tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16747003541063995282024-03-05T03:11:56.358-08:00 Views of an OptimistPlease join me on my story filled journey. Feel free to leave me a comment with what topic you might like next. I am always open to alternate ideas. Welcome, welcome, welcome!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.comBlogger213125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-35942746139456451662015-01-29T05:47:00.000-08:002015-01-29T05:47:53.204-08:00Pandemic 5462<div class="MsoNormal">
Pandemic 5462</div>
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<br /></div>
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“What time?” The nurse’s questions seemed to quicken the
drum roll between my ears. The pounding
behind my eyes was making it difficult to comprehend. My hair seemed to ache and my skin felt as
though it were puckering. “What
time? What time did you say your first
sneeze was?” That whining voice was
beginning to penetrate the fog. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Actually, I looked
directly at the clock, knowing this would be on the test and it was precisely 8:10
am.” </i> Or at least that’s what I
thought I said. What actually came slurring
out of my mouth, along with copious amounts of saliva and phlegm,
“eighthtin.” Nodding as she noted her
file, she turned and began to leave. </div>
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<br /></div>
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My mind was racing in a thousand directions simultaneously,
and then when I blinked the thoughts were wading through quick sand. I couldn’t concentrate for the rattle under
my scalp. Mostly I was relieved ‘Nurse Cratchet’ was away from my bedside. </div>
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<br /></div>
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My wonderfully caring husband had rushed me to the
hospital. Having met us at the Emergency
Room door, the personnel on hand had taken one look at me, tightened their
protective clothing just a little more closely and hustled me into a room. A room!
Not the corridor filled with rows and gurneys filled with aching and
injured people. I got a room. Silly, stupid girl. It finally began to dawn on me, I was in
quarantine. I could see Bob’s worried expression through the small window in
the door. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Bob had found me that morning. I had awakened early. I was meeting friends for lunch and wanted to
have the a few chores done and out of the way.
I had been in the lower level laundry when I realized I was in
trouble. I couldn’t catch my
breath. He found me unconscious and
sprawled across the stairs. At least I
was headed up instead of down!</div>
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<br /></div>
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My back and feet began to ache. My skin felt “puckery” all over. I could breathe again. Taking in huge gulps of the oxygen hose they
had under my nose I could feel the fog in my head begin to clear. In hindsight I am still struck by my
thoughts. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was as though my mind was performing a check on my
body. It was as though I was of two
minds. I could nearly see the secondary,
new mind checking. Extremities – check
four limbs. Gender – check female. Head – check proportioned appropriately with
ample room for all. Unusual to say the
least!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then I got a look at my reflection in that little
window. The last thing I remember before
the drugs took hold….screaming….screaming….screaming…..my altered state was
nothing that my mind was ready for. </div>
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<br /></div>
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A year has passed since then. Me, along with the few other survivors of
this invasion. That’s what we call it,
the medical field has a different
name. They call it Pandemic 5462. It wiped out nearly two-thirds of the Earth’s
population of humans. All off the great
apes have been wiped out. Any primate in
Africa was afflicted and perished. </div>
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<br />
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We survivors are separated from the remaining population,
fear of more outbreaks is the “official” reasoning behind the move. Fear is what I hear. Those of us who live with the infection? We are OF two minds. We can USE two minds. We WILL begin our move out of these
confines……soon. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-9389850452775018612015-01-10T11:25:00.003-08:002015-01-25T04:13:35.622-08:00Are The Auld Stories True?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Are the Auld
Stories True? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We were off to “who
knows where”. I was in the passenger
seat idly looking out the window at my flowers.
That’s when I saw. I was so
stunned! I sat back in the seat. Not comprehending the conversation Bob was
apparently in the middle of. Today, changed
my life. I know <i>what</i> I saw. I know <i>that</i> I saw!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">It was a lovely
morning in mid May. The sun, while warm,
was still crisp with Spring time. Some
mornings there was still a bit of a nip in the air. The
air was so clean still that distance was nearly inconceivable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQ_3iuwjY4VdOoPFy_xF0eKU7vT08MkclhiODlAHKni9Kap3ZqH6iI_kc1bRLFaoalfKD9ok0kGdlJyerLbLM3SYDAgCE9iHsRJw8_aZCunvAVyM1yv0OabAsVP0tgobXFVP_0tlygeg/s1600/fae+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQ_3iuwjY4VdOoPFy_xF0eKU7vT08MkclhiODlAHKni9Kap3ZqH6iI_kc1bRLFaoalfKD9ok0kGdlJyerLbLM3SYDAgCE9iHsRJw8_aZCunvAVyM1yv0OabAsVP0tgobXFVP_0tlygeg/s1600/fae+3.jpg" height="200" width="178" /></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Gazing at my hydrangea
bush, he flew into my line of sight. We
locked eyes. He knew that I saw him, and
I <i>knew</i> I had seen him. He was at least four feet in the air. Flying at, what seemed to me, break neck speed
straight at our car! His auburn hair was close cropped or pulled backing into
some sort of tail. The wings, my brain said, are those of a dragon fly! What
left an indelible mark on my memory were the startling blue eyes. He was no more than ten feet from us. In the blink of an eye,
he reverse direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">It didn't seem to
me that he had legs. Or perhaps they were tucked up under him, not unlike some
birds. I did see something on his arm, a band of some sort. I can only guess the meaning of it. Perhaps it signified his detail at patrolling
the yard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">That very instant my life changed. While I haven’t been so
fortunate as to be a part of their confidence, I now treat my garden in a much
different fashion. I am concerned, how
many in their clan? Where is their
location? How many of them are there?
What is their territory? Are all
the auld stories true? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RNgzBCsMR3PgwmssB045AFw4jQaAqGnsPOK0BSswBrpmgmyu6e01DO_O_eq_B346JkAYAWJ_5Ujs6UbyB2UthczCdZedsnb_Q77V894hCRzwFRnqdfGGtwe1PRd4I0SoRtlRoSCBkAs/s1600/fae+4.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/AVvXsEi-RNgzBCsMR3PgwmssB045AFw4jQaAqGnsPOK0BSswBrpmgmyu6e01DO_O_eq_B346JkAYAWJ_5Ujs6UbyB2UthczCdZedsnb_Q77V894hCRzwFRnqdfGGtwe1PRd4I0SoRtlRoSCBkAs/s1600/fae+4.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I quit picking the
strawberries from my garden, and yet they disappear. I set out small bits of leftovers, they disappear
overnight. Bob and I make certain there is daily fresh water in the bird bath
and the bee bath. Scraps of thread, yarn
and material also vanish from the back yard. The carpenter bees are gone from our yard and
still I hear movement in the wood they used to inhabit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Wondering where
they spend the winter, I have peeked into nooks and crannies around the
neighborhood. It is now firmly cemented in everyone's mind,
I am the crazy lady on the corner! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We, Bob and I, are </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">very pleased at this point. And, yet, I am concerned. Are all the auld
stories of Faeries and Elves and Trolls, and their wars true? We are a little
fearful for what may come in the Spring. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnpbeqL3r-aKu7uIbHECvDWu99e036Ip8VGZJ4BpXahG8ktpEWy89y-ndrA6GHq2OKqp5cSnwMXUmHhLd5g2xAkwKyL5OwmGD2zcejW_AvuLm5wW4emnQSI5huYSnpuHkvrp-gZuBQ5A/s1600/Fae+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnpbeqL3r-aKu7uIbHECvDWu99e036Ip8VGZJ4BpXahG8ktpEWy89y-ndrA6GHq2OKqp5cSnwMXUmHhLd5g2xAkwKyL5OwmGD2zcejW_AvuLm5wW4emnQSI5huYSnpuHkvrp-gZuBQ5A/s1600/Fae+1.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 8.0pt;">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-52684584334409581362014-11-27T06:25:00.001-08:002014-11-27T16:24:14.115-08:00Entitlement<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sense
of Entitlement<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jc1deAHviVEBOL61CPrb9httIiHBpdKIrp31QxZCzuxG5_4fbkgYIAwLrsrEaYI3E3iuIfoMwF1iXK1uohFWlj5RE9Wha6aCxr96IB-w-lPSgrxhIWwM99XalWPn5om6ryc4nmd2-Ac/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jc1deAHviVEBOL61CPrb9httIiHBpdKIrp31QxZCzuxG5_4fbkgYIAwLrsrEaYI3E3iuIfoMwF1iXK1uohFWlj5RE9Wha6aCxr96IB-w-lPSgrxhIWwM99XalWPn5om6ryc4nmd2-Ac/s1600/me.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Reflections
of Ferguson, Missouri versus Kewadin, Michigan<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Some
of you may not appreciate my story, today especially. But, as usual, I feel the need to express
myself and it will probably be akin to smacking the hornets’ nest. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
disruption over Ferguson, Missouri has forced long buried memories to
surface. Go along with my tale and hopefully you will
begin to see the relevance. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
my early twenties, I shared a big farm house in Kewadin, Michigan, with four
other twenty something girls. It was big
and white, and on the corner of Cairn Highway and Cherry Avenue. Just around
the corner from The Red Bull Oasis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Naturally,
with that many young ladies living under one roof, there was a barrage of young
men there also. None for me, of
course. I was working three jobs and
seldom even there. Just long enough to
rest my head. Nearly all of us worked for Schuss Mountain in some
capacity. Most were waitresses who
worked evenings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was the breakfast supervisor at Schuss Mountain restaurant, early in the
morning. Then I would spend a few hours
in the afternoon working for Brian Cairns, the General Manager, as his administrative assistant. In the evenings I worked either as a
bartender at the Manistee Lake Lounge, in Kalkaska, or as a waitress at the
Town Club, downtown Elk Rapids. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">While
working at the Town Club one Friday night a young man stepping into the bar
through the back door. The bartenders
head swiveled, he picked up a twelve pack of beer and took it to the young man. I was curious and asked about the situation.
I was told “Indians don’t belong in here, they can come to the back door and
buy beer by the twelve pack and then they leave.” Not once, that whole summer, did I see any
Native American step foot into that bar as a patron. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">However,
there were a couple of women, from the local Reservation, who worked the back kitchen. Their daughters and granddaughters often came
in to lend a hand on the weekends. It
was September, on a Friday night. The thirteen year old granddaughter of Rosie
came in battered and crying. She had
been walking home from school when a truck load of white boys swooped down on
her. Beaten and raped, they left her
lying in the field they had dragged her to.
The grandmother wiped her eyes, and chided her to forget about it and
get on with her life because nothing would or could be done. They were white boys. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Well,
I got a bit angry with that attitude. I
spouted off to my boss that it was just wrong that as a business he could
charge them more money at the back door for a six pack of beer than he charged
white people by the bottle sitting in his bar. There is a song that was fairly
popular, I hated it and still do. “In
the Summertime”. It is the epitome of
entitlement. <a href="http://youtu.be/yG0oBPtyNb0">In The Summertime</a> "If her daddy's rich than take her out for a meal, if he daddy's poor just do what you feel."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The
next weekend, I </span>wasn't<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> on the roster to work.
I was so happy to have a weekend off and to myself and be able to
relax. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
guy broke into the house about 10:30 pm.
He ripped the cream colored princess phone off the wall. As we struggled, I kept thinking it was like
something out of a movie; knocking over lamps and furniture breaking. As he
punched me and kicked me, he told me no one cared what happened to me. No one would come to help me or exact any
punishment to him; not my family, not my friends, no one. He called me nasty, nasty names and then
quite obviously to make certain I knew where this originated from, threw in
“Indian lover”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
events taking place in Ferguson, Missouri are not actually about young Mr. Michael
Brown. They are about the sense of
entitlement exhibited by a cocksure white skinned police officer. This young man’s death was tragic, it is
especially tragic because it demonstrates how out of control the community has
evolved. Feeling you can do or say
anything to anybody, whether here in Michigan or there in Missouri, is not an
execution of your first amendment, it is a demonstration in the sense of
entitlement. Full blown demonstration by a lone police officer thinking he
could “take on” several larger, younger, more physically fit, young men. Cocksure with his lineage of entitlement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fourteen
other young black men had been shot by policemen in Ferguson, why this
one? Because enough is enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Did
I file a police report on that incident I lived through? No.
Why would I? The police were many
of the bars patrons. I donate money to
causes that fight against this. I speak
up when I can. If you need that sense of
entitlement, if you need to hate black people or Native Americans, or Irish, or
Jewish, or Spanish, or Mexican….whomever…if you need to put someone else down
to feel better about yourself, we have a dysfunctional society. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 8.0pt;">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-13565911123933763502014-11-07T06:17:00.004-08:002014-11-07T07:15:01.919-08:00Dontations<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Donations
– in it for the prize?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1uxmvDG3LcC6JeFOZN0NFpx0xsVezvRJ5b6sHYuKBe8CHhpy_wISF42aW4MT1GvW2YL9lSm-xqEmgFqEn8FBlM6w1W8vyZF0ulIrOGU6kP2KF5yDbiNI9sS5d2bMuT_iU5J4-X4SgCk/s1600/remailmap.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1uxmvDG3LcC6JeFOZN0NFpx0xsVezvRJ5b6sHYuKBe8CHhpy_wISF42aW4MT1GvW2YL9lSm-xqEmgFqEn8FBlM6w1W8vyZF0ulIrOGU6kP2KF5yDbiNI9sS5d2bMuT_iU5J4-X4SgCk/s1600/remailmap.gif" height="125" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Because
the town I grew up in was rather small, and the county at one point was the
poorest in the state, there was quite a stigma attached to me as I applied for
jobs. “Where in the world is Kalkaska?!” Was often the first question most potential employers asked. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fighting
for a level footing in the big wide world, being from Kalkaska was more of a
handicap than being female in a male dominated arena! I was, immediately, thought of as backwards
and back woods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
I would begin to defend Kalkaska, it would sometimes slip out that I was the
Senior Class President. Too often
showing my pride, “The first female senior class president in Kalkaska.” Based on this tid-bit of knowledge, my
employers tended to expect more from me.
