tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32604748232662760242024-02-19T03:47:00.010-05:00Knees and PawsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.comBlogger535125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-48526363414607497082014-09-26T07:53:00.002-04:002014-09-26T11:30:19.122-04:00The Game Winning Goal!In our house, age ten is the happiest year of life. Elliot decided to play soccer in addition to joining a Lego Robotics league and continuing with Tae Kwon Do. At home we continue to work on academics, music and art. We both maintain our etsy shops in spare moments, and make time for friendship, family and play.<br />
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It is a FULL life. <br />
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After struggling with the lonely transition from school to home education in first grade, I feel as though our lifestyle has come into full bloom. <br />
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The excitement in Elliot's heart for all of his new activities is contagious. Every week after a soccer game, he just can't <i>wait</i> for the next one.<br />
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As a beginner, Coach Teri placed Elliot as a defender. During last night's game, while I was at one end taking pictures, I heard Richard direct Elliot to move back into his position.<br />
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It's so hard to stay put when you want to fly around the field...<br />
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When you fly too fast, you realize later that you left a hole in your absence.<br />
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After two losses and a missed practice due to rain, Elliot wanted to stay late after this week's practice to work on his skills. He and another teammate worked on making shots into the goal for an hour, and the coaches stayed to help. I could write a separate post about how much we love our coaches...two sisters who teach by making every new skill into a game. They give big hugs and lead with positive encouragement. One of the sisters is named Kari, affectionately known as "Care Bear." All the children have started calling her "Coach Care Bear." Often during practices, we can hear the loud and booming voice of the opposing team's coach on the next field. This ex military guy leads the aptly named Bombers. They all wear black jerseys. He makes them run laps and do push-ups and he yells at them ALL THE TIME. The contrast between coaching styles is something we've been observing... feeling so blessed to be exactly where we are. I'm not sure I could handle it if Elliot played on the Bombers team. Even though they win games, the experience feels much different. Our coaches allow this team to be exactly what they are: children learning a new sport for the first time.<br />
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On the way to our third game, I said a little prayer for the team. <br />
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They prayed too...<br />
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As all soccer parents know, the excitement on the sidelines is intense. So I've started to move closer to the end with my camera. For some reason, I'm self conscious about hearing myself yell from the sidelines. My heart pumps with excitement for them. It's hard to keep it all in.<br />
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Sometimes, when things are going well, Elliot and his teammates hug one another on the field. Bonded by their shared excitement, beaming with red faces, gratitude floods in.<br />
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To be ten years old, fighting for the ball, yelling encouragement to your buddies...this is <i>the</i> highlight of Elliot's entire week. <br />
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In a complete surprise to everyone, instead of getting clobbered, last night the Hornets made their way to a tie.<br />
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Then, out of the blue, one minute before the game's end, Elliot was once again out of position.<br />
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So far from where he should have been.<br />
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There he stood at the front line, close to the opposing team's goal. He stole the ball and turned to face the goalie.<br />
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As the opposing team drew close behind, he kicked hard and the ball soared an inch past the goalie's hands, sailing in an arc and landing safely inside the net.<br />
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Parents on the sidelines roared with cheering as I watched my son running and jumping with his hands in the air.<br />
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Elliot says he doesn't remember hearing parents and team members cheering. He was stunned in a moment of shock.<br />
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Then the whistle marked the game's end. <br />
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But I think this is just the beginning.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-29100556050262145622014-09-22T14:31:00.000-04:002014-09-22T14:31:17.171-04:00Kimmie Dolls, A Work of HeartCreating for children wakes me up. It lifts my spirits. It sends sparks of light through the imaginative part of my brain. It requires concentration and total mindfulness, which opens a flow of peace.<div>
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After making my first felt doll for a friend, I was hooked. Doll making is tedious, but fun! It takes four hours to complete one from start to finish, just right for a day's work. My friend Erica saw the first one I created for the Etsy shop and ordered two for her nieces.</div>
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Erica is an outstanding elementary school educator. She teaches music to hundreds of students each year. I cannot express how grateful I am to help Erica with costumes. Every year since the beginning of Knees and Paws, I have been abundantly blessed by her requests. These opportunities allow me to take on a large project that expands my skills and stretches my creative muscles. During the process, I think of the kids who play a variety of roles from prickly pear cacti to marching elephants. I remember how much it meant to me that I had a music teacher. I remember how exciting it was to perform on stage. </div>
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Erica trusts that I can design, construct and deliver each costume piece in good quality and on time for the important events.</div>
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Our friendship has grown through these moments of connection. I respect and love her for what she gives to her students and also for her kindness to me.</div>
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When everything was coming together the way I imagined, a new thought popped...why not include some watercolor cards?<br />
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Following my impulses and ideas for this project, I feel excited by the results! Maybe a new line of dolls based on the Knees and Paws accessories will follow, carrying me through the off season and even into writing and illustrating...</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-77091801551710214982014-09-11T10:48:00.003-04:002014-09-11T10:50:28.613-04:00Pink Poodle Ears Marie Antionette StyleNovel ideas are the spark for my creative engine. Last night we watched Look Who's Talking Too. I was captivated by the standard poodle in that movie and how her long ears were so fluffy. In a stroke of insight, I thought about manipulating yarn to produce that effect.<br />
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I'm naming it the Marie Antionette style Pink Poodle.<br />
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I think these ears will work well with my plush costume accessories for a dramatic effect. I'm thinking "before groomer, after groomer..."<br />
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To mix things up, I envisioned adding a poodle skirt.<br />
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All items are now available in the shop which you can see here: <a href="http://www.kneesandpaws.etsy.com/">http://www.kneesandpaws.etsy.com</a><br />
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Today I'm going to have a few hours to imagine and play around with materials. I loved making the brushed yarn poodle ears so much that I'm thinking about "bad hair day wigs." <br />
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Have a great weekend and enjoy the light that fall brings. xoAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-60573341941250342312014-09-10T06:55:00.000-04:002014-09-10T06:55:22.164-04:00Mistakes, Learning and ShameA little bomb exploded inside me yesterday. My ego disintegrated from a grenade of errors I threw at myself during a learning process. After a long lazy summer, I returned to my shop to make some new designs for the fall season. Perhaps it would have been easier if I had attempted to learn a new skill before the season arrived. There would have been less pressure to "produce a thing of value" and just play around with patterns and fabric.<div>
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I have been working on building a poodle costume with a full and flowing skirt. Once I was moderately satisfied with the skirt, I wondered what else I could make to go with it. I had a glossy, shimmery yard of white satin. In a feat of daring, I attempted my first blouse....by making my own paper bag pattern.</div>
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It was a two day disaster.</div>
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And for every mistake, I doggedly tried to make corrections that ended up destroying the overall piece. I worked and adjusted, hoping to save it. It is now a rough draft that I can no longer edit. I held on to the idea of it so hard, my mind engaged in a bull headed determination to solve all of the problems I was creating. </div>
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Two of my road blocks to technical skill development are the idea of "fast track learning" in combination with a "results NOW!" expectation.</div>
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I have trouble working with traditional patterns because I have not taken the time to learn the basic sewing terminology or study the art of garment making. It's simple, yet also complex. There are sizes to consider and lots of measuring. It's incredibly frustrating to sit at the machine and work with precision when you proceed like Dori from Finding Nemo, her calming voice in my head saying "just keep sewing, keep sewing....keep sewing". </div>
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I am so committed to doing things "my way" that I avoid learning something useful from a skilled teacher.</div>
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Leaving the shining white blouse in a crooked wreck of awkwardness,</div>
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I went to bed disappointed, feeling that I lost two days of my life.</div>
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In the morning I started thinking about how much abuse I was taking during the learning process. How ashamed I was for making mistakes. (Why? I'd never attended a sewing school! I was learning by trial and error funded only by my lucky success with costume accessory pieces!)</div>
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What did I expect?</div>
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And why did this heap of shame go along with the learning process?</div>
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Who could I blame for infusing me with the idea that I must produce a flawless piece of wonder on the VERY FIRST ATTEMPT?</div>
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My ego.</div>
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Shame on it. It demands unreasonable and unfair levels of perfection through constant comparison of someone else's final worthy product.</div>
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If I am ever able to go forward and keep trying, this nonsense about perfection needs to end. It's also what holds me back from writing books and stories. Once I get into creating a piece, I end up rending the garment into shreds or stuffing it away somewhere where no one can find it.</div>
