain our allegiance, and resolve
to be the change. If we don’t do that,
change will come anyway, but in a very bad way. Fly your flags! Pray for our leaders! Pray for our law enforcement officers. Pray for our pastors. Pray for our citizens. Pray for courage and integrity within our own
hearts. And never stop praying for God to
Bless America!!<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-70083422975987109082016-07-11T02:08:00.001-04:002016-07-11T02:08:52.436-04:00Vacation Bible School<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimj5Q6qXLyVVDuyP3ry4ZIz25OERlYuZLssmw8ldIkXavK9tnkVYtLb0i8v1nVjHLOPnAgC7vu9ky30XrQVKHMyqZV9evfHuce5t0gEjKEHacVsmzgwc8Gj2nc08uJCKC5ht-JNlbrjWdB/s1600/vbs-2016-header.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="52" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimj5Q6qXLyVVDuyP3ry4ZIz25OERlYuZLssmw8ldIkXavK9tnkVYtLb0i8v1nVjHLOPnAgC7vu9ky30XrQVKHMyqZV9evfHuce5t0gEjKEHacVsmzgwc8Gj2nc08uJCKC5ht-JNlbrjWdB/s200/vbs-2016-header.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Nothing says
summer quite like “Vacation Bible School!”
All around town signs can be seen in church yards inviting youngsters to
attend. For as far back as I can
remember, VBS has been a favorite pastime of children, held at varying times
throughout summer break. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">According to
Wickipedia</span>, <span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">the origins of Vacation Bible School can be traced back to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hopedale,_Illinois" title="Hopedale, Illinois"><span style="background: white; color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Hopedale,
Illinois</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">in 1894</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sunday_school" title="Sunday school"><span style="background: white; color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Sunday school</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">teacher D. T. Miles, who
also was a<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_school_(government_funded)" title="Public school (government funded)"><span style="background: white; color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">public
school</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teacher" title="Teacher"><span style="background: white; color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">teacher</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">, felt
she was limited by time constraints in teaching the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bible" title="Bible"><span style="background: white; color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Bible</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">to
children. So, she started a daily Bible school to teach children during the
summer.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Back when I was a kid, we
didn’t have all the resources that are available these days. No social media with which to advertise
flashing spaceships or roller coasters, and we didn’t have video clips,
overhead projectors, or pre-recorded music with coordinated dance moves. No bright, colorful posters to hang up in the
windows of local merchants.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">We had cardboard and
crayons, and if we were lucky, a few magic markers for our homemade
posters. The Saturday before Bible
School was scheduled to begin, we would line up a few cars and pickup trucks,
and have a little mini-parade through the streets of Statham. Kids of all ages would be hanging from the
windows and from the beds of the trucks, clapping and shouting “Vacation Bible
School!! Vacation Bible School!!” I
think I remember a station wagon driven by Wayne Holliday, decorated with
streamers and balloons, as the Grand Marshall of our parade on several
occasions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">In the years before our
church had a fellowship hall, all of our fellowshippin’ was done in the
basement, and out on the grounds. There
was also an old house practically in the front yard of the church that we used
for Sunday School classes, and of course, VBS.
We’d have an area for crafts, study time, snack time, and recreation
time. My sweet grandma was always on
hand to serve butter cookies and a cup of Kool-Aid. Miss Frances would play the piano for
assembly, and there would be a special chord she’d play that indicated when we
should stand up, and another one for when we should sit down. Craft time was my favorite (well, maybe
second favorite, if we had cherry Kool-Aid at snack time.) Oh, the magical things we created from
popsicle sticks and Elmer’s glue! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’m sure the local
churches planned it this way, but we were always excited when we were able to
attend VBS at several different places.
Some had daytime sessions, while others held theirs in the evening. Sometimes for two weeks, but mostly just one
week. So much fun! Shhhh…
don’t tell my church, but Pleasant Hill always had the best crafts!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">After I became an adult, I
no longer got to make the crafts and eat the cookies, but took on the role of
teacher. I did this for years, until one
fateful summer when I was assigned a group of fifth grade boys. That was my last year of teaching. Jesus loved those little boys a WHOLE lot
more than I did. I’ll just leave it at
that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Check out the many
programs available near you, and get your kiddos signed up to attend! (And pray for the teachers!!) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">VBS THIS WEEK AT STATHAM BAPTIST CHURCH, M-F 6:30 TO 8:30!!!</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-57129270644452388072016-06-07T02:05:00.001-04:002016-06-07T02:05:37.464-04:00As The Tassel Turns(5/19/2016) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGqXAot9uLmLJEkmSGvy9GJkwGCrgNcIGP680Yu59XQft-pmP5E5FjH7k6WFZCaLYexjiq39wI2alHBLOHRvpQ9sX6QXmCFw1dwzheza_iKzxdGHhRHeL6CwSsYwmUyr-E-eC_DNN74ev/s1600/graduation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGqXAot9uLmLJEkmSGvy9GJkwGCrgNcIGP680Yu59XQft-pmP5E5FjH7k6WFZCaLYexjiq39wI2alHBLOHRvpQ9sX6QXmCFw1dwzheza_iKzxdGHhRHeL6CwSsYwmUyr-E-eC_DNN74ev/s200/graduation.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Congratulations to the class of 2016!! I said my prayers all week long that the
weather would hold out so that both schools could have their ceremonies outside
as planned, and was very thankful that there was no rain. For WBHS graduates, what fun it will be to
tell your kids you graduated by the light of hundreds of cell phones? That was pretty cool! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Forty years ago, the Class of 1976 had to change locations
from the football field to the cafeteria.
I remember that being such a disappointment. We were only allowed two admission tickets
per student. No grandparents, aunts,
uncles, cousins, boyfriends or girlfriends were allowed to attend. Not only that, it was the year of the
bicentennial celebration, and, while I should have been a proud, patriotic
student, I remember pouting a little bit that we had to wear white gowns, and
our tassels were red, white, and blue. I
had always loved the red and black color scheme of WBHS, and had long admired
the red and black tassels hanging from rear-view mirrors of the cars of my older
friends, and couldn’t wait to have my own car to display my red and black
tassel. But, it was not to be. I
still have that red, white, and blue tassel, tucked away for safekeeping,
but I never did hang it from the
rear-view mirror of my car. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, class of 2016, what’s next? Some of you are headed to college. What a challenge that will be! Others may enter the work force right away. Perhaps a military career is ahead of you,
and I thank you in advance for your service!
Eighteen still seems an awful young age to decide what you want to do
with the rest of your life, so don’t sweat it if you haven’t yet decided. Sometimes going to college right after high
school is the right thing to do, while for others, it makes more sense to take
a break, and go at a later time. You may
feel pressured to pursue a career of your parents’ choosing, or feel the need
to follow in the family footsteps of chosen careers. I’d never be the one to tell you to go
against your parents’ wishes, especially if they are paying for your education,
but keep an open mind. Perhaps when you
do discover your life’s ambitions, they will be supportive, and it will be a
win-win for everyone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Whatever you do, make it count. Be a productive member of society, whether
it’s working in a high-paying, prestigious career that requires you to wear a
suit, a laborer on the construction site, the sanitation department, or someone
who cleans bedpans at the convalescent home.
All these jobs are important. Don’t believe me? If a high-falutin’ Wall Street office closes
tomorrow, most of us will never feel the effects. Let the sanitation department close for two
weeks, and we will all feel it. Every
job is important. Do your best. Be careful not to look down on others who
choose a less glamorous career than yours.
Likewise, don’t be intimidated by those who wear fancy clothes and work
in a corner office when your job is shoveling poop at the horse farm. Just do something. In today’s world it is far too easy to live
off the system. In many cases, there is
more incentive to stay in the system than to break out and be productive. <o:p></o:p></div>
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No matter where you live, no matter if you buy your clothes
from high-end fashion boutiques or thrift stores, you are important. If your daddy drives a Mercedes, or if your
daddy drives a beat-up truck with slick tires – that doesn’t have to direct
your path in life. Of course, some will
have more advantages and opportunities than others. If you’re dad’s bank account affords you an
easy road to education, and friends in high places help you get a fancy job –
then that’s fabulous. Don’t waste the
opportunity. But be very careful not to
take it for granted. If your dad’s bank
account will hardy pay the bills at home, and you have fewer opportunities,
then that’s okay too. Sometimes the harder we have to work for things, the more
we appreciate them. If your home life is
unstable and you don’t know where your next meal is coming from, then determine
that you are going to be a force of change in your family, and you will make a
difference. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Certainly, life is easier for some than for others. But let me be clear on this: No one person, regardless of ethnicity, economic
status, or GPA is less valuable than another. All lives matter. Class of 2016, YOU MATTER. I love this saying: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The tassels have been turned. Now: Go.
Change the world!!<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-63620029714024018902016-05-21T09:34:00.000-04:002016-05-21T09:34:56.382-04:00The Only Thing That Stays The Same Is That Nothing Ever Stays The Same<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5K3YT2yfWvpWA7BGhLOnWU2CkjApUscO3ekCy4bTnpo45WW7kVn48Ht0Op_LsE6q5b-V_MsFrzkW1zsgFbqMFvk9Q5xEAo6JWXJnBb_ZG6C9d9Dl2tUTG5P7MzNBtk-ZnFBSGyuL-wdX/s1600/changes.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5K3YT2yfWvpWA7BGhLOnWU2CkjApUscO3ekCy4bTnpo45WW7kVn48Ht0Op_LsE6q5b-V_MsFrzkW1zsgFbqMFvk9Q5xEAo6JWXJnBb_ZG6C9d9Dl2tUTG5P7MzNBtk-ZnFBSGyuL-wdX/s200/changes.png" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">There’s a saying that
goes like this: “The only thing that stays the same is that nothing
ever stays the same.” I’m pretty much the poster child for
this saying, as my life reflects more changes over the years than I like to acknowledge. Some
changes are good, some changes are not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Relationships
change. Jobs change. Home addresses
change. Friendships change. Our bodies
change. Finances change. The state of our health
changes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The only thing that
doesn’t change is God’s love for us. But the rest is up for grabs,
and our lives can change at the drop of a hat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">If you know my family,
you know what an awesome bunch of folks I’m blessed to have in my life. We’ve
always been very close, and in prior years, spent most weekends together at my
grandma’s house. When I was a kid, I didn’t know the difference
between aunts and uncles “by marriage” and those born into the
family. My Uncle Gene was as much related to me as my Aunt
Joyce. I remember being so confused when I first learned that we
were not all related in the way that I thought. But, no
matter. I still stick to the same feeling – my relatives “by
marriage” are just as loved as those whose DNA I share. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As the years went by,
and life became more busy and complicated, we didn’t spend as much time
together. It seemed with each new generation, we drifted a little
further apart, and our time spent together slowly dwindled to holidays,
weddings, graduations, or funerals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">One exception to this
has been my relationship with my cousin Jim's wife, Mary Kay. She
married into the family, and quickly became the life of the
party. She’s a hilarious gal with a Milwaukee accent, and as much
fun as a barrel of monkeys. Jim passed away ten years ago, and since
his passing, Mary Kay and I have become closer than ever. She blames
me for her passion for paper crafting and card making. I hosted a
Stampin’ Up show years ago, and she and her sister came for moral
support. They were not the least bit interested in anything crafty,
but came to my show anyway. Stars were born, and they both became
addicted to crafting! Since that time, she has amassed the most
amazing stash of supplies, tools, and equipment, and Jim helped her create the
most fabulous craft room ever. We have spent so many hours together
creating cards, sharing secrets, and making plans for our respective
futures. There have been numerous no-sleep sleepovers, and I’ve
returned to work many a Monday morning running on a serious sleep deficit, but
with a heart filled with love and creative satisfaction for all the things we
accomplished in the craft room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But now that is
changing. She is moving to Phoenix. Her siblings are
scattered across the country now, and there is a sister in Phoenix with health
issues, so MK will be moving to be near her. It is the absolutely
the right thing to do, and I support her 100%, but my heart is broken, and I
can’t stand the thoughts of her no longer being a 45-minute drive
away. She “gets” me on so many levels. I love her as much
as my other precious cousins. She is my family, and my extra special
friend. I’ve spent the past three weekends helping her purge and
pack. It was bittersweet, going through and packing up all the craft
supplies. So many memories. The house is empty now, and our voices
bounce off the bare walls in a sad echo. While I’m so excited for
the new chapter of her life, I am selfish, and don’t want her to
go. But, you can bet that I’ll be watching the airlines for those
special extra-cheap flights to Phoenix, and can’t wait to see her NEW craft
room, and witness her new start in life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Yes, things are
constantly changing, and I am reminded to never take for granted that my
friends and family will always be close to me, and to make every minute
count. DJ, it’s been far too long since we’ve had coffee on
the deck. Brew up a fresh pot. I’m coming over!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-75243988179898068562016-04-30T13:02:00.001-04:002016-04-30T13:02:24.049-04:00The Crazy Cat Lady<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here's an article from The Barrow Journal that was published a few weeks ago. Kitten season is upon us!!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfu26Ix6jclLNJADZyDNF_fD03SQCd6xbvg0XFOQfEqXvLJBIoXrYkhDtmavSR4KvcmNC5mMoYpMHA4nZD9XNjU36vz9r3r1XTw615wq7GmqUsqBHnq3XNlclyhcbKlK5NNM6xKg5xrb_r/s1600/paws2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfu26Ix6jclLNJADZyDNF_fD03SQCd6xbvg0XFOQfEqXvLJBIoXrYkhDtmavSR4KvcmNC5mMoYpMHA4nZD9XNjU36vz9r3r1XTw615wq7GmqUsqBHnq3XNlclyhcbKlK5NNM6xKg5xrb_r/s200/paws2.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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The Crazy Cat Lady</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDZe-zIuOWjZN-AfyhY8RTKWRUbDP6gxtEWAJ4VJ12fl3p4JU-4qwygLWl-ToilUGHJLv0VhynN-M450OsKgj-jU1gxFXNYml0PXguWkkwtuHD2MyENkSdOznK1pnxYvTflYU9mIzRblF/s1600/cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDZe-zIuOWjZN-AfyhY8RTKWRUbDP6gxtEWAJ4VJ12fl3p4JU-4qwygLWl-ToilUGHJLv0VhynN-M450OsKgj-jU1gxFXNYml0PXguWkkwtuHD2MyENkSdOznK1pnxYvTflYU9mIzRblF/s200/cat.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Life without kitties?
I don’t think so! For as long as
I can remember, the pitter patter of
sweet little paws, sandpaper kisses, and purring lullabies have been part of my
life. Besides grandbabies, there’s
nothing sweeter than a little fur ball curled up in my lap, snoozing after a
hard afternoon of frolicking about the house.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Currently there are three kitties who share my home. Why do I have three kitties? Because I can’t afford four (or a hundred!) I
could so totally be The Crazy Cat Lady.
I want them all. I had to stop
following the Humane Society pages on Facebook, because I worried about the kitties
finding homes, and I’m sure my friends grew tired of me always posting pictures
of kitties who needed homes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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While there are many factors that determine the active
kitten season, it seems that spring and summer are the busiest intake times for
the shelters. And guess what… spring is
right around the corner. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There are beautiful breeds from which to choose for those
who are looking to buy a fancy cat. Of
all the cats I’ve had, there were two that I actually paid money for. Yes, they were gorgeous specimens of fine
breeding, and I loved them dearly. But,
in reality, they were no more special than any other cat I’ve had – including
the ones with torn and tattered ears, one with a paralyzed tail, and several
who surely qualified for the Kitty Psyche Ward.