I had to work harder than anyone else to prove myself. I was female, blonde, and worst of all from
Kalkaska. Talk about uphill battles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
an effort to pass along the torch, to make the lives of those who followed a little easier, I have always donated to
Kalkaska. Not to gain a “prize”. Not for any “publicity”. And certainly not for a “better place in the
community” for I never moved back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But,
I have wanted to help the place I learned most of life’s lessons. I have wanted to help those helping others. I wanted the school system to be one of the
best. (there is no guarantee of quality in a larger scholastic system) When my
friends, still in town, brought events to my knowledge I have made certain to participate
as much as I could. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFINXq4pwNPnnAUKlqEapjZz9v0An6UuBMDzFbj-recDaYijuj5GFu0Jr5hlCSGjuPTExXp6dpPcfn8IeKXJ6QVJCdTPjhLKItyzYCZj6vRdDwqJ48cA_hWWLFHgMpbW_Q3Or9YOAkSHQ/s1600/blazer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFINXq4pwNPnnAUKlqEapjZz9v0An6UuBMDzFbj-recDaYijuj5GFu0Jr5hlCSGjuPTExXp6dpPcfn8IeKXJ6QVJCdTPjhLKItyzYCZj6vRdDwqJ48cA_hWWLFHgMpbW_Q3Or9YOAkSHQ/s1600/blazer.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
joined a Facebook website called “You
Know You’re From Kalkaska” to keep abreast of events happening. I tried to always share pertinent information
to those who also left the community but try to stay involved. I decided to terminate that relationship,
recently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
have subsequently gone back to the site to see if I could copy/paste to
substantiate. Thankfully, the unkind
words have been taken down from the site.
Thank you. However, my intent is
not to point fingers at those involved.
But to let others know that those people who cyber attacked me only made
me leave the site not end my relationship with Kalkaska. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
donate because it’s the right thing to do, not because I might win some
prize. The prize giver had been showing
drawings and pictures of the items they intended to donate. I asked, many times, if they would promote
the event and not the donation. To this,
I was hounded. Told I must be jealous,
that I am petty, and that I am mean, and just who did I think I was?! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ll
be happy to tell you who I am. I am
someone who grew up in Kalkaska and has been donating to the school system,
among other worthy platforms, for nearly forty years. And…I know this may come as a surprise, I
know many others who have donated far more that I, who also don’t need a prize
in order to want a better heritage for those who come next. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-H8_dkfM6bfMeWC3ei9EIZJHkSqimBIjclpSPg3L-y97vzMtWf0oimD4LGba5S8xiKXlv2FzN-BQJiCf-fPvGwiYXoVavvsmmQt1baPEmRj7V45MlMeBs1vFzSopojDEL0rQFho3ovY/s1600/Blue+Lake.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/AVvXsEi2-H8_dkfM6bfMeWC3ei9EIZJHkSqimBIjclpSPg3L-y97vzMtWf0oimD4LGba5S8xiKXlv2FzN-BQJiCf-fPvGwiYXoVavvsmmQt1baPEmRj7V45MlMeBs1vFzSopojDEL0rQFho3ovY/s1600/Blue+Lake.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Kalkaska
is my “home town”. The local
cyber-bullies haven’t run me out. They
probably do need to watch out that I do not move back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 9.0pt;">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-8967773304394113112014-04-11T16:46:00.001-07:002014-04-11T16:48:14.760-07:00D is for Divine Grace<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">D</span> <span style="font-size: large;">is for Divine Grace</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/p/a-to-z-challenge-sign-uplist-2014.html">Blogging Challenge from A to Z</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">\</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhet54O2kCVqJBYqiEGJ2icaiJ_4o_fp5pYZclesayRrzgeDxNKtWtAs_2jBUKZfphMAcQ_ZiT5sPRiYJ0hur3p6aThQO1UsQAof9F1snV7X-lUuhuHM6GGQZ40GjV-JRA2MinY8YB17js/s1600/Divine+Grace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhet54O2kCVqJBYqiEGJ2icaiJ_4o_fp5pYZclesayRrzgeDxNKtWtAs_2jBUKZfphMAcQ_ZiT5sPRiYJ0hur3p6aThQO1UsQAof9F1snV7X-lUuhuHM6GGQZ40GjV-JRA2MinY8YB17js/s1600/Divine+Grace.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">The words startled her.
Looking around, curious expression on her face, she searched for the
speaker. No one was there. Shaking her head, she thought “<i>I have got to cut back on the coffee!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Moments later, the words again. “<span style="font-family: "Engravers MT","serif";">You shall reap what you sow</span>.” Jumping, in
defense she grabbed the only thing near her, a flower vase. Not a very sturdy vase at that. However, the art-deco flowers embossed on the
sides would put a sizable welt on someone’s head. No one there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Creeping as softly as she could, peeking around corners and
behind closed doors. She found no one
there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“<i>I guess</i>,” she
thought “<i>at least the words aren’t
telling me to do </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>something horrendous</i>.”</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Perched in her favorite chair, fuzzy lap blanket thrown over
her knees, she began thumbing through her magazine again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“<span style="font-family: "Engravers MT","serif";">I AM. I
SHALL GUIDE YOU</span>.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sitting as still as she could, she began to understand. “Getting” the message, being able to hear the
words, the gift of feeling the lesson.
She had finally reached that pinnacle.
Reached the spiritual, physical plateau where lessons from beyond were
obtainable, and it seemed the knowledge simply poured forth. Was it beyond? Or simply beside? Or had she gone to them? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-75791073672202083992014-04-03T10:11:00.004-07:002014-04-03T10:11:49.663-07:00C is for Crafts<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">C is for Crafts<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/p/a-to-z-challenge-sign-uplist-2014.html">Blogging A to Z Challenge</a> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Rising from the
depths, the glowing orbs illuminated the sea as brightly as the mid-day sun. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMeNV1fvCDGk6IL9k_DJPoJkCPsje38asaC_M8b3WcDnxW3Kzk1lXdOzUVE2kT5IywNu5TnDRH8JfWIwaTTjC4zqW9XDurAA5VWXDdQRDNlhvGuWaB2TvuxHi0BO6r5wWuTeyuSa2o-c/s1600/bio++atolla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMeNV1fvCDGk6IL9k_DJPoJkCPsje38asaC_M8b3WcDnxW3Kzk1lXdOzUVE2kT5IywNu5TnDRH8JfWIwaTTjC4zqW9XDurAA5VWXDdQRDNlhvGuWaB2TvuxHi0BO6r5wWuTeyuSa2o-c/s1600/bio++atolla.jpg" height="158" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atolla</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">The sea had been
particularly calm that evening. Gentle
waves lapped at the side of the boat as we watched the magnificent sunset. Bright oranges, yellows, greens and golds
flared across the horizon. It was an
evening topped with good company and a flavorful bottle of wine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFRqt-qpUVuTacmPZHx_aA7mUHUzZfZhr2oErD8NfYIFxAUnxiD0uPkDQHTEIoYUM8Lnb9p08HgYdlMkZY89_nExkXqtNpQ1p62Ml8Sjx98ZooJ1nz3oEnO5B0mM0RUzRwpjckm2KZwQ/s1600/bio+arctapodema-jelly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFRqt-qpUVuTacmPZHx_aA7mUHUzZfZhr2oErD8NfYIFxAUnxiD0uPkDQHTEIoYUM8Lnb9p08HgYdlMkZY89_nExkXqtNpQ1p62Ml8Sjx98ZooJ1nz3oEnO5B0mM0RUzRwpjckm2KZwQ/s1600/bio+arctapodema-jelly.jpg" height="136" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jelly Fish<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">We had been saving
the wine for just a evening event as this.
Leaning against back in my deck chair, the warm breezes on my face, I
truly felt Heaven couldn't be better.
The contented expressions on my companions faces told the same
story; contentment. We had worked hard the past few
days, moving this lovely yacht to its new location for its new owner. We had jotted down all the little “idiosyncrasies”
we’d found for the new owner’s mechanic to check out. Now we had our reward. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVmzT8B9txLBI-sDJ5zA35JnYUobvn6V0jmTcr5juloaMSYiGkvJXVZNJMHnYGLZsevh2z9s8YQ2GQE0cG4VgYclIDwjoR4usu8k_hT2-Pa5T07gHIYUxG3es_hw_NQZEqOMzahN7lU3Q/s1600/bio+deiopea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVmzT8B9txLBI-sDJ5zA35JnYUobvn6V0jmTcr5juloaMSYiGkvJXVZNJMHnYGLZsevh2z9s8YQ2GQE0cG4VgYclIDwjoR4usu8k_hT2-Pa5T07gHIYUxG3es_hw_NQZEqOMzahN7lU3Q/s1600/bio+deiopea.jpg" height="200" width="165" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deiopea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">The sun’s last ray
dipped below the horizon allowing the stars to simply pop. Leaning back, we took turns pointing out the
various constellations. Their glittering
may have been what delayed our noticing the ocean coming alive. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhle9phtjx_VMIp-suk-NIeoThBRNxS3aNns7jay3ZngVpewt5OJ86bSAjXrgjAhKxXRIiRoLhQHlGu2Fw4EDrVdKScRDC6y_TJVf9zbUoEqUSAG0FDK0bXAK7p4IYRwLOZnoJ3GDv_bvI/s1600/bio+red-tide-150x150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhle9phtjx_VMIp-suk-NIeoThBRNxS3aNns7jay3ZngVpewt5OJ86bSAjXrgjAhKxXRIiRoLhQHlGu2Fw4EDrVdKScRDC6y_TJVf9zbUoEqUSAG0FDK0bXAK7p4IYRwLOZnoJ3GDv_bvI/s1600/bio+red-tide-150x150.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Tide</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">“Waterway Transportation”
is the name of our company. We have
moved everything from small sailing vessels to tankers, up and down the
coast. No, I no longer even own my own
water vessel. (have to be careful, the
difference between boats and ships is considerable to my clients) If the vessel
is large enough, we load our Harley’s.
If it isn’t we fly back to our base.
Each of us has a different base, it all depends on where your family
lives. That’s base. But, I digress….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS7hQlwHskub-dl0ViQ3Tpx79T5EXJjt1vI5GfFmHyzfCuDWOqRECoTJxMGIaWkOObKI6ayD3bykrO9c7jamQTiji0iPNSBYfUwwrRpKLS1enqQf1HbpW8L340-Ras_19qpL82ALPBQs/s1600/bio+vampire-squid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS7hQlwHskub-dl0ViQ3Tpx79T5EXJjt1vI5GfFmHyzfCuDWOqRECoTJxMGIaWkOObKI6ayD3bykrO9c7jamQTiji0iPNSBYfUwwrRpKLS1enqQf1HbpW8L340-Ras_19qpL82ALPBQs/s1600/bio+vampire-squid.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vampire Squid</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">The twinkling from
beneath the waves appeared to be rising faster than we anticipated and was
going to surface all around us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85PyP_aG1OAjJCJj9-9Z1hlkc3Lb3XrcqRxCKTkbxbdUpnQXIIpE5m9tFG6w56VWgSxnT8aXHNZIw_JhVwDeM7L2jYx_K9ruixwttKYjnGJY99uuXYF_LifFyugFgGvvFSUn6b4DIceQ/s1600/bio+abraliopsis-squid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85PyP_aG1OAjJCJj9-9Z1hlkc3Lb3XrcqRxCKTkbxbdUpnQXIIpE5m9tFG6w56VWgSxnT8aXHNZIw_JhVwDeM7L2jYx_K9ruixwttKYjnGJY99uuXYF_LifFyugFgGvvFSUn6b4DIceQ/s1600/bio+abraliopsis-squid.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squid<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Derrek was the
first to notice. “Squid.” He said matter-of-factly. We each took turns guessing at which
bioluminescent creature would be rising to the surface to feed. “Jelly fish” , “Red Tide”, “Atolla”, each of
us shouted out something different. Mind
you, we certainly aren’t scientists but after a few years on the water you get
so you have seen quite a bit and not too much startles us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvVZIfvGHwcvgPeIyTHKRz-lwA8wu3j5t8ayaS1VdlzSFsmqDEm9fnUraaU6soCrfdJCtzpHuuS6cWq8QYin0sKGbfSMO9Dton9jPokl0PHK9eH0k5VZgRBxuN4ZzKPcXQ30HLcb-VS0/s1600/bio++++pyrosome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvVZIfvGHwcvgPeIyTHKRz-lwA8wu3j5t8ayaS1VdlzSFsmqDEm9fnUraaU6soCrfdJCtzpHuuS6cWq8QYin0sKGbfSMO9Dton9jPokl0PHK9eH0k5VZgRBxuN4ZzKPcXQ30HLcb-VS0/s1600/bio++++pyrosome.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pyrosome</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">After a short
lull, Lenny then hollered out, “The elusive
pyrosome!” We all looked at him. “Just happy I remembered it’s name…” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBPQPTR633t0yZSW06UY5ZErkH_nZlsBaXILN1Rb0JiB4yUhG-frZL7glrirlBY-Zm2BK5BBHhBYL9gVYucIUs5SYajL6SIpWv_Nl1M7QzwCi2-RZoZKJCbhF4N2XekweK1o9NdSQ8Po/s1600/bio+Yacht+ANTONIA+II+-+Sistership+Azimut+105+-+Image+by+Azimut+Yachts.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/AVvXsEiqBPQPTR633t0yZSW06UY5ZErkH_nZlsBaXILN1Rb0JiB4yUhG-frZL7glrirlBY-Zm2BK5BBHhBYL9gVYucIUs5SYajL6SIpWv_Nl1M7QzwCi2-RZoZKJCbhF4N2XekweK1o9NdSQ8Po/s1600/bio+Yacht+ANTONIA+II+-+Sistership+Azimut+105+-+Image+by+Azimut+Yachts.jpg" height="103" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">“What?!” We each blurted in unison. Our boat began to rock. The waves became a
stronger and higher and the gentle lapping was no longer. They burst from the water, as a child would
blow bubbles through a wand. Dozens and
dozens of them. We each stood
motionless, caught in the moment. Filled
with awe, our mouths dropped open as we watched their ascent. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">It began as a
whisper, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” With each utterance it became
louder and louder, until Derrek was <b>screaming</b>.