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I need a new way to think about mistakes in learning, without the shame.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-6513087339329152062014-09-07T11:05:00.000-04:002014-09-07T11:05:03.439-04:00Toilet Paper Football and Poems about Smelly DogsElliot doesn't like it when people say he's silly. He takes himself seriously, but his playfulness and exuberance sometimes is interpreted as silly behavior. His expressiveness and willingness to be unique is something I admire! <div>
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Shall we say, this boy is FUN LOVING?</div>
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I should remember to tell him about his great-grandfather, who had fifteen children. He entertained them all with magic tricks like balancing a ladder or a dining room chair on his chin or forehead. He would pull coins out of ears, pull countless pranks and practical jokes. He was also an artist who carved intricate roses into glass ashtrays that he stacked and drilled and transformed into gorgeous lamps. He loved games. He loved to win. He swallowed life whole. One year he found a goat in the streets of Detroit. He took the goat to the police station and tied it up with some crazy letter attached to it. The police thought his prank was so funny that they put a police hat and jacket on the goat, took a picture and sent it to the local paper.</div>
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So, Elliot does't know this, but silliness is a trait he's inherited.</div>
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I have a little of this in me too.</div>
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This morning, Elliot said I was a "rhymer." While considering this, I stopped in the middle of the stairway, turned around and worked out a poem as if lightning had just struck. Poets and writers should always keep a white board handy for these moments...</div>
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Here's what fell out:</div>
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The Miner</div>
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The Weimaraner was a rhymer</div>
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an old-timer with a shiner</div>
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paws digging like a miner</div>
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for bones and treasures finer</div>
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long-dead and rotting slimer</div>
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life organic sleeping primer</div>
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for the young to grow inside her</div>
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seeds of earth for branching climber.</div>
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After that nonsense, we played football in the house with a fresh clean soft roll of toilet paper.</div>
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My son is growing fast, and so it's great to know that his playful nature is still alive and kicking.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLPe53pA05erH3b0C6xai5XbjQ-dDtgNc_xZdIo8ioLbMh-HQnHvRrmut4iQl6PvMh_aJ35MqKMI-1C_p9SIYaQ33Gf1jl5pRmFRKjNAw1Y6aRHhMKkK6JPe8rKis59zFSBZcC3Aicf4/s1600/WP_20140904_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLPe53pA05erH3b0C6xai5XbjQ-dDtgNc_xZdIo8ioLbMh-HQnHvRrmut4iQl6PvMh_aJ35MqKMI-1C_p9SIYaQ33Gf1jl5pRmFRKjNAw1Y6aRHhMKkK6JPe8rKis59zFSBZcC3Aicf4/s1600/WP_20140904_003.jpg" height="640" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elliot has joined a First Lego League Robotics League! Making what he loves and translating that into complex learning.<br /></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-45512571876568024412014-07-14T07:18:00.001-04:002016-08-15T09:49:11.996-04:00Party in MotionWe danced.<br />
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Every year comes with friends to celebrate.<br />
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Our hearts are full.<br />
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Happy summer, happy life.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-59749463945747483062014-07-10T09:18:00.005-04:002014-07-10T13:18:17.878-04:00Active Peace?Someone recently asked the question: Where have you experienced the most peace? Is it now a memory that has become your "happy" place?<br />
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My response is a contradiction. When we think of the word<i> peace</i> we think of the glassy, undisturbed surface of a body of water, or the stillness of the morning at the break of dawn. We think of times of silence, worship, prayer. We think of meditation, sleep, rest or even death. <br />
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Yet the most expansive peace I ever felt happened like this:<br />
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It was my first trip to the outer banks. I brought Emily with me to celebrate my graduation from college. We rented a shabby but cozy motel room in Nags Head, conveniently situated on the ocean side. After unpacking our bags and eating a snack, we drove to 7 Eleven for a bundle of firewood and stopped at the fire station for a permit. Back on the beach after sunset and before our campfire, I became unexpectedly swept up in euphoria. The energy of the waves charged the atmosphere with invigorating, hair-raising pulses. Swhoosh. Ripple. Pause. Swoosh, thundering crash. Ripple. Pause. Silence. Repeat.<br />
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After dropping the firewood and camp chairs in a heap, I sprinted down the beach, barefoot. A full moon rose over the Atlantic as the sky deepened from indigo to black. Emily and I ran together like liberated captives. No one was on the beach to see our inhibitions fall away. Were there crabs in the sand? We were northerners unaware. Like people who don't fear leaf piles because they are unused to copperheads, our bare feet were unafraid.<br />
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That heart-pounding full sprint under a pristine white moon brought the complete surrender and release that allowed peace to fill my being. I have spent my life fighting hard instead of waiting for it to arrive on the tide; struggling for needs, for the impulsive something I think I desperately want, for the something that <i>needs</i> to be done. If the laundry ever gets caught up, it's because I'm literally fighting my way through it. If I need to write for a grade, I'm battling all of my ignorance, all of my insecurity, everyone in the class, the people who write academic jargon, and my professor too. If I'm working for money, I'm battling the boss, proving I can excel and master the work. It is a headstrong me that succeeds.<br />
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On that night on the beach, after five hours of driving (and battling my way through motorcycles...it was Bike Week! How nerdy I felt driving next to hogs in Grandma's yellow Buick!) instead of being exhausted I was completely energized, so awake and alive I thought I might ascend from the sand and fly. Which I was able to actually do, the following day, when we went hang-gliding together on Jockey's Ridge. But even though actual flight was intensely euphoric, it was that sprint on the beach under the moon that brought the most complete and extensively deep peace. During the running, and afterward.<br />
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I've not been able to experience that depth (Or height? Which direction is peace? Submersion or ascension?) while meditating or praying, sitting quietly in silence, or sleeping. Peace happened when I was absolutely the most active my body can be. And it happened after the marathon of paper writing at Guilford College, a place that nearly broke my spirit with nearly impossible standards of achievement.<br />
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This somehow makes perfect sense. The peacemakers of the world are activists. They might have meditative or spiritual practices that support the work they do in the world, but mostly, they work incredibly long and grueling hours to help people, sometimes in utterly devastating and dangerous conditions.<br />
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What this notion of "active" peace means for me is not to be afraid of doing the work that comes with my life. It means not being lazy about my writing practice, my parenting, or my relationships. It means staying focused on my food choices and exercises. It means not falling into the rut of despair when the work just seems overwhelming and endless.<br />
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For me, peace happens during intense sprinting, when I can do nothing else except surrender it all. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-36529542326005516792014-07-08T08:35:00.002-04:002014-07-08T08:36:49.832-04:00A Decade of BoyhoodI have a terrible confession. When Emily was two years old, I was working as a nanny for a family with four children. The youngest were newborn twins. The middle child was a boy not much older than Emily. After caring for five children all day (four who were still in diapers), I would come home and barely have the energy for my own housework and meal prep. Then came a series of migraines that sent me to a dark room, praying for relief from the hard driving freight train in my head and bouts of nausea.<br />
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This work was my passion but it was also intensely demanding and stressful. Though I loved children and was committed to a life of caregiving and teaching, I was drowning in an overload of demands that needed my immediate attention. This job was also the reason why Emily ended up being an only child for such a long time.<br />
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I was also terrified of having a son.<br />
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Even though I grew up with two completely loving and wonderful brothers, the idea of parenting a son after my experience with nanny-hood made me inwardly faint.<br />
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Eight years later, what I trembled to imagine came true.<br />
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But by that time, my whole world had changed. I had developed an open mind to God's plan, whatever that meant for me.<br />
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So God gave me what I feared the most. When my heart was the most open, when I trusted my higher power, when I dared to take a huge risk in love,<br />
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Richard and I became parents of a beautiful son. I don't believe this was merely a result of science and chemical reactions.<br />
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For the first time, Emily experienced what it felt like to have a brother. The love, respect and appreciation that I have for Emily expanded as I watched her accept this new family development, which might have caused hurt and jealousy. Instead of being resentful, she just loved her baby brother and celebrated with us.<br />
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Infused within the miracle came the joy and security of taking this leap together. Richard has been the most incredibly committed, supportive and engaged father and continues to be Elliot's best friend, role model and teacher.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Play-doh shoes, hats and scarves for toy animals are just one example of Elliot's creative inventions.</td></tr>
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We love you Elliot, more than words can say. Happy 10th Birthday! It's been a happy, love filled and exciting decade for all of us.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-55725093968067641872014-06-29T09:03:00.000-04:002014-06-29T09:06:06.777-04:00Signed Copy of The Signature of All Things Giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have a gift I'd like to share with my patient, kind readers. Many of you have been with me since 2010, leaving supportive comments and uplifting my heart with your regular visits. Thank you so much for sharing love and thus helping me to continue to take the risk of writing.<br />
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Your love is my soft landing.<br />