Bottom line, if it purrs, I love it.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve recently been amazed and delighted to find that there
are folks in the area who are totally dedicated to the feral cat population,
and are personally committed to these homeless kitties. There was a story on one of the cat pages on
Facebook about a woman who came into town for work, and stayed at a local hotel
for a few days. She discovered a sweet
kitty living in the parking lot, and started feeding her. The kitty would come out late in the evening,
and after a few days, allowed her new friend to pet her. She had an obvious
injury to one of her feet, and the lady wanted to save her. She reached out to
this Facebook page, and several people got involved right away. Someone volunteered to adopt her, if she
could be caught. Another person agreed
to come to the site and capture her. This was an amazing story to follow. The lady from out of town was so concerned
about the kitty, that she stayed in Athens for an extra two nights, just to
ensure that someone was able to rescue the kitty. It took a village to save this little
furbaby, and after getting the medical care she needed, she is flourishing in
her new home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Kelly Bettinger is the awesome gal who captured the
kitty. She works with an organization
called Campus Cats over at UGA. I know
she is awesome because she rescued that particular kitty in a matter of
minutes, late one night, on her own time.
Kelly also drove to Statham one Sunday afternoon to help capture Dixie,
one of my best friend’s kitties, who was scheduled for spay surgery the
following morning. Dixie is one of four
kitties who “took up” at DJ’s house a while back. Dixie got herself in the family way, as cats
are prone to do, and gave birth to four beautiful kittens. As responsible pet owners, DJ and David made
sure to get all the kitties fixed, but could not for the life of them capture Miss
Dixie. After seeing the story about the
parking-lot rescue, I hooked DJ up with Kelly, and she drove out and got Dixie
caged in no time flat, enabling her to be transported for surgery. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, I love kitties, and I’d like to adopt all of them. But these folks who get out in the field, give
of their personal time to really make a difference… these are my heroes. Perhaps someday I’ll have the time and resources
to help, but until then, I’ll do my best to take extra good care of Cooper,
Scout, and Boo Radley, my sweet rescue kitties.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With kitten season just around the corner, please consider
several ways in which you can help the overpopulation problem: Adopt a kitty of your own for a delightful
addition to your family! Yes, there is
an adoption fee, but your kitty will be totally vetted, fixed, and
microchipped. It’s a great deal! You can also help control the feral
population as well, by notifying a company called Altered Feral State, who will
trap, fix, and return feral cats. For
more information about this organization, you can call the Pet Smart store in
Winder. I’m not sure how far out of
Athens the Campus Cats folks are able to provide service, but please contact
them for information, or volunteer to help.
They are making a huge difference in the Athens area, and would so appreciate
your help. There are many adoption
agencies who work with pet stores in this area, as well as Humane Society
offices located in most counties. These folks
are always in need of supplies, donations, and volunteers. Add a bag of kitty litter, cat food, paper
and cloth towels, or bleach to your shopping cart for donating. Sponsor a surgery for a homeless kitty. Call one of the agencies and schedule a play
date for you and your kids to go into the shelters and play with the cats and
kittens. They need to learn
socialization with people to help them be better candidates for adoption. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d love to be The Crazy Cat Lady and have a house/yard full
of kitties. I’d love to save them
all. But I can’t. However, I recently saw a poster that said
“How can you save 100 cats? Spay or
neuter just one.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s room for lots more heroes out there, and there’s a
superhero cape with YOUR name on it! If
you’re more of a dog than cat person, the same needs exist for our canine
friends as well. Please consider how you
can make a difference in the lives of our furry friends.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-77458075088769138142016-04-05T12:21:00.000-04:002016-04-05T12:46:54.637-04:00It Takes A Village<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">With all that's been going on in our family recently, I've not updated here in quite some time. Here is an article from the Barrow Journal that was published in late February/early March. </span></div>
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It Takes A Village<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">When I was a kid growing
up, I remember sitting out in the yard in folding lawn chairs, feet dangling
from my short legs, with a newspaper spread open in my lap. A
handful of peas or butter beans piled high would keep me busy for an hour or
so. I loved the smell of the raw vegetables, - but not the sore
thumbnails I’d have the next day! I tried my best to emulate
the way my grandmother would pop open the peas or butter beans, swipe her thumb
through the hull, and hold the prize in the palm of her left
hand. She would shell a handful before tossing the bounty into a
little white basin. My small hands could only hold a few of the
prized peas before they would spill out onto the
newspaper. Green beans were fun, too. She’d pop off
one end of the bean, pull the string down to the bottom, flip the bean over and
snap off the other end, faster than Matt Dillon could draw a six
shooter. While still holding the strings in her right hand, she’d
then snap the bean into several pieces, before depositing them into a different
basin. I was amazed at how quickly she worked, and how she could
hold so much in her hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">An added bonus to the
harvesting process was sharing the chores with friends. We’d go over
to Jackie and Roger Steed’s house, sit in their yard, and shell peas or shuck
corn. Or they would come to our house and help us shell a mess of
butter beans. The task was accomplished faster, and sharing in
conversation made the time pass even more quickly. I remember aunts
and cousins sitting out in my grandmother’s yard peeling delicious, juicy
peaches for canning. They didn’t allow the kids to be around for
that project, as there were sharp knives involved (and sticky fingers of
children who would abscond with the bounty!) We didn’t argue too
much about being banned from the peach project, as we didn’t like the
inevitable honeybee infestation that went along with peach
canning. But I remember how they enjoyed visiting
together. “It takes a village” is not such a bad statement, when
viewed in this context. Sometimes having the help of a “village” is
the only way that we can get through the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">So, what is this
phenomenon of support? We go about our daily lives, hopefully
remembering to stop and be thankful for another day in which to
live. We face our challenges of meeting deadlines, managing personal
finances, and striving to reach goals. Whether employed or retired,
for the most part, we are allowed to make choices to determine how we spend our
free time. Sometimes there just do not seem to be enough hours
in the day, and we do well just to get things done, with hardly any free time
at all. There is very little yard-sitting with neighbors these
days, and life moves at a much faster pace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">For the generation above
mine, the telephone revolutionized communication. They no longer had
to go down to the corner store, or the town square to hear all the latest local
news – or discuss the news they heard on the radio or newfangled television
sets. They could just pick up the phone, and the operator
would ring the neighbor. Before long, we were able to dial our own
phones and speak with people all over the world. My generation saw the
evolution of an untethered phone without wires, and today's generation has seen
further evolution to mini-phones/computers that fit in our pockets!! Oh, the
wonders of technology!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Communication is at an
all-time high these days, what with social media, electronic mail, Skype,
etc. Facebook is probably the “telephone” of this generation, in
that it has totally changed the way we communicate. With one click
of a button, we can notify an unlimited number of people the news about what we
ate for dinner (and can post a picture of it, too!), share pictures
of our grandkids, post about our political views, or anything else we
choose. We can keep up with the latest news about our favorite
sports team, be reminded of birthdays, and send quick greetings without going
to the store for a card, or paying for postage stamps. (And then remembering
to put it in the mail.) The World Wide Web gives us access to
up-to-the-minute news, right at our fingertips, and the Information Highway has
all but ended our need for encyclopedias and dictionaries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Social media also allows
us to learn of unfortunate events, and troubled times that our friends are
facing. I see almost as many posts asking for prayers as I do any
other types of posts. This is a fabulous tool, and a very efficient
way to get folks praying without having to utilize a phone tree or prayer chain
that requires someone to stop what they are doing, look up phone numbers, and
call the people on the list. Sometimes a rapid response is needed!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">My family experienced
this first-hand a few days ago. We were in the ER with my dad, and
within moments of a few texts and phone calls, our friends and family were
quick to rally with prayers of support. A couple of posts on
Facebook by my brother and I have resulted in hundreds of people praying for
our dad. There’s our village!!! Our support group!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">In just a few hours,
I’ll be sitting in an uncomfortable chair, surrounded by the whir of machines,
and the sounds of busy nurses going about their tasks. My family,
and many friends, have sat, slumped, and tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to sleep
in those uncomfortable chairs over the past few days. We are not
unfamiliar with this. As with most of you, we’ve sat at the bedsides
of our family members, prayed lots of prayers, and waited (and
WAITED) for the doctors to make rounds. We’ve taken the calls from friends
offering prayers and appreciate every one of them! We have such a
great support system from friends in the community and church
family. We totally feel the love, and we are blessed by each person
who calls, visits, texts, or posts on social media. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The love and support of
friends is an extra measure of healing potion, and plays a huge part in the
healing process. No doubt, we’ve all been on the receiving end of
such power. Sometimes, when I see a prayer request, I am tempted to
just keep scrolling and pray for the person later. But then I
forget. There’s a reason that I’m seeing that post at that
particular moment of the day, so it is easier to say a prayer for the situation
right at the moment. For all the people who have sent words of
encouragement our way, we know there are many others who have prayed and sent
happy, healing thoughts, but did so quietly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Having been the
recipient of these blessings over the past few days, and experiencing the
outpouring of love, I will never again minimize the power that my piddly little
prayers contain. If you are a praying person, always remember that
even a quick “bless this person” prayer is precious, and has the power to make
a real difference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">And about my dad – he’s
a trooper, and has rocked the first part of the battle like a
boss. We believe our prayers, and the prayers of our friends, have
made all the difference in the world. The moral of this
story: You are important. You are a vital part of the
lives of those around you. Consider it an honor to pray for them,
think kind thoughts, offer your support, bake some brownies, pick up the
newspaper from the driveway, or many other small acts of kindness you can
show. It matters. So much. And you will be
blessed to have been a part of the village. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">Edited to add: Going on six weeks since this article was written, I'm happy to report that Dad is continuing to improve, and is receiving intensive physical and occupational therapy. We are hopeful that he will return home to us soon, and can continue the long road to recovery in the comfort of home. We have awesome neighbors and friends who are traveling this journey with us, and we appreciate our "village" so very much. Special thanks to Chris Humble and Perry Barton, for getting Dad's garden up and going this year. He won't be able to work in it this time around, but these wonderful men know how much my dad loves his garden, and they know being able to enjoy watch it grow and enjoy its bounty will be very helpful in the healing process for him. We love our community so much, and are so grateful for all who have shown kindness to us!!!!!</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-57121866750875523482016-02-12T15:25:00.002-05:002016-02-12T15:30:50.630-05:00Internet Dating For Seniors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtq4C4GpSOUj8NLxrz7iw9SR4Ay7RKINy4224v5HVhQE2fZSH0z6wxUAJtfYQQEBwZzDZUZuGDpMYpWWyeyR2J3EJ-gytRv7w2AcHqKqgVgeg4qNpZRuJUBzjg001S94FziN4rKAMCHdl/s1600/cupid_old_man_by_liananogueira-d3ksi0p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtq4C4GpSOUj8NLxrz7iw9SR4Ay7RKINy4224v5HVhQE2fZSH0z6wxUAJtfYQQEBwZzDZUZuGDpMYpWWyeyR2J3EJ-gytRv7w2AcHqKqgVgeg4qNpZRuJUBzjg001S94FziN4rKAMCHdl/s320/cupid_old_man_by_liananogueira-d3ksi0p.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Happy Valentine's Day Weekend!! Here's this week's article in The Barrow Journal, just in time for the Season Of Love!!<br />
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Here he comes again.
That chubby little angel with wings, and a bow and arrow. The Valentine Season is upon us. Red hearts and all that crap everywhere. It is SAD day for sure. Singles Awareness Day. Yeah, we know we’re single. But thanks a lot, Mr. Cupid, for reminding us
in such flamboyant ways. At this stage
in my life the only good thing about SAD is the 50% off chocolate available on
the 15<sup>th</sup>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Don’t get me wrong.
I’m perfectly fine with my singleness.
So fine, in fact, that I will threaten to shoot that chubby little
rascal if he starts flying in my direction. But, let’s face it. A date every now and then would be nice. And I do have some single friends who really
would like to find a companion for the long haul. Even though, at our age, the haul isn’t
nearly as long as it once was.<o:p></o:p><br />
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For many of us, by the time we’re ready for Social Security,
finding a date becomes a little more challenging. Nowadays, the best place to meet someone in
our age group seems to be the waiting room in the orthopedic office, the hip-replacement
rehab facility, or the funeral home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there’s internet dating. I my ownself tried this about 15 years ago. I answered all the questions, took the
personality-match tests, etc. I even
submitted a photograph. After a
reasonable waiting period, I was delighted when the site matched me up with
someone nearby. After chatting through
the site, e-mailing, and talking on the phone for a few weeks, we decided to
meet. He was a nice enough fella, but it
was very obvious that he was put off by my appearance – as though I looked
completely different than he expected. I
was puzzled by this. The photo I had
posted was recent, it was not photoshopped, and I felt it was fairly
accurate. (In other words, I hated it,
and figured nobody would ever click on my profile.) And because we had corresponded for so long,
and supposedly knew quite a bit about each other, he knew that I was Not A
Skinny Girl. So I was totally surprised
by his reaction. I mean, he didn’t throw
up or anything… but it was obvious there were no *sparks* when we met in
person. So, the date ended early, and I
was very happy to get back home to my kitties, who love me
unconditionally! (And though it may be
unkind for me to say so, he wasn’t ALL THAT his ownself!<o:p></o:p></div>
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That set me to thinking.
You can *be* anything you want to be on the internet. Dating site profiles look pretty much the
same. Everyone loves romantic walks on
the beach, the mountains, spending time with family and friends. Even my own profile reflected that. In my
humble opinion, far too much time is spent on frivolous, superficial
information that may or may not even be true.
The whole idea is to market ourselves as a person someone would want to
date, and maybe even marry. Embellishing the truth appears to be a fairly
common practice in the marketing process.
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For those of us who have been around the block a time or
two, I submit that we cut the crap, and get right to the point. There is no time to separate the wheat from
the chaff here. The clock is ticking,
and the undertaker has a box with our name on it. Just be honest up front, and it will make the
choosing a lot better. The truth will
come out sooner or later anyhow, so just lay it all out there. You never know… there may be someone who is
perfectly fine with our lack of awesomeness.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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If I were creating a dating profile for senior dating, it
would look something like this: Iloveromanticwalksonthebeachandsunsetsoverthemountainsandromanticdinnersfortwo.
(Yeah. Let’s just go ahead and get that
out of the way.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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Things you will need to know: I love Jesus. I will love your kids and grandkids, but I
will always love mine more. I don’t
need your money to pay my bills, but you need enough money to pay yours. My culinary skills are questionable, at
best. Love me, love my cats. I am not a Skinny Girl, but I can bend over
and tie my shoes. I have stretch marks
on my tummy. Her name is Whitney. My requirements: No lying.
Ever. Either you have a job now,
or you have a retirement check from a job you once had. No freeloaders. Like me enough to let me be me. The good, the bad, the ugly. Hissy fits and
all. If you can fix things, build
things, and let me borrow your power tools, that’s a plus. If you have all your original body parts, and
they work reasonably well, that’d be super. Not a deal breaker, but extra bonus points,
for sure!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I think that’s enough to get the process started. So, my single friends, (especially my senior
friends for whom the clock is ticking,) if you decide to go the way of internet
dating, just skip all the superficial crap and get right to the important
stuff. If you need further guidance
creating your profile, feel free to check out the archives on my blog in the
February 2013 folder titled “Internet Dating” for a more comprehensive guide to
marketing yourself out there in cyberspace.
Yes, honesty is always the best policy.