Screaming as he was drawn upward into the now airborne craft. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-40257981433057987852014-04-02T06:28:00.002-07:002014-04-03T10:49:58.625-07:00B is for Boo<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">B is for Boo<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/p/a-to-z-challenge-sign-uplist-2014.html">Blogging from A to Z Challenge</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNajCviRklF5JYBJNmgr8dieK4UalrqkBH2OBibTioTla0ZwRO5iufD-xUmk0_e1aLf6dlJbF0Q1q6lMCRUlW-w-TjC-gZ-TKONYn2WHbfF6Id8FYPmpYvneidG8ytiyIpE4y-D1BYK8/s1600/B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNajCviRklF5JYBJNmgr8dieK4UalrqkBH2OBibTioTla0ZwRO5iufD-xUmk0_e1aLf6dlJbF0Q1q6lMCRUlW-w-TjC-gZ-TKONYn2WHbfF6Id8FYPmpYvneidG8ytiyIpE4y-D1BYK8/s1600/B.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Opening my eyes
with a jolt to the sound of the early morning alarm was actually a relief. For weeks now I have been awakened,
throughout my nighttime rest, by unknown noises. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">I anticipated some
creaking and groaning from my newly acquired home. I had expected the normal foundation settling
could make some of the first nights restless.
Even the sounds of the roof flexing with the sun can make noises. But these mid-night awakenings were far
beyond that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">The second
morning, after awakening six times during the night to loud bangs, I walked the
perimeter and found a couple of places needing the attention of a
handyman. The third morning, I called a
roofer. The fourth morning I called an
exterminator. It’s now been six weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Six weeks with
little to no sleep. I look like I could
pack the bags under my eyes for a month long trip! Dark circles sagging skin
all point to sleepless nights. I haven’t
dreamt in a very long time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Meeting for
coffee, strong coffee, my friends comment on how much work I must be doing in
my new home. After my quizzical look,
they all turned slightly away saying how tired I look. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Jan was the first
to say it. “It’s really there isn’t it.” Her words were a statement not a
question. Pursing her lips she stared
accusingly at me. “I told you the
history of that house! I told you what
the previous owners said.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">I just don’t
believe all that nonsense. Ghosts,
spectral beings, aliens…..come on. Get
real. They just don’t exist anywhere but
in the fantasies of the gullible. The
weak minded are generally being lead around by some “guru” for whatever money
or other asset can get pumped out of them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">That being said, I
allowed my friend Jan to make the call. Jan
had lived on that side of the city for a very long time. She knew the best pizza joint, the easiest in
and out coffee bistro, which salon had the best stylist. Overall, she had this side of town down. She knew everyone, and pretty much everyone
knew her. She could get the lowdown on
any place, any thing, or on any body!
She made the call. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Our “spectral”
retriever was to swing by my house the upcoming weekend. In the meantime, I walked the perimeter of
the house checking for “critter access”.
I went over the bills from the exterminator, no bugs/bees/rats or
raccoons. No trees leaning on the
rooftop. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2xRjR8jUYERrAuz9ertIQ06bLkdnTR50DdDRTv4TWYdyizRs8Q0hqyhuKEP_3nUoUOtiI8MrTF6ngPSEEGNVDM6q15arEkRecXmqiTNX_AwlQmxxVnAnbLN9XJxd5xSBvzgu7CEt5eo/s1600/front+porch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2xRjR8jUYERrAuz9ertIQ06bLkdnTR50DdDRTv4TWYdyizRs8Q0hqyhuKEP_3nUoUOtiI8MrTF6ngPSEEGNVDM6q15arEkRecXmqiTNX_AwlQmxxVnAnbLN9XJxd5xSBvzgu7CEt5eo/s1600/front+porch.JPG" height="156" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Tired of looking
at the house, I decided to calm my unreasonable nervousness with a nice cup of
tea. Sitting on the front porch, sipping my herbal tea, I felt the hand touch
me. Whispers in my ear….”BOO..I know
what you’ve done and it won’t stop me”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-77131214392127879342014-04-01T14:17:00.001-07:002014-04-01T14:32:48.479-07:00A is for Airborne<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Airborne<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/p/a-to-z-challenge-sign-uplist-2014.html">Bloggingfrom A to Z </a><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: x-small;">When I checked today I am number 1455 out of 2215 writers - feel free to check out as many as you can! My sister, <a href="http://vickipaulus.blogspot.com/">Vicki Paulus</a>, is number 1454. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">We
ran down the hill. No, that’s wrong.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">We
galloped down the hill, slipping and tumbling as though the sands of the
hillside were mud.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">End over end, down
the steep hill.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">Mouths wide open gulping
in as much of the gritty sand as air.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Blue
skies overhead erupt as the fly-boys from Kincheloe scream overhead breaking the sound barrier
with a deafening boom. The sound
reverberating off the hill sides. Hurriedly
we clap our hands to the sides of our heads, covering our ears. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Somewhere
nearby another flyer is heard, a large bird of prey screams at us. We have, once again, disrupted it’s
hunt. Several rabbits take advantage of
our distraction and scurry to cover. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s
late spring, nearly summer. School will
be out and we will have three glorious months.
Soon enough the hot sun will beat the sides of the sand-pit, turning the
moist, pliable, soft sands into baked hard crust. But for now, the tumbling is fantastic. The sands have just enough moisture to cling,
but not enough to make sludge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">From
the top, running as hard as we can. Arms
pumping, lips pursed in concentration, dodging the blackberry bushes on our
freshly made path, feet pushing off the ground….out, out, into the air. Airborne,
just like the fly-boys. For just a moment…that
one elongated, may last forever moment, we are airborne. We can fly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Our
flying contest is marked, not by where your behind fell, or where you rolled
until you could finally stop, but where your feet dug into the sands. Your landing gear is what counts here, not
the fuselage, not the wings. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Brushing
the sand from our hair, off our clothes and somewhat off our faces. We give one another a knowing glance. It will take days to get the sand out of our
ears and nose and any other crevice it will have worked its way into. We laugh
and trudge back up the hill to do it all over again. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 12.0pt;">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-72864457901021796222014-03-20T16:24:00.003-07:002014-03-20T16:29:49.596-07:00Turmoil<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Turmoil<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1377737912484876/">The BloggingLounge</a> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Prompt #5</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzE3bKp4Zxq3fHC_9y-qy64xoII09N2wJ6pVCXdAJ41-NUEqpIG1EP6yo5E240hNjfTOpfP9R0hj3KwONERlAaLpHzjX5Ca9-wXsgGG4UX5ABeR78x36FL6Xj8TlfoRoOIvPLw6cfeUB4/s1600/blogging+loungs.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/AVvXsEgzE3bKp4Zxq3fHC_9y-qy64xoII09N2wJ6pVCXdAJ41-NUEqpIG1EP6yo5E240hNjfTOpfP9R0hj3KwONERlAaLpHzjX5Ca9-wXsgGG4UX5ABeR78x36FL6Xj8TlfoRoOIvPLw6cfeUB4/s1600/blogging+loungs.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Racing against
time, she pressed down upon the gas pedal more firmly. Coaxing the old pick-up truck around the
curves and bends in the road at what her father would call, break neck
speed. Gusts of wind had knocked down
branches and trees across the road. So
far the downed trees had been small enough to simply drive over, jerking her
back and forth, straining against the seat belt. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Peering into the
rear view mirror, she could see the lights gaining on her. She could feel them trying to overcome her
independence. They were trying to probe
her mind and control her without even being in proximity. “Fools!” she spat out the word as she rounded
a curve on two wheels. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Knowing full well
the turmoil she would cause, she escaped her captors. Unwillingly, she had left others behind. Others she fully planned to go back for, once
she had figured out how. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Mind control. There was no need for them to chain
anyone. There was no need for them to discipline
anyone, they simply controlled your thoughts.
Oh, they said it wasn’t control.
They said they could only foster a thought process. Instill a certain pattern and our brains
willingly followed. They said, from the
time we are very young, we, the lazy humans would much rather be told what to
think and how to behave rather than make those tough decisions on our own. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">It had taken years
to figure it out. But, that knowledge
was the key to her escape. Learning to
block their suggestions! Learning to
think for herself! Learning to made
decisions on her own! Initially, these had been very nearly intoxicating. Initially, she was nearly found out on many occasion. Initially, she had been giddy with the
new-found self awareness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Escape had been
relatively easy once she mastered the “turn about”. Instilling a suggestion into her guard’s mind
had been as simple as the old woman was.
She was just an old woman doing a job to get by in life. No point in hurting anyone, that would only
make her as bad a person as her captors.
No reason to start out her new life with a “bad omen”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">The lights were
getting closer, but so was the town she was heading for. Expletives burst from her. She shouted at the heavens. Then calmed, quieted, and began the tiresome
act of transmitting to her pursuers.
Slowing, merging into traffic, she disappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-83994534948080561352014-03-02T05:37:00.004-08:002014-03-02T05:37:31.173-08:00To My Younger Self<br />
<div class="" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1377737912484876/">The Blogging Lounge </a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pv7hrsN4WaQfIafn6NuqGQ8oTLlQejnPx7KxKVT9PhaIDQVhuYWx-4IvWn8uhYCYb_GifjJTx6oYABUJZCHoFIymOv4oPcFv11trRmT0Oznr6lfJLsORkY5BNSciNaVOwMO3P9SQb6M/s1600/%234.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/AVvXsEh5pv7hrsN4WaQfIafn6NuqGQ8oTLlQejnPx7KxKVT9PhaIDQVhuYWx-4IvWn8uhYCYb_GifjJTx6oYABUJZCHoFIymOv4oPcFv11trRmT0Oznr6lfJLsORkY5BNSciNaVOwMO3P9SQb6M/s1600/%234.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">To
My Younger Self<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Blogging
Lounge #4<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Sitting
near my Grandmother, she reaches out a gnarled claw like hand to stroke my
hair. Grizzled as she appears on the
outside, she is all soft and love on the inside, at least <i>I</i> thought so. She loved me
like no other. I had not seen her extend
even a thought of kindness to anyone else, ever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">My
Grandmother lay on her deathbed. She
wheezed and groaned as she fought the inevitable. Hard as nails, she was determined to see my wedding
day. She was determined to have the
right to request her “wish” be granted.
Only my Grandmother knew what that wish was, but I had a good guess. Often I could catch snatches of words, as I
sat next to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">After
days of lifting her nearly hairless head off her pillows to spoon feed her
broth, I finally got the gist of what her request was going to be. I was struck nearly dumbfounded when I
realized what she planned. I dropped the
warm cloth I had been bathing her face with.
Staggering backward, I knocked over the stool I had perched upon for the
past week. My back aching from hunkering
over her was thrown into an upright position.