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Many of my friends who have stayed with me through these years are also leaving their blogs, and just now it feels kind of like the end of an era. Perhaps the personal blog has gone out of fashion. Maybe it is just entirely too much to maintain with any sort of enthusiasm. I have often wondered if I should leave this space and go forward into a new project. But even if it feels lonely here in my little blog corner, I still have an impulse and a desire to write. And this space feels like a comfortable old shoe. So for now, I will write at least one more post...and this one is in order to share a gift.<br />
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Those of you on fb know that I love Elizabeth Gilbert. This year I did something completely self indulgent and purchased a single ticket to hear her speak in Asheville, North Carolina. I rationalized that since Richard loves the mountains, we could fit in a hike and camp overnight. But as the date neared, Richard decided that this type of occasion required better accommodations. He spoiled me by reserving a comfortable hotel room and later splurged on a delicious Italian meal before the event. This weekend I noticed little connections to "Eat, Pray, Love" as if it were a theme, minus the divorce.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbYlYWT-QXqmsCqcFaJDqFVD1CKpXhIgq6dN_wSi1JoB-Tr7bo8YF2vN-87s_6MP783VeR2CSAYTEp2Ug1wdc1It7B3HxtydFOliRhGUnZDX-h4uhSj8QsQ7Zou2a7xotbYXMYHW1V3U/s1600/WP_20140627_017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbYlYWT-QXqmsCqcFaJDqFVD1CKpXhIgq6dN_wSi1JoB-Tr7bo8YF2vN-87s_6MP783VeR2CSAYTEp2Ug1wdc1It7B3HxtydFOliRhGUnZDX-h4uhSj8QsQ7Zou2a7xotbYXMYHW1V3U/s1600/WP_20140627_017.jpg" height="640" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Eat"</td></tr>
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Included in this unplanned theme was the mystery and excitement of travel. On a reconnaissance mission to orient ourselves for parking and navigating, we decided to explore the UNCA campus before dinner. Granted, Asheville is not Indonesia, but its location in the high country makes it feel as if you are visiting a place separated from the rest of the world. UNCA felt like a different kind of university, unlike the ones I am familiar with here in the Piedmont. It felt very secluded and intimate. The entrance was a long drive through a botanical garden (so appropriate to set the mood for a talk on The Signature of All Things). What was supposed to be a mission to establish our whereabouts (so I wouldn't feel rushed and have to run in my dainty sandals with heels) became a romantic walk under tall hemlocks and through blooming botanical gardens. Once we neared the general area, I entered the Ramsey library with its beautiful old library smell and sacredly silent walls to ask about the event location. The young man behind the desk relayed the directions and mentioned that he was also working at the event. He wondered if I had purchased my tickets already, generously offering that there were a few left if I needed more.<br />
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After a fantastic meal at Pomodoro's, we drove back to campus, hoping that there might still be a few tickets left. We were having so much fun together that Richard and Elliot decided that they would attend if it wasn't sold out. Which it did.<br />
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At the entrance of the auditorium, I suddenly felt as if my family date was being disrupted; that we were going to have to be separated because of my selfish purchase of the single ticket. But Richard told me to go in and have a great time. He would wait for me during all of it, the talk, the book signing and the pictures. He would take Elliot and go exploring. Before leaving to have their guy-time adventure, Elizabeth Gilbert walked by with a smile and said "nice dog!"<br />
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Once inside, I found a seat near the front and experienced something unexpected. A fluttering in my heart bubbled up, just like it does during Meeting for Worship. I felt the presence of the Spirit with me. Other women in attendance describe that as "the energy in the room."<br />
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The energy kept rising as Liz spoke to the crowd of women and men in the auditorium. After a brief introduction, she read a passage from her new novel, and then spent the rest of the evening answering questions. I raised my hand and asked if she had written a childhood memoir, and if so would she ever publish it. She responded in a serious tone (different from her usual up-beat humor) that "every writer waits until someone they love dies before they are able to write those stories. I do plan to write mine, but I am still waiting." <br />
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Her answer helped me to have peace about a conflict in my own heart. I also have stories that must wait. There is no need to rush to make public the stories that helped me to become who I am. <br />
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I also loved Liz's explanation on the interconnectedness of memoir and fiction. She said, "fiction writing is like writing memoir and memoir is like writing fiction: in memoir you are creating a version of yourself that people close to you might say "but you're not like that at all!" <br />
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So I felt encouraged to go forward in experimenting with fiction and to be less intimidated by the idea of research...which is a good remedy for my lack of imagination. Perhaps through fiction, I will discover that I have written my memoir, leaving not facts and dates and actual people, but thoughts and feelings and the impression of complex relationships.<br />
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It was an enriching, happy and energizing experience.<br />
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Then came the standing in line part. Which would have been fun...all those happy, smiling women to connect with! Except that since I've made a huge change in my diet...leaving sugar for more fiber...I have been regularly gassy. So while waiting in line, I'm praying "please don't fart, please don't fart, please don't fart, especially next to Liz..."<br />
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Once at the book signing table, I told Liz how much I loved her fb page, and thanked her for such giving. In person, she is warm and open and kind. She hugged me close to her side during our picture together.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQAnU41ehW2ndsJBPuPYS2dUGSS7WvzecJaGdb91SvJmqFevDeDAhI3ytD6bHq-8YeXzs-JzwRQeRk9FQZo4mKt53H_uZrhrGomHDiRa54qSbvKYRirq6esKnxpAGbNFaHQ5BhbfmXZk/s1600/WP_20140627_024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQAnU41ehW2ndsJBPuPYS2dUGSS7WvzecJaGdb91SvJmqFevDeDAhI3ytD6bHq-8YeXzs-JzwRQeRk9FQZo4mKt53H_uZrhrGomHDiRa54qSbvKYRirq6esKnxpAGbNFaHQ5BhbfmXZk/s1600/WP_20140627_024.jpg" height="640" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Pray"</td></tr>
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God was merciful... the other talking end of my being stayed silent.<br />
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When I came out to greet my patient husband, son and dog, who could see the book signing through the tall glass windows, Richard commented on how Liz was different from the typical famous person. He was impressed by her warmth toward people. <br />
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Elliot excitedly told me about a stone labyrinth and all the hidden places he explored. I was so happy and relieved to be reunited so that we could continue our Asheville adventure. I realized that while it's great to be independent and do things for myself, I enjoy experiences much more when I can share them with my family.<br />
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And so I have something to share with you...a signed copy of The Signature of All Things in paperback. <br />
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Please leave a comment either here or on my fb link to this post. I will choose a winner through a random number generator. If you are chosen, I will contact you through fb and ask for your mailing address.<br />
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Good luck to all!<br />
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Love,<br />
Jenny<br />
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P.S...we had so much fun exploring:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXIy7P6WmadzOfhNcAiSH68rWouLXaSRRjIRXrZsaC6CO9vyxoh958eiRtc35iNqEUHdYyYg4GyoiWc_UD3hFHN-ABP_hN9RMglKYz4u7IMcDOQiXYCaZVezyu4eHnlqvP3YsDUJeU0E/s1600/WP_20140628_048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXIy7P6WmadzOfhNcAiSH68rWouLXaSRRjIRXrZsaC6CO9vyxoh958eiRtc35iNqEUHdYyYg4GyoiWc_UD3hFHN-ABP_hN9RMglKYz4u7IMcDOQiXYCaZVezyu4eHnlqvP3YsDUJeU0E/s1600/WP_20140628_048.jpg" height="640" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Love"</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-52011768379836634502014-06-23T17:31:00.001-04:002014-06-23T17:44:56.281-04:00What Ten Years Of Lego Building Looks LikeAs much as I love all things French, I used to resent Derrida and the French Deconstructionists. It was so depressing to tear apart a literary work until its meaning was made irrelevant. I resented it then, just like I'm resenting the deconstructionists now. <br />
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If you ask Elliot what he wants to "be" when he grows up, he generally replies that he wants to be a Lego Master Builder. <br />
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His passion for creating with plastic bricks has meant the gift of time for me...to write, to socialize, and to create. I love that he enjoys this hobby which helps to make connections in his mind and problem solve.<br />
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But just now I'm realizing that perhaps all of that creative free time with bricks has led to something disturbing:<br />
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The tendency to build, only to dismantle. Just like the Buddhist monks who make the wonderful sand mandalas only to brush them away. Life is impermanent, as is art.<br />
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In our house, so are plastic brick constructions.<br />
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Perhaps it's a normal boy kind of behavior. (But the mini figures....why take off their heads, arms, legs???? poor little people!)<br />
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Taking apart all of these expensive and complicated Lego sets has allowed Elliot to repeatedly work on new creations. He's gone through several developmental stages with his bricks, from Star Wars to Marvel Comic Heroes to Hobbits and Knights. He's re-made more vehicles, robots, houses and spaceships than I can count.<br />
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And at one time, he built them all to the exact specifications in record times. Out of all of these sets, only one remains: The Millenium Falcon, which he built with his Dad, who made him swear to<b> never ever ever dismantle it.</b><br />
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So now all of those technical creations have become the raw materials for his imagination. But it's also a little heartbreaking. Richard says that when Elliot is a teen and starts to rebel, the consequences for disobedience will include restoring the sets, one by one, brick by brick, back to their original condition.<br />
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I shudder at the thought of it....<br />
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Just now, we are preparing for Elliot's tenth birthday party. Every year we say with complete confidence, "next year, we will not have a party. We will do something different." (How about taking a friend to the Water Park, Elliot????? Wouldn't that be a blast????)<br />
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But the though of not having a big back yard party depresses all of us.<br />
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We love our friends. Parents come and enjoy the fun and it feels <i>so good</i> to fill our home with children and listen to the shouting as they run through house and all over the yard. So if it takes weeks of creative projects and budgeting, so what?<br />
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We are making memories and connecting with our community. It's not about the gifts, but the friends.<br />