But, with all that honesty in my profile, I suppose it’s a good thing I
like being single!!! <o:p></o:p></div>
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CathyB</div>
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So, in case you're interested in the more comprehensive version of dating tips, I will paste the blog post from 2013 here, and you won't have to search for it. <br />
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<a href="http://scrappycathy.blogspot.com/2013/04/internet-dating.html" target="_blank">Internet Dating</a> (April 23, 2013)<br />
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If you watch television very much, you’ve likely seen the advertisements for online dating services. E-Harmony, Match.Com, Zoosk, OurTime, Chemistry.Com, PlentyOfFish.com, to name a few. It is an industry unto itself, with millions of members, generating millions of dollars. They’ve got the marketing techniques down pat, too. Just watching the commercials could make a lonely person head straight for their computer and sign up to join. The couples look so happy, and so perfectly suited for each other. </div>
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Yeah, right.</div>
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Perhaps I shouldn’t be so cynical. I’m sure there are success stories. In fact, I know there are, as one of my favorite people did indeed meet her Prince Charming through E-Harmony, and best I can tell, he really is a prince. In reality, though, the true Prince Charming-falls-in-love-with-the-Princess, Happily-Ever-After stories are probably more rare than common. And I’ll bet there was a lot of toad-kissing going on before they found each other. And we all know how I feel about kissing toads. </div>
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I will admit that in 19 years of being single, I did, on occasion, peruse the sites. I even did the E-Harmony thing one time. There was a local fella with whom I corresponded for a bit. Then we met, and he was so obviously put off with my appearance that he could hardly wait for the date to end. Which puzzled me – the photograph I posted was recent, and was not photo-shopped to make me beautiful. We had disclosed our body types, so he was well aware that I was Not A Skinny Girl. He knew my age. He knew more about me than Whitney’s dad knew about me on our first (blind) date. So it really ticked me off that he was expecting something different. But, then, he was kinda weird his ownself. He was a civilian, but had a job with the military, yet he was quite evasive regarding the particulars of his job description. There was all this top-secret stuff that he supposedly was doing – in the vein of “if I tell you, I’ll hafta kill you” kind of way… so I wasn’t disappointed when the date ended, either. And – might I add that HE looked a lot older than HIS profile picture, and not nearly as buff. So I was pretty dang offended that *he* didn’t like *me*. So, I’m personally not much on the internet dating thing. If it works for you, then more power to you – and I celebrate your relationship. I think I’ll just stick with my family, my friends, and my cat. That’s about all the drama I can take these days. </div>
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Recently, though, I did have the occasion to check out a particular dating site. I was a single girl for many years, and I still have lots of single girlfriends. Lots of single girlfriends who are currently into the internet dating scene, and who visit these sites often. Back in December, someone brought to my attention something they thought I might find amusing on one such site, so I took a look. The only thing I found amusing was that nothing much in the world of internet dating had changed. Most of the bios are still as bogey hilarious and fake as they ever were. If you’ve never visited one of these sites, allow me to enlighten you as to how it all works. The main idea is to put your best self forward, and present yourself in such a manner that all members of the opposite gender will find you irresistible and therefore, want to date you, (or marry you, if finding a spouse is your goal.) Here’s a sample of some of the most common things you’ll find. Mr. or Ms. Prospective Mate will post this about himself or herself:</div>
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Username: PrinceCharming1954</div>
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My likes:</div>
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~Spending quality time with that special someone</div>
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~Romantic walks on the beach</div>
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~Watching the sun set over the mountains</div>
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~Traveling with my mate</div>
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~Romantic dinners for two</div>
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~Sunday afternoon drives</div>
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~Romantic surprises</div>
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~Snuggling in front of the fireplace on a cold winter evening</div>
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What I’m Looking For In A Mate: </div>
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~Adventuresome</div>
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~Physically fit</div>
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~Attractive</div>
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~No baggage</div>
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~Loves animals and children</div>
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~Free spirit</div>
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~Honest</div>
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~Financially independent</div>
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About Me: </div>
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~Athletic</div>
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~Romantic</div>
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~Attractive</div>
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~Financially secure</div>
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~Love to work out</div>
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~Love to spoil my mate</div>
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~Devoted to family</div>
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~Hard worker</div>
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~Excellent cook</div>
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~Love animals and children</div>
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~Passionate</div>
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Okay. Sign me up. Sounds perfect, huh? Hahaha.... I totally get that you have to market yourself. But, seriously. Most everyone I know would put some of those items on their list. (Whether or not it's true seems to have no bearing, at this point in the game.) </div>
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If I were in the market for a beau, (which I am not), and wanted to market myself on the internet, (which I do not), I think my bio would go a little something like this:</div>
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My User Name: JustSayNoToToads (Because it is a terrible idea to use your real name on a dating site)</div>
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My Likes: </div>
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~Jesus</div>
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~My family</div>
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~Spending time with my friends – Girls only, or couples. You must love my friends and fit into our circle, or you’re out. Just as with my family, we’re a package deal.</div>
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~Watching my favorite TV shows without someone talking or bothering me</div>
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~My alone time, balanced with “spending quality time with that special someone”</div>
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~Shopping - Preferably alone</div>
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~Romantic walks on the beach</div>
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~Good food cooked on the grill</div>
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~Cats</div>
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~Watching the sun set over the mountains</div>
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~Laughter</div>
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~Going to church, but occasionally playing hooky</div>
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~Dancing (Chubby white girl can’t dance, but I like to do it anyway)</div>
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~Facebook</div>
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~Romantic dinners for two, and romantic surprises</div>
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~Doing crafty things</div>
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~Flower gardening (usually without much success)</div>
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~Blizzards (Dairy Queen - Not snow)</div>
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~Foot rubs and back rubs (Given to me – not by me – though I will occasionally return the favor)</div>
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~Swimming and floating about in the pool</div>
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~Reading</div>
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~Chick flicks</div>
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~Sometimes being worthless, lazy, and self-indulgent</div>
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My point: Most people DO like those romantic things, (see, I have them on my list too!) so listing those things really tells you nothing about the person. Let’s hear about the real stuff. What you’re REALLY like. Translated: Let's cut the crap, and talk about what makes us tick. This is Dating For Seniors. We're getting older by the minute, and don't have time to glean the chaff from the wheat here. Let's not bother investing time getting to know each other, if we can already determine ahead of time that there's things about each other that we're not gonna like - deal breakers, if you will - no matter how strong the physical attraction may be. With that in mind, here’s some more info about me that you would want to know, before adding me to your Favorites list:</div>
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Random Things About Me: </div>
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~I will love your family and your grandkids, but I will always love mine more. </div>
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~I’m soon to be 55 years old. I have earned every wrinkle and laugh line on my face, and will not be visiting the Botox Doc.</div>
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~I have gray “highlights” in my hair. Bling, if you will.</div>
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~My body type is always a work in progress. For the most part, I have to claim “chubby” or “pleasantly plump”, or as the dating sites like to say “a few extra pounds”. I’ve long ago faced the reality that I’ll never have buns of steel or six-pack abs, but I can touch my toes as good as (or better than) most girls my age and size, and I can tie my own shoes. Well – unless my back is bothering me, which happens from time to time.</div>
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~I love sleeping in on Saturdays. But when I get up in time, you’ll find me on the deck at DJ’s having coffee. This is sacred girlfriend time. Do Not Disturb. </div>
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~I have stretch marks on my tummy. Her name is Whitney. (Okay, maybe one or two are named Oreo Blizzard)</div>
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~I am a grammar/punctuation/spelling Nazi. I’m not always perfect, and I make typos and mistakes, but I DIE when someone else finds my errors before I do. But your mistakes will bother me even more. Besides, your errors are easier to spot than mine. At the very least, please Learn the difference between plural and possessive, and use those apostrophes appropriately!!! Unless, of course, you want to see my head explode. (And if you find errors in this post, please notify me immediately!!)</div>
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~My entertainment preferences are quite diverse. Downton Abby to Duck Dynasty. Bach to Zeppelin and Floyd. Mercy Me to Garth. Wizard of Oz to Braveheart. You must be willing to embrace the entire spectrum, and enthusiastically agree to listen to, or watch, whatever I’m in the mood for at the moment. And you must tolerate my singing in the car. Without laughing.</div>
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~I am very forgiving, and nonjudgmental. But hurt me or someone I love, though I forgive, I don’t forget. Do it again, and I will cut you. </div>
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~I am sometimes impatient. Maybe *often* would be a better choice of words.</div>
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~Sometimes I procrastinate, but I don’t want to talk about that right now.</div>
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~I enjoy cooking, but have had so many kitchen disasters, that I allow people to think that I can’t cook. That way, I only have to bring the paper products or chips to the parties and reunions.</div>
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~I hate math. Seriously hate it. Think: Head exploding.</div>
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~I love my power tools, and want to add to my small collection, so it would be a real plus if you have lots of tools, and are willing to teach me how to use them. I want to be a carpenter when I grow up. Only without the math.</div>
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~I am bossy. (But like Edith Ann used to say – “I am not bossy. My ideas are just better.")</div>
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~The “control-freak” gene is alive and well within my DNA. </div>
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~I like my towels and washcloths folded and stored a certain way in the linen closet. (OCD?)</div>
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~I like my steak cooked medium to medium-rare. David can show you how to cook it. Please</div>
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observe carefully and learn. Perfection is key when cooking a steak for me.</div>
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~I love discussing “politics and religion”. Especially if your ideas differ from mine.</div>
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~I am financially independent. Not wealthy. I get by. I just don’t need your money to pay my bills, but by the same token, I don’t have enough money to pay yours, so if you’re lookin’ for a sugar mama, you’re lookin’ in the wrong place. However, if you have plenty of money and would like to contribute to the paying of my bills, and would like to support me in my retirement, well, then, I’d be okay with that. That, of course, would also cost you a wedding ring and a trip to the courthouse. I ain’t lookin’ for no sugar daddy, neither. (note - bad grammar intentional)</div>
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~I am funny. If you don’t believe me, just fall down, or drop your milkshake or ham sandwich, and watch me laugh. People who laugh are funny. Right? I have a warped sense of humor and often laugh at inappropriate times. My daughter is the same way. We absolutely cannot sit together in church. We’ve almost been kicked out of a funeral home (on two different occasions), and we barely escaped banishment from her prepared childbirth class. Don’t even ask about the parent meeting before church youth camp one year.</div>
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~"Business Professional Attire" translates to me "My Nicest Pair Of Pajamas"</div>
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~The fact that the text doesn't align itself the way I want it to when viewing this blog post makes me seriously want to throttle the person who wrote the code... as I have spent a massive amount of time in aligning the text perfectly on the "compose post" page.</div>
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What I’m Looking For In A Mate:</div>
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~No lying. Period. Ever.</div>
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~Someone who will cook for me.</div>
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~Someone who can fix things and build things</div>
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~Someone who will listen to me gripe and complain when things don’t go my way, and agrees that I am </div>
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right, and everyone else is wrong. Including his ownself, whenever necessary.</div>
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~Someone to spoil me with romantic dinners and surprises. Including planning and paying for said dinners and surprises.</div>
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~Someone to take me to the beach for romantic walks. </div>
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~Someone who will help me take care of my yard and my house, except when I want to do it myself…. which is pretty much never.</div>
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~Someone who loves me enough to let me be me. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Someone who doesn’t run away, or think less of me, and will forgive me when I have a meltdown or pitch a hissy fit. (Which goes without saying, was all his fault in the first place…)</div>
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~Someone who understands that, except for a short time, I’ve been alone for most of my adult life, and I smother easily. I need my space. If you’re looking for me, and find the door is closed, unless you’re vomiting blood or the house is on fire, please go away.</div>
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~Someone who makes me laugh.</div>
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~Someone who wakes up every day thinking of ways to make me feel happy, secure, and loved.</div>
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~Someone who can program my cable box remote control.</div>
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~Someone who is thoughtful and brings me flowers, and makes me feel like I am the center of his universe.</div>
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~Someone who understands that It’s All About Me.</div>
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So. Any takers? I really am a catch. You’d be lucky to have me. Don’t doubt it for a minute. ;-)</div>
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HAHAHA… probably wouldn’t get many takers with a bio like that. Which is why so many of these relationships don’t work out. Because the bios of most folks aren’t real. There’s a cookie-cutter version of what we WISH we were like, and then there’s the reality of what we really are like. I realize that even my “real” list is tainted by my own perception of myself. I’m probably worse than the bad things I list, and probably not nearly as good as the good things I list. But – my list is for sure more real than what you’ll find on an internet dating site. </div>
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Internet Dating. There are some happy endings. But it’s not for everyone. And it’s certainly not for me. I think I’ll just sit on the couch, watch some uninterrupted TV, eat my Oreo Blizzard, and pet my sweet kitty. And live happily ever after. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-76018590960915966622016-01-29T16:03:00.000-05:002016-01-29T16:03:04.247-05:00Chili Nights<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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It's Friday afternoon, and I'm sitting in Jason's Deli waiting for Elaine. We get together once a month for dinner, and tonight's the night. I had some other things to do after work, so decided to stay in town, rather than driving home, and then back down here. So I'm doing a little catch-up work while I wait. It smells so good in here, and it is a true test of willpower not to go ahead and fix my plate. I'm sure that I could graze from now until she arrives in a couple of hours. Management probably wouldn't appreciate it, though, if I ate for two hours before dinner time, and kept on eating once she gets here. There's only one electrical outlet in the entire joint, and it's where the little kiosk thing is that allows you to cut through the line if you're only ordering salads and drinks. And it's right by the bar where the food is prepared. #torture. I asked the nice lady if I could go ahead and pay for my dinner and drink, and just wait about dinner. An odd request, for sure, but, I'm really thirsty, and wanted a drink while I wait. And since I never carry cash (right Richard Russell?) I needed to use my debit card. I guess I have an honest face, because the lady gave me a glass and told me I could go ahead and get my drink. It's the little things that make me happy!!! Did I mention that it smells really good in here? Lots of food-food-smells. Including a big vat of freshly made chili that I see (and smell) behind the bar. </div>
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Here's the latest article from the Barrow Journal. The story will be familiar to some of you, but for others, this may be your first exposure to my culinary adventures. The incident is a little less painful for me to remember, as I sit here surrounded by the aroma of freshly cooked food... and chili...</div>
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Chili Nights</div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Fewer things please my
palate than a steaming-hot bowl of chili on a cold night. Topped
with shredded </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">cheese, sour cream, and saltines on the side, with a giant glass
of Diet Coke. Almost heaven. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">It was a cold winter
weekend in the late 90s, when I remembered that it was my turn to feed the
kiddos at the Sunday night gathering at church. My mom offered to do
the cooking for me, but after politely thanking her and declining, I forged
ahead with my giant pot of chili. Tons of ground beef, spices, beans, onions
(and tears) later, I finally had a nice, giant pot of chili simmering on the
stove. Only problem, it was around 2:00 a.m. before it was
done. Too hot to put in the fridge, and too long to leave sitting
out. The crock-pot theory seemed reasonable, so I turned the stove
down to the lowest setting, and put my tired self to bed. The next
morning it smelled delicious!! I left the stove on while we went to
church, figuring I had backed myself into a culinary corner that would require
simmering it all afternoon in order to be hot and fresh for the 4:00
feast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Something happened while
I was at church. It is the dangdest thing, and I still have no idea
what happened. When we walked in from church around 12:30, the house
smelled horrible. Like a six-month-old litter box in a very damp
room. I removed the lid to find a heinous, frothy substance floating
on top. After stirring, I took a bite – which made me gag and immediately spit it
out. Must have been some bad tomatoes or something – but it was a giant,
simmering pot of toxic waste. By now it was 1:00, and I had three
hours to come up with something to feed the masses. Sadly, they had
to settle for corn dogs, which my own daughter despises, and wouldn’t
eat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I had to remove the hot
mess from the house, so I set the pot out in the back yard, thinking maybe the
neighborhood dogs would relieve me of the nastiness. Somewhere
around, oh, I’d say… March, I remembered the pot, and went outside to retrieve
it. To my surprise, the chili was still there. Not only
that, it had rained and was filled to the top with the rain water, and there
were dead creatures floating about in the water. I checked to make
sure I had left my fence gates open to allow the dogs to dine. Indeed,
they were open. Hmmm. I guess the dogs saw the dead bugs
floating inside and decided it wasn’t safe for canine consumption,
either. Then around, oh, I think it was April, I made a mental
note to myself that I must check the pot again, and bring it inside. But
we know how mental notes work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">One afternoon in…..
probably May…. I was sitting at my desk working, when suddenly I heard Whitney
come rushing into the house gagging and screaming, “Get it off… get it
OFFFF!!!” Horrified, I was afraid there was a snake, or spider,
or space aliens (oh, those screams!) attacking her. Once she got to
me, I realized that she had big globs of the radioactive chili on her
shirt. Holes had starting to form in the shirt, and it was
disintegrating before my eyes. Puffs of smoke were filling the
room. She was gagging and screaming. We were both
gagging. The smell was akin to what I imagine a forensic crime scene
might be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Seems she had been in
the yard on her bike, and had accidentally disturbed the pot, causing the
“chili” to slosh up onto her shirt. Of course, the shirt had to be
incinerated, and she took the longest shower of her life. We
carefully examined her delicate skin to be sure she hadn’t suffered any burns
or skin deterioration. Thankfully, she suffered no skin
trauma. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">It became very clear to
me that the neighborhood animals and Mother Nature were not going to dispose of
the mess for me, and I would have to take care of the disaster
myself. I donned my hazmat suit, protective eyewear, and gloves, and
set about the cleanup/decontamination project. The pot was carefully
placed into my wheelbarrow, and very, very slowly, was transported to the
ravine that ran at the back of my property. When the pot hit the
bottom, a large cloud of glowing, green vapor arose from the ravine, and before
my eyes, the vegetation started to wither and die. Nearby trees bent
over and touched the ground. Birds flying overhead suddenly fell
from the sky. Little critters were scrambling in all directions,
trying to flee their Hiroshima. Back in my yard, the grass where the
pot had stood was gone. My spring flowers had failed to
bloom. But at least the weapon of mass destruction had been
relocated to another area on the property. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Several years later, I
sold that house and moved back to Statham. My parents were helping
me dispose of dirt from old flower pots, dead plants, and we were throwing the
debris down into the denuded ravine. Suddenly, my mom turns to my
dad and says, “Look, hun, there’s a POT down in the gully! Go down
there and get it, and we’ll clean it up for
Cat!!” Umm. No, thanks, mom!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Indeed, nothing tastes
better on a cold winter evening than a nice bowl of hot chili.