My very nerves jangled at the thought of touching this person I had so
long thought of tenderly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
years of her telling me that if she had it all to do again, she wouldn’t change
a thing. The hours of plotting and
planning she had divulged what she would do if she were young in today’s
world. How often she had said “if I were
to tell my younger self anything, it would be to implement this plan sooner”. I had adored watching the movements of such a
swift mind. Her ability to envision a
plan and implement it down to every detail was astonishing and wondrous to
watch. Her plans were always to her advantage, the other individual always left
hurting. She had no qualms about using
the other grandchildren. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Always
whispering to me how much she loved me, how she was teaching them lessons I
didn’t need to learn, and how I was her favored one. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">My
wedding day was also my 21<sup>st</sup> birthday. Two magical days rolled into one! I was so excited, and had been for
months. Giddiness was normally squelched
by my Grandmother. She did not delight
in other’s joy. It was difficult to hide
my excitement. She said she could “see”
it on me. She said it hung about me like
a shroud, colorful and bright. However,
she did not punish me overly much. I
assumed she knew it would be futile to try to sober me up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">How
wrong I had been! How naïve! This wicked old woman had been planning
something so cruel I never would have conceived it! “To my younger self”, indeed! She was planning to utilize my magic
day! Every lesson she taught me, she
would always add that even if I forgot the actual lesson, my body would
remember when the time came. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Every extra
helping of food, every ministering when I was ill, every look she bestowed upon
me was the path she had lain out to execute her plan. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222; font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">Transmogrification</span>!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> That wicked old witch! That devious horrible woman! The vileness
radiated from her body. I stepped back,
with my hand to my mouth and my mind reeling.
Slowly, vowing she would NEVER again hurt anyone. Vowing she would NOT be trading bodies with
me on my wedding night, I moved her nearly hairless head from her pillow and
forced it onto her face. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">leigh</span><span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-0uKNuK3a12A%2FUxMzZ7bGrWI%2FAAAAAAAABN4%2FTDn_hqvn9Lk%2Fs1600%2F%25234.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pv7hrsN4WaQfIafn6NuqGQ8oTLlQejnPx7KxKVT9PhaIDQVhuYWx-4IvWn8uhYCYb_GifjJTx6oYABUJZCHoFIymOv4oPcFv11trRmT0Oznr6lfJLsORkY5BNSciNaVOwMO3P9SQb6M/s1600/%234.jpg" -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-75968826796397051722014-03-02T04:12:00.002-08:002014-03-02T04:12:51.582-08:00Something Worth Writing<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Something Worth Writing</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Rise
of the Pheonix : Week #12<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Quote and a Word<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzi18zt0EDtMhK8v-_qt8XSjdDqnshg4EMkGyMHr_SuxmLWzDd7CJKBLovB4V3wbmcPqs66308X6p9VmFqQVY5HVJdgLOlQ6dscJl2b0sNfbYsV0qyFBHetyAIwE-yOA23_BM2LFaYfQY/s1600/Week+12%23+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzi18zt0EDtMhK8v-_qt8XSjdDqnshg4EMkGyMHr_SuxmLWzDd7CJKBLovB4V3wbmcPqs66308X6p9VmFqQVY5HVJdgLOlQ6dscJl2b0sNfbYsV0qyFBHetyAIwE-yOA23_BM2LFaYfQY/s1600/Week+12%23+2.jpg" height="142" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">I
had begun the class thinking I would stir the imaginations of those who dared
think. I wanted to stir the
imagination. Explore the “unexplorable”
with those whose minds were formulating beliefs. Bend their thought process to view their
lives as a grand experience, rather than the drudgery obligatory grind I saw on
the faces I knew. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1-Mlzzkipf6ledZwr5sCWPxv7gDNU5WXL_0COch2OHGTSTcWq4cOPOaLAkAc2mf7Mq9D0rokvVyr99MmQkUaGHNcwP-yN9CbNrZNNfuz3yimT2MATEVJx0UhTJgQoWOv2M-RYeCJfdA/s1600/Week+%2312+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1-Mlzzkipf6ledZwr5sCWPxv7gDNU5WXL_0COch2OHGTSTcWq4cOPOaLAkAc2mf7Mq9D0rokvVyr99MmQkUaGHNcwP-yN9CbNrZNNfuz3yimT2MATEVJx0UhTJgQoWOv2M-RYeCJfdA/s1600/Week+%2312+-+1.jpg" height="144" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">To
behold the world and see what had transpired, not as though a great burden had
been thrust upon them, but that they hold the knowledge and can weld it as a
sword to make their life experience in a better world. I never anticipated my
words, said with earnest enthusiasm, would lead me to this jail cell. Anticipating a severe outcome does little to
bolster forgiveness for those who put me here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Awakening
from the vivid dream, the colors still carry into my conscious mind. Knowing that dreams are our minds way of
rehashing the day, sorting the information, and filing it into pockets of brain
matter, I am astonished by the transient images which waft across my vision.
The orange bird taking yellow seed from my hand while it’s red mother looks on
approvingly. I find it inspiring. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Here
we are in this brightly hued world, wondering at our “beginnings”, fighting
over who’s ideas are the most accurate, and who is withholding
information. Mostly, I think there are many withholding information. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">There
are tales written in stone, depicted on the walls of caves, and inscribed upon
the hides of animals no longer roaming the Earth. We, the human species, were “made”. Does that make us Golems? Mindless drones to do the bidding of our
overlords? If so, just who are the overlords?
Are the overlords benevolent or filled with <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Inscriptions
dating back to the Mesopotamian era tell of God creating mankind. God gave mankind the ability to speak. Now we need <b>think</b> we need to figure out who's God and then which God? </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;">Acts 2:1-4 ''Now while the day of the [festival
of] Pentecost was in progress they were all together at the same place,
and suddenly there occurred from heaven a noise just like that of a
rushing stiff breeze, and it filled the whole house in which they were sitting.
And tongues as if of fire became visible to them and were distributed
about, and one sat upon each one of them, and they all became filled with
holy spirit and started to speak with different tongues, just as the spirit was
granting them to make utterance.''<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Does
this indicate that prior to “interference” we, mankind, had as much ability to
speak as most animals? Therefore we
were, as many claim, animals prior to intervention? Are we merely "tweeked" animals some claim we are? Without the ability to actually "see".<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Benjamin
Franklin told us “ <i>Either write something
worth reading or do something worth writing</i>” Silly me, I thought I was
following those words to the fullest extent. I held those words in my heart and followed as best I could see how.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps someday. Perhaps someday
someone will see my story and find it worthwhile to explore the
unexplorable. To see the world as an exhilaratingly
wonder-filled place. For, there are
miracles, and whomever brings them really doesn’t matter to the one
experiencing them! We DO exist! I will escape this prison they have created. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-74781430210200876862014-02-08T09:32:00.004-08:002014-02-08T09:32:41.907-08:00Earth<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Earth<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/rise-of-the-phoenix-a-writing-group/weekly-topics-links-below/549590621753382">Riseof the Phoenix</a> Writing Group<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">#5 Prompt
hosted by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/diana-jillian/week-5-topic-the-earth/610311609002697">Diana Jillian</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKCeRYWiDNRD5HqSoruJn3e6XruFJR2_jRy3nlrL9-mp3dGvOV1moh_J54LqZatM02SbNWY5nLuxA_HZmSSbJRyz3CoMexACTbkhB7rqQZGEuED6tE5Cowiy9P9ol6ez4NtQi0z46E2w/s1600/Earth+as+seen+from+Mars+-+via+NASA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKCeRYWiDNRD5HqSoruJn3e6XruFJR2_jRy3nlrL9-mp3dGvOV1moh_J54LqZatM02SbNWY5nLuxA_HZmSSbJRyz3CoMexACTbkhB7rqQZGEuED6tE5Cowiy9P9ol6ez4NtQi0z46E2w/s1600/Earth+as+seen+from+Mars+-+via+NASA.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Earth as seen from Mars : NASA </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Brisk
winds picked up the fine snow. Swirling and twirling, deep drifts formed along
the paths which had once been two lane streets.
Winter was deeply entrenched along the land. Blankets of white stretched for as far as the
eye could see. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Hard
winter’s had become a thing of the past.
Lore handed down from Grandparents in the form of afternoon
stories. No one had seen drifts reaching
the rooftops, therefore it could not have really happened. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">This
weather so reminds me of my youth.
Brothers, sisters and neighbors skating on the ice of the lake in front
of our house. Or perhaps sledding down
the hillside on the old wooden toboggan.
Ski goggles on plowing headlong through drifts and dodging the trees! What fun to trudge back up the hill, set the
sled, pile on and squeal all the way down!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
difference in this snow and the snow from my youth is the planet we are living
on. It’s no longer Earth. We’ve moved on. They demanded we leave the only home our
generations have known. Oh, there were
stories, but we too thought them myth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">‘They’
appeared nearly twenty years ago. As if
out of thin air the sky was filled with their crafts. So many over each countries capitals, it
nearly blotted out the sun. I remember
as though it were only yesterday instead of two hundred years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">We,
Humans, found the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derinkuyu_Underground_City">Derinkuyu Underground City</a>.
They had anticipated our discovery and abandoned that location. They had moved to <a href="http://www.livescience.com/39646-exploring-new-mexico-cave.html">underwater caverns</a>, we soon
found many of those as well. They moved deeper into the oceans. Our “veils” were lifted and we began to
notice them as they moved about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
chronicles of <a href="http://www.ancient.eu.com/Mesopotamian_Religion/">Mesopotamia</a> told us of their being, too many generations had
transpired between their open existence on top of the planet. We forgot there were physical beings far
greater than ourselves. Then something
odd began to happen, people and I mean specifically women, began to simply
disappear. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
stories some brought back and told were scoffed at. There are no “aliens” we laughed and pointed
at the weirdoes who told tales of fertilization/implantation only to have the
fetus removed. Turned out to be
fact. We started noticing more and more
anomalies among the successful people.
Artists. Actors. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
shape of their ears, the odd coloration of eyes, the smoothness of skin. These all pointed to enhanced beings, born to
be successful. Not simply exist. Born for success, to endear themselves to
those of us who were born less of them and more of the earth. We are more
animalistic. More prone to tend and care
for one another. Not the ruthless “anything
for the win” attitude of this new breed.
They had bred with our species enough to reproduce should they want to. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">They
no longer had a need for us, the breeders, the dirty abusers of their planet,
the slow witted. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">We
were deported. They did not want our
type on ‘their’ planet any longer. They
said they did not want to destroy their planet again in an attempt to purge it
of us. They gave us the technology to
build our own crafts and sent us on our way. Leave or die. We moved on, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
sun shines here every day. The wind
howls, the snows do not melt in this region.
Food is grown in greenhouses.
There are entities here that frighten us. The night frightens us. We do not have the technology we had once
had. New Earth is a new beginning.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">And the Human cycle begins again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-74227327560650777612014-02-02T13:48:00.002-08:002014-02-03T06:23:44.786-08:00Wheelbarrow<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Wheelbarrow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="http://the%20blogging%20lounge/">The Blogging Lounge</a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
#2 Picture Prompt<br />
Hosted by the talented <a href="http://www.arianabrowning.com/2014/01/the-blogging-lounge-prompt-2-january-22.html">Ariana Browning</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHBFkkb7WmNDsMTMB03QpV-1JoXntoV4EKYDEAefe2vJVfPOv9Qbjdp_BwetG4o-lElitst7VcDzoROBM8gtopUUXExB4OG8FHaG4AXmFwR746jQX9P3WJx_CCwemQ_PmXfWRwhdPGZc/s1600/1-22-14+blogging+lounge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHBFkkb7WmNDsMTMB03QpV-1JoXntoV4EKYDEAefe2vJVfPOv9Qbjdp_BwetG4o-lElitst7VcDzoROBM8gtopUUXExB4OG8FHaG4AXmFwR746jQX9P3WJx_CCwemQ_PmXfWRwhdPGZc/s1600/1-22-14+blogging+lounge.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">Walking
past the old house, I </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">couldn't</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> tear my eyes away. The two story was sorely in need of some
repair. The front porch, once supported
with intricately detailed vines and flowered wrought iron, now was held up by
two weathered two by twos which seemed to sag in the middle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">The
gnarled old mulberry tree just off to the side of the house told a tale of many
pies and jars of jelly. I recalled my Grandfather feeding the chipmunks. Almost as soon as he sat in the old rocker,
they would scamper around him like bees to a flower. He would pull mulberries out of a pocket and
hand feed them. If the mulberries weren’t
ripe, he had other treats. He always had
treats for the little people stored away in his shirt pocket. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">I
could nearly hear the laughter of children on a tire swing, as I spied the
scarred limbs on the maple tree in the back yard. Close enough to the garden plot to keep an
eye on and far enough away to keep the children out of trouble. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Grandmother
would want to see each of us as soon as we arrived at her home. Marched through the front door and into the parlor,
past the formal dining area filled with lace and good china, into the kitchen,
handed a ginger-snap cookie and then whisked out the back porch and told to
stay away from the pies cooling on her rack. While she didn’t actually pull
ears back to check for cleanliness, it was obvious we were being “inspected”. One of us was always a little “wanting” of
what she called “a lick and a promise.”