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This year, the theme is a mash up of Lego and Minecraft. We'll be showing The Lego Movie in our homemade outdoor theater, have a Minecraft photo booth set up in the arbor, play games and fill the ping-pong table with trays and trays of Lego for a building activity. If Elliot were not a deconstructionist, this part would be impossible. So I'm trying to be positive while I sit through the sorting: his compulsion to break down the space ships becomes an opportunity to share the experience of creativity and collaboration.<br />
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But in preparation for that activity, we are now in plastic brick hell.... (find a seat, anyone?)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's more where these came from!</td></tr>
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I'm not a Pinterest-perfect Mom who puts on the pretty parties with color-coordinated and matching theme decorations. We're going to set up a taco bar in the dining room, take the cover off the pool, have a romping, running. invented game of "cap the Kragle" involving the garden hose. We'll stuff our faces with cake cake and ice cream, and hand out bags of popcorn for the movie. I'm also working on thank you gifts for each child...a hand painted t shirt with a Lego character face in the center.<br />
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Somewhere I read that the secret to happiness is finding something you care about that is bigger than yourself, then let that be your life.<br />
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I'm so lucky that I get to be a mom and do these crazy, time consuming, creative, messy projects. If you were to stop by my house, you might find me buried in Lego bricks with paint on my face.<br />
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And I would be happy.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-28731458570023671192014-06-04T09:15:00.001-04:002014-06-05T06:27:20.312-04:00Jomeokee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jomeokee is the Native American name for Pilot Mountain. It means The Great Guide and was considered sacred. (was not the whole earth sacred then?). While hiking on the Ledge Spring Trail, you can see ancient stone faces of mythical proportions jutting out from the walls, adding to the mystical feeling of being transported deep into a past where ceremonies might have taken place on the summit. For 250 years, a tribe called the Saura lived at the base of the mountain and grew vegetables, hunted and lived near the abundant, life giving Yadkin river. (A very interesting documentary about this river, including beautiful local flavor of speech can be found here: <a href="http://yadkinriverstory.org/yadkin.html">http://yadkinriverstory.org/yadkin.html</a>)<br />
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Jomeokee is a monadnock (meaning an isolated rock hill that rises from a level plain) estimated to be 500 to 750 million years old. It is made of quartzite. Geologists theorize that it was once a beach. From <i>Exploring the Geology of the Carolinas,</i> "a<span style="background-color: white;">lthough Pilot Mtn is 2,421' above sea level today, its cliffs originated as white beach sands on the shores of an ancient ocean. About 540Mya, the Iapetus Ocean was lapping at the shores of Laurentia, the continent that later would become N. America. Laurentia's sandy beaches were probably similar to the beaches of the Carolinas today, except they were made up of almost pure quartz grains."(p.137) </span><br />
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One of my favorite stories about Jomeokee is told by a park ranger who hiked with us. He explained that during training for deployment to Iraq, a group of soldiers built a rock staircase into the side of the mountain. I have since searched for documentation or a newspaper story on this, to no avail. <br />
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<span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;"> http://www.naturallyamazing.com/americasparks/7722.jpg</span></td></tr>
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My back aches just imagining it...according to the ranger, the rocks were delivered via helicopter and put in place by the sweat, muscle, teamwork and determination of the soldiers.<br />
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What I loved about the trails that circled around this monadnock were the amazing rock formations and beautiful flora. In the spring, the walls burst with with rhododendron and mountain laurel blossoms. There are no bears in the area because highway 52 passes nearby. At night while camping, we could hear the flow of traffic. This sound keeps the bears away. So, for me, this is the PERFECT compromise between my mountaineering husband who lives for the wilderness, and me, who is<strike> often </strike> always afraid. <br />
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On our latest adventure to this location, we decided to camp. Normally we would make a day trip of it, as it only sits one easy hour north by highway. But the weather was nice, school was out, and this campground looked inviting! Instead of tents, we took a risk and experimented with hammock camping. Once he set everything up, our site looked like this:<br />
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On this trip, I was reminded that regardless of logic, I always encounter a little fear <i>every time </i>I find myself sleeping overnight in the woods. This new situation was ripe for facing an unexpected fear. Sleeping in a hammock did not afford the sense of security I longed for. Even with brave Ozzie to guard our behinds now made vulnerable to wandering skunks, possums and racoons in the night, this didn't feel as heavenly as I imagined. The first night it rained, and I ended up on the ground in a sopping wet backpacking tent instead of in the hammock. I slept with my phone, which was so water damaged by the morning it was completely useless.<br />
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But losing it seemed an insignificant loss compared to what I gained. This mountain is a place of reclamation for me; a chance to confront fears and enjoy spectacular trails without being completely traumatized by my over active imagination. Besides my imagination, I am also nervous about heights, especially if I get too close to a precipice (something in me has this insane urge to jump...and I find that I must force myself to back away...) But keeping my focus forward, I felt fine.<br />
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At the lookout on the top of Little Pinnacle, there is a wide viewing area that one can experience from a comfortable distance, or go closer if you enjoy that feeling of being suspended in the sky. So I decided that this sign at one trail head must be for the seriously reckless fools who run and leap with wild abandon:<br />
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Some people might say that Pilot Mountain is not for serious wilderness seekers, because it is so popular. I love it for this reason. I enjoy the people we encounter. Everyone says hi or smiles on the trail.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the rocks smile on Jomeokee</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is this for REAL?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking boots are needed. And patience to navigate through rocks.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While hiking the Ledge Spring Trail, glimpses of the plains are visible.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFJWA4sv-7QL-rOhiTihYfth-jcQSIxKfVxIfZYEXgAIXJTroYCFweh1OVo3TdlKu11aR8OQ6Vpurw9bZyq3DF5RTeKS0s4KsW28jg7hQ1fTnpwm_cCs_OUSdXCYf4OtP3TCJh31GZ3c/s1600/100_2463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFJWA4sv-7QL-rOhiTihYfth-jcQSIxKfVxIfZYEXgAIXJTroYCFweh1OVo3TdlKu11aR8OQ6Vpurw9bZyq3DF5RTeKS0s4KsW28jg7hQ1fTnpwm_cCs_OUSdXCYf4OtP3TCJh31GZ3c/s1600/100_2463.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There are places on the summit trails that take you near the steep incline, but also plenty of room to stay near the rock walls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Farther down the mountain, there are miles of open wooded trails leading to the Yadkin river that are not bursting with heaps of rocks or steep inclines. A gentle day hike would take you from the ranger station to the river and back. It is magical on this trail due to the height of the trees, and a canopy which doesn't support a lot of underbrush. I love hiking in the open, where I can see through the woods. Walking through dense growth is unnerving...I don't like sudden surprises.<br />
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This time I came home feeling energized and excited for the next trip, instead of blissfully grateful for a house with four walls...but I have to admit, after all that hiking, I <i>dearly missed my bed.</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-3183699416419627112014-05-29T14:57:00.000-04:002014-05-30T06:23:45.292-04:00From the Happiness JarHere are a few entries from the happiness jar in May:<br />
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On May 2, I turned 43. I am grateful for another year of living!<br />
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Richard's wilderness survival classes exceeded my expectations. My favorite was the fire building class we hosted in our back yard.<br />
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A day trip to Pilot Mountain.<br />
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My friend Linda. Everything about Linda is beautiful. I got to tell her this one day when we were having a discussion about veins in our hands. She said she thought her hands were ugly...after hugging her and telling her how I really felt about her (there's not a single thing ugly about you Linda!!!) Our mutual friend Tanya looked into her eyes and said "Linda, you are one of the most beautiful people I know." <br />
(Her face smiling goes in the happiness jar)<br />
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My neighbors. Not the neighbors whose dog attacked me, and whom I'm still working on the seventy times seven forgiveness challenge... my<i> kindhearted</i> neighbors who spontaneously offered to watch Elliot while Richard and I enjoyed an evening out. My neighbors who always make time to talk, wave and smile. My neighbors who have two beautiful children...one who is four year old Carolyn, and the other who is 10 month old Turner. Yesterday, Carolyn blew dandelion seeds and wished "all good things for Elliot."<br />
After enjoying a swim in our pool, I offered her a slice of watermelon. She said,<br />
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"Watermelon is good for you, because it has a lot of taste."<br />
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A different kind of writing habit. After years of reading books on writing, the real learning is happening through an actual practice not for social media. It's as if I've been trying to learn how to ride a bike from a book all these years. There's a fresh novelty in discovering how to tell a fictional story. My wobbly first attempts to push the pedals and find my balance will hopefully become a longer ride..<br />
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Actual bike rides. One sunny afternoon, Richard, Elliot and I rode through the adjacent neighborhoods and discovered the newly constructed branch library. I'm looking forward to riding to the library for our weekly visits during Elliot's fifth grade year.<br />
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Rain showers. Thunderstorms. (And the discovery that if I listen to "sound spa" on my computer I can write for longer periods. I think rain helps to draw one within and to a place of deep focus, even if it is an artificially constructed situation.) Beating writer's block will now involve my headphones!<br />
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A new hammock hanging from the rafters on the back porch. Elliot and I reading in the hammock at sunset, swinging our way through a long story.<br />
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Music. Listening to my favorite cd's on our big stereo with the full range of sound.<br />
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Last and not least....I bought a ticket to see Elizabeth Gilbert in Asheville, North Carolina one month from now. I plan to host a giveaway with a signed copy of The Signature of All Things in paperback. <br />