Strangely enough, though, everyone seems previously engaged whenever I
invite them over to eat some delicious homemade chili!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Do you have a cooking
disaster story? I’d love to hear it!! E-mail me at </span><a href="mailto:bencath@aol.com"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">bencath@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> to share yours!! And maybe I’ll e-mail you
back with another of mine, because, unfortunately, I have quite a few to share…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">Man. I hope Elaine isn't running late today! I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to wait....</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">Happy Weekend, everyone!!! </span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-62260384472949645292016-01-09T22:59:00.003-05:002016-01-10T00:13:24.406-05:00Most Inspiring People of 2015Each year Barbara Walters has a show on tv about her most *fascinating* people. I decided if she could do it, then so could , I, except instead of *fascinating*, I have chosen to list the most INSPIRING people I have met this past year. This is the first article for the year published in the Journal on 1/6/16. <br />
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Hope the new year has started off well for everyone!<br />
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Inspiring People of 2015<br />
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Here we are, just a few days into the New Year!! We leave behind the old, and look forward to
the new. 2015 was a year of change for
many of us. Many of us lost loved ones. Others welcomed new babies into their
families. There were weddings, and there
were divorces. Some received devastating
news from the doctor, while others received news of hope. The only thing that stays the same is that
nothing ever stays the same. Whether
good or bad, our lives can change in an instant. <o:p></o:p></div>
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2015 was a year of change for me, too. At the end of June, my co-workers and I were
informed that our jobs were being outsourced to a national agency. We had the choice of going with the agency
for a guaranteed position, but most of us elected to pursue other avenues. Fortunately, I was able to transfer into the
position of medical scribe within the hospital system, allowing me to keep
benefits, length-of-service, etc. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Not only did my job description change, but everything about
my work day changed. I went from working
at home in my PJs and fuzzy socks, sitting at a desk all day, to wearing scrubs
and shoes, driving into the office, and standing on my feet all day. From working in solitude, to working with
other people. This was perhaps the
biggest change of all. Spending so much
time alone had reduced even more the size of my world, and my small circle of
friends and my family were pretty much the only folks I saw. Sadly, I had also become somewhat cynical
through the years, finding it difficult to trust people, and not very willing
to share my life with those outside my little world. I knew that changing jobs would have an
impact on my life, but I never imagined how it would change ME. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Every year Barbara Walters has a special about the people
she finds most fascinating, though her definition of fascinating is much
different from mine!!! These past few
months of working outside my home have exposed me to some very interesting
people, both at the office, and people I’ve come across while out and about in
public. Inspiring people. I’d like to tell you about a few of them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One day I overheard an older gentleman speaking to another
gentleman. He was talking about his
wife, who is showing increasing signs of dementia, which, understandably, was
very distressing for him. But I was
touched to tears as I saw his face light up, and he said, “But, you know, every
time I look at her, I fall in love all over again.” Now, if you’ve had any experience with
someone with dementia, or Alzheimer’s, you know what a horrific disease it is,
and how it can rob your loved one of their true personality. Sometimes they are not very lovable, and are
difficult to be around. To hear this
man’s declaration of love rocked me, and I will never forget his words. He inspires me to love, even when it is
difficult to do so.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I heard the story of how an elderly, wheelchair-bound,
legally blind woman was delivered from a debilitating fear of the dark. She told how God came to her in the form of
light, and she felt Him say to her “Fear not, for I am with you always.” She was never afraid of the dark again. How profound – for one who is blind to be
delivered of her fear of darkness. Her
faith is real, and I felt it spill over into me. I am inspired to have faith that my God is
with me always, and there is no need to fear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I met a woman who is facing a terminal disease, and is
running out of treatment options. She is
so strong and positive. She lives every
day to the fullest. Though her reality
is harsh, and there are moments of understandable weakness, she pushes
forward. She inspires me to be a better
person, to make a difference in the world, and to be thankful each morning for
another day in which to be alive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there’s Andy, a patient at our office (name used with
permission). I asked him if I could
share his story, and he reluctantly agreed.
I say reluctantly, because he is a humble man, not wanting attention
drawn to himself. I don’t know much
about Andy’s history or his personal life, but I look forward to learning more. He’s a long-time patient at the office, and
it is obvious that everyone loves him.
At one of his appointments, he told us about an award he had recently
won. He was chosen at the state level for
Caregiver Of The Year. He was selected
from hundreds of candidates, and was honored at a very fancy reception, a stay
at a luxurious hotel, a limo ride, a standing ovation, and was presented a
token of appreciation by President Carter, and Rosalyn! What an honor for him! He was treated like royalty, and was shown
great respect. He was so excited to
share the news with us, and we were delighted to share in his joy!! One again, I found myself wiping my eyes
while sharing in the joy of another. A
few weeks later, he came by to tell us that he had been given the award for the
Region, as well!!! It is wonderful to
see someone recognized for their dedication and hard work. The job of caretaker is one of service,
humility, and commitment. Andy is a servant, and is willing to do anything he
can to help another person in need. He
told me if there is ever anything he can do for me, all I have to do is
call. I know he is sincere, and I know
I could count on him. He is a true
hero. He inspires me to have the spirit
of a servant, and to show kindness to others.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Working outside my home has been a huge change, indeed. But the greatest change has come about inside
of me, as I have met these incredible people beyond the walls of my home. I am finding goodness, kindness, and amazing
strength in people, and my faith in humanity is being restored. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The people who inspire me would never make Barbara’s
list. But the people who inspire me are
real. And I am honored to know
them. They help me to be a better
person. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The New Year ahead is a blank canvas. Let’s do our best to paint a picture of
inspiration for others. Happy New Year
from my house to yours!! <o:p></o:p><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-43521539988961704332016-01-09T22:46:00.002-05:002016-01-10T00:07:46.148-05:00Christmas ArticlesIt's Saturday night, and the munchkins are sleeping over. We've been in our jammies since around 4 p.m., had a yummy dinner, and the little ones are asleep. The first week of 2016 is in the books, and from my corner of the world, it was a good week. I hope all of you can say the same.<br />
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I'm a little behind in posting the newspaper articles to the blog, so I thought it would be a good time to catch up. Here are the last two from the month of December. The Joseph one is a re-do from a couple of Christmases ago, so if you were reading the blog at that time, you might remember it from then. <br />
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Christmas Cookies (from the 12/16/15 issue)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAKd1ENHuG7h_bl5vO_drqzasJmCTA2-mtPbS59vBxsbUTSs1Ar0t7TmJMLNpzjSqdVYFjCpEofrPGCrkZ4oYJKek2ub0ta4bNf0d5YR9Hlx16UwnFKoJptgqUP1e_EfQBu9ALs91eYdWh/s1600/6358501908806467911314241701_927694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAKd1ENHuG7h_bl5vO_drqzasJmCTA2-mtPbS59vBxsbUTSs1Ar0t7TmJMLNpzjSqdVYFjCpEofrPGCrkZ4oYJKek2ub0ta4bNf0d5YR9Hlx16UwnFKoJptgqUP1e_EfQBu9ALs91eYdWh/s200/6358501908806467911314241701_927694.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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My little brother loved to piddle in the kitchen from the
time he was a little fella. I was more
interested in eating the food than preparing it. One day, hunger got the best of me, and I
decided to fix myself some tomato soup.
I don’t remember the details, but apparently I wasn’t doing it
correctly. Soon he was beside me with a
dining room chair, which was bigger than he was. He gently moved me aside, climbed up onto the
chair, and said “Don’t worry, Cat, I’ll fix it for you.” What a sweetheart! He fixed my soup for me
that day, and he grew to be a very fine cook.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I, on the other hand, still prefer eating the food than
preparing it, so I never really got very good at it. Shortly after I married in 1980, I invited my
parents and my new in-laws over for dinner.
The menu escapes me at the moment, but the main dish was fried
chicken. My mom and dad arrived early to
help with the last-minute preparations.
What bride doesn’t wish to impress her new in-laws with her homemaking
skills? I had just taken the chicken out
of the pan when my mom got there. It
smelled so good, and was beautifully browned and crispy. However, when my mom cut into a piece with a
knife, it was still pink. Whaaaat??? She asked me how long I cooked it, and I told
her that I cooked it until it was done.
I mean… it was nicely browned and crispy, right? Thankfully, my mom was able to salvage the
chicken, and <u>after</u> we had finished dinner, my sweet mother-in-law had a
good laugh as well. But we didn’t spill
the beans until after we had eaten. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I may never have learned to cook fried chicken, but I did
learn to enjoy making snacks, party food, and cookies. When Christmas time came around each year,
I’d rustle up a bunch of treats to share with friends and neighbors. I’ve always enjoyed this tradition, but
never so much as last year when my granddaughter helped me. All of the grandkids have always enjoyed
helping out in the kitchen, but when the pressure is on to produce, it normally
worked better to spend my time in the kitchen when they weren’t here. Sometimes “helping” wasn’t really helping at
all. My youngest <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxm_CjTfov-il3KMJpgT3AvvkUzAqjXjQ5Skrrmk-WKAFvhM-O-OfVTMoNkmEdR5cuxqt-XImcia8Y3HW2TsLhnBEJUA7UtJAob4WyPhrHnnPY9sCkV6fK8iPDnLZBSHoXnNBABK1GWGc/s1600/10868282_10152508646506024_8057748292806735255_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxm_CjTfov-il3KMJpgT3AvvkUzAqjXjQ5Skrrmk-WKAFvhM-O-OfVTMoNkmEdR5cuxqt-XImcia8Y3HW2TsLhnBEJUA7UtJAob4WyPhrHnnPY9sCkV6fK8iPDnLZBSHoXnNBABK1GWGc/s200/10868282_10152508646506024_8057748292806735255_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
granddaughter has shown
a real interest in cooking, so last year I decided to let her “help” me. To my surprise and delight, she was actually
very helpful!! We made several batches
of cookies, candy, and other treats to share.
I could never have done it
without her. We have always been very
close, but we bonded in a different way that day in my kitchen – covered in flour,
chocolate on our faces, and sticky fingers.
She wasn’t just a cute little girl whose hair I braided, or read bedtime
stories, but a young lady learning how to measure ingredients and follow
directions. She was more excited than I
was with each batch of cookies removed from the oven. She even washed dishes! Precious memories indeed. </div>
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I’m looking forward to time in the kitchen with both
granddaughters in the next few days, when it will be time to let the baking
begin!! My oldest granddaughter already
knows her way around the kitchen really well, and does a great job. It will be fun working together. Not so much with my grandson yet. We will spend special time together doing
something else - just not in the kitchen. While he sort of enjoys it, he’s rather
impatient, and is more interested in the end result and eating the cookies! Maybe next year he will enjoy the preparation
and cooking process as well. What fun it will be to have all three of them
“helping” me!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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How about you? It’s
not too late!!! Drag out those recipe
books and whip up some Christmas cookies!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The True Meaning of Christmas (12/23/15)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjjwzdoe1mtHUj6oTrUoYdPE7F4CZQJ0BMi3Yf2QcLZI5uqyCkQ-7B-QWJbZhZIJ-W-Jhoi40CF_skORFJc8HjZC90Y2-3qdxaHN01VyLT-XE0rRFrTN1hsDKyn3RcZRgsrwc6DqJNKd6/s1600/joseph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjjwzdoe1mtHUj6oTrUoYdPE7F4CZQJ0BMi3Yf2QcLZI5uqyCkQ-7B-QWJbZhZIJ-W-Jhoi40CF_skORFJc8HjZC90Y2-3qdxaHN01VyLT-XE0rRFrTN1hsDKyn3RcZRgsrwc6DqJNKd6/s200/joseph.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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For (hopefully) most of us,
Christmas is all about Baby Jesus in the manger. For others, Christmas is
simply a time of parties, the madness of retail frenzy, and maybe a warm
feeling in the heart. Not so much about Jesus, yet a happy time of peace and
goodwill to men. For some, Christmas is just a sad time of year to be
endured.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Since becoming a mother myself,
each year when Christmas rolls around and we focus on the manger, the angels,
shepherds and wise men, I have had a much different attitude toward the
parents. Mary and Joseph. They have become more real to me than
before the birth of my own child. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The personalization of Mary and
Joseph seems to become stronger for me with every passing year. There's a
song called Mary Did You Know that has become popular over the past several
years. Another favorite song about Mary is Amy Grant's version of Breath
Of Heaven. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mary and Joseph were real people.
Young people. And they were real parents. Do you remember how you felt
when you first held your own child? There is no greater joy in the world.
Chances are, though, that your red-faced, squirming, screaming little bundle of
joy was wrapped in a clean blanket, after a sterile birth in a warm bed with a
host of medically-trained personnel orchestrating the event. Dad may or
may not have been present in the room at the time of the birth, but if he was,
his only hands-on involvement might have been cutting the umbilical cord.
The responsibility of the birthing process didn't rest on his shoulders,
because the nurses and doctors were there to facilitate a safe birth. No doubt
about it. The birth of a child rocks our world, and we discover within us
a love that we never imagined existed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mary and Joseph were real people.
I can't imagine how frightened they were. We women complain about
the discomforts of pregnancy. Can we imagine traveling for miles and
miles on the back of a donkey with a baby lying low in the womb? We have
our birth plans all mapped out, and we pre-register at the hospital a month or
so in advance. All we have to do is walk in the door, and our labor and
delivery is managed by those trained to assist us. There was no warm
hospital bed for Mary. I can imagine a frantic Joseph desperately
searching for a place to stay as Mary leaned against the smelly donkey, holding
her stomach as the pains of birth were upon her. There were no
brightly-lit rooms or warm blankets. There was a dusty barn, likely filled with
the smell of animal poop rather than antiseptic soap. There were no beeps
of medical contraptions to surround her, rather the soft breathing of the
animals, perhaps the lowing of cattle in the distance, the whinny of horses or
bleating of sheep as the background music for the birth of her child.
Young Joseph wearing his dirty travel clothes was her attendant, not a
host of nurses clad in clean scrubs. Joseph, who had no Prepared
Childbirth classes, attended Mary as she labored, and at the final moment,
received into his hands the Glory of God, as Jesus entered into the world in
the form of a flesh-and-blood human. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I wonder what Mary and Joseph were
thinking as they cleaned Him up, and wrapped him in tattered blankets?
Because of the visits from the angels, the immaculate conception, they
knew that something Pretty Big was going down. But. Did they know?
Did they know What, and Who they were holding? I like to think that God
bathed them with grace to protect them from what was coming down the road.