I suspect it was a lick to clean up whatever dirt was there and a
promise of a good scrubbing to come! I
smile remembering the aroma and the look on Grandmother’s face as we stopped,
usually a little too close to the pie, to breathe deeply. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Out
the back door, around the wooden boat with the hole in it that Grandmother
planted petunias, under the mulberry tree, and around the wheelbarrow with
today’s haul from the garden. The
scare-crow closest to the house was made up as a man. They had even hung pie tins from the
outstretched arms to clatter together and frighten the birds out of the
garden. Whatever was ripe, that’s what
we had for dinner that evening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">I
kept walking and gawking. The repair
crew was there, taking down the gray shingled siding. I could see the piles of aluminum siding to
be put up. There was still an old
wheelbarrow standing off to the side of the house. Someone’s Grandmother must have lived there
too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-17333580569692429662014-02-02T12:57:00.003-08:002014-02-02T12:57:49.993-08:00Nature - Path - Lost<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Nature,
Path, Lost<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">#3
<a href="http://the%20writers%27%20post/">Writers Post</a> – Hosted by the talented <a href="http://penpaperpad.com/2014/02/nurture-nature/">T.A. Woods</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">#
11 Picture and a Prompt <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://rise%20of%20the%20phoenix%20%28a%20writing%20group%29/">Riseof the Phoenix</a> (Writing Group)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9jfzElixRqX8yfLKMR_WYLqMulV71JZP3aCpH7K6R-qr88LFkZdHJNNFZTTshOUrUzPZCYEvLbGZmElZeu-Ah8VpJM00ZYKLVOF-ZFFXK8bs5htpsgyMCnKeHqajQvHYTsAhcopmT7o/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9jfzElixRqX8yfLKMR_WYLqMulV71JZP3aCpH7K6R-qr88LFkZdHJNNFZTTshOUrUzPZCYEvLbGZmElZeu-Ah8VpJM00ZYKLVOF-ZFFXK8bs5htpsgyMCnKeHqajQvHYTsAhcopmT7o/s1600/1.jpg" height="320" width="244" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">He
grabbed my arm and jerked me around.
Just as I was gasping a huge inhale for a wondrously loud “Hey!” He
clapped his gloved hand over my mouth.
The taste of grime and tree sap filled my half opened mouth. Shards of the new bark we had been stripping
from saplings flew up my nose. Eyes wide
with fury I started to struggle. Had he
lost his mind?!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Putting
his finger over his lips indicating I should be quiet, I decided rather than
berate him perhaps I should find out what his fuss was all about. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">We
had been out taking suckers, or new shoots, from specific trees for
grafting. In an effort to continue the
line of white birch trees, we would graft them onto poplars or yellow birch
then harvest the seeds. In the wild,
nature had thrown this graceful tree a curve ball.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">We
worked our way from the deep woods back onto the path. Our footfalls would be less noisy, no
cracking of twigs buried beneath rotting leaves on the forest floor. Dropping
down, he started to creep towards the crest of the hill. We could smell the fire and the sweet acrid
smell of overripe flowers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">There
just beyond us, through the trees we could see their house! Them!
Dancing under the stars, round and around the fire! It was the wee folk. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">It
was the deserted home at the end of the forest.
Destined to be torn down to make way for progress. Torn down for either a mini-mall or a
condominium complex or last but not least, a parking lot. At here we were, witness to the
supernatural. Witness to something so
spectacular we just stared, wide eyed and slack jawed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Afterwards,
I would have sworn we watched them dance and sing for hours, only moments had
passed. He touched my arm. In unison we
turned, both filled with unspoken conviction.
We would save that space from “progress”. We would make certain of it. Mother Nature had shown us a prize and now it
was up to us to keep it safe. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";"> leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-73835053141739510762014-01-13T08:40:00.003-08:002014-01-13T10:53:39.270-08:00Who Am I<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">Who Am I?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
Blogging Lounge - #1<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">hosted by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorbrowne">Ariana Browning</a></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWPpbpsa9wF645xwnLf-b1WPTcj_fs_-aJ3DVuM3DwPHiy-Ns85o3bDX9d7VD_S-KX-iUAj48NKbGeIa_K-IAWgWvNV48fqnblcqeZ285s558Z1o20yl-KR9X-Et5fFklaa2l9fbZoa8/s1600/688-06245560em-Man-shaving-in-the-mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWPpbpsa9wF645xwnLf-b1WPTcj_fs_-aJ3DVuM3DwPHiy-Ns85o3bDX9d7VD_S-KX-iUAj48NKbGeIa_K-IAWgWvNV48fqnblcqeZ285s558Z1o20yl-KR9X-Et5fFklaa2l9fbZoa8/s200/688-06245560em-Man-shaving-in-the-mirror.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">He
stared at his reflection in the mirror.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">It had been two years since the accident or beating or whatever had
happened to him that he ended up in the hospital.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">No recollection.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">No idea of his original identity.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">No notion of family. That scruffy</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">face</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">staring back is just as blank as his memory.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
shrink he had been assigned to encouraged him to go back to the site where he
was found. Hundreds of trips to that
bend in the road and it’s still just a bend in the road that trails down a
steep ravine. Hence the question of his injuries. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">There
really were no visible injuries other than that nasty gouge on the back of his
head. His rescuers were adamant that it
was there before they dragged him up the hill.
He still teasingly accused them of bouncing his head off every rock they
could, on the way up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
shrink won’t hypnotize him. Says it’s
better for him to either go on with life as it is or recall as the healing
progresses. She says it’s too dangerous
at this time, his mind could make up a past and then never know the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">People
would randomly ask him about his youth, these have simply been feeble attempts
to jog his memory. Initially, those
questions were quite disconcerting. Lately
he’d become accustomed to their queries and no longer deemed it as hurtful prying,
instead just the innocent notions of helpfulness.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">When
he first awakened, in the hospital, a nurse on her rounds stopped to check on
him. Her first question was, “What is
your name?” He hadn’t been able to
forget the initial shock at not being able to recall his own name. It was a physical jolt to him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">When
he begins to hound the shrink about “Alternative Medicines”, she gives him her
best “I don’t think so” look and ignores the rest of his diatribe. They’ve been down that path of discussion
more than once. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">“Who
AM I?”, he demands often of the shrink.
To which she replies, “We are each the sum of all of our experiences,
including; all physical or mental, conscious or subconscious, real or imagined. We are the sum of our hopes, fears and
dreams. We are the sum of ever essence
or spirit we have come into contact with.
We are the end result of our ability to categorically rationalize. Today, you are you.”</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-31017452743476426402013-12-20T02:37:00.004-08:002013-12-20T02:37:43.679-08:00Naughty or Nice<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Naughty or Nice<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">GBE 2: Blog
On Week #135<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgarcl8VYliJfDfULLxVYMNSdtYlXhqpBCPRzICzchk9EYCFpaFQoqZlW3jSCm7H4GV3sHWzCQnr8VM4EBuIKVZhI66scJ7HbN_zgys1AqE_FfoyuAU0PHjexrIEUkWg9HsKj8fzQpIxZc/s1600/naughty+or+nice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgarcl8VYliJfDfULLxVYMNSdtYlXhqpBCPRzICzchk9EYCFpaFQoqZlW3jSCm7H4GV3sHWzCQnr8VM4EBuIKVZhI66scJ7HbN_zgys1AqE_FfoyuAU0PHjexrIEUkWg9HsKj8fzQpIxZc/s1600/naughty+or+nice.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Flopping down onto
the bed, she lay on her back. The ceiling
seemed to hold her thoughts and floating between herself and the ceiling lay
memories. Floating as dust mites,
wafting and waiting for recollection. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">The last time she
felt this wound up, this exuberant, this on edge, she had to sleep for days
afterwards in recuperation. Older and
wiser, she understood the consequences of acting on this “feeling”. Plucking
that memory from the air she turned onto her side and smiled. </span><i style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">Mona
Lisa</i><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> couldn't give a more mischievous smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">“Naughty!” She
heard that often while running down the hallway after chewing on the spare roll
of toilet paper her human kept hidden in the cabinet. “Naughty!” After biting the toothpaste tube
and eating that glorious minty gel, then throwing it all up in the middle of
the couch. “Naughty!” When her human’s
friend walked past and she grabbed a leg to trip them up. “Naughty!” The litter box was full so she had
to resort to using her human’s clothing which was strewn on the floor. “Naughty!” As she put her paw into her human’s drink
container to have a little taste. “Naughty!”
The dead mouse got the best reaction. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Laughing, she
licked her paw. There is much to be said
for Naughty! Naughty definitely gets attention.
But, then, again….there is “Nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Nice is lying here
on the human’s bed, breathing in the wisp of dreams left behind. Insinuating her own so they might intertwine
for tonight. Nice is curled on the human’s
lap watching “<i>Animal Planet</i>”, when it’s
Big Cat week! Nice is being scratched in all those places she just can’t reach
herself. Nice is a shared treat from the
kitchen. Nice is sitting together on the
deck in the Spring sun. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">There is much
good to be said about nice. </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">Nice gets another
kind of attention.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> After all, isn't</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> that
the real question?</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">How will you demand
your attention?</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">Naughty or Nice?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-21393364157656440452013-12-12T11:35:00.000-08:002013-12-12T11:35:01.427-08:00Anti-Bucket List<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Anti-Bucket
List<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">Week # 134 </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">GBE 2: Blog On</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9eQzEkDISzkQefuOuVj2p0c4le5Yysu73ejiDhfmyZpxqq06myrikGrDD8AxjuX75FsX9gs_fSON7p12tFGsauy_uXGhsuV616R7HrrmHFoM9LZdJh4njCbT5QhMhaU3jR5LmOdE8HaI/s1600/dustbowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9eQzEkDISzkQefuOuVj2p0c4le5Yysu73ejiDhfmyZpxqq06myrikGrDD8AxjuX75FsX9gs_fSON7p12tFGsauy_uXGhsuV616R7HrrmHFoM9LZdJh4njCbT5QhMhaU3jR5LmOdE8HaI/s320/dustbowl.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Pulling
my shawl a little closer around my shoulders, I hunched against the smooth cold
earthen wall. The weather simply had not
let up in days. While we had supplies
for a week, two if we really stretched the water, we needed to get out of the
cramped safety hull. Jimmie had been
laying stretched out next to me, I picked his feet up and slid them into my lap
under my heavy shawl. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">This season of dust storms started blowing during the coldest winter on record.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">The dust i</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">s so fine, it penetrates everything
it comes into contact with.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">With wind
gusts up to 70 mph, you cannot help but breath it in.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';">Like breathing on the end of a sand blasting
hose, it tears up your lungs.</span></span><div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
children have it the hardest. Some little
ones have only ever know the harsh weather patterns we now have. I am old enough to have a vague memory of
still star filled nights and hot moist afternoons laying in the grass staring
at the same cloud for what seemed like hours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Initially,
GreatGran would tell stories of the dust bowl days of her youth. The Great Depression, the dust storms, and
hunger across the nation. She would tell
us how they found that Mother Earth needs her grasses to hold the soil. She needs the prairie dog to enrich the
soil. Once again, corporate greed
ignored the lessons learned by past generations. The wind gusts, dust pounds on the outer most
boards protecting the seals. The dust
pounds trying to take revenge on those of us who have persevered and lived this
long. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">This
is a worse drought/famine than in GreatGran’s time. This time China, Russia and the United States
have ignored the needs of our planet…all three of the “great nations” have
extreme drought. There </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">isn't</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> going to be
a “hero” this time. Everyone is hungry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">“It
sounds like the worst of the storm is overhead now. It should be soon and we’ll be able to go
forage.” I sound far more confident that I am. “Let’s play the game. Angela, you go first.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">We
each in turn told one another of dreams we've had, whether they were night
dreams or days dreams it didn't matter.
What mattered was that we talked.
We </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">couldn't</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> forget to talk to one another, then we would simply become objects
to one another and risk our very humanity.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">When
it came my turn I spoke of my memories; sun drenched days basking in the tall
grass at the edge of the garden as we plucked the sweet baby corn from their
stalks, still moon swept nights with the windows open watching the curtains for
that first slow whisper of a breeze, lying in bed listening to the birds soft
morning songs rousing the world from sleep.
I told many more stories that night than I had in the past few years, I
guess I was a bit nostalgic. Coughing, I dragged on. I wanted them all to know. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">One
little cherub turned her face to me, “Why do you call this game the Anti-Bucket
List?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">I
smiled and touched her face. “It is my
list for life. My reason to fight
on. It is not the things I want to do
before I die…it is my celebration of why I plan to wake up in the morning. My Anti-Bucket List.”</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-79755039262975865672013-11-26T06:20:00.002-08:002013-11-26T06:20:39.759-08:00Inspirations<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Inspirations</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">GBE
2: Blog On <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Week
#132 (11-24-13 – 11-30-13)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpJA3A5997UyQpCefQrYBwYepFyvLSbrqc5vRoHaZFN_AgvYOAvhkRCvyRsd5GuYCgFfxKsZu1ajCi11eZTC8d1g7sts3NliXbg-VNV5Eh-ODZ6PL6hXLfqIaUpT-7hP93ZOS0kAnlG8/s1600/glitter+inspiration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpJA3A5997UyQpCefQrYBwYepFyvLSbrqc5vRoHaZFN_AgvYOAvhkRCvyRsd5GuYCgFfxKsZu1ajCi11eZTC8d1g7sts3NliXbg-VNV5Eh-ODZ6PL6hXLfqIaUpT-7hP93ZOS0kAnlG8/s320/glitter+inspiration.jpg" width="220" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">I
am inspired by people who do things without regard to the “heroic” accolade.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">I
am inspired by love in the atmosphere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">I
am inspired by kindness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">I
am inspired by goodwill towards ALL mankind, not just those you know
personally, not just those in your immediate sphere of influence. ALL MANKIND. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">“Mom…don’t
nag. I know, I know, I should visit with
Dad more. But, our relationship is half <i>his </i>responsibility too!” I could see my daughter was upset. Visibly her eyes flashed and audibly her
voice was beginning to crack. We had,
once again, touched upon the tender topic of her father.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">He
is currently in remission from lung cancer, stage four. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Their
relationship began tenuously. When I
confirmed I was pregnant at the age of 26, with five years of marriage under
our belts, he told me he was too young to be a parent. I became the overbearing, over protective,
over indulgent Mamma Bear. Her father became
the aloof, had to work out of town, wouldn’t take her with him to the ice-cream
store unless his good friend also was relegated baby-sitting his son who was
the same age. (Thanks Randy)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Disconnected,
we cohabitated for many years. Holding small grudges against one another,
disdain quickly permeated the household.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">The
divorce was ugly. We won’t go into that
now, for this essay is about inspirations.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">My
daughter was thirteen and wanted to join in a function through school. Since those practices were to be held on the
same day as her “mid-week” visit with her father, I told her we would have to
make certain to get his approval. He
didn’t approve. She </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">couldn't</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> participate.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">She
wanted desperately to be a cheerleader.