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Do you have any happiness moments you'd like to add to this list? Feel free to leave some in the comments!<br />
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Happy Weekend!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-28479875940052222692014-05-22T08:09:00.001-04:002014-05-22T08:09:59.480-04:00Ambition and Mindfulness, Two Opposing ForcesYesterday I woke up feeling unwell. A headache squeezed a band of tight pressure around my skull, acid reflux rose in my throat and my stomach gurgled and felt like a wobbly container of swishy-ness.<br />
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I had to lie down and rest, and leave the chores alone.<br />
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All the things I wanted to accomplish, my ambitions for the day, had to wait while I did nothing.<br />
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And then an awareness, a widening perception of mindfullness arrived. I experienced what it felt like to simply be near Elliot without a rush of expectations on us.<br />
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We spent the day together doing nothing, and he was bored, waiting for me to feel better.<br />
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I found myself really listening to him, appreciating the sound of his young voice. The sweetness of his personality. I noticed how his mind and spirit are developing. Being ambitious and driven to work on writing, fitness, chores, the Etsy shop and our academic work distracts me. Ambition drives me on a highway, rushing over the fields of those expansive, peace filled awareness moments, when time stands still. In this slow frame, I'm gob-smacked by the beauty and miracle of my family. How it feels just to be next to one another, in the same room. Being connected. <br />
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We are nearing the end of our academic year. For the last two weeks, Ellot's been practicing for testing, just to reduce anxiety and not to enhance performance, because I doubt that the test will measure Elliot's true gifts.<br />
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No test will show what if feels like to be sharing life with Elliot. To relax on the couch in the evening and read aloud together. Last night we dove back into Frightful's Mountain by Jean Craighead George. That he can read it might be some kind of measure of his achievement, but that he loves stories like this means more.<br />
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I believe that what a person cares about is more important than how well they can perform. This is not some kind of excuse, a blanketing cover for the hard data, the results, the <i>proof </i>that we have been working. I resent that numbers often have the final word in measuring a child's worth. I reject that kind of thinking.<br />
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What we care about should be allowed to develop freely and without measure in education.<br />
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Like justice, and giving, and small acts of compassion. Friendship and cooperation, respect for our faith journeys in all their expressions. The pulling out of our expansive potentials as humans to be good to one another and the planet that we share.<br />
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(I am a hopeless idealist...so what?)<br />
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This week, Elliot has been invited to a special community potluck honoring the founder of <a href="http://gsodaycenter.org/">The Interactive Resource Center</a>, Liz Seymour. Liz is retiring next month and we are excited to be a part of the work she has done to bring hope to our community.<br />
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Elliot may not have an "end of the year" class party...but this event, where hundreds of people experiencing homelessness and the community of volunteers who help will be an exciting way to celebrate. When we began our journey I never expected these wonderful experiences to keep arriving. I mainly worried about how to help Elliot get through this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQi-Y-6Gkfm_yBis9ztUPyHH7BvAQEZGzGyXXotFaKZVPA9Sles7U7d7hCzx8SnF4pwF_oHRQVwxzH3Y3qMUdQeWq6tn67aAAUhjeR_UPDavk6AjJKUAzkWYY1zCdkVepGHeG9PBhemeg/s1600/IM000374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQi-Y-6Gkfm_yBis9ztUPyHH7BvAQEZGzGyXXotFaKZVPA9Sles7U7d7hCzx8SnF4pwF_oHRQVwxzH3Y3qMUdQeWq6tn67aAAUhjeR_UPDavk6AjJKUAzkWYY1zCdkVepGHeG9PBhemeg/s1600/IM000374.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This first grade work arrived in Elliot's backpack as homework over one weekend. It was the furious storm in my heart that sent me to the office with a withdrawl form and an intent to homeschool. </td></tr>
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I'm learning that true success doesn't take hours of hard work or diligent practice. A six year old child does not have to spend 12 hours over the weekend doing busy paper work to be worthy.<br />
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Success doesn't always require years of nose-to-the-grindstone striving. There is a secret that no one tells you in school...it's really<i> okay</i> to be a miserable failure in all the acceptable skills. (Which Elliot is not...but if he was, this would be okay) You can be mediocre. You can be non-traditional. You can be below average, average, or above average. You can be a bright genius or a slacker. You can be an artist and a creative and still have "chance" to live a successful, brilliant life. It just takes a willingness to follow something that you care about. Explore that feeling and let the curiosity take you to places and into the lives of people. There's an energy source, a compassionate, loving universe of unseen and unlimited resources that provides gifts to sustain the journey. In my ambitious striving, I often forget to notice and take comfort and security in this unseen reality.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-10974096210819920032014-05-14T07:45:00.003-04:002014-05-14T07:48:56.534-04:00Mother's Day (part 2)Recently I have been thinking about how to navigate honoring my own mother, who continues to enrich and support my life in a hundred thousand million ways.<br />
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She's not very comfortable with social media. She doesn't like to be "tagged" in pictures. I wonder if it makes her feel self conscious to be the subject of my shared writing. And yet, there's an absence in my continuing story, a character missing, who is really very important and valued. That I did not mention her in my mother's day post does not mean that I don't love and respect her, deeply, the way we all love our dear parents. In not mentioning her publicly on the holiday, I did so because I believe that "showing" love online is different than "really" loving a person in the three dimensional world. I believed it was okay not to post the obligatory picture of us together. I did not post a picture of us together for a couple of reasons, mainly because we were unable to BE together on Mother's day. I always wish that I could be.<br />
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My mother infused me with everything that I value. Unconditional love, faith, respect, creativity, joy. She worked very hard for all of us. She made all the holidays special and beautiful. Even though holiday times were stressful, with huge expectations, she never made it feel like it was an onerous obligation. She enjoyed celebrating, hosting parties and making memories with family and friends. She made our home clean, comfortable, beautiful, filled with sunlight and baked goods and fresh sheets hung on the line. She cleaned up after all of us, including the 15 or so pets that we once had, all at one time. Litters of puppies, kittens, a lizard, gold fish, a hamster....<br />
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She washed windows and curtains and dusted. She baked cookies, pies, cakes. She canned the millions upon millions of vegetables my dad grew in the garden (with his help, and sometimes my grandparent's help too...you could eat for years from that garden).<br />
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She made sure we all had nice clothing for school, attended all the teacher conferences and sporting events and took us to church every single Sunday. She forgave us when we misbehaved. On rainy days or snowy days she would cover the kitchen table with newspaper and lay out items for crafting. My favorite was clothespin dolls.<br />
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Once she saved our lives when her car caught on fire. She was able to get all three of us out before it burned into a charred frame. <br />
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My mom is a devout believer, and her faith is a rock that nothing can crack. She is our rock, and our shelter and our sweetest, kindest friend.<br />
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She is Elliot's biggest supporter in his mission to help people experiencing homelessness. <br />
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She once saved me from starvation and the possibility of homelessness when I was going through my marital separation.<br />
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My friends all loved her and said that I had the nicest, kindest mom. They are right. <br />
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I am late in posting this picture, and I hope she will understand. (Mother's day was really chaotic here...Elliot pulled a muscle in his neck and I worried about him all day)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-8486436709138161102014-05-12T08:02:00.002-04:002014-05-12T08:24:33.494-04:00Buy Her Some Real Rock!A friend recently wrote a status detailing the list of wonderful things she did on Mother's day. Part of it involved fancy food and other lovely things. Girly kind of things. Then she remembered to include that she ended her day with yard work and a trip to Home Depot for flowers and paint.<br />
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And this, my friends, is how I like to spend my Mother's day:<br />
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By sweating through it, followed by a relaxing walk through the air conditioned aisles of Home Depot.<br />
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You see, Mother's day always falls on a Sunday, Richard's regular work day. The weather is usually warm and sunny. And since I love to garden, it's the perfect time for planting vegetables and mowing, or taking a long run.<br />
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This Mother's day I put on my running gear and headed out with Elliot on his bike and Ozzie at my side. Running with Ozzie is always an adventure because he adores sniffing every rock and tree. I have to command him to heel or the run turns into an awkward back and forth dance. On this particular run, I forgot to grab a plastic bag in case he could not resist adding fertilizer to the already overly fertilized perfect green lawns in the newly constructed neighborhood. Which is exactly what he did. <br />
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Elliot and I are studying civics and social responsibility. There was no way I could let that fertilizer lie.<br />
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So we ran/biked/sniffed our way home. I grabbed a few bags and ran back to the site, picked up the deposit and ran back home, like a kid running for the school bus with her paper bag lunch.<br />
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Sweat poured in abundance on the long hill toward home. After a tremendous dousing rainfall the previous day, this morning was heavy with humidity. While I ran with my paper "lunch sack", I started fantasizing about our pool. Then I remembered something that Deepak Chopra said during a guided meditation...he suggested that I become more aware of how big, hard impossible things will start to happen effortlessly.<br />
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Richard had stored our "summer escapes" pool in the attic of the garage. Having never lifted it myself, I imagined that it weighed too much for me to get it down safely. But thinking of the meditation, I went up to the attic (where I always bruise my head on the low beams...this day being no exception), I tried to lift the pool.<br />