I can't imagine what it would have been like for them to know from the get-go
the path that He would take, and what He would ultimately submit himself to.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are few things sweeter to me
than pictures of a dad holding his baby. I love a daddy who loves his
children, and isn't afraid to show it. Do we think that Joseph is any
different from other dads? Somehow it seems we don't think much about Joseph at
all. He was an exceptional young man, called upon by God to do a crazy
thing: Marry his pregnant girlfriend, with whom he knew HE had never been
intimate. Obedient to the voice of God, he was a faithful servant, and
did as he was told. There were no lights or cameras in the stable, but I
imagine that Joseph was as overcome with emotion as any other dad upon
witnessing the birth of his child, or upon seeing the baby for the first time
behind the glass walls of a nursery. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As Mary slept afterward, can't you
just see Joseph gazing into the face of his child, the way all new parents do,
wondering at the miracle of birth. ESPECIALLY THIS BIRTH!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you heard this song? It’s called Joseph’s Lullaby. So amazing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Go to sleep my son, this manger for
your bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You have a long road before you,
rest your little head.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Can you feel the weight of your
glory? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you understand the price?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Does the Father guard your heart
for now,<o:p></o:p></div>
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So you can sleep tonight?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Go to sleep my son. Go and
chase your dreams.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This world can wait for one more
moment <o:p></o:p></div>
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Go and seep in peace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I believe the Glory of Heaven is
lying in my arms tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lord I ask that he, for just this
moment, simply be my child.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Go to sleep my son. Baby
close your eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Soon enough you'll save the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But for now, dear child of mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, my Jesus, sleep tight. <o:p></o:p></div>
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**************************************<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wow. If that doesn't give you
a new view of Joseph, I'm not sure anything can. Mary was real. Joseph was
real. Jesus IS real!! I hope this
year it all feels very real for you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Merry Christmas, from my house to
yours!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-14357267830978616892015-12-10T21:27:00.001-05:002015-12-10T21:27:47.855-05:00Oh Christmas Tree<div class="MsoNormal">
This week's article in the Journal</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAK2xUII_v2CpjH1-NpWjSvDXsjacNeBTxyXgIZp4SrSJ7TJemo1kA9_uIX58D9bjkhth5TEjywjEH9S4GiggBJnrGhUb-H8LbVNZOfWRnp2LIsgThQAghGLmX_Qtx7vtYX-dFuYXuY64/s1600/tree+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAK2xUII_v2CpjH1-NpWjSvDXsjacNeBTxyXgIZp4SrSJ7TJemo1kA9_uIX58D9bjkhth5TEjywjEH9S4GiggBJnrGhUb-H8LbVNZOfWRnp2LIsgThQAghGLmX_Qtx7vtYX-dFuYXuY64/s320/tree+%25281%2529.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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“Have you put up your Christmas tree yet?” That’s an often-heard question this time of
year. I saw a few homes with trees up
well before Thanksgiving this year. Of
all the Christmas memories of childhood, I think my favorites are the beautiful
trees my daddy would find and cut down for our family room. Well… most of them were beautiful. There were a few Charlie Brown trees along
the way, but mostly they were perfect.
Always a highly-fragrant cedar tree, with the old-fashioned colored
lights. I loved those old-timey lights
that we use to have before the miniature lights came out. They were so heavy that my daddy had to
attach them lower on the branches of the cedar trees, as the frail ends couldn’t hold the weight. Besides, we needed the tips of the branches
free for the tinsel, or “icicles”, as we called them back then. I remember my grandaddy sitting in the
command seat, navigating placement of the icicles to be sure that not one tiny branch
went unadorned.<br />
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One year, we ended up with a tree that was so large it
covered the double-windows! We didn’t
have enough ornaments, so it was somewhat sparsely decorated. There’s an old black-and-white picture of my
snaggletooth self, standing proudly in front of the mammoth tree, with my hair
in sponge curlers. We were so proud of
our giant tree!! (tried to find the pic for the blog, but no luck with that)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgF8iKCBglhKOuech1OmK-gRH_pteSZ5wXZEcFEu_KBu4oaIdgMhVF4wVc5OV-uexk-zI5jQml6HkChVhLqCbr6s7uRvCe7r8Q-Nh15kjaOAHYeO8qxG70Z4Ar9Wz3xJDPlqJn_zw-qLL/s1600/tree6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgF8iKCBglhKOuech1OmK-gRH_pteSZ5wXZEcFEu_KBu4oaIdgMhVF4wVc5OV-uexk-zI5jQml6HkChVhLqCbr6s7uRvCe7r8Q-Nh15kjaOAHYeO8qxG70Z4Ar9Wz3xJDPlqJn_zw-qLL/s200/tree6.jpg" width="131" /></a>Our family room was on the back of
the house, which meant that the travelers up and down Broad Street were not
able to see our tree. One year Mamma
Lorene, my dad’s mom, gave us one of those fabulous trees made out of
aluminum. We proudly assembled the tree,
added the fuchsia-colored balls, and put it in front of the double windows in
the dining room, on the front side of the house. There was this lamp that sat in the floor,
with a rotating plastic disk of different colors. The disk would turn slowly, and the colors
would fade from one to the other. I much
preferred the live tree with the multicolored lights, but was delighted to have
TWO trees in our house each year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As the years went by, some of the
ornaments were lost or broken. Seems
that we always managed to hang onto the ones my brother and I made at school,
and those were hung each year with love.
At some point, we swapped out the chunky lights that I loved for the
newfangled miniature lights that were becoming so popular. It was the end of an era, and even though the
tiny blinking lights were beautiful, I’ve always been partial to the old chunky
ones. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHbO-HIy8-aTlZXjdoTfaC40MAtu93BxM-YNnTjOAuWNjdbCJEP-jzGMHxyqbNTbh3OTyQ1DBh5qc2Hw9R7SZSkniw7Cobf1SME4WkkU8q2p7l8xR6IQC7EPH7-80A8uGi42wDKKrgugm/s1600/lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="63" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHbO-HIy8-aTlZXjdoTfaC40MAtu93BxM-YNnTjOAuWNjdbCJEP-jzGMHxyqbNTbh3OTyQ1DBh5qc2Hw9R7SZSkniw7Cobf1SME4WkkU8q2p7l8xR6IQC7EPH7-80A8uGi42wDKKrgugm/s320/lights.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The first Christmas tree after I
got married in 1980 was a special tree.
Not a cedar tree like I had grown up with, but some kind of pine tree
that we cut at a tree farm. With little
money to spend for decorations, I opted for DIY ornaments, and our tree was
covered with homemade felt snowmen and clothes-pin reindeer, a few fake red
apples, and some candy canes. But there
were lots of colored mini-lights!!! And
because it was our very first tree together, it was the most beautiful thing I
had ever seen. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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There have been many trees since
then. I remember scoring a really expensive
fake tree after the holidays one year.
It was perfectly-shaped, and looked better than some of the real ones we
had used in the past. I was so excited
to have this flame-retardant tree, meaning we could put it up earlier, leave it
up longer, and it also meant I could put my favorite chunky lights on it! I went to the store and bought a gazillion of
them, and put them on our new tree.
Couldn’t wait for the hubby to get home and commend me for our
old-fashioned Christmas tree. To my
great disappointment, he made me take them off, and return them to the
store. What with being a fireman and all,
he only saw the fire risk, and not the beautiful ambience I was attempting to
achieve. So I had to undecorate the
tree, remove the lights, and take them back.
I pouted for days, and only half-heartedly redecorated. But by then, it
was Whitney’s third Christmas, and she was at such a fun age I couldn’t stay
mad for long. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGbNeIRoCfpH33aflN7Zc8jP_QOjLxp7_8jA51VnFSPYnpnVGUmkddBkieM1TXVb1SLjlGcwLRufZOtpRonihGT-e0PhOfFMmMsdMZnoewbqZWUpA9QHZ-vCclABVWZkxafN9hED7KMiY/s1600/tree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGbNeIRoCfpH33aflN7Zc8jP_QOjLxp7_8jA51VnFSPYnpnVGUmkddBkieM1TXVb1SLjlGcwLRufZOtpRonihGT-e0PhOfFMmMsdMZnoewbqZWUpA9QHZ-vCclABVWZkxafN9hED7KMiY/s320/tree.JPG" width="180" /></a>The year that she was in
first grade was the first Christmas that she and I lived alone, and we carried that fake Christmas tree with us during several moves through the years. We had a tradition on tree-decorating day –
there was an old VHS Disney tape of Christmas songs. We’d listen to it every year while we
decorated. When she was in high school,
the old tree finally died, and I replaced it with a tall, skinny tree that she
laughed at, but once decorated, admitted it was a really pretty tree. </div>
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Nowadays, it is the eyes of my grandchildren that sparkle at
Christmastime. One of my favorite spots
to photograph them is in front of a Christmas tree. Last year found me feeling a bit overwhelmed,
and not really interested in much holiday fanfare. I didn’t put up my tree until the week the
kids were out of school… which was one
week before Christmas! Normally, I’m
very persnickety about the ornaments being placed just so, but not so much last
year. Because of my indoor kitties, I
use a small 4’ tree on a table, in an effort to keep them away from it. Last year, though I kept my precious,
breakable treasures safely packed away, I let the kids decorate the tree. They took turns using the step-stool to reach
the higher branches, but 90% of the ornaments are on the lower half of the
tree. A job obviously done by
children. But… the joy I was lacking
crept back into my heart as I watched them decorate “their” tree all by
themselves. They were so proud, and the
occasion was, of course, marked by many photographs and videos. Because the tree is so small, when I got
around to taking it down (don’t even ASK!) I just picked it up and set it in an
extra bedroom. Still decorated. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So now it is Christmas 2015!!! My little tree was delivered from the extra bedroom
to its place in the living room. Still
decorated from last year. It was my
intention to undo the kids’ handiwork and re-decorate it with at least a little
symmetry in mind. But every time I reach
to take something off, I am reminded of how much fun they had decorating it
last year, and how excited they will be to see that I am using it that way
again this year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, Christmas trees are my favorite part of the
holiday. And one of my favorite sayings
about Christmas is this: It’s not about
what’s under your Christmas tree that matters, it’s who’s around it. I hope you will share special moments with
special people around a tree this season.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, let me ask - have you put up your Christmas tree yet? Just remember....<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwDCo1McnPiAaOaKwt0ky6773QJuLDUjFmZNBuAQgLluiKEPUT81b5NdFwnG73iYyhSKeohCcRa19zuHWTSVqf8b3XyWLEsn7UeF2lU10vqTeMi-bYp9IPzWFAOdQOJn7DLsDQqy8ENbR/s1600/tree4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwDCo1McnPiAaOaKwt0ky6773QJuLDUjFmZNBuAQgLluiKEPUT81b5NdFwnG73iYyhSKeohCcRa19zuHWTSVqf8b3XyWLEsn7UeF2lU10vqTeMi-bYp9IPzWFAOdQOJn7DLsDQqy8ENbR/s320/tree4.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-24652307961546474902015-12-06T21:11:00.001-05:002015-12-06T21:11:24.183-05:00Empty Chairs<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrA_hM1fWXCQB31ROv1RlpBhuuPOnb50FRaXL1BZFWdfN3n6jf_3jRYPMpLRQH7olg2iVjol0vxcrvXDsS0cV1IhcCk8IC1wLN56Z9qEep65nWRzIjogADvGS-Tce9iC46ajWn2j6EnZOc/s1600/turkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrA_hM1fWXCQB31ROv1RlpBhuuPOnb50FRaXL1BZFWdfN3n6jf_3jRYPMpLRQH7olg2iVjol0vxcrvXDsS0cV1IhcCk8IC1wLN56Z9qEep65nWRzIjogADvGS-Tce9iC46ajWn2j6EnZOc/s320/turkey.jpg" width="320" /></a>There were two empty chairs at our Thanksgiving gathering this year. Aunt Peggy and Aunt Carolyn are no longer with us, and this is the first holiday season without them. I think of my cousin Elaine, and my friend Lewiss, who are missing Miss Reba this season. And so many others. My article in last week's Journal spoke of our losses. Here's the article. Hugs to all my friends who also have empty chairs at your tables.</div>
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Empty Chairs</div>
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The turkey is gone, and the pumpkin pies are but a sweet
memory. Black Friday bargains are
waiting to be wrapped, and Christmas trees are going up in homes all over
town. The holiday season is officially
upon us! Twinkling lights reflect in the
eyes of excited children, as the anticipation is almost more than they can
bear. A friend on Facebook recently posted a photo
of a vintage Sears Christmas catalog.
How many of us remember poring over its pages as kids, dreaming of the
toys we’d find under the tree? The rush
of adrenaline we’d feel at the sight of that jolly old Santa? Even all these years later, those Santa
pictures conjure up happy memories of childhood. I vividly remember a “Night Before Christmas”
coloring book, and a new box of crayons.
Hours were spent coloring at my grandmother’s dining room table, being
careful to stay between the lines. Every
now and then, one of the adults with sit and color with me for a while. What is it about a new box of crayons and
coloring book that brings about such pleasure?
The smell of new crayons never fails to take me back to those days, and
coloring with my own grandchildren is one of the few activities from my
childhood that we can enjoy together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For most of us, the holidays are synonymous with
family. As children, we are focused on
the excitement factor- the lights, the hustle and bustle, and, of course, the
gifts. At some point, the childhood
magic fades, and we begin to understand the deeper meaning, and experience a
new kind of magic. The kind of magic
that makes us tear up at Publix commercials on TV. The
soldier returning home in time for Christmas dinner. The new baby’s first Christmas, all decked
out in their precious outfits. The family
who realizes that this will be the last holiday spent with a loved one. The long-overdue reconciliation of a strained
relationship. For some families, the
only time everyone gets together is at the holidays. We look forward all year to the time when we
can sit down together and share a meal.
While our tables may not be Publix commercial-worthy, I doubt any of us
would trade our family gatherings for the picture-perfect scenes that invoke
such emotions on TV. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And yet, while we are focusing on all our blessings and
loving on our families, we need also to remember those who are hurting. As unfathomable as it seems, there are people
who do not share in our bounty of family members, and the warmth of hearth and
home. The sound of bells and the sight
of red kettles outside stores during the holidays is an ever-present reminder
of those in need. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there are those who, though they have no lack of
necessities, are sad and lonely during the holidays. I can’t imagine spending the holidays alone –
yet there are those who endure the loneliness year after year. Day after day the loneliness haunts them –
though more acutely so when colorful lights are twinkling, and Christmas music permeates
the airwaves. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There were two empty chairs at our Thanksgiving table this
year. We lost two beautiful ladies
within four months of each other, my Aunt Peggy, and my Aunt Carolyn. Aunt Peggy was my mom’s best friend. The holidays, while wonderful and joyous,
also accentuate the absence of those we love.