After deciding she just had to try and making the “cut”, that particular
squad’s coach quit. I volunteered to be
a stand-in until they found someone. (three
years later, they found someone) Upon
meeting my diverse squad, I realized very quickly that accommodations had to be
made for the emotional growth of these beautiful girls. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">My
daughter’s biological father came to a few of the games she cheered at. We encouraged her to go with him to dinner
after the games. We encouraged her to
interact with him. We felt a good
relationship would be good for her emotional growth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">In
the public school my daughter attended, nearly every child on that cheer squad
came from a broken home. Many didn’t
know one or the other of their parents.
Some wished they didn’t know the parent they lived with, coming in with
bruises. All needed loving
attention. (I was given that large
family I had wanted in my youth!) Shortly
after accepting this temporary position, that paid me a whopping $68.45 per
month, my daughter was moved up to the next level of cheerleaders and off my
squad. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">As
a public school team, we used the uniforms on hand. (they were about 20 years
old) Of the sixteen young ladies on the squad, two were not afraid to ask their
parents for the money to buy new white tennis shoes. My wonderful husband never said a word when I
happened to buy a “few extra” pairs of shoes. He helped me wash and alter uniforms for
children we may or may not ever see again.
He cooked dinner for our gaggle of geese; sixteen Black, Hispanic, and
Asian girls often spent the night with their blond haired, blue eyed coach and
her equally white husband. The girls
would often play with my hair and tease me telling me I had “old white lady
hair”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">My
daughter now lives in her own home about a half an hour away from me. She and her significant other have often
invited her father over, to which he has declined every time. My daughter works two jobs and her beau often
works out of town. They have a spare
bedroom and have invited her biological father to spend the weekend. He has always declined. He has never met her beau and to the outside
observer, it appears he does not want to.
He is in remission from cancer and does not want to reach out to his (to
my knowledge) only child. How sadly selfish. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">But,
this essay isn’t about me….I was purely selfish in my indulgence. Working with those wonderful young ladies was
something I wanted to do. They kept me
young, laughing, and “in the know” about the local gossip. I was more excited
to work with them than they were to have “made the squad”!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShycebV7jKqAfRAwI-rjA-mkd5E3su_jYuzrChqde5dRPyc0oUNquGXSTZTCxE0PWGBrAJqTbKCp3OfCfqxaVxZ0SNWwwOsPJ9NzTPQ0aeH5jLAFvzkVCNLbWPGxyTRbPyIqWRtcVeIA/s1600/basketball+bob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShycebV7jKqAfRAwI-rjA-mkd5E3su_jYuzrChqde5dRPyc0oUNquGXSTZTCxE0PWGBrAJqTbKCp3OfCfqxaVxZ0SNWwwOsPJ9NzTPQ0aeH5jLAFvzkVCNLbWPGxyTRbPyIqWRtcVeIA/s320/basketball+bob.jpg" width="161" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">My
inspiration was the quiet man who attended the games of his stepdaughter and
whenever he knew about them his biological daughters, called his daughters
diligently, sent money to his daughters so they could buy “themselves”
something, paid his child support on time without complaint, went “without” so
children he didn't know could eat the snack he provided before every game (we
usually bought a peck of apples and a box of graham crackers for the players
and the cheer squad to share), the man who urged me to spend time with my
sister as she succumbed to cancer, the man who became more involved with his
sister’s children when they lost their mother, the man who make certain I take
care of myself so he will have someone to pester. I am inspired by the man who tries to make the
world a little bit less harried for those around him no matter the hardship to
himself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-80589448814328320172013-10-20T07:08:00.000-07:002013-10-20T18:08:26.644-07:00Three Five-Sentence Stories<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span class="messageBody" style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.38;"><span style="font-size: large;">GBE 2: Blog On</span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.38;"><span style="font-size: large;">WEEK #127 (10-20-13 to 10-26-13): THREE FIVE-SENTENCE NANO-FICTION STORIES </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><u>Bradley</u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 14pt;">"Eat
that pickle or I’m gonna turn the football game on”. Grampa peered at his five
year old granddaughter over his glasses, watching for her reaction. </span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 14pt;">Entranced, she lovingly gazed at the
television set as </span><i style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 14pt;">My Little Pony </i><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 14pt;">pranced
across the screen. Brows knit together, lips pursed she eyeballed Grampa with
determination. Her resolve put to the test, she quickly downed the pickle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Richard</u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“I
grew up around farms, that little Shetland pony will be good to have for the
kids”. Standing in the middle of the
dirt road, the two men were surrounded by every neighborhood kid over the age
of three and younger than 20. “That pony
is strong, he can carry me,” Dad hopped onto the back of Tonka, the pony looked
around at us kids and proceeded to buck.
Dad when end over teakettle onto his back, sputtering he attempted again
with the same results. I always
respected that pony. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">Bob</span></u><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Sitting
in the rocking chair, television blasting a cartoon, Grampa was being “taught”
how to play her games on his i-pad. He
rocked back and forth as the six year old rambled on, taking in every
instruction with earnest and deliberate care.
Sipping his coffee, he smelled her hair again and drank in the joy of
her presence. “Grampa, I love you”. The day was complete. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-23899298887587972612013-10-06T14:50:00.002-07:002013-10-06T14:50:39.777-07:00Respect<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">GBE
2: Blog On<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Week # 125</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Respect<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN6v2LgYJwP7yrd2X7dtxPS1GHbFvgPOf2ty3Y_0sC_VOznhV-6CnFZJcbR-mYY1HktKeMm8lmInvaQXYi4SeI9aPqXA3hVqUVzSRt0hs1GxsZx2eO3hDxwo8KvrX5rZs7dPzsgagZdM/s1600/White-tailed_deer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN6v2LgYJwP7yrd2X7dtxPS1GHbFvgPOf2ty3Y_0sC_VOznhV-6CnFZJcbR-mYY1HktKeMm8lmInvaQXYi4SeI9aPqXA3hVqUVzSRt0hs1GxsZx2eO3hDxwo8KvrX5rZs7dPzsgagZdM/s320/White-tailed_deer.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">He
bent over the fallen deer and thanked it for sacrificing itself for his
family. Deftly, he pulled his knife from
its sheath and began the process of cleaning the venison before taking it back
to his family. Swiftly, he pulled the
heart and took a bite. The blood ran
down his arm. He grimaced.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Flaring
Star did not care for eating the heart immediately, but it was expected of
him. He felt it was too soon after the
animals death. He felt to truly respect
the animal, one should wait until its soul had completely left the body and
even the area. But,
tradition/religion/past practice dictated that he should eat the heart
immediately for all to see. The rest of the hunting party soon encircled him as
he hunkered over the felled stag. They too were starving. The sight of meat began a stomach rumbling
heard throughout the thicket. The
venison was loaded onto the makeshift cart with the other carcasses; squirrels,
rabbits, ducks and blue jays. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">At
the camp, the women divvied the meat among the families. Times had become difficult with an early
harsh winter. Many of the hunters had
come back to the camp with only tree bark of the birch to feed the tribe. Many children and the elderly had become
sickly. The tribe’s women took care to
divide what little they had </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">among</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> all the families.
The cook pot over the fire was mostly warm water and herbs. Foraging daily for roots and vegetables, the
women took care to stay away from the hibernating bear caves, respecting the
ire they may encounter should a sow be awakened by their chatter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">Honoring
one another. Caring enough to be
grateful. Thoughtful of others </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">well-being</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: large;">Respect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-87575110404944230862013-10-04T10:57:00.002-07:002013-10-04T10:59:12.081-07:00Birthdays<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">GBE
2: Blog On<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Week
#124 <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Birthdays</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5NeqX2F_UNmC74dcLS4UROBMaewGlIKNlm1tRd73UT7_uyX33iQ6lQmztdWysx1qasOh636RkEv5xFKi9kP-7cCELCLkuJXbV9Bi1Dah8TbGIpsvgzmlt7rVSmYmxQeI0OibpVk1_-k/s1600/birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5NeqX2F_UNmC74dcLS4UROBMaewGlIKNlm1tRd73UT7_uyX33iQ6lQmztdWysx1qasOh636RkEv5xFKi9kP-7cCELCLkuJXbV9Bi1Dah8TbGIpsvgzmlt7rVSmYmxQeI0OibpVk1_-k/s200/birthday.jpg" width="179" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Standing
at the back of the room. Arms folded and
leaning against the wall. I wear a smile
on my face to hide the emotions which have begun to roil in my torso. My stomach churns, my heart beats a little
more quickly and my palms have begun to sweat.
My mind takes me back to that fateful day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">One
of the children squealed returning me to the “here and now”. Gala decorations adorned nearly every once
empty space on the walls and ceiling.
Bright colored ribbons and wrapping paper whispered hints as to the
contents they held hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Children
gathered around the table, expectant looks upon their faces as they turned
towards the door leading into the kitchen.
Someone dimmed the lights. The
glow of the candle festooned cake as it was slowly presented to the room, lit
every child’s face. All eyes
widened. All smiles became full. And nearly all licked their lips in
anticipation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Me,
I was taken back. I was one of the children at the table that day. I had widened my eyes and licked my
lips. I had wished. I had squeezed my eyes shut and wished the
wish. <i>“Please let me have a thousand more
birthdays”.</i> I said it over and over
to myself. If I had been older, or
perhaps at least thought through just what I was wishing for. I never would have put it so simplistically. It was a simply wish with great
complications. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">After
eating my piece of cake a couple of my buddies and I decided to get out our
skateboards and roll, at least until it was time to open presents. I could tell my Mom was certainly ready for
some of us to burn up some sugar powered energy for a few minutes and let her
clean up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">Reggie
and I were best friends. He lived three houses down and across the street. He had a fenced back yard and a dog. I don’t know why I </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">didn't</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> wish for a dog, I
suppose because I could play with Reggie’s dog anytime I wanted. And I sure loved his dog. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">My
skateboard was yellow and green swirls. Reggie’s
was blue and gold. We were fiercely competitive
on our skateboards. Down the sidewalk, jumping broken pieces, dodging the old
lady walkers, smiling with our mouths shut to keep from swallowing too many
bugs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">To
say that we egged each other on would be an understatement. Maneuvering our boards to the top of the
hill, we grinned at one another in a silent challenge. We had already been severely chastised for
racing down the hill. Reggie had been “grounded”
from playing with me for a week. I was
spanked and sent to my room. But, this
was a special day which in our minds required a special celebratory challenge. Down the hill, through the neighbor’s drive,
jump the broken sidewalk near the squirrel filled oak tree and back into my
house without detection. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">First
to fly down the hill…first to be hit by the car. That pain was now over 400 years ago. The doctors operated for hours on us. I got to keep most of my usable parts,
however, there </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">weren't</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"> many. I’m 410
years old now. I’m lonely for people who
get my jokes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s
difficult keeping abreast of all the changes, and yet, if I do not I fear I
will have 600 years of greater isolation and depression. These beautiful children are guarded by
loving parents. They have their friends
nearby and a good life expectancy of around one hundred. The medical community disbanded the experiments
I underwent. They have long passed on
and out of the memory of the general public.
I don’t stay anywhere for very long, lest I create a panic at my longevity. Wherever I am I do caution those with
birthday wishes, “be careful what you wish for, as it just may come true.” </span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-45381553483876978912013-09-25T06:17:00.002-07:002013-09-25T06:25:39.133-07:00Imperfect<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">GBE
2: Blog On<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Imperfect<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZz1N-Md-8IZdn8UGsw-5ITrdAWk3OEo-sSI4dwvRm2duKZ-85HQY3EMp-uMftRr7W2Szr75EEp7tk6vy4k1HtkHJGgHiWxHT9y2Mq532WSTqh9kyUATm9SukWCFIHcOe7Fao15zIt818/s1600/Riley+7-14-13.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/AVvXsEhZz1N-Md-8IZdn8UGsw-5ITrdAWk3OEo-sSI4dwvRm2duKZ-85HQY3EMp-uMftRr7W2Szr75EEp7tk6vy4k1HtkHJGgHiWxHT9y2Mq532WSTqh9kyUATm9SukWCFIHcOe7Fao15zIt818/s200/Riley+7-14-13.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Recently
I read where our state, along with several others, want to demand that anyone
on financial subsidy from the state will do volunteer work. So…this is MY take on things…you, society,
demanded my lovely granddaughter not be aborted when we found out she would
need special care 24/7 making it impossible for my daughter to work so she is
working within the state funded support system.