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I prepared to heave my whole body into the effort.<br />
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It was bulky and awkward, but as light as a large tarp! As I maneuvered myself into a position on the ladder, I asked Elliot to hand it to me. When I got hung up on the descent, Elliot said,<br />
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"Drop it Mom! The pool is not worth your life!"<br />
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I told him not to worry. Everything would be okay. And suddenly the pool was unstuck and I was able to make it down without falling or dropping the "summer escape".<br />
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Then came the challenge of setting it up on the level space that Richard had worked so hard to perfect two years ago. I'm not sure that space stayed perfectly level...I probably needed to scrape a layer here or there, but being determined, I skipped that step and went on with the task.<br />
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After hours of sweat and a few visits at the fence from my adorable, four year old blond and curly haired neighbor asking "Jenny, what are you DOING????".......<br />
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I had a half filled pool. While the pool filled I also managed to turn over the hard clay earth around the perimeter of the deck to plant my sweet potato plants and tomatoes. It was humid and backbreaking work. Just the way I like it.<br />
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After investigating the reason why the pool seemed to be filling so slowly, I learned that an O ring on the filter was broken, so water was gushing in a steady fountain out of the top of the filter.<br />
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Just as Richard walked in the door, I kissed him hello and rushed out the door to Home Depot to replace the O ring. <br />
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While there, I noticed other Moms wearing colorful dresses and sandals dragging their families in for supplies. A stone display at the entrance said "This Mother's Day, Buy Her Some REAL Rock!"<br />
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This would be my kind of Mom! The kind to whom you could give a real rock and she would be thrilled at your thoughtfulness and your deep understanding of her true nature.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2kOIKpgTKAGEuza7JmYANXzDvWzf-mLt4h_drQbnu4_G4mrqI7_zqp8HiLST-PJqkpurJI2e5eXBIkV6jPzFQQYQobkWqEedTdawpNosHRt79xYajx65i_CBSXHSCnSm9IcpAjs0gtY/s1600/100_2350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2kOIKpgTKAGEuza7JmYANXzDvWzf-mLt4h_drQbnu4_G4mrqI7_zqp8HiLST-PJqkpurJI2e5eXBIkV6jPzFQQYQobkWqEedTdawpNosHRt79xYajx65i_CBSXHSCnSm9IcpAjs0gtY/s1600/100_2350.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It is still holding water the next day! I have one small leak near an intake hose, which Richard says he can fix.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GaPmHjUxC4iTbRdj5KYuXwrH1foJghNbUTYPjEbbIo35xmvWgSlGLeh7_ZEOmr8WacjL11AqM195SmC8VyzuUFV5_44ofPUhbh-APSbBfO1x_jpslRTE2aAVeu2MVpBBbDiUOo52XBM/s1600/100_2351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GaPmHjUxC4iTbRdj5KYuXwrH1foJghNbUTYPjEbbIo35xmvWgSlGLeh7_ZEOmr8WacjL11AqM195SmC8VyzuUFV5_44ofPUhbh-APSbBfO1x_jpslRTE2aAVeu2MVpBBbDiUOo52XBM/s1600/100_2351.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last week, Elliot and I hauled rocks and dug a new pond. The birds have been loving it!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5TfSRQx-mK4Pg50Ny6YuWwSFX8oBVB42YFYi7uVonMZ3KwsV6K0EE8bpNphmK23wl6laiXFErJ06GfnaQK-tZ0yP3W0AIH2jhc9zU1d85v-VIEppKUmGWYcq9d1qWpX6n8hcS0dKnhw/s1600/100_2352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5TfSRQx-mK4Pg50Ny6YuWwSFX8oBVB42YFYi7uVonMZ3KwsV6K0EE8bpNphmK23wl6laiXFErJ06GfnaQK-tZ0yP3W0AIH2jhc9zU1d85v-VIEppKUmGWYcq9d1qWpX6n8hcS0dKnhw/s1600/100_2352.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Elliot's garden. We built this together shortly after we dug the new pond. His cucumbers are already sprouting!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqABtYTAt2aQxiew7vDEefWY9u_Xv0PzxnA_H75UBttZ2THzIfkGAcCen_zj7uk6bpFvRiJNkl08YmVEolmdJwTda49S0_T5X9zlslZBlFTVgpqJuvICn9e1fZwXdIzZIX-JyH5__WODM/s1600/100_2354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqABtYTAt2aQxiew7vDEefWY9u_Xv0PzxnA_H75UBttZ2THzIfkGAcCen_zj7uk6bpFvRiJNkl08YmVEolmdJwTda49S0_T5X9zlslZBlFTVgpqJuvICn9e1fZwXdIzZIX-JyH5__WODM/s1600/100_2354.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard and Elliot have been building this new fort, directly under the tree house. On Christmas Eve, a man who works at Home Depot gave Richard the side wall for free. It was destined for the dumpster, having been used as a display. The spirit of Santa Claus lives!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HkVxahiSQt8X0L7nEkigyA3lrRfZJubmu0MC61wgfAdikdiM0f9Bmg276sSbROtGdTCCW8eU6gxwnqwkm24VxY-uQyPgG6o4qfd4S0GU0RtOzN-EuPN2Z6k34KyAO_2N9JIEJbldfmk/s1600/100_2355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HkVxahiSQt8X0L7nEkigyA3lrRfZJubmu0MC61wgfAdikdiM0f9Bmg276sSbROtGdTCCW8eU6gxwnqwkm24VxY-uQyPgG6o4qfd4S0GU0RtOzN-EuPN2Z6k34KyAO_2N9JIEJbldfmk/s1600/100_2355.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is our garden, hand turned. This year we will grow the three sisters here...corn, pole beans and squash.</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-7684928927352096752014-05-08T06:32:00.002-04:002014-05-08T06:50:48.230-04:00Why Friendship Break Ups Can Be HealthyAlmost a year has passed since our family experienced a devastating friendship break up. It was emotionally draining and sad for all of us. Through that process, I discovered that I have a limit that not even a long term friendship could bear. Like a bridge under too much weight, I buckled and collapsed. Then I made sure to seal the deal with some effective writing.<br />
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And several months ago, our regular Science Class ended when the teacher accepted a position at a public middle school. This meant that we would see less of our friends. It felt as though we were in the middle of building strong bonds, then left the construction site unfinished.<br />
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In both cases, we've had to learn to stay open and to not cling.<br />
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In clinging to one particular friend, pouring all of our energy and time and love and frustration, it is dangerously easy to block out the light of new friends who exist on the perimeter. Intense, close friendships have a tendency to produce tunnel vision.<br />
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It feels healthier for me, and for Elliot, to allow ourselves the space to see a bigger picture. In this way we become more open to the natural flow of friends in our life. Some are here for a little while, and that's okay.<br />
The concept of "keeping" friends is not healthy.<br />
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Maintaining healthy, happy friendships does require some time and a little attention. But not so much that the calendar only fills up around the other person's life. The best friendships feel like freedom. And this applies to family and spouses too. Our families can make us feel like prisoners, or they can feel very open and light and free. Captivity of the heart is a dangerous game.<br />
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It also takes a great deal of energy to maintain a thriving enemy relationship. It would be better to focus on something else that restores the balance.<br />
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The middle is the sweet spot. It's the place for giving and receiving in a natural way. I'm not sure how to explain this to my nine year old son, who loves people so freely and with a passionate, deep heart. Attachment has been hard for him. He clings. He feels devastated and separate when his love is not returned at the same level of openness and depth.<br />
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It's one of those long term lessons that we can only learn through time and experience. New friends are arriving and older friendships are blossoming, and for Elliot this is a miracle. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-33915982920642506842014-05-05T06:24:00.000-04:002014-05-05T08:08:48.450-04:00Wilderness Survival ClassThis year, something unexpected happened. Richard had an idea for a class that he wanted to offer for our homeschool group. After receiving positive feedback, he collected resources, dove into research and scouted locations. We sent out a few emails, and before long, he was teaching a wilderness survival course!<br />
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And though he claims not to be a<i> real</i> teacher, the fact that both classes have been a success may prove otherwise. He is great with kids and works hard to make difficult concepts clear. He presents tough challenges to engage their interest. I've learned some things too, although I'm not a very good student and like to chat with my friends during class. (Moms will always find reasons to talk with one another!) Having friends also helps me to manage my fears about returning to the woods and hiking off trail. I wonder if they noticed my apprehension about hiking in ankle deep leaf litter, the favorite home of copperheads....<br />
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Or through tall grass and underbrush, the ideal habitat for the dreaded, potentially disease carrying ticks. You thought I was going to say bears, didn't you? Black bears sometimes pass through our area (even going downtown!) in the spring, so there is still a chance for me to have another encounter.<br />
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With Richard's RMSF, I worry more about the tiny things with teeth than the big things with teeth. Could it be possible that one day my paranoia about bears will be overcome by my greater fear of insignificantly tiny ticks? <br />
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The kids in our class (except for Elliot) are not aware that I have fear. They weren't aware that all of our clothes were treated with pymetherin and that our skin was slathered with Deet. They don't know my bear story, which turned into a four day long panic attack. Being on home territory did help me to relax, but more than anything it was the group that made this a positive, easier experience.<br />
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Making new friends, sharing stories and learning together has enriched us and given us more than we expected. Our friend Jamy, who writes at Joy 365 recently blogged about our last class. I'm going to send you to her blog today because I know you will enjoy her writing, her wit and her excellent photography!<br />