We all know someone who is hurting this year because of the loss of
someone they love. I think of a good
friend, who lost her battle with cancer, and the devastated husband and best
friend she left behind. So many empty
chairs. Loss is part of life. Death, divorce, estrangement,
deployment. So many reasons for empty
chairs. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This year, as we celebrate the Christmas season, may we
first remember that Jesus Is The Reason For The Season, and then may we
remember to pray for those who will be seated at tables with empty chairs. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-38877680466918025402015-09-06T12:42:00.000-04:002016-01-04T22:19:32.460-05:00Double Dippin'<div class="MsoNormal">
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I must confess. I'm a double dipper. Sometimes I'll use an article from "my column" as a blog post, and sometimes I'll pull blog posts from the past to create a new article for the paper. My blog doesn't have a large following, and lots of those don't read the paper, so I think I'm fairly safe. At least if accused with plagiarism, it will be my own words that I'm stealing. HA! Here's the column from this past week's edition of The Barrow Journal. Several of my facebook friends have told me, "I was there!", and they remember exactly what I'm talking about. Fun times!!!!</div>
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Friday Night Lights</div>
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Given my choice, I’d much rather read a good book, or piddle
around in my craft room than sit in front of the TV to watch “the game”, with
few exceptions. Sports have never been a
huge priority in my life. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-tI7ndWcqHyoHiw3JOFEhmD-OUEmusPEaQYVxCVWDwfKFg8iEr-fWegStM9R_ML8ncYkZ4w_uMAyfslZ6gfdl0iBjPXMl1S8e7C4edm3pDU5XGkz-aGu0QDp066lMRIYJgmI6IYOgWgn/s1600/wildcats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-tI7ndWcqHyoHiw3JOFEhmD-OUEmusPEaQYVxCVWDwfKFg8iEr-fWegStM9R_ML8ncYkZ4w_uMAyfslZ6gfdl0iBjPXMl1S8e7C4edm3pDU5XGkz-aGu0QDp066lMRIYJgmI6IYOgWgn/s1600/wildcats.jpg" /></a>Check that. If we
could turn back the clock, oh, let’s say about a hundred years to 1969, I
believe you’d find me as passionate about a ballgame as any fan between the hedges could ever hope to be. Back in those days, there were six elementary schools throughout the county. Our schools went through the 8<sup>th</sup>
grade – no middle school, except for the Winder crowd. Sixth, seventh, and eighth graders were
allowed to try out for the basketball team and the cheering squad. I can <s>dribble</s> bounce a ball while
standing still. That’s about the extent
of my basketball skills. Forget
walking/running and dribbling. Talk
about a comedy of errors!!! However, you give me some saddle oxfords and some
pom-poms, and I could cheer with the best of them. And cheer we did!! Every Friday night during
the fall and early winter, we’d pack the gymnasiums all over the county, and
Play Some Basketball!!! Each school
would play the five other teams – once at home, and once away. There would be standing room only in the old
gymnasiums, with tiny concession stands stocked with candy bars and soft drinks. And you’ve never seen such rabid fans! Parents, grandparents, members of the
community would come out and pack the place, and the screaming and shouting,
I’m sure, could be heard all over town.
It was Serious Business. We
screamed, we cried, we hollered at the refs, and we stormed the floor after
every win. On the way home from away
games, we’d to go Dairy Delite for ice cream. Sometimes we’d sneak and sit with
a sweetheart and maybe hold hands on the dark bus ride home. Gives a new appreciation to the phrase “Those
were the days”. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXHyE-7t2k-Rln4dTDKG07PqWfs4c2fNZvOFIyNgnXg4734u5ktxQGaTnyHaPvk7DnG8-R7zrVdP6nsVjQD3H-8FnnPV_mnmZIIJfHXiF6NhD2dMWEzlrKzijPUVZ7vWyqehW3OsvB9gv/s1600/WB_logo_2014.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXHyE-7t2k-Rln4dTDKG07PqWfs4c2fNZvOFIyNgnXg4734u5ktxQGaTnyHaPvk7DnG8-R7zrVdP6nsVjQD3H-8FnnPV_mnmZIIJfHXiF6NhD2dMWEzlrKzijPUVZ7vWyqehW3OsvB9gv/s200/WB_logo_2014.PNG" width="200" /></a>I wasn’t fortunate enough to make the cheer squad in high
school. One year I made the first cut,
but not the second. I couldn’t play an
instrument, so there was no marching band for me. So, I was relegated to The Walk. You know the one. Walk from the concession area to the stands. Then back again. A thousand times. Throughout the entire game. Sometimes we’d stop on the sidewalk and talk
with friends. If we felt really brave,
we’d walk into enemy territory to check out the cute guys. Then one year I got myself a sweetheart who
played football, so I felt compelled to watch the game – though I knew nothing
about it. Everything I know about
football, I learned from his parents, who patiently explained the basics and
answered my questions. I must say that
after I learned about it, the game became much more interesting.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwo4mMeCC_GS5FdeNTxq0zFLdEgCcgav0R2-hKApB44-g4g2Ht_QkCHyXn2yHIH9rf4mo7LIbjdduOBUBEH6qe2S9rd3qiPXdr3vBg5-IYBrOf8_sPCH4kih_dkU02IjSo942t8XLXsRb/s1600/bulldog.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwo4mMeCC_GS5FdeNTxq0zFLdEgCcgav0R2-hKApB44-g4g2Ht_QkCHyXn2yHIH9rf4mo7LIbjdduOBUBEH6qe2S9rd3qiPXdr3vBg5-IYBrOf8_sPCH4kih_dkU02IjSo942t8XLXsRb/s200/bulldog.gif" width="200" /></a>Interesting enough, in fact, to start attending the GA games
in Athens. I wasn’t a season ticket
holder, but I missed very few home games.
Before the stadium was enclosed, there was a little side gate over by
The Bridge, where students could get in for $2.00. Then there was The Hill. Yes, you remember The Hill!! Hundreds of people would sit on the grassy
hill to watch the game. (And I think
most of them were from Winder!!!!) The fact that it happened to be right next
to the opposing team’s seating area only added to the fun. There was a special little song we used to sing
to the Vandy fans…. Anyone
remember? So many fun times on The
Hill. I also got in big trouble one
time on The Hill….. but we’ll just leave it at that. </div>
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Years later, I would again find myself in the stands every
Friday night to watch the Double-G Doggs.
Whitney was in marching band in high school, and I was a Band Mom. I loved every minute of it!! And though I really went for the band, I
enjoyed the game as well. More fun
memories.</div>
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This year’s season is upon us, and the excitement in town is
palpable. I don’t expect I’ll be
attending any of the Dawg or Dogg games this year, but I’ll have the TV on for
the GA games. Here’s to a fabulous
season for our favorite red and black teams! </div>
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Goooo Dawgs! And Goooo
Doggs!!! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-36680261187481460232015-08-31T20:48:00.000-04:002015-08-31T20:52:34.714-04:00A Great Day To Be Me!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitww3mbkqiGX_f-MNq33VjAEQP4UvQ7nJIq0PiS6apMztS03WdqCvCYNEDkfpxkb1ul39S2aQVJyydPlMV6EjGf2n06Zqnidd67Pl0_FK6XOStVaJuajfYWs-nh36FFb73Y8sPiJ7bL0k_/s1600/smilysun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitww3mbkqiGX_f-MNq33VjAEQP4UvQ7nJIq0PiS6apMztS03WdqCvCYNEDkfpxkb1ul39S2aQVJyydPlMV6EjGf2n06Zqnidd67Pl0_FK6XOStVaJuajfYWs-nh36FFb73Y8sPiJ7bL0k_/s320/smilysun.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The worst thing about being me today was putting on clothes and shoes at an ungodly hour this morning. HA!! <i>What a lucky girl I am</i>, to be able to say that!!!! The best thing about being me was starting a new job that I can already tell I'm going to absolutely love. Working from home for all these years has kept me in hermit mode, and while I do enjoy my alone time, I'm happy to be working among those who can converse with words other than "meow". (Although I do believe my kitties missed me terribly today!) <br />
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Having already gone into the office on a couple of earlier occasions made today a little less overwhelming. There is still MUCH to learn, but the gals who have been working with me are a.w.e.s.o.m.e., and I want to be like them when I grow up. :-) Or at least within the next few weeks. It's a great concept, and a total win-win-win for the patient, the physician, and ME! I'm only a tiny bit impatient that I haven't already mastered the EMR software. I know it will take time, but I can't wait to learn it all!!!<br />
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After sitting at a desk all day for a couple of decades, NOT sitting at a desk is going to be a challenge. But I'm consoling myself by thinking about all those steps I'll be taking, and all those calories I'll burn. (Silver lining, you know.) Advil helps, and even though my shoes are hideously ugly, they're pretty comfy. I'll hafta get me some sho-nuff good shoes for the long haul, but avoiding pain is top priority for the moment, until I can get myself better conditioned. It didn't help much that I'm terribly sore from doing yard work this weekend - serious tugging and pulling (by hand) a large patch of rogue weeds, and some runaway spearmint plants. Not to mention the hours and hours (well at least 20-30 minutes) of weed-eating, lots of bending and stooping, etc. My arms still haven't recovered from holding the weed-eater. My legs scream whenever I sit down or stand up. That should be gone by tomorrow, though, so I'm looking forward to some serious improvement in mobility. </div>
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Another great thing about being me today was some incredible bargains I found!! On my way home, I stopped at Bed, Bath, & Beyond. My vision is so terrible that I have to use a very strong magnifying mirror for girly stuff. I can't see my eyelashes, I can't see my eyebrows, and I like to keep an eye out for all the new gray hair that keeps popping out. On the dark side, the mirror also exposes terrible things on my face that I really don't want to see - like the giant pores large enough to land the space shuttle, the broken capillaries, and the <strike>wrinkles</strike> ravines etched into my face. Do you remember the song "Mama Told Me Not To Come"? Yep, I kinda feel that way <a href="http://scrappycathy.blogspot.com/search?q=mama+told+me+not+to+come" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>when I look into this mirror</b></span></a>. But, alas, I need the mirror. I seem to have misplaced the one I had been using. So I went into BB&B to pick one up. My last trip to Wal Mart netted me a 10x, and I wanted a 15x like my prior one. BB&B didn't have 15x ones, but they had a bin full of 20x ones. OH NO. The ravines will be canyons now. Nevertheless, I was delighted to see that they had been marked down 50%, from $19.99 to $9.99. Now, let me tell you, I almost wet my pants when I saw the tag that said 75% off the lowest marked price. Are you kidding me? $2.50!!! So, of course, I grabbed several. One for each bathroom, and one for work. On account of you just never know when you might need to watch a space shuttle landing up close and personal. </div>
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Also on the 75% off rack, I found some little wine bottle dress-up thingies. Like you'd drape over a bottle of wine when giving as a gift. My brother makes his own wine, and will sometimes give the wine as gifts. I thought these would be cute for him. Go on. Ask me. How much did I pay for them?? Well... The original price on them was $7.99. They had been reduced many times already, and when she rang up the first one it was .12 cents. Yes. T-w-e-l-v-e cents. I told her to hang on just a minute - I wanted to grab a few more of those babies. I went back to the clearance shelf and grabbed up the remaining ones. So for less than $2.00, I probably have enough wine-cover-thingies for my brother's entire line this year. So much fun!!</div>
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I'm in serious thrift mode these days, what with the job change and all, but I'm thinking I might be stopping by BB&B fairly regularly now to check out that 75% off rack, seein' as how It's right on the way home from work. Santa will be coming before long, and who knows what cool items might end up on the clearance rack?!?!? The store is moving, and she told me they are putting a lot of items on clearance to prevent having to move them. SWEET!!!!</div>
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AND the same route that takes me to BB&B also takes me right by Aldi's. I've recently discovered that I can save tons of money by shopping there, so I'm super excited about that. Time to stock up on the produce!!!</div>
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So, yep - it was a great day to be me! I'm home now, all fresh and clean and once again in my jammies. I've got a little bit of clinic work to do, and then it's off to bed. </div>
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Please remember to say prayers for and/or send happy thoughts to my co-workers, as they continue the job search. These things tend to move slowly, and transition time will be here before we know it. While I'm very thankful to have landed what I'm confident will be a fabulous job for me, my heart still lies with my sister eagles, and it won't seem "right" until we've all found our new nesting place. </div>
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I hope today was a great day to be you, and that tomorrow will be even better!!</div>
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CathyB</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-24231869445641831592015-08-26T07:41:00.000-04:002015-08-26T08:39:29.912-04:00Bittersweet<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AEv4uBpOj0z9yJ9cA4cWORCMgtmB5bWFhnOuLYOQul7V2V6ukTqU-QIvTmCxcyh9wTAgVRJ627QPuKNhg8csDkh6ZHv9F5_lRma1sIkjvzOm73VXsrwwDoD6Brlqj1_tA1n_UVgsMbha/s1600/eagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AEv4uBpOj0z9yJ9cA4cWORCMgtmB5bWFhnOuLYOQul7V2V6ukTqU-QIvTmCxcyh9wTAgVRJ627QPuKNhg8csDkh6ZHv9F5_lRma1sIkjvzOm73VXsrwwDoD6Brlqj1_tA1n_UVgsMbha/s200/eagle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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In the spring of 1992, I started working part-time at St.
Mary’s Hospital as a radiology transcriptionist. I’ve never looked back. I still have my original employee ID number, and
have been on the employee roster all these years, either as part-time, full-time,
or prn. </div>
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In the spring of 1999, I came on board with St. Mary's full time. Except for a three-year stint in a local ortho office, I've been full-time ever since. </div>
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<br />
The date eludes me now, but sometime in the early 2000s, the
hospital embraced the growing trend of remote transcription, and sent us home
to work. So, instead of working in
little cubicles in a room of six to eight medical transcriptionists, we set up
our offices at home, and spent our days working in PJs and socks. It was fabulous! </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the first home-based computer connected to the hospital
for the first time, an e-mail was sent that said simply: The Eagle has landed. </div>
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<br /></div>
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From that day forward, we have called ourselves The Eagles,
and we’ve been very happy in our little nests at home. We are scattered over
six different counties, yet we have remained a very close-knit family, and
every now and then we pack up and go to our Home Nest (the hospital) to work
for a day in order to attend meetings, gatherings, etc. We’ve seen babies born, grow up, graduate high
school and college, seen them get married, have us some grandbabies, and we’ve watched
our parents grow old. We’ve suffered
heartbreak, life-threatening illnesses, celebrated victories, and held each
other close in times of sadness. We
greet each other via email each morning, and strategize the game plan for the
day’s work. We cover for each other when
someone needs to be out. I do believe we
have been closer than some actual blood-related families. And like families
will do, every now and then, we have our spats and disagreements (and the
occasional accidental “reply all” e-mail incidents that can go badly), but love
and respect always win. We forgive and
move forward. And we perform our jobs as
best we can, always with the patient’s best interest in mind. It’s what we do. And what we have loved for many, many
years. It has also been a wonderful
blessing that we all share the same faith, and are able to encourage each other
in that regard. Nowadays that’s a rare
thing. What a joy that has been!</div>
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It seems impossible that it could be coming to an end. As you may remember from an <a href="http://www.scrappycathy.blogspot.com/2015/06/going-nuts.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>earlier post</b></span></a>, our
jobs are being outsourced to a very large corporate-endorsed transcription
agency. We were given the option to go
with the company, but none of us want to do that, and we’ve all been seeking
other employment. </div>
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One of the Eagles has already left the nest due to medical
reasons, so we’re down one person already.</div>
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And now it’s my turn.
Today will be my last day in the nest.
On Monday, I’ll be landing in a new nest as I go to a new job. I’m praying my wings will be strong enough to
carry this old bird into a new land, to learn new things and work with a new
family. I’ll be working in a family
practice office, and will carry my transcription skills with me as a medical
scribe. It’s kind of the same thing I’m
already doing, except the doctor won’t be dictating the words for me to
transcribe. Instead, I’ll go into the
room with the doctor, and listen to the interaction between physician and
patient, and document the pertinent information into the EMR. I’ve been in the office with him on two days already,
and find this concept to be very liberating for the physician. When I visit my PCP, she is hardly able to
make eye contact with me, because she is constantly switching from screen to
screen on the laptop, trying to find the information she needs, while asking me
questions and trying to take care of me.
Not the case with a scribe in the room.
When I was working with Dr. J., I was ecstatic to see his interaction
with the patients. He could sit on his
little stool right in front of them, look into their eyes and really <u>see</u>
the patients. They could feel it too. They
know they have his attention, and that he is really listening to them. I’m
there to document everything, and try to anticipate anything he might need,
such as prior lab work, and can have that ready for him to view, saving him
from having to search for it. It is a
WONDERFUL concept, and I love it already.
It makes me want to be his patient, too!
It’s so sad nowadays that doctors can’t be doctors because of all the
red tape and hoops they have to jump through.
</div>
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While I am very excited, I’m also very sad. I wasn’t sure of my last day as an Eagle, as
there were several factors that determined my start date at the new job. The phone call came yesterday morning. I had already cleared with my immediate
supervisor to be off the Thursday and Friday before whenever my start date
would be. So that means today is my last
day. The process seems to have taken
forever, but it got real when I told my family of co-workers that Wednesday
would be my last day. I cried like a
baby. Some of them did, too, and it
ain’t over yet. I expect we’ll be
leaving one by one, until there’s no-one left.