Now you want to demand she leave my precious cargo with a paid for care
taker to go do volunteer work? There is
a law, being pushed by the Tea Party here in Michigan, to demand anyone on
State Subsidy must work at businesses which typically utilize volunteers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">“She’s beautiful”…..”Aww,
she has her mother’s eyes”…..”So small and delicate, a lotus flower”……<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">When
my beautiful Number Two Granddaughter was born, these words flew out of the
mouths of anyone fortunate enough to behold her and witness her aura. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">She
emanated the colors of the rainbow. She
glowed with red determination, for she was born with a serious heart
defect. The effort she expended to live
past the anticipated “one month at best” was heart breaking to watch. When she looked into your eyes, the bubble gum
pink of love filled the room, for as we all know; Down Syndrome people are
filled with angelic love for all. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Beautiful
Number Two Granddaughter is now just over a year and has begun to pull herself
along the floor, perhaps by the time she reaches two she will be crawling. I am so proud of her mother. My daughter takes wonderful care of our
precious little one. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">Number
Two has two doctor appointments per week as well as three physical therapy
sessions per week. She must be on an
oxygen tank respirator when she sleeps and it must be monitored as she tends to
pull it off her face. Her herniated
belly makes dressing her nearly as difficult as strapping her into her high
chair. Even more precarious is the
strapping into a car seat! The buckles
hit right on her little tummy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">You
don’t get to tell young girls to give birth to children who are going to need
extensive care, demanding they stay home to deliver this care and then tell
them they don’t deserve our help. You,
the Moral Minority do NOT get to make those judgments. Because she may run to
the grocery store while the little one is at physical therapy, you don’t get to
pass judgment because you cannot see the disability. She is usually doing that for YOUR benefit as
much as hers…since it accosts your fragile sensibilities to see such a person as
one with a disability. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYpyEnBFQzJDrP34Tjnv_upV3PJRvrZlHACxGCbdtLfgIqDY-VsLHBKfY_W_UX-5Uk4Clyd-IhWzamMq4_7oCq2FUsKC06be2FON3Dh57Gln-PKNi6m6aCwy_ppnVyHYHW_YHbeqTzOk/s1600/braelynn+8-4-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXYpyEnBFQzJDrP34Tjnv_upV3PJRvrZlHACxGCbdtLfgIqDY-VsLHBKfY_W_UX-5Uk4Clyd-IhWzamMq4_7oCq2FUsKC06be2FON3Dh57Gln-PKNi6m6aCwy_ppnVyHYHW_YHbeqTzOk/s1600/braelynn+8-4-13.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">This
is just one example of why this bill should be vetoed. We live in an imperfect world with an
imperfect government ruling over imperfect people. Yes, there will always be that 1% who abuse
the system….but why would you reprimand the other 99% rather than find that 1%
and do something about them. Most of the
people who utilize our State/National Funded Assistance programs are doing the
best they can with the little we as a society offer them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">If
my sister, who was on disability and food stamps during the last few months of
her life while battling cancer had to go do volunteer work?! She had difficulty getting to the bathroom
much less doing any type of work. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size: large;">This
bill strips society of our empathy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";"><span style="font-size: large;">leigh</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-26242960913388892152013-06-15T07:37:00.001-07:002014-01-01T04:56:40.535-08:00Heritage 2 : Born an Isles in Scotland<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Heritage
2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Born
an Isles in Scotland<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">The
afternoon had slipped into evening. I
slipped out of my revere to notice the smaller children had been washed and
were now wearing their pajamas. One
cried that his super hero pajama’s weren’t the “right” superhero. I leaned back into the plush pillows of the
rocker I had been sitting in for hours. Listening
to the hum of family life, I smiled contentedly to myself.
Normally, my ankles would be aching and my knees throbbing. I had been so wrapped up in the story pouring
from my mouth, I had forgotten to hurt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“Now
where was I?” I began, looking around at
the rosy cheeks and light eyes. I am
proud of their attentiveness, proud of my family clan. Reaching for the freshly brewed cup of tea
being handed to me, I wink at my daughter.
She knows I’m in my glory telling stories. She knows I just need to wet my whistle, and
off on another adventure we all will go!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“
Ye’d be wise to keep a respectful eye to ye girl!” The man was vaguely familiar, but the
woman…The woman was like nothing or nobody the girl had ever seen. The woman’s smooth dark skin and black oval
eyes were enough to make any highland girl stop and stare. The child spun on her heals running back into
the one room hut. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Huddling
behind her mother, the young girl’s dusty red curls peeked around an apron
string. Mary Ann Isles slowly turned to face the man
at her door. With a rush nearly knocking
the child down, Mary Ann had squealed her school-girl squeal and was in the
man’s arms. “Angus, you’ve come
home.” After a whirl around by her
arm-pits, Mary Ann gently stood up and smoothed the front of her hair. “Angus, you’ve come home. We are so pleased. And you have a companion?” The last was issued as a question, knowing
full well it was actually a demand of where he had been and who was this person
with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“We
need ta talk, sister. We need ta be
makin’ some decisions. We need ta call a
gathering.” The smile had fallen from
his sea-salt leathered face. Looking
back to his companion, he spoke softly in French. Telling her to move inside and out of
sight. “Helena speaks five languages but
canna master the Gaelic tongue.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Word
was sent to the clan. A gathering. A gathering could only mean more bad
news. Perhaps another member of the clan
forcibly deported, a member’s passing, or worst of all a child passing or
miscarriage. The years had been hard on
the highlands clan, their numbers dwindled for many reasons, not the least of
which was starvation. Slowly, quietly
the few family members left filed into the largest building on the meager
farm. The barn held their few sheep and
scrawny cow. They were not the worst off
of clans, but nowhere near the best off either.
They survived, so far.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Weather,
being as temperamental as it had been, had made the growing of hay and straw
meager. James Scott surveyed the little
they had left from the harsh winter and shook
his head. With his brother, back from
who knows where, they would have to slaughter an animal anyhow. Perhaps if he chose which one wisely enough,
the others could live until they could be turned out into the pasture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Mary
Ann had demanded the rickety wooden table and stools from the house be hauled
to the barn. She understood the gravity
in her brother’s voice. She knew there
would be no ale consumed this night, lest anyone be caught by the Gangsmen or
worse the Kingsmen. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">They
sat speaking for nearly two hours. The
barn was overcrowded with clansmen of all ages.
All crowded around the red-bearded sailor. All crowded to hear his words.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“I’ve
come to take you to Canada. Away from
this harsh land to another. Away from
certain starvation to a land of possible salvation. I’ve come to take you with me when I
leave.” Those were his opening
words. For hours they discussed the pros
and cons of leaving Scotland. For hours
they voiced their fears and concerns.
Uncleared land, savage animals, savage weather, savages! All dangers were discussed, openly to the
best of Angus’ knowledge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">Finally
someone asked, “Where did you hear of our plight? How did you come to know, from across the
oceans, how the world of Scotland </span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">fared</span><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">?”
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“I’ve
not set foot on the Canadian lands. I’ve
not seen the prairies that have been promised.
I <b>have</b> heard of the torment those who are still alive in Scotland endure
on a daily basis. No food for your
babies. No fuel for cooking, even if
there were something to put in the pot.
I see no chickens. I see no work
horse to pull your plows. I see only
rags draping skeletal frames. I see age
set upon the young far too soon. I see a
family that needs to leave this God forsaken land in order to begin to live
again.” Angus had stood up and was
pacing. He implored each adult with his
eyes as he passed them. “I have sailed
the seas with Captain Black for many years.
We have worked for the Spanish and plundered the English ships. We worked for the English and plundered
Spanish ships. The money I have, shall
we say, ‘earned’ will buy passage.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">The
barn door burst open. Running, falling,
gasping for air, Millie the oldest stumbled into the barn. “The Kingsmen are fast on my heals!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“We
are to be married in a fortnight! That
settles it, Helena and I will host a great feast right here in the village and
all will attend.” Angus spoke especially
loud and all raised their mugs in a salute, as the Kingsmen burst through the
doors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">James
was the first to his feet. “Gentlemen,
how kind of you to escort my daughter home.”
He glanced at Millie, her hair was disheveled and she had yet to catch
her breath. It was apparent she had been
running, full out, for some distance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">The
three Kingsmen wore the banner of the King across the front of their tunics. They,
too, seemed breathless as though they had been pursuing this young lass for the
full distance. Not just stumbling onto
the gathering by happenstance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">With some amount of pomp, one of the guards began, “Her
Ladyship has decreed Millie Isles shall no longer be welcome within the
hall. Her Ladyship has decreed if
Millie Isles steps foot on the Lordships lands she is to be arrested and
jailed for prostitution.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">James
Scott turned to his daughter. Both their
cheeks were flushed. His with anger….. “Papa, you know that isn't true. Papa, you know we love each other. Papa….Papa” Millie began to weep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Turning
his back on Millie, James Scott mustered the appropriate amount of consideration.
“Thank you gentlemen, for your delivery of both my daughter and this news. Now, if you don’t mind we have an wedding to
plan. And only a fortnight to
prepare!” James Scott began ushering the Kings-men out the door trying to hide his emotions. As he did, he
flashed warning eyes at all who could see him.
Women clutched their children close, hushing them from blurting
anything. All eyes narrowed as they
watched the Kings-men leave the smallish barn.
The door was closed behind the last Kings-man. Mary Anne strode to the center of the
room. She hoisted her small wooden cup,
and gave a loud toast to the newly betrothed.
Her clansmen understood and guffawed along with her. The noise and the din, covered the serious
atmosphere. Both men and women continued
singing long after the Kings-men should be gone, simply for insurance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">James
Scott turned to his eldest daughter. His
love child. Her beseeching eyes peering
up at him under her carrot orange hair made a lump catch in his throat. She had always been able to wrap him around
her little finger. Now she was in real
trouble. This situation made his mind
up. It had always been his dream to make
a fresh start in the Americas. Dreams
being what they are, reality gave him a real and physical jolt. If they stayed,
his family was in real danger. If they
left, along with danger there may be a future. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“There
has always been a James, a Scott and a James Scott. There will always be a James or a Scott or a
James Scott Isles! Do you hear me? By my word.”
Angus winked at John who had been helping the men clear a small track of
land. Hauling the rocks and boulders to the
pile, if they were to stay the pile would then be moved to the house or barn or
privy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“Angus
James Scott Isles is a fine name for any bairn.
He’ll grow to be a fine strapping farmer, just smart enough to buy magic
beans.” Angus slapped John on the back as the two had to stop working to finish
their laughter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“Uncle,
tell me about the seas. Tell me about
Captain Jack.” John begged for more
stories. He had joined the men in the
field today, hoping he could learn more of the ways of seafaring. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“Lad,
you know I canna tell ya another story without the others. If I tell you more, they will run me
off!” Tousling John’s hair, he smiled at
the lad. “You know, you’ll be meetin’
Captain Black soon enough. ‘Tis his
ship I’ll be sailing on, soon enough.
Upon his arrival, you’ll be hearing stories enough!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“We’ve
only two weeks left until your weddin’.
Every turnip or potato Ma can get her hands on, have been stashed away. She mutters under her breath “for the
weddin’”, but she don’t seem too happy about it. I asked, I asked if she didn’t like
Helena. She looked at me as though I had
just appeared out of thin air and shooed me away. Were ya betrothed before ya took to the sea,
Uncle?” John was digging around a large
boulder. His words came out forcefully
as he struggled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Angus
stood for a moment searching the horizon with his eyes. Not facing his nephew, John, he only smiled
to himself. Wanting to hear about his
uncles times on the waves and not about matrimony, John put his back into the
boulder rolling it out of its nestled rut. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">As
the night of the “celebration” approached, every hovel called home was bustling
with activity. Meats cured, assets sold
or bartered for vegetables, and positions secured for those remaining
behind. The countryside was abuzz with
activity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Helena
was a mystery to the women of the Isles clan.
Tall, dark and lean, she held herself with a poise these Scottish women
had only dreamed of carrying. No
stranger to hard work, she could carry on a conversation with all and not miss a
step in the work. Those who could speak
French questioned her, then passed her story on to others. Born into slavery on an island in the
Caribbean Sea, she was the product of her French born master/father and her
house slave mother. A gift to her
father’s legitimate daughter at the age of five, she was her half sister’s
companion and therefore endowed with the same education. As her sister’s wedding approached, family
friends and relatives began to arrive at their sugar cane plantation. The two girls were giddy with delight as so
much company. They were under the
mistaken impression that one of the available men would become a suitor for
Helena. One hot steamy night, when a
drunken old sot burst into the bedchamber the girls shared, reality was
revealed. Their father had sold her to
help pay his debts and seal the union of her half-sister.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Helena had paid her father’s debt by stabbing
the old sot with his own saber. Fleeing
the sugar cane plantation that night, she had learned quickly how to defend
herself. She had learned quickly that
the “self” inside is what sustains life as much as the outward body. Raised to believe she was an equal to all but
her father, life had played a cruel joke on Helena. Life outside of the plantation was difficult
and vastly different. Her only salvation
was her quick wit and keen mind, until she met Angus. Angus William Isles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">The
clan had unanimously decided to keep the emigration quiet. They had heard the stories. Everyone knew what the Kings-men or the Gangs-men did to travelers who might have the funds to immigrate on their own;
they were slaughtered and plundered.