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<a href="http://365happythings.blogspot.com/2014/05/103-wilderness-survival-5214.html?spref=fb">http://365happythings.blogspot.com/2014/05/103-wilderness-survival-5214.html?spref=fb</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWO_wppJUIHwnVo5qtFmlw_Cx3a8zsx1IeJ7vs4hyphenhyphenGCEuWLioWlsAMwq6qk3zqErCcjVr-X_g8YNlFq7tuTXp5xZ31NoO7wgNvohAKs9ihVKsi657vT_SS6eY4vuBQ5QLN6Hkg89di97I/s1600/IMG_1746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWO_wppJUIHwnVo5qtFmlw_Cx3a8zsx1IeJ7vs4hyphenhyphenGCEuWLioWlsAMwq6qk3zqErCcjVr-X_g8YNlFq7tuTXp5xZ31NoO7wgNvohAKs9ihVKsi657vT_SS6eY4vuBQ5QLN6Hkg89di97I/s1600/IMG_1746.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit Jamy Gearhart</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglYLOOyP_SOdu2q3OpJQOT5VzI_fT1HB80E1UtMwogn6qEfF6ywRVdTQMp3YKLAP1oafVY9ZX0B2Pqqc6M_ZD67BUhUXAdARADvjkHPm-7Aa3cosyVTDudZXVWvLVhujTpEifvu9SnWDg/s1600/IMG_1759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglYLOOyP_SOdu2q3OpJQOT5VzI_fT1HB80E1UtMwogn6qEfF6ywRVdTQMp3YKLAP1oafVY9ZX0B2Pqqc6M_ZD67BUhUXAdARADvjkHPm-7Aa3cosyVTDudZXVWvLVhujTpEifvu9SnWDg/s1600/IMG_1759.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit Jamy Gearhart</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxJFsrKPKzcTrNX9bd2yRXaw-BCJzXf7Gc9c0EGbRVecDXJOqyD75KuiIHgqgCSe3O-dxCFgBRV80OZlxWsGkEaCfc3dtOxRta_0DXmLPJSE3C8TS5E9l6c3PAuFZinAaTbVhomCsgeU/s1600/IMG_1771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxJFsrKPKzcTrNX9bd2yRXaw-BCJzXf7Gc9c0EGbRVecDXJOqyD75KuiIHgqgCSe3O-dxCFgBRV80OZlxWsGkEaCfc3dtOxRta_0DXmLPJSE3C8TS5E9l6c3PAuFZinAaTbVhomCsgeU/s1600/IMG_1771.JPG" height="640" width="544" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit Jamy Gearhart</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSL_DSNiF73_7Q6H6OCBEsRZjk1BGqLJDuEJdIKQK56BphlhhXxhrXNAqLs8I6SENltbaHq2ZeOfPgWhocPBWRJFZ_gaLgQ1EtCYJWkKk99nnTWedjYoH6B0xges0sTpIYrA03HbPuFs/s1600/IMG_1784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSL_DSNiF73_7Q6H6OCBEsRZjk1BGqLJDuEJdIKQK56BphlhhXxhrXNAqLs8I6SENltbaHq2ZeOfPgWhocPBWRJFZ_gaLgQ1EtCYJWkKk99nnTWedjYoH6B0xges0sTpIYrA03HbPuFs/s1600/IMG_1784.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit Jamy Gearhart</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeE5CQmH59yh-3h-otS1km5j6YOK-bHpXh9NsXtXeXVpKTTpmUSDvOfpcLnLG5tQS_HunlfRVBXva79LHVNRiGLy23eMbMuF2Q-lpT6bWl-ousaayfnXysI_0urbYJoukdImrlP08LtEQ/s1600/IMG_1798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeE5CQmH59yh-3h-otS1km5j6YOK-bHpXh9NsXtXeXVpKTTpmUSDvOfpcLnLG5tQS_HunlfRVBXva79LHVNRiGLy23eMbMuF2Q-lpT6bWl-ousaayfnXysI_0urbYJoukdImrlP08LtEQ/s1600/IMG_1798.JPG" height="464" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit Jamy Gearhart</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTx0kVAN1qqlVwWTe1AoLLO3nkd47H7YlSFQgYpWrS3665mQEhorHesDB3sLFuRQ8fo0a6IEF2nN0cSNGozUAij7EBpq0jHf5nREmwVc49_r_5EwIjAxnQoO8FMmyZKercrtZ9URTYeo0/s1600/IMG_1819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTx0kVAN1qqlVwWTe1AoLLO3nkd47H7YlSFQgYpWrS3665mQEhorHesDB3sLFuRQ8fo0a6IEF2nN0cSNGozUAij7EBpq0jHf5nREmwVc49_r_5EwIjAxnQoO8FMmyZKercrtZ9URTYeo0/s1600/IMG_1819.JPG" height="444" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit Jamy Gearhart<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-67329249378031227342014-05-02T06:30:00.004-04:002014-05-02T06:30:53.606-04:00Richard's Life Threatening IllnessThis lesson was almost learned too late.<br />
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Today is my birthday, and my gift is that I get to share this day with my husband. That he is still alive is a miracle.<br />
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Recently we visited our family in Missouri. We explored wooded areas at the back of a field. Richard came home with two ticks, both of which I removed.<br />
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Both bites swelled the skin. One made a great big fat red and white bull's eye.<br />
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I urged him to go to the doctor RIGHT AWAY. He thought if it was lyme, he would have plenty of time and could wait to come home before seeing a doctor. Do all men think they are invincible? <br />
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His mom and I bothered and pestered him until he went to a local physician, who promptly prescribed a very powerful antibiotic called <span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;"><i><b>doxycycline. </b></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;"><i><b>Within two days of the tick bite, he was treated for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. We did not really know what that was.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;">Only after seeing a doctor yesterday, did we become aware of how serious this is. We did not know that if he recovers, we still have to be on guard against relapse.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;">"RMSF is a serious illness that can be fatal in the first<b> eight days</b> of symptoms if not treated correctly, even in previously healthy people. The progression of the disease varies greatly. Patients who are treated early may recover quickly on outpatient medication, while those who experience a more severe course may require intravenous antibiotics, prolonged hospitalization or intensive care." (Centers for Disease Control)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;">If he had waited several days more, DEATH was likely. This type of tick contained rickettsii. Rickettsii affect the cells that line the blood vessels. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;">"The damage that occurs in the blood vessels results in a disease process called a "vasculitis", and bleeding or clotting in the brain or other vital organs may occur. Loss of fluid from damaged vessels can result in loss of circulation to the extremities and damaged fingers, toes or even limbs may ultimately need to be amputated. Patients who suffer this kind of severe vasculitis in the first two weeks of illness may also be left with permanent long-term health problems such as profound neurological deficits, or damage to internal organs. Those who do not have this kind of vascular damage in the initial stages of the disease typically recover fully within several days to months. "(CDC)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;">So about a minute after reading that yesterday, I wept in a nervous, shaking, mental break-down kind of way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;">The doctor here at home in NC is now monitoring him for relapse. So far, Richard has responded positively to the antibiotic and is slowly slowly beginning to improve. He still has pain and soreness, which is likely to stay with him for at least two more months.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.960000038146973px;">Upon further research, we discovered that RMSF outbreaks are occurring here in North Carolina too.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVa8DqJDxHzQXTQhh2zRF7Np2cm9k-Y1wpAmh1cgAv3nu0t0atXUPcFRm-k-EgzmlX2Sz_g9xta_KufkP2DcoUvidG3XQBruF803iREWVFdJb7yL_yHEPFCWm9hGfW8Mbe8riqOCTxLnw/s1600/incidMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVa8DqJDxHzQXTQhh2zRF7Np2cm9k-Y1wpAmh1cgAv3nu0t0atXUPcFRm-k-EgzmlX2Sz_g9xta_KufkP2DcoUvidG3XQBruF803iREWVFdJb7yL_yHEPFCWm9hGfW8Mbe8riqOCTxLnw/s1600/incidMap.jpg" height="524" width="640" /></a></div>
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Today we are heading back out to the woods, because Richard is teaching a wilderness survival class! Can you guess how much I want to go outdoors now?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vxX3vDweTMIQeGwBQL5vavQlgotbeQHPpkPCiLDSjRBZ4MXORvaQS6cysWzsqBFqzekLTb3craLZPpMs1CXYDK3zN_ahzpMi5zBPWUwY31mwq-7MShujbv75VnQDJ7q0h3zU0OvnwwI/s1600/100_2177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vxX3vDweTMIQeGwBQL5vavQlgotbeQHPpkPCiLDSjRBZ4MXORvaQS6cysWzsqBFqzekLTb3craLZPpMs1CXYDK3zN_ahzpMi5zBPWUwY31mwq-7MShujbv75VnQDJ7q0h3zU0OvnwwI/s1600/100_2177.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard recently celebrated his birthday. I had no idea then that it might not have happened. </td></tr>
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Please pray that Richard recovers fully, with no relapse. We are going to stay positive, and put our intentions on good health. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-62432046023531552962014-04-30T07:31:00.003-04:002014-04-30T07:31:54.956-04:00On the Culture of Positivity and RealismPerhaps it goes against realism to only write through a positive lens. Maybe it's unlikely that anyone would take me seriously as a writer if I never struggled with anything.<br />
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I do have challenges. And weakness. And frustrating situations that when unexpressed, cloud my vision as if I were walking through a smoky forest fire. Yesterday I wrote a very negative post about an encounter I had with someone who frustrates me. And each hour the post stayed up, I felt increasingly unwell.<br />
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Even though I didn't name names, it felt like a low down thing to share. But I learned from it. I was aware of how sending out negativity did not solve my difficulty, but kept me focused on the bad feelings. And nothing I will ever write will change the person who sends me to the roof and whom I occasionally have to encounter.<br />
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So focusing on the person outside of me didn't help. It was real, and it was raw, but it wasn't good for me.<br />
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Healing and joy started to return the very moment I took the post down.<br />
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And then later in the evening, I watched a superb talk by Brandon Stanton of Humans of New York. Brandon was candid and sparkling on the topic of his surprisingly short trajectory of success. He's been photographing strangers for four years. His photography skills are average. But Brandon does something no one else thought to do: he interviews his subjects about intimate details of their lives. If you have yet to encounter his work, I know you will be delighted by the discovery of HONY.<br />
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I connected with several of Brandon's thoughts. I felt less self conscious about my blog header when hearing "it's more important to be different than to be good," (when you need to stand out). Eventually I hope to write under my name, but I still have yet to make the leap. <br />
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I also was captivated by his values. It's important for his work to maintain a "culture of positivity". This doesn't mean that tough issues and social problems are avoided, as he often asks his subjects to tell about their current struggle. What he hopes to see in the commentary is positivity, where people are inspired to offer encouragement despite the problem. The result is a perfect balance of realism mixed with positivity. Not the realism of broadcast news mixed with the negative commentary that fuels the fear mongering machine.<br />
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What does this mean for me as a writer? It's so confusing to have negative emotions take over my head, then feel limited because I hold those back. Brenda Ueland advises, "write like a pirate, like a lion!" The goal being truth! <br />
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Why should I be so afraid of the truth?<br />
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I am discovering that what has become a priority for me is not more expression of the low feelings. My well being depends on refocusing my efforts towards creating for the expression of gratitude, of love, of the simple awareness of beauty, of color, of texture, of the journey through different experiences that add light.<br />
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Every day comes with at least one problem. People around me are going to behave the way they behave, and that's okay if I don't like it, or if it is offensive. I can look in another direction. Dig a new fountain pond with Elliot. Plant the garden. Ride my bike like a beast up a super long, steep hill. I can sit in my meditation room and listen to the soothing voice of Deepak while the cat comes in to purr on my lap. I can hand paint a greeting card, or return to working on my writing project. I can open my dusty horn case and practice the new (old favorite) music I found at a second hand store. I can cook something delicous and have a little feast. All of what I need comes from within. I've been practicing at the skills that bring me closer to myself.<br />
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The point for me here is not to dwell long in the problem. It solves nothing for me to stay focused in those socially difficult areas. My happiness comes from the process of creating. It comes from within my own being as an expression of spirit.<br />
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Why can't realism be happy and beautiful too?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-88754598363268345162014-04-24T07:49:00.000-04:002014-04-24T07:49:16.490-04:00Elliot's Photography I have just been scanning through the recent photographs of our trip to the Asheboro Zoo. Several of Elliot's photos captured a feeling that I often miss.<br />
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Like what it feels like to be in captivity.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTj88AGVLffqhK37EkZRk5PZGt-pR44A8lZR1sSowUTtEiVfBJV88m2k-k_sUkwDVKVbuxtVKavG0O-OwcbpeFCVoiIrJbO5QEzatOJkBPkUVmU8ae2LPnTlOPpr2NWMHDRsz_gtfpws/s1600/100_2224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTj88AGVLffqhK37EkZRk5PZGt-pR44A8lZR1sSowUTtEiVfBJV88m2k-k_sUkwDVKVbuxtVKavG0O-OwcbpeFCVoiIrJbO5QEzatOJkBPkUVmU8ae2LPnTlOPpr2NWMHDRsz_gtfpws/s1600/100_2224.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Elliot Hoppins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJHHBdOFEJmSuPhhhdFr1g5nxFJfCYUDp9DHHzna0_mG78mYhRlG7fwSAnR8A-tuioaDKhFVkoqOhd-ZCp0b9AAam5eHUhjSBpwL1DYddVbozNXupuM_cEBIpW92Sd3i6MFUWQHn5gf8/s1600/100_2225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJHHBdOFEJmSuPhhhdFr1g5nxFJfCYUDp9DHHzna0_mG78mYhRlG7fwSAnR8A-tuioaDKhFVkoqOhd-ZCp0b9AAam5eHUhjSBpwL1DYddVbozNXupuM_cEBIpW92Sd3i6MFUWQHn5gf8/s1600/100_2225.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit Elliot Hoppins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFkk7YSzrz5P4kscA3_sqKV3qvZclARULiXM-UVbj3T_SUSDGpaD2A75qYZxPKpyhiN3md6ZTDUKz-e90cNpWcc3YrrfvSJOu2fYOJbVpE1c9byf7pAgTlI5ZPMEpCpxYlNecyxomm1Y/s1600/100_2227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFkk7YSzrz5P4kscA3_sqKV3qvZclARULiXM-UVbj3T_SUSDGpaD2A75qYZxPKpyhiN3md6ZTDUKz-e90cNpWcc3YrrfvSJOu2fYOJbVpE1c9byf7pAgTlI5ZPMEpCpxYlNecyxomm1Y/s1600/100_2227.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit Elliot Hoppins</td></tr>