At least that’s the plan, because none of us want to go with the agency. (Nasty company to work for!!) So instead of ripping the bandage off in one
fell swoop, and all transition into the agency together, we’ll be going our
separate ways one at a time. It will be
more like taking the bandage off a little bit a time - a slow and painful
process, as one by one we leap from the nest into skies unknown. We vow and declare that we will always be
close, and nothing has to change. We
don’t see each other every day anyhow, so we can still e-mail and
Facebook. But there’s just something about
being in the nest together, sharing a common goal, knowing someone always has
our back. That part will be gone. </div>
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The office where I’m going is within the St. Mary’s system,
so I’ll still be an employee of the hospital.
This is a good thing because I get to keep my years of service, leave
accrual rate, benefits, etc. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But still, it is very bittersweet. I’m going to miss my family: Tammy, Pam,
Cheryl, Jeneine, June, and JoAnn. Tammy,
our transcription supervisor, has grieved right along with us, and worried
herself nearly sick that we have lost our jobs.
She has been wonderful through this entire process, and we have been so
fortunate to have a fair, compassionate, hard-working, supervisor who
appreciates us, and tells us so very often.
While there is nothing locally we can do about corporate decisions, I
feel safe in saying the hospital is losing a dedicated group of loyal,
long-standing employees. The trade off for saving money by outsourcing will be
offset, I’m afraid, by strangers - many of whom live overseas- who have no
vested interest in our hospital, and care not one bit about our patients. Sadly, in corporate America, the bottom line
is the almighty dollar. </div>
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But, as I have always believed, everything happens for a
reason. We can fret and be bitter about
the change, or we can take it as an opportunity to get out of our jammies, and
get our homebody selves out into the
world. Shake things up a little
bit. Meet new people, learn new
things. Make a difference in the
world. Even if we do have to wear
clothes and shoes. </div>
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I’m truly grateful that this job came along – and in
retrospect I can see that it was orchestrated (I believe by God), many months
ago in a casual conversation with a friend from church - long before I knew I would
be losing my job. There have been a few
moments of anxiety, but for the most part, I’ve been very calm and assured that
everything would work out, and that God would provide what I need. And I’m still counting on that heavily, as
there is a significant difference in compensation. (If you look for me and can’t find me, I’m
probably living in a refrigerator box under a bridge, surfing the internet for
different ways to prepare ramen noodles. Haha!) Nah…. I’m pretty sure my mama and DJ won’t
let me go hungry, and my dad would probably let me and the kitties live in the
basement with his electronic stuff if it comes down to that. So I’m not worried. Well, maybe a little about the ramen noodles
part – never developed much of a palate for that… </div>
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To my Eagle Family:
As we go our separate ways, may our journeys from the nests we’ve known
for so long be safe and prosperous, and may we always remember this: The Eagles will land again, and God will be
the wind that carries us until we arrive safely at our new homes. We can do
this. We are The Eagles!! Thank you, ladies, for loving me during the
best of times and during the worst of times.
You are all a part of me, and I will carry you with me as I go. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today it is my turn to fly. I’ll turn off my computer one
last time at the end of my shift today, and say goodbye to a career that has served
me well, and which I have loved, for many, many years. Monday morning I’ll walk through a new door,
get to know my new family, park my car at a new address, and do my best to make
a difference in someone’s world each day.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And all the while, I’ll remember this verse from
Lamentations: “The steadfast love of the
L<b><span style="font-size: 8.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">ORD</span></b> never ceases; His mercies never come
to an end; they are new every morning; Great is Thy faithfulness. I say to myself, The L<span style="font-size: 8.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">ORD </span>is my portion, therefore will I
hope in Him.”</div>
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<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-74826566236978927212015-08-20T17:51:00.000-04:002015-08-20T17:51:55.127-04:00Back To School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2EJcAbz7jkX-Rnf2Lcc-_TsFGNpI5CnKku48mVGmt4N9w5WWX6PEIJrab2kZLB8ouSZdK7qWuKNqWZCQa2HvIJ5gwmkP2TMM2rYGH2BAS7D-46Q7_CV6dLdlTLlO2XK4WiMTPH5rP8fX/s1600/Back-to-School-Banner-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2EJcAbz7jkX-Rnf2Lcc-_TsFGNpI5CnKku48mVGmt4N9w5WWX6PEIJrab2kZLB8ouSZdK7qWuKNqWZCQa2HvIJ5gwmkP2TMM2rYGH2BAS7D-46Q7_CV6dLdlTLlO2XK4WiMTPH5rP8fX/s320/Back-to-School-Banner-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Fall is my favorite time of the year! Sadly, school starts back in the middle of summer!!! Earlier and earlier! <br />
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</div>
For Barrow County, the day was August 4th. I was so thankful to be able to take Leyland and Corey to school on the first day for one last time. (See pictures in a previous post!!) Working from home has afforded me the most wonderful opportunity of doing little things like that, and attending special school functions, that I wasn't able to with Whitney. Since my days of working at home are swiftly coming to an end, I was especially happy to be able to enjoy it one last time.<br />
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Every year when back-to-school time rolls around, I am carried back in time to those days when I was a school kid. One summer in particular comes to mind. I wrote about it for "my column" in the Barrow Journal, and it ran last week. For those of you who don't read that paper, I'll share it here, in hopes that it will trigger your own childhood memories of hot summer days and the anticipation of going back to school. </div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Back To School</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got a brand
new key. I think that we should get together and try them out, you see.” Does
that bring back memories to you like it does to me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">That was a silly song popular the summer before I entered 7th
grade. It wasn’t a particularly favorite song of mine, but the lyrics and tune
were quite catchy. What I did like about it was that it made riding a bike
pretty cool, and the “person” in the song was probably about the same age as we
were that hot summer of 1970. We rode our bikes everywhere. And like the song
says, we didn’t go too fast, but we went pretty far. All over Statham, to be
exact. The dirt sidewalks laden with centuries-old tree roots were a favorite
obstacle course. We’d bounce along, expertly avoiding the roots, or if we felt
really brave, we would drive over them, bouncing around like popcorn kernels in
a pan of hot oil. At that time, the streets in Statham were paved, but not with
asphalt. I don’t know what it was called, but it was an irregular, gravel-type
material, with uneven rocks. I remember this vividly, because sometimes I’d
lose chunks of my big toes to the offending street surface. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My bike was an ugly, old-fashioned, blue bike. I remember it was
my dad who ran along behind me, holding onto the back of the bike to keep me
from falling, and then finally let go when it seemed like I had the hang of it.
He was so proud! A rite of passage never felt so good. I loved riding the bike, but I hated the
bike. It was so old-fogey. All my friends were riding the newfangled “banana
bikes” with the sleek seats and high-rise handlebars. And I’m still on Old Blue
with the wire basket and battery-operated headlight that jutted out about 6"
on the front looking for all the world like something off the Batmobile. I
longed for a new bike with all my heart. One Sunday my mom and dad called my
brother and I outside. What a surprise!
Brand new bikes for both of us! I almost had a heart attack right on the spot!!
I got my snazzy new banana bike with the white wicker basket on front (and no
stupid battery-operated headlight). It was hot pink, had a white seat with
flowers on it. AND it had pom-poms on the high-rise handlebars. I don’t expect
a teenager with a brand new car could have been more excited than I was with my
new bike!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I would love to know how many miles we logged on the streets of
our little town. We all wore out two or three bikes over the years, and would
celebrate whenever someone got a new one. We would decorate the wheels with
brightly-colored beads that would slide up and down the spokes with every turn
of the wheel. Sometimes we’d take playing cards and fasten them on the forks
with clothespins. We sounded like a pack of Harleys cruising up and down Broad
Street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Back in those days, the school at Statham went 1st through 8th
grade. We always had two classes for each grade. We stayed in the same room all
day, and had the same teacher all day. Always female. But as we prepared to enter
the 7th grade, we were excited to learn that we would have different teachers
throughout the day, and some of them would be MEN!! We were really moving up in
the world!! A few weeks before school started, Bobbie Jean and I rode our bikes
down to the school house. We went inside to check out the classrooms, and to see
if we could scope out the new teachers. Once inside, we met Mr. Austin, and learned
that we would be in his homeroom. He teased us unmercifully about riding our
bikes, and told us we reminded him of the
I-Ride-My-Bike,-I-Roller-Skate,-Don’t-Drive-No-Car song. We dutifully informed
him that bikes were the preferred mode of transportation for upcoming 7th
graders, and we were proud of it. But after that, the bike song was kind of our
theme song.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">What a different world we live in today. I cherish my memories of
growing up in Statham, and bike riding is one of my favorites. Every trip down
Bike Memory Lane always takes me to that 7th grade classroom, meeting my first
male teacher, and I hear that silly song again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Next week the kids return to school. Some will be excited, some will be
sullen. Summer doesn’t last nearly long
enough these days. Cell phones and
social media keep them connected, so it’s like they’re not apart at all. Not so
back in the olden days, and I always missed my non-Statham friends over the
summer. I always loved the hustle and
bustle of back-to-school preparation, and the anticipation of seeing everyone again.
Of course, that lasted about a week, then I was looking forward to the next
summer break.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Here’s to all school kids, teachers, and the many other staff
people who make educating our kids happen.
Hats off to all of you. In just a
few days, the future of our nation will be sitting in your classrooms. Thank you for all you do to make our world a
better place. Have a great year!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">************** </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By now, the kids should be settled in their classrooms, and parents are hopefully adjusting to the new normal. Football season is upon us, and soon it will be time for sweaters and Pumpkin Everything!!! </span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-4880464201563454002015-08-08T22:50:00.000-04:002015-08-08T23:02:47.979-04:00Fourth of July At The Lake <div class="MsoNormal">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLRK3BrZ-8I5fSp8vCAGWPXJxlzxJzBBnn2um2X2G8Z5PS-CltbLWl8R9kq55zO0_57Ep1j1LSzzRX_T8Eq7Yyx6Zblki1ONq6X3inj4y6gbD6_adScO8j8vuiEJdqqA67-2p1ySJEbYm/s1600/lake+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLRK3BrZ-8I5fSp8vCAGWPXJxlzxJzBBnn2um2X2G8Z5PS-CltbLWl8R9kq55zO0_57Ep1j1LSzzRX_T8Eq7Yyx6Zblki1ONq6X3inj4y6gbD6_adScO8j8vuiEJdqqA67-2p1ySJEbYm/s200/lake+%25282%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Late Afternoon at The Lake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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In years past, our family would gather as often as possible
for holidays, birthdays, and just because we liked each other’s company. </div>
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Labor Day weekend was spent “in the mountains” (Seed Lake) at Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Bill’s place. We'd go there for a weekend in April, too, to celebrate the official opening of trout season. <(((<</div>
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<br /></div>
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Fourth of July always meant going to “The Lake” (Lanier) at Aunt Joyce
and Uncle Gene’s house. Aunts, uncles,
cousins, and boxer dogs everywhere. Fireworks at dark, hand-cranked ice cream from a churn. When it fell on a weekend, we'd all crash at the cabin and stay until Sunday. I
never knew that this was a rare and precious thing. It was just what we did. So many happy memories of our times
together.</div>
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</div>
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Since the passing of my grandparents, the gatherings have
become fewer. There are only three occasions
that we now celebrate with a gathering:
Thanksgiving, held the Sunday after Thanksgiving, Christmas Day, though that
crowd is smaller each year, and 4<sup>th</sup> of July. </div>
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I’m not sure how our celebration of Independence Day got
moved to August, but, I guess that’s just how we roll. Today was the day for our Annual 4<sup>th</sup>
of July Family Reunion At The Lake. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My morning started out the best of all possible ways – with Leyland
and Corey giving me wake-up snuggles and love.
Mary and the littles had a sleepover with me last night. Just in time! I was about to nut UP from not seeing them for days and days. Leyland hung around with me this morning to
help with the cooking, and then we rode to The Lake together. She is a natural in the kitchen, and loves to
help. She did an entire batch of fudge
by herself, and assembled the green bean casserole. She mixed all the
ingredients for the hash brown casserole, too, and was a great help to me. It’s so much fun to have her in the kitchen!!</div>
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The weather was great, the fellowship was awesome, and it
was almost the perfect day. Bittersweet, though, –
as this was our first gathering since we lost Aunt Peggy. We miss her every day, but it sure didn’t
feel right without her there today. And
it’s so sad to see Uncle Billy not doing well.
I don’t like this getting old stuff – not so much for what it is doing
to me, but because it means their generation is getting into some serious
elderly years. I’m not liking that so
much. </div>
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It was cool to sit down by the water today, knowing that
four generations of Dunahoo people have played there, sunbathed, skinnydipped, learned to ski,
swim, and dive, and spend untold hours on the dock, riding in the boats,
fishing, feeding the ducks, etc. We'd lie on those cheap plastic rafts and bob up and down with each passing boat, delighted when they'd come close enough to churn up the waves. We’d spend nearly every weekend in the summer
at the cabin. The folks who owned the neighboring cabins did so as well, and it was
like our little family community of Lake People away from reality. Some of the neighbors still come back to visit, and several of them still live there. </div>
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One of my favorite
moments of the day was looking out over the water and letting the memories
flood my mind. Our family has been so
blessed. My grandchildren’s
relationships with their cousins won’t be anything like what my generation
was. My immediate family gets together
on a more regular basis, but still not nearly enough. Time is the ever-elusive treasure that,
sadly, enslaves us.</div>
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Which is what makes days like today so extra super special. Happy 4<sup>th</sup> of July, y’all!!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-53684207174367894712015-08-04T23:52:00.001-04:002015-08-04T23:52:19.907-04:00A Very Quiet Day<div class="MsoNormal">
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New Beginnings.
Remember when I wrote about that a few weeks ago? Well – here’s what one of mine looks like!! And there are more on the horizon!!</div>
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Today was the first day of school.
No grandchildren in my house, giving me hugs and kisses, “styling” my
hair while I work, creating beautiful artwork with markers, and sharing their
stories and discoveries. </div>
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During the summer, I have one or more of them with me every day. However, during the school year, my afternoon routine is to pick them up in the car rider
line, bring them back here, feed them a snack, and settle in for a little TV
time and homework time. Because of my
impending job change, we’ve had to make other arrangements for afterschool care,
so I didn’t pick them up today. My house
has been very quiet. All. Day.