Seldom did open emigration transpire without the local thugs taking a
portion of the fare and supplies. If
they survived the trek to the port they might endure the weeks of agony aboard
a grimy vessel. Or they may have their
women folk raped and slaughtered, and the men inducted into the English Navy. Announcing their leave could only prove to be disastrous for everyone involved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">The
night of the gala celebration brought clans from as far away as Kirriemuir and Aberdeenshire. Every highlander wanted to see Helena. They wanted to be able to tell the story of
the tall black woman or to see her and verify the stories that such a being
existed. A black skinned person was
simply something out of one’s imagination, or stories from the pub, not unlike
Faeries or elves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">James
Scott leaned towards Mary Ann, “Feathers?
I did not know her tribe wore feathers.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“First
of all, she is NOT part of a tribe.
Secondly, it is designed to draw attention. I think it a stroke of genius if I do say so
myself. No one has noticed all the missing family. Not one whisper… so far.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">“Myself
included. Who can take their eyes from
her? A vision Queen Maude would be proud
of. The women and small children should be nearly to Forfar by now. By morning we shall be as well.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">Meanwhile,
in a small affair not far from the wedding festivities, another small service
was being performed. Father Michael,
recently traveling from Ireland, had agreed to wed Millie Isles and Walter
Strathclair in their own private ceremony.
Glowing with joy, the two young lovers gathered up their own belongings
to begin the trek to the seashore; two
pregnant Herefords and a bull, two Blackfaced ewes and his beloved sheepdog,
Tess. Millie and Walter held the
determination of the Highlands. Quietly
and without fanfare, they began the long trek from the Mountainous region south
of Braemar to join the rest of the clan in Forfar. Then onward to fulfill their destiny! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: large;">leigh</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-51251511431516814452013-06-11T16:52:00.000-07:002014-01-01T04:27:54.178-08:00Heritage - Born an Isles in Scotland<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Heritage 1</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-size: large;">Born an Isles in Scotland</span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, my dear, it was a day not unlike this.” The children had crowed around the fireplace,
roasting marshmallows for S’Mores.
Lighting more than a few on fire to watch the sugary confection first
turn brown then black and melt onto the logs or be eaten completely by the
flames. Sticky, gooey marshmallow oozed
from the sides of the fireplace where someone’s spear got too close and the
mass globbed off the spear tip and onto the side of the fireplace. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Four generations had gathered together. We were there for the holiday weekend. It turned out to be rather coolish and drizzly. Uncomfortable to be outside and cramped with
people inside. With two more days of the
holiday weekend to go. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“We were bored, it was cold and rainy, too many kids around
to actually clean, and the snacks were nearly gone. My younger brother asked a question, I don’t
recall exactly what it was at this moment, but it got all the adults trading
stories. We children learned a lot that
day. Quite a bit about our history, why
we are all here and hopes for the future.”
I folded my weathered hands on my lap and smiled at the youngster asking
questions. At the moment, I honestly
couldn’t remember who’s kid she was. She
was a pretty young teen though and the earnest plea in her eyes told me she
wouldn’t go back to play until she had heard at least one story. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“They came from entirely different backgrounds, as most star
crossed lovers do. During the “Great
Scottish Exodus”. Scotland’s government
had backed the removal of individuals from Scotland in an effort to reduce the
population and avoid mass starvation.
Initially the whole process behind the relocation of Scotland’s
population was indeed to help the populous.
However the gangs scouring the countryside with bully clubs to forcefully
remove family members were not looked upon favorably by the highlanders. The highlanders were naturally sought out
first, as they tended to be the hardiest of the countrymen. Or at least it was their hardiness which was
touted, it was also because of their inherent ability to rouse people to a
cause. Rabble-rouser was a word oft used
to describe those first chosen to leave the country. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">John Isles had only eyes for his childhood sweet-heart. Hiring himself out to anyone who would pay
for his strong arms and solid back; he picked rocks from fields adding to the
stone fences of the crofts and creating new, sheered flocks and flocks of sheep,
felled and hauled the few sparse trees left on the land, and he even toted
shale for the artisans. No task too
difficult or too lowly, for he was saving to wed the love of his life one Miss
Moira Edward. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once a month, he would wash his face don a clean shirt and
walk the miles to the home of Miss Moira Edward. All the while whistling a fancy uplifting
song to travel by. He envisioned the
smile on her lips as she watched him swagger the last few hundred yards to her
stoop. He could see the laughter in her
eyes as he presented her with flowers he had picked along the way. He could smell the lavender she dabbed behind
her ears. She was shapely in a time when
there was little to eat. Her healthy
body quickly turned all food into clear skin and wavy raven hair. Her quick wit
and easy laughter endeared her to him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You can imagine his shock upon learning the gangs men had
been to their village impounding personnel into passage to Canada. Moira was gone. The small hut they called home was
empty. Remnants of the small morning
fire, for brewing what passed for tea, was smoldering on the hearth. Cups were
broken, chairs tipped over and the night’s bedding was strewn across the
floor. Moira and her parents had put up
a struggle but obviously were overwhelmed.
Falling to his knees, he cried out to the heavens above. He ran searching every out building. He ran to the neighbor’s, who knew
nothing. He ran to their secret spot,
hoping she had found her way to where she would know he would find her. Only emptiness greeted him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was later, upon his trudge homeward that he learned the
truth. She and her family were gone. The ship had sailed that very day. The
gangs-men had captured them. They had
been sent to “emigration”. Letters of
inquiry were quickly written.
Investigation into the family’s destination was begun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">More determined than ever, John set his cap at earning money
enough to travel to Canada and purchase land once he found his Moira. Laboring from dawn to dusk seven days a
week. Finally, months later, the letter
arrived!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">News! News of their passage and where they had landed. His beloved Moira’s family had landed safely
in Canada after sailing through the dreaded St Lawrence, entering Canada
through the New York region. However, and his heart dropped. However, and he couldn't breathe. However, Moira did not survive the
passage. His world stopped spinning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dipping into the cups, John’s life whirled out of
control. He got into fights at the pub. He didn't show up for work he had promised to complete. He was lost without the hope
in his heart. His long red hair,
normally tied neatly behind his head, was scraggly and filled with dirt. His finest kilt, worn with pride on his walks
to meet with Moira, was now tattered and frayed. Often to be found laying in
the street or in the blacksmiths hayloft. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tsking loudly, she stood over him with hands on her
hips. Scolding him with her tongue,
wagging a blame-filled finger at him, she stood with her back to the sun so he
could only see the outline of her. He
felt as though he had been struck by lightning.
While his vision may have been blurred with ale, she was a pinpoint of
clarity. The sharp contrast making her
stand out from the rest of the world.
This must be an angel, was his thought. "Months of inebriation and I've actually been allowed into Heaven." His thoughts darted in every direction possible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He didn't hear a word she said. He could only watch as her beautiful red lips
mouthed words at him. Those flashing eyes held is inner being. Her hair must be
spun gold, he thought. For a moment, he
thought he had died, then realized the rest of the village looked the same. Barbara Small stood on the rock pathway
chastising the handsome man who had obviously had too many pints. Hadn't anyone ever told him to mind his p’s
and q’s? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She knew who he was, his reputation both before and after
the sailing of the ship. It was a
smallish town and gossip flowed over tea and ale as easily and quickly as the
wind blew. Why she stopped to speak to
him, she wasn't quite certain. She only knew that their meeting was destiny.
She could feel it in her very bones. </span></div>
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********************************************</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With a hitch in his step and a whistle on his lips, John
knew he was one of the fortunate ones. He
had been smiled upon twice in his life, and was smart enough to be grateful. Bending
his back into the task at hand, he and his bride tried to coax more from the lackluster
ground. Even his lovely Barbara was
beginning to show the early signs of starvation. The blight was beginning to take it's toll, even in the hearty High Lands. They had been blessed with three healthy
children, but with no rain, and little water, who knew how long the little ones
could last. Onion soup (most days minus
the onions) was not a diet made for growing children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">John and Barbara had been saving as much money as they
could. But, trying to sell to people who had no money either was a nearly futile endeavor. What little money they did have, mostly went to pay rents and sustain their lives. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">James, the eldest child, was nearly a grown man and
needed to eat like one. He literally
pulled a plow for his lordship on more than one occasion. The horses and mules, like the people, had
been to starving too. Many animals had
simply died in their harness in the middle of the field. Most were dressed, by the butcher, where they
lay. The meat, however, was not distributed among the hands. It was taken directly to the Lordship's larder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bearing children and breast feeding had taken a toll on
Barbara’s health. Most of her teeth had
long ago fallen out. Her eyes still
sparkled when she looked at her family, but the hard years of highland life were
acutely visible. Where she was once
round and curvaceous, she was now angular and sharp. Still quick to smile, her once full lips were
now a jagged slash across her face. Too
often she had to squint into the sun while hanging the lordship’s wash on the
line creating a permanent furrow between her brows. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the sake of their children and any future generations of
their family, they agreed they would forgo waiting to have enough funds to
purchase passage to America. They reached
out to a Salvation Army post. They had
been stationed to assist those emigrants to Canada. The Canadian government was subsidizing
passage and granting land in the great prairie lands of Canada. Understanding
there would be no berth, they would share the hold with perhaps a thousand
others, they determined to cast off the shackles of abject poverty for the
promise of the New World. The ship would sail in three months time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Three months was not enough time for lovely Barbara. She was never to see the New World. She was never to see her beautiful children
grown. Consumption ran rampant among the
emaciated highlanders. Nearly half the
village was taken that winter. Nearly a
third of the nation’s remaining population.
John could not leave his beloved Barbara. He could not leave Scotland. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">James Scott Isles was determined not to live the life his
father had. With an eye to the New World
and the promise of the government, he was not going to allow Scotland to take
his life as it had so many around him.
He would take his wife, Mary Ann Allison, and their six children to
carve a better place. They would harvest the dream his parents had planted. Mary
Ann’s sister worked in the kitchen for his lordship. Smuggling food from her sister, James and
Mary Ann’s children never had the glass eyed, pot bellies of the starving. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The two sisters had experienced more than one close
call. His lordship’s man kept a watchful
eye out for all the clothing Mary Ann hung out after washing, and the head cook kept a keen eye out for any scraps of food.
It was dangerous, but then living had become dangerous.” </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674700354106399528.post-59877666728243773572013-04-29T16:14:00.002-07:002013-04-29T16:16:17.220-07:00How to …. (explain a process)<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Week #102 GBE 2: Blog On Elizabeth Grace!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: large;">How to …. (explain a process)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1zBfS4zq4iN_DvhwnBMDj_HamCj3bjk8NmMH4NHgv-9TvWh-RYILCQY-zr-jJSjg4I1f3hn1T2wNNFypMHfTOTKN7clh6K5yUcfKV_0rDd1Puq-EArN1xi_jLiVWfBsPUzJN3ex0PhQ/s1600/cardigan+2.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/AVvXsEiy1zBfS4zq4iN_DvhwnBMDj_HamCj3bjk8NmMH4NHgv-9TvWh-RYILCQY-zr-jJSjg4I1f3hn1T2wNNFypMHfTOTKN7clh6K5yUcfKV_0rDd1Puq-EArN1xi_jLiVWfBsPUzJN3ex0PhQ/s200/cardigan+2.jpg" width="156" /></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">While working in
Human Resources at UPS, one of my tasks was to teach new supervisors the
difference between a Job Description and Work Instructions. The Job Description tells you who does a
specific job. The Work instructions tell
you how to accomplish the task. As an
example, after dropping a cardigan sweater onto the floor, one of the new
supervisors had to talk me through putting the sweater back on. Needless to say, I didn’t divert an inch from
the vague initial instructions given, and often wore my sweater either on the
top of my head or as pants!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Explaining a task teaches
several lessons. Are you a detail
person? Do you expect others to “read”
into your explanation? How do you react
when your instructions aren’t followed as you anticipated? Do you
expect others to have the background knowledge that you have in order to
understand your instructions? Teaching others, teaches us about ourselves. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Back to the sweater
laying on the floor. Proper instructions
to a reasonable adult are as follows;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">Look at the
sweater to ascertain where the collar is located. With your right hand, reach out and grasp the
sweater by the collar section. Pick the
sweater up to determine which way it may need to be turned to don. With the sweater in your right hand, if the
label is facing you slowly raise your left hand and glide it into the arm hole
on the right hand side of the garment tag. Pushing your hand all the way
through the sleeve until your hand is visible past the cuff. Slide your right hand approximately four
inches to the right of your current hand hold so that the sweater drapes around
your back and across your shoulders.
Hunch your right shoulder to accommodate comfort. Double your right hand up, raise your fist to
shoulder height and slowly move your hand into the sleeve, pushing past the
cuff. Your cardigan sweater should
either button or zip in the front. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope you have a
warm and comfortable spring!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC";">leigh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00747623369987517157noreply@blogger.com5