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While I was snapping away, looking for color and composition, he was looking for feeling. The camera shows an extension of his heart. A heart that was troubled often during our visit. Elliot's consciousness is awakening to some hard truths about our environment. He also recognizes that many people visiting the zoo behave in disrespectful ways. Often when we were at an exhibit, he would ask to move on when a group of children, teens and even adults were loud, showing off for their friends and acting whiny when animals would not properly pose for photographs.<br />
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By the end of our visit, we were more aware of human behavior in groups than we were of the animals enduring their day behind the fence.<br />
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We decided that the aviary was the happiest, most peaceful spot in the entire zoo.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-8690977169258954892014-04-15T08:45:00.001-04:002014-04-15T08:45:37.849-04:00Two Days to Get HereTwo Days To Get Here<div>
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Blooming Redbuds on the purple mountain</div>
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Topped with floating gray white felted cloud mass</div>
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Skipping down the peaks.</div>
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Wet rock profile old Cherokee face</div>
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In ancient stone. Blue back packed hikers cross</div>
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the highway on the Appalachian Trail.</div>
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We search the bare forest for dark moving</div>
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Masses, rounded shape of black bear mother</div>
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slender spring cub clinging to Beech bark branch.</div>
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I can only imagine their presence, </div>
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the dark mounds I glimpse turning into sap</div>
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Bulging like basketballs on the gray trunks.</div>
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Tender baby green leaves bud out on branch</div>
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The wakening forest spreads out her green</div>
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As we ride the curving climbing highway</div>
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Through dynamite blasted tunnel, the pass</div>
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Opening to five lanes of rushing speed.</div>
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Clouds as benevolent Spirit beings</div>
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Appear on the blue sky theater stage.</div>
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Their drifting dance a pictoral language</div>
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While they smoosh together and separate.</div>
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A dinosaur cow dances with a pig.</div>
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A magician blows a handful of smoke.</div>
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A funny shark swims with a Star Wars ship.</div>
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An elephant holding a teddy bear</div>
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Floats past a boy about to go fishing.</div>
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Ophelia looks to the heavens and sighs.</div>
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We suck saltwater taffy, banana.</div>
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Buttered popcorn, huckleberry and orange.</div>
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We see bison in a pen on the plains.</div>
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We see homeless men in weathered faces.</div>
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Spring tries to catch us in the hilly farms.</div>
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At the bottom of one hill, we find home.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-71342962442101115672014-03-31T07:10:00.002-04:002014-03-31T07:10:19.456-04:00Happiness Jar: Ninjas and BridgesI have fallen out of habit once again. The happiness jar sits on my stereo, half full. <br />
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But now I'm reminded to fill it with the upswelling of love that continues to float around my heart.<br />
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Like observing how Elliot is cultivating a source of joy for his life through acts of giving. Last month he raised 125 dollars for his cause through a bake sale. We delivered the funds on Friday. The conversations he shared with the organizers at the IRC day center can only be described as effervescent. Elliot is bubbly on an ordinary day, but was popping with charm in this special place where people gather to simply "be."<br />
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While we drove away to celebrate giving with ice cream, he said "I feel so happy. This is the best feeling."<br />
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Elliot is learning that giving is a renewable resource for feel-good living. When I asked him what the highlight of his weekend was, delivering his "ninja bread" money to help people experiencing homelessness was at the top of the list.<br />
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It was even more special than wining first place in a bridge building contest.<br />
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And that teaches me something about my own ambition.<br />
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After the bridge competition, Elliot went back to "work" on a new t shirt design based on his original Elliot's Ninja character "Ninjability." Ninjability represents the spirit of ability in the face of adversity and challenge. This character developed in collaboration with our friend James Terpenning, who won a contest on Elliot's Ninja Art Facebook page. James helped Elliot to understand that people who navigate the world by wheels often have abilities that exceed normal expectations. As a member of the basketball team "The Rolling Hoopstars," winner of Extreme Home Makeover, and one of the orphans who were flown out of Vietnam during Operation Babylift, James inspires us by his incredible life story and the impact he makes in his community. <br />
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Here is the latest version of Ninjability, which Elliot plans to list in his Etsy shop this week.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-36078552723183040742014-03-16T09:26:00.000-04:002014-03-16T09:26:34.176-04:00Living HistoryThis weekend, we were spectators of war.<div>
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It was part of our unit study on the Revolution. Elliot and I have been learning about the events that led the colonists to unite and declare independence. Each spring, there is a battle reenactment on the grounds of the Battle of Guilford Courthouse. It is an impressive display of gorgeous costumes and camps. </div>
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Elliot was able to sit near the front row of the battlefield. </div>
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We learned that the Religious Society of Friends set up a temporary hospital in the meeting house. A mass grave of Revolutionary War Veterans from both sides exists in the cemetery. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-25908484230644803582014-03-09T20:26:00.000-04:002014-03-09T20:26:21.808-04:00I noticed this todayI noticed this today. A disengagement of interest happening. I am less interested in activities that used to bring energy into my heart. <br />
<br />
Where have I drifted?<br />
<br />
I do not know what it means. I do not know if it matters.<br />
<br />
Right now I'm reading a book on writing. I am going to share a passage so that when I copy each word I will remember that it once changed my writing.<br />
<br />
From <i>Several Short Sentences About Writing</i> by Verlyn Klinkenborg:<br />
<br />
Who's going to give you the authority to feel that what <i>you</i> notice is important?<br />
It will have to be you.<br />
The authority you feel has a great deal to do with how<br />
you write, and what you write,<br />
With your ability to pay attention to the shape and<br />
meaning of your own thoughts<br />
And the value of your own perceptions.<br />
<br />
Being a writer is an act of perpetual self-authorization.<br />
No matter who you are.<br />
Only you can authorize yourself.<br />
You do that by writing well, by constant discovery.<br />
No one else can authorize you.<br />
No one.<br />
This doesn't happen overnight.<br />
It's as gradual as the improvement in your writing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3260474823266276024.post-49894799469581120812014-03-09T09:57:00.000-04:002014-03-09T12:30:19.714-04:00Blue Sky Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I took this picture two days after our last big snow/ice event, feeling so thankful that we made it through without any damage. We were one of the lucky families to keep our power. During the storm, many trees were lost, inflicting damage to businesses, homes and vehicles.<br />
<br />
Winter here is different than I was used to during my life in the north. While incredibly heavy snows and steady sub-zero temperatures have been <strike> frustrating </strike> maddening for my family in Michigan and Ohio, I cannot even mention the weather without seeming ridiculous. Yet when winter strikes us in NC, it means damage and danger on the roads. It means layers of ice, which makes it unsafe to go out. During a typical Michigan winter, one embraces the snow, straps on a pair of skis or skates, and enjoys the white wonderland. Here, we are lucky to have a few hours for sledding on a half mud, half snow covered hill because as soon as it snows, the sun generally appears to melt it. And in the short time that winter descends in all her ferocious glory, people have to struggle with loss of heat, water, and lights, closed business and schools, and cabin fever. <br />
<br />
The cabin fever that arrives after two days of ice tells me how soft I have become in the last 12 years. Living in an extreme climate instills an undefeated resilience within. For years I lived in remote areas of northern woodlands, isolated from community in winter and spring, where melt water made the roads so muddy that it was impossible to drive. We used to park our car nearly a mile away and hike in to our home. I would put our groceries in a plastic sled and drag them to the house. When it was time to take Emily to preschool, I covered her in snow pants and boots and we walked to the car in mud so slippery and deep that she fell several times. When we got to school the teacher wondered what in the world could have happened.<br />
<br />
During the heaviest snows, I went for weeks without going anywhere or seeing anyone other than my child and my husband. Cabin fever was a big reality. I've noticed that here in the south, where I am used to getting out every single day, two days of being stuck inside can bring on a grumpy mood. I am completely spoiled. <br />
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Recently we had snow that came down in feather sized flakes, so much more magical than the icy slush storm. For Elliot, snow is peaceful and magical. I hope he always keeps that sense of wonder.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16456360103620523621noreply@blogger.com2