Long. How I miss those sweet hugs and
kisses, and “Greemaw, guess what?” I
think I’ll even miss the occasional whining and tattle-tale moments. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been such a blessing to be able to get
involved with their school activities, parties, ceremonies, having lunch with
them, etc. I’m trying to balance out my
sadness at losing this with being grateful that I was able to do it to begin with. I wasn’t able to do nearly as much with their mom when she was growing up, so doing it with the grandkids has been fabulous
beyond words. It has been a true
blessing to be able to share their lives on a daily basis.<br />
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Here are a few of my favorite memories from school days: (tried to keep in some kind of order, but it just didn't work - sorry!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwM1rRf32isYUpIh5AN0cwrGrgwdmTMxlYkYlcvPiaqsESLm3_W0_n-vfsgcn0NdeOe1TZMMAYOF_P4awaDLGw7dse4IOqKMoB5O1SlDN0d5ip2Y7msai1We8qusg7ST3OZmIUp8weNjp/s1600/whit_041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwM1rRf32isYUpIh5AN0cwrGrgwdmTMxlYkYlcvPiaqsESLm3_W0_n-vfsgcn0NdeOe1TZMMAYOF_P4awaDLGw7dse4IOqKMoB5O1SlDN0d5ip2Y7msai1We8qusg7ST3OZmIUp8weNjp/s200/whit_041.jpg" width="123" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWDOooJ2fesKlLLbGyDkIp43KKhm9EIKvxirPuoWhNv0kuSQk01uP59laaaPGcpVhLtVsRXbNETMxnXLAJ7IZJLmvxgI5GlJDcfuECyS9g836t0j7J8McR31o0ByISwwiunD9N3buyjWJ/s1600/DSC05330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWDOooJ2fesKlLLbGyDkIp43KKhm9EIKvxirPuoWhNv0kuSQk01uP59laaaPGcpVhLtVsRXbNETMxnXLAJ7IZJLmvxgI5GlJDcfuECyS9g836t0j7J8McR31o0ByISwwiunD9N3buyjWJ/s200/DSC05330.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEW2ORjavYwP01b7KpgUS0wfPX584Kyr1NKc3pvdwrlHeZJnXgtzawP7FSsBXS5gjGNS3w38mLh9mrIMcgojJRLgqFbH29HMlcgn1YUJDFV2rFQK2-KvHt6LIQ7qpArA0OsojU3jYN3Gpg/s1600/DSC05340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEW2ORjavYwP01b7KpgUS0wfPX584Kyr1NKc3pvdwrlHeZJnXgtzawP7FSsBXS5gjGNS3w38mLh9mrIMcgojJRLgqFbH29HMlcgn1YUJDFV2rFQK2-KvHt6LIQ7qpArA0OsojU3jYN3Gpg/s200/DSC05340.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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It’s kind of a nostalgic day all the way around. Today is the three-year anniversary of the
day I moved back to The 409. It was not
a good time in my life, and I wasn’t certain I’d survive it. I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand why
things sometimes happen the way they do, but I stand firm in my belief that
everything happens for a reason. What I
lost that day three years ago was very difficult to overcome, but with my faith, my friends … and time… I was able to get through it. Before long, I began to realize
that it provided the opportunity for me to focus my devotion on the most
important thing in my life (besides Jesus, of course!) – and that is my
family. Moving back to Statham was
always the goal, though I never imagined moving back alone. However – the pieces fell together, and once
I was able to breathe and function again, I realized that this is where I
belong – even if it meant living on my own again. Working from home allowed me to be here for
the grandkids, to do things for Whitney, to be there when my parents needed
me. So – whatever the reason – I’m HOME,
and I wouldn’t have it any other way. </div>
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New Beginnings are scary.
Hearing that our jobs have been outsourced to an agency has been a bitter dose of reality. We knew it would happen at some
point – but we were hoping it would be years down the road, maybe to make it to retirement
before the bomb dropped. But, alas, we
have become victims of technology, and there are four of us actively seeking
other employment. It’s kind of scary in
today’s world to be at the mercy of corporate America, especially at my
age. But once again, I must have faith
that everything happens for a reason.
While working at home in my jammies has been FABULOUS for all these years,
I’m almost looking forward to getting out in the real world and interacting with
people again. [To be clear, I’m NOT
excited about clothes and <u>shoes</u>… but I’m thinking it will be nice to be around
people again.]</div>
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But in the meantime – until the day that I have to get
dressed and drive in to my new place of employment – I’ll be here at home working in my jammies, in
my quiet house, and miss those sweet grandkids who bring such pleasure and
joy into our lives. I can’t wait for the first sleepover, to hear them
laughing, talking, even bickering- every bit of it! To feel their presence with me, to smell them
and to love on them. To having girl time with Mary - who has gone and grown up on me in the blink of an eye. They are my
heartbeat. And I cherish the memories we’ve
made together. </div>
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Here are The Veal Kids on the first day of school 2015. Mary is in 8<sup>th</sup> grade, Leyland is
in 3<sup>rd</sup> grade, and Corey is in 2<sup>nd</sup> grade. They are Greemaw’s sweet babies (no matter
what grade they are in!!) <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-56966332207415006662015-07-20T20:10:00.001-04:002015-07-20T20:11:35.523-04:00New BeginningsFor those who know me, or follow my blog, you will understand the inspiration behind this post. My daddy always told me, be careful what you wish for!! Sometimes we get in a rut, and wish things were different. And sometimes we get our wish, and things change. And we find ourselves faced with a new beginning. <br />
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<div>
A friend of mine who works for the Barrow Journal asked if I'd be interested in submitting a column for the paper. Writing is a guilty pleasure, though I seem to have let my passion wane a bit over the past few years. I'm excited to share that my very first article was published in last week's paper, and now I'm sharing it here!! Hope you will enjoy, and maybe catch me from time to time in the pages of the Journal. </div>
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<u>New Beginnings</u><br />
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The past few years have provided me with several
opportunities for New Beginnings. Not
all of them were welcomed, and a couple of them were actually quite devastating
– at that moment. But time and God have
a way of working things out for the best. These New Beginnings have made me stronger,
and have confirmed that I’m where I’m supposed to be, doing what I’m supposed
to do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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New Beginnings are sometimes a little scary. The opportunity to submit a few words to the
Journal is exciting, yet humbling…. and a little bit scary. My
blog has gone unattended for quite some time, and the words I’d normally write seem
only to tumble around in my head these days, and never get written. Sometimes Facebook provides a soapbox on
which to stand and opine about the topic de jour but I’ve missed recording my
thoughts lately. This New Beginning with
The Journal will perhaps reignite my passion for collecting my thoughts on
“paper”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So today I will think about New Beginnings. They are everywhere. It won’t be long before the big yellow school
buses will once again rumble up and down the streets of our neighborhoods. Freshly-scrubbed little cherubs will be left
in their classrooms for the first time, while teary-eyed parents reluctantly
leave them behind. Middle school kids
will put on brave faces, hoping to hide their nervousness, as they pass through
the doors of their new schools, while the 9<sup>th</sup> graders are ready to
tackle the exciting world of high school.
Teachers will begin their preparations in just a few short weeks now,
and before we know it, the New Beginnings of school will settle into a routine.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few Saturdays from now, a coin will be tossed, a whistle
will be blown, and the Bulldogs will dominate
the field to tackle the New Beginning
of another season. (Go Dawgs!!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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There will be new jobs for some, new babies, new marriages,
new homes, etc, all to be celebrated! There
are times, though, when a New Beginning is the result of the ending of
something else. Not all are pleasant, and are sometimes brought about
by divorce, death of a loved one, loss of a job, health challenges, etc. While there is always uncertainty whenever we
leave behind the old and embrace the new, all we can do is trust that our past
life experiences, the lessons we have learned, and our faith will carry us
through to the other side of the New Beginning… to our new normal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Is there a New Beginning in your future? Regardless of age, it can, and does happen –
at times when we least expect it. Meet
the changes head on! Or if you’re in a
rut, make some New Beginnings for yourself!
Do something different – learn a new hobby, research something that
interests you (How did we ever live
without Google?), volunteer at a
homeless shelter or a local animal shelter.
There are so many ways to get outside your box, do something new, and
help someone else at the same time. </div>
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My
challenge to you this week is this: Do one new thing! Make a change! Shake things up!<o:p></o:p></div>
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What will your New Beginning look like? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-9975458518532047812015-07-16T16:49:00.003-04:002015-07-16T16:50:15.717-04:00Eat Your Wheaties!!!<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT3NexuIO1QWRi_w-xvNDSZNmkHi-ypszaSAbxr6uSc4zXXww2-oHp9Zv_4WYkaSxRBpPEiExNPcrnLjIVM3gTxRH7WkN12eL4oMZaqV6AvHG3-ZMmBpWeh-DslTNb1SANk6ymg37WmxlS/s1600/bruce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT3NexuIO1QWRi_w-xvNDSZNmkHi-ypszaSAbxr6uSc4zXXww2-oHp9Zv_4WYkaSxRBpPEiExNPcrnLjIVM3gTxRH7WkN12eL4oMZaqV6AvHG3-ZMmBpWeh-DslTNb1SANk6ymg37WmxlS/s200/bruce.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
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Judging others is something I detest. I’m pretty much a live-and-let-live kind of
girl. So it’s not my intent to judge
anyone with these words. However, some things
just need to be said.</div>
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As far as I'm concerned, Bruce will always be Bruce. I was in high school when the Bruce
phenomenon came on the scene. Wheaties
became my favorite cereal, and my family consumed tons of the stuff. I’d sit gazing dreamy-eyed at the picture of
that hunky man in those (really short) gym shorts on the front of that orange
box. All the world watched him stand on
the podium at the Olympics.
We were so proud.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, to be totally honest, I must say that I have little
understanding of the transgender thing. And that’s okay. This is not about him being transgender. He can glue a cotton ball to his rear end and
call himself a bunny rabbit for all I care.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is about him being presented as a hero. That gives me a problem. Brave?
Maybe – though what did he have
to lose? He’s already famous, has plenty
of money (or not? who knows/cares?), has a wacky family to support him, already
has been a “Reality TV Star”, and is now getting his own show- “I Am Cait”.
I’m thinking he would have been a lot braver to have done this 20 years
ago, when nobody ever thought about him any more. But – whatever the reason – he has chosen to
do this now, and I suppose it would take a bit of bravery to subject himself to
the ridicule that he will surely endure. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But a hero? </div>
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I'm sorry. Not for me. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tell this little fella that Bruce is a hero:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvDTEdHKKxztnZ1-zlXFsafwZRzKe-AcTAqbgmfJx6jU94BVvQ706WE2wlnF2W3xa37eVzIVk0xLdwQBtEIvvHknT8FFCm09hks6_v6GZFumE_ZtntdXs7l3EhaBJkJQHE56aEG5HIdfp/s1600/hero.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvDTEdHKKxztnZ1-zlXFsafwZRzKe-AcTAqbgmfJx6jU94BVvQ706WE2wlnF2W3xa37eVzIVk0xLdwQBtEIvvHknT8FFCm09hks6_v6GZFumE_ZtntdXs7l3EhaBJkJQHE56aEG5HIdfp/s320/hero.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Tell this wife:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQegHGT9fQ4wtlCpnvqHAipbuFzbDjKKEgIjwWk-udVm0-7VlP654gY4gQAas_-Oplj-H8gnZMEGBznSNmtM9oDbuBGkBA1Tqrv-bEY_FccHT_WGoN-JW74qLUaXSVOTmfMrfQDELwQ0j/s1600/hero1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQegHGT9fQ4wtlCpnvqHAipbuFzbDjKKEgIjwWk-udVm0-7VlP654gY4gQAas_-Oplj-H8gnZMEGBznSNmtM9oDbuBGkBA1Tqrv-bEY_FccHT_WGoN-JW74qLUaXSVOTmfMrfQDELwQ0j/s320/hero1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Tell his parishioners and family members:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7h_t-5ajVISDKv5eD8ApglGnBrj3kvD4M39t9a_Cuz1nw3N849VkaApQ42K-M7ivO1qqWA8CiO75Xzj_5h2aDj7sD9aoPsqMNeyczzBqg0fTz7y6O1nrQFFwQGSVdd__3zCm5r92UWwR/s1600/hero2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7h_t-5ajVISDKv5eD8ApglGnBrj3kvD4M39t9a_Cuz1nw3N849VkaApQ42K-M7ivO1qqWA8CiO75Xzj_5h2aDj7sD9aoPsqMNeyczzBqg0fTz7y6O1nrQFFwQGSVdd__3zCm5r92UWwR/s320/hero2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Tell their descendants that Bruce is a hero:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGxGvkFk6m-3YKct9x2zVm9n7xnB58-p146dTu9S52B_8eMMJFdk7AVpNzICEaNebd9SWH0IbnbHo9NWxWmLUBxehVYNFHtFK-gu4KhDudORp1FcUKeGFYt1FMzEImIfP9xHon5xVar1X/s1600/hero3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGxGvkFk6m-3YKct9x2zVm9n7xnB58-p146dTu9S52B_8eMMJFdk7AVpNzICEaNebd9SWH0IbnbHo9NWxWmLUBxehVYNFHtFK-gu4KhDudORp1FcUKeGFYt1FMzEImIfP9xHon5xVar1X/s320/hero3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The closest thing to a being hero I can find about Bruce Jenner
would be his athletic skill and accomplishments in the past. I’m not a sports person myself, so I have no
true appreciation for his talent, but I’m sure there were young athletes at the
time who elevated him to hero status. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My heroes don’t wear gym shorts and tank tops (or size 13-M Peep-toe
pumps) – they wear fatigues, turnout
gear, and bullet-proof vests. They wear surgical scrubs and operate on indigent children, or nursing scrubs and
volunteer at Mercy Clinics. They leave
huge tips at the café for a single mom working hard to support her
children. They wear aprons, and cook/serve
dinner to people at the homeless shelter.
They foster and/or adopt animals who would otherwise be euthanized
simply because they were born. They drive rescue vehicles and LifeFlight choppers. They volunteer in the wake of disasters, to see that their fellow man is fed and sheltered. They donate blood. They drive cancer patients to their treatments, and sit with them to keep them company. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i><u>They teach our children every day in the classroom. <o:p></o:p></u></i></b></div>
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However the media wishes to define him, I can promise you
that “hero” is not a word you’ll ever hear me say in reference to him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To the REAL HEROES in our world, I say thank you, and carry on. We know who you are!!!<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7841079128891728043.post-4469750410468514022015-07-13T01:00:00.002-04:002015-07-13T01:00:48.174-04:00Weekends Rock!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYus_t3Egd0H43fU5AluujobSHfw5PfIRudo8xAInbg5W7ZAPEdrBQsF6SR2fcADAK5JwklMexreT0gh2Bf__u8YWbJp1iZLkBPjBlNtuqr3FrkZzrAvNGRc4EXpc_Gk4kNkTYUnd_s8yH/s1600/goodbyeweekend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYus_t3Egd0H43fU5AluujobSHfw5PfIRudo8xAInbg5W7ZAPEdrBQsF6SR2fcADAK5JwklMexreT0gh2Bf__u8YWbJp1iZLkBPjBlNtuqr3FrkZzrAvNGRc4EXpc_Gk4kNkTYUnd_s8yH/s200/goodbyeweekend.jpg" width="196" /></a>Well, it's actually Monday already. So I'll be back at the desk again in a few hours to get the work-week <br />
started. Leyland and Corey came over yesterday around noon, and we hung out here at The 409 all afternoon. They did some crafting, while I did my chores. Later, we did a CiCi's pizza run for a quick bite to eat. <br />
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[And can I just say here how wonderful it is that they're big enough to fix their own plates? It doesn't take much to make me happy these days. But, truly, they are at the best age!! Still young enough to do the cute, silly, kid stuff, and enjoy snuggling with Greemaw - but old enough to take care of a lot of things themselves, and not require constant supervision. It's fabulous!!!] Though I do miss those sweet tiny babies.... But I digress...<br />
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After 'dinner', we visited with Nany and Pawpoo. The kids had not been to see them since they moved, and were so excited to see the new place. We played the "I've Got A Secret" game, and Nany got her giggle box turned over. She was trying to whisper "Clem Kadiddlehopper" to Leyland, but I don't think she was ever able to actually say it. She was laughing so hard she couldn't speak. Haha! Makes me happy to see people laugh and have fun. We all enjoyed the visit.<br />
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This morning I was awakened by two little snuggle bunnies crawling into bed with me. My favorite way to start the day!!! After a little cuddling, we had breakfast and made it to church barely in time. It was a very sad and emotional day - Ken's last Sunday. I am terrible at goodbyes, and DJ and I bawled pretty much the entire time. We'll miss them so much. So many hearts broken - so much that could be said. But here is another situation where we have to trust that God has a plan - and our lack of understanding doesn't alter the plan. So we trust, and know that even though we can't see around the bend in the road, we do not travel it alone. Godspeed, Ken and Debbie. We love you, and will miss you.<br />
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I'm still hanging onto that trust for my own situation as well. The devotional readings from my Jesus Calling book are still spot on, and give me daily reminders about that bend-in-the-road thing. And I'm so thankful I don't travel it alone. Nothing to share at the moment regarding the job search, but I remain hopeful. <br />
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This afternoon I tackled the New Cable Box challenge - and happy to say I am victorious! So glad to get that old dinosaur box out of here! The install and setup process was easy. And I only had to make one quick phone call to customer service to get them to send a refresh signal so that all my channels would tune in, and that was it. Yay! <br />
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Lasagna for dinner at DJ and David's, snuggling with adorable 7-week-old kittens, visiting with family and friends rounded out the day. Yep. Weekends Rock!! I'm ready to do it all over again. Is it Friday yet?<